TWIN' ED, interwoven.GAR' LAND, wreath of flowers.MUS' ED, thought; meditated.AN TIQUE', (an teek',) ancient.MOLD, shape; form.RARE, scarce; seldom seen.SOOTH ED, calmed; quieted.THROB' BED, beat; palpitated.CO' ZY, snug; comfortable.EBB' ED, flowed back.JOUR' NEY, travel.LONG' ING, earnestly desiring.TIE, bond of affection.RIV' EN, torn asunder.
1. A little girl sat amid the flowers,In the blush and bloom of childhood's hours;She twined the buds in a garland fair,And bound them up in her shining hair:"Ah, me!" said she, "how happy I'll be,When ten years more have gone over me,And I am a maiden with youth's bright glowFlushing my cheek, and lighting my brow!"2. A maiden mused in a pleasant room,Where the air was filled with a soft perfume;Vases were near of antique mold,And beautiful pictures, rare and old;And she, amid all the beauty there,Was by far the loveliest and most fair."Ah, me!" said she, "how happy I'll be,When my heart's own choice comes back to me,When I proudly stand by my dear one's side,With the thrilling joy of a youthful bride!"3. A mother bent o'er the cradle nestWhere she soothed her babe to his smiling rest;She watched the sleep of her cherub-boy,And her spirit throbbed with exulting joy."Ah, me!" said she, "how happy I'll be,When he reaches manhood, proud and free,And the world bows down, in its rapture wild,It the earnest words of my darling child!"4. An aged one sat by the cozy hearth,Counting life's sands as they ebbed from earth;Feeble and frail; the race she runHad borne her along to the setting sun."Ah, me!" said she, "how happy I'll be,When from time's long fever my soul is free,When the world fades out with its weary strife,And I soar away to a better life!"5. 'Tis thus we journey from youth to age,Longing to turn to another page,Striving to hasten the years away,Lighting our hearts with the future's ray,Hoping on earth till its visions fade,Wishing and waiting, through sun and shade,But turning, when earth's last tie is riven,To the beautiful rest of a fadeless Heaven.
QUESTIONS.—1. When did the little girl think she would be happy? 2. What did she say when she became old? 3. What are we constantly expecting from youth to age? 4. What is the meaning of the suffixing, in such words aslonging, striving, lighting, &c.? See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 134, Ex. 176.
VET' ER AN, old soldier.GRASP' ED, seized hold of.AN' CIENT, old.MUR' MUR, ED, uttered in a low voice.IM MOR' TAL, imperishable.RAG' ED, was furious.RE MAIN', still exists.SIRE, father.LIGHT' EN ED, (EN,make; ED,did,) did make light.
WILLIAM R. WALLACE.
1. He lay upon his dying bed,(pl.) His eye was growing dim,When, with a feeble voice, he calledHis weeping son to him:"Weep not, my boy," the veteran said,"I bow to Heaven's high will;But quickly from yon antlers bring,The sword of Bunker Hill."2. The sword was brought; the soldier's eyeLit with a sudden flame;And, as he grasped the ancient blade,He murmured Warren's[1] name;Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold,But what is richer still,I leave you, mark me, mark me, now,The sword of Bunker Hill.3. "'Twas on that dread, immortal day,I dared the Briton's band,A captain raised his blade on me,I tore it from his hand;And while the glorious battle raged,It lightened Freedom's will;For, boy, the God of Freedom blessedThe sword of Bunker Hill.4. "Oh! keep this sword," his accents broke,—A smile—and he was dead;But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade,Upon that dying bed.The son remains, the sword remains,Its glory growing still,And twenty millions bless the sireAnd sword of Bunker Hill.
[Footnote 1: General Warren, a brave and valuable officer, fell by a musket-ball, while fighting the British at Bunker's Hill, June 17th, 1775.]
QUESTIONS.—1. What request did the old veteran make of his son? 2. What bequest did he make to him? 3. How did he obtain that sword? 4. What did he say to his son? 5. Who was Warren?
LE' GEND, fictitious narrative.MOR' TAL, deadly.COM' BAT, battle; conflict.PRI ME' VAL, first; primitive.MUS' CU LAR, strong; vigorous.CA DAV' ER OUS, pale; sickly.REF U GEE', runaway; fugitive.QUAR' TER, mercy; indulgence.PIN' ION ED, confined; shackled.A BYSS', yawning gulf.PRO POS' AL, offer; proposition.DI SHEV' EL ED, disordered.IM BO' SOM ED, surrounded; inclosed.CON FESS' ED, owned; acknowledged.RE LENT' ING, pitying; compassionate.RAN' DOM, venture.SU PER STI' TION, false religious belief.A VENGE', take satisfaction for.UN CON' SCIOUS, unaware.SUB LIM' I TY, grandeur.
LIPPARD.
1. It was here in the wilds of the Wis sa hi' kon, on the day of battle, as the noonday sun came shining through the thickly clustered leaves, that two men met in mortal combat. They grappled in deadly conflict near a rock that rose, like the huge wreck of some primeval world, at least one hundred feet above the dark waters of the Wis sa hi'kon.
2. That man with the dark brow and the darker gray eye,—with the muscular form, clad in the blue hunting-frock of the Revolution,—is a Continental, named Warner. His brother was murdered at the massacre of Pao'li. Thatotherman, with long black hair drooping along his cadaverous face, is clad in the half-military costume of a Tory refugee.Thatis the murderer of Pao'li, named Dabney.
3. They had met there in the woods by accident; and now they fought, not with sword or rifle, but with long and deadly hunting-knives, that flash in the light as they go turning, and twining, and twisting over the green-sward. At last, the Tory is down!—down on the green-sward, with the knee of the Continental upon his breast,—that up-raised knife quivering in the light,—that dark-gray eye flashing death into his face!
4. "Quarter! I yield!" gasped the Tory, as the knee was pressed upon his breast. "Spare me!—I yield!"
5. "Mybrother," said the patriot soldier, in a low tone of deadly hate,—"Mybrother cried for quarter on the night of Pa o' li, and, even as he clung to your knees, you struck that knife into his heart. Oh, I will give you the quarter of Pa o' li!" And his hand was raised for the blow, and his teeth were clinched in deadly hate. He paused for a moment, and then pinioned the Tory's arms, and, with one rapid stride, dragged him to the verge of the rock, and held him quivering over the abyss.
6. "Mercy!" gasped the Tory, turning black and ashy by turns, as that awful gulf yawned below. "Mercy! I have a wife! a child! spare me!"
7. Then the Continental, with his muscular strength gathered for the effort, shook the murderer once more over the abyss, and then hissed this bitter sneer between his teeth,—"My brother had a wife and two children. The morning after the night of Pa o' li, that wife was a widow,—those children were orphans! Would not you like to go and beg your life of that widow and her children?"
8. The proposal, made by the Continental in the mere mockery of hate, was taken in serious earnest by the horror-stricken Tory. He begged to be taken to the widow and her children, to have the pitiful privilege of begging his life. After a moment's serious thought, the patriot soldier consented. He bound the Tory's arms yet tighter, placed him on the rock again, and then led him up the woods. A quiet cottage, imbosomed among the trees, broke on their eyes.
9. They entered that cottage. There, beside the desolate hearth-stone, sat the widow and her children. She was a matronly woman of about thirty years, with a face faded by care, a deep, dark eye, and long, disheveled hair about her shoulder. On one side was a dark-haired boy, of some six years; on the other, a little girl, one year younger, with light hair and blue eyes. The Bible, an old, venerable volume, lay open on that mother's lap.
10. And then that pale-faced Tory flung himself on his knees, confessed that he had butchered her husband on the night of Pa o'li, but begged his life at her hands!"Spare me, for the sake of my wife—my child!"He had expected that his pitiful moan would touch the widow's heart; but not one relenting gleam softened her pale face.
11. "The Lord shall judge between us!" she said in a cold, icy tone, that froze the murderer's heart. "Look! The Bible lies open before me. I will close that volume, and then this boy shall open it, and place his finger at random upon a line, and bythat lineyou shall live or die!" This was a strange proposal, made in full faith of a wild and dark superstition of the olden time. For a moment, the Tory, kneeling there, livid as ashes, was wrapt in thought. Then, in a faltering voice, he signified his consent.
12. Raising her dark eyes to heaven, the mother prayed the Great Father to direct the finger of her son. She closed the book, and handed it to that boy, whose young cheek reddened with loathing as he gazed upon his father's murderer. He took the Bible, opened its holy pages at random, and placed his fingers upon a verse.
13. Then there was a silence. That Continental soldier, who had sworn to avenge his brother's death, stood there with dilating eyes and parted lips. Then the culprit, kneeling on the floor, with a face like discolored clay, felt his heart leap to his throat. Then, in a clear, bold voice, the widow read this line from the Old Testament. It was short, yet terrible: "That man shall die!"
14. Look! The brother springs forward to plunge a knife into the murderer's heart; but the Tory, pinioned as he is, begs that one more trial may be made by the little girl,—that child of five years, with golden hair and laughing eyes. The widow consents. There is an awful pause. With a smile in her eye, without knowing what she does, the little girl opens the Bible,—she turns her laughing face away,—she places her fingers upon the page.
15. That awful silence grows deeper. The deep-drawn breath of the brother, and the broken gasps of the murderer, alone disturb the stillness. The widow and dark-eyed boy are breathless. That little girl, unconscious as she was, caught a feeling of awe from the countenances around her, and stood breathless, her face turned aside, and her tiny fingers resting on that line of life or death. At last, gathering courage, the widow bent her eyes on the page, and read. It was a line from the New Testament: "LOVE YOUR ENEMIES." Ah! that moment was sublime!
16. Oh, awful Book of God! in whose dread pages we see Job talking face to face with Jehovah, or Jesus waiting by Samaria's well, or wandering by the waves of dark Galilee! Oh, awful Book! shining to-night, as I speak, the light of that widow's home,—the glory of the mechanic's shop,—shining where the world comes not, to look on the last night of the convict in his cell, lightening the way to God, even over that dread gibbet!
17. Oh, Book of terrible majesty and child-like love,—for sublimity that crushes the soul into awe,—of beauty that melts the heart with rapture! you never shone more strangely beautiful than there in the lonely cot of the Wissa hi'kon, where you saved the murderer's life. For,—need I tell you?—that murderer's life was saved. That widow recognized the finger of God, and even the stern brother was awed into silence. The murderer went his way.
18. Now look ye, how wonderful are the ways of Heaven! That very night, as the widow sat by her lonely hearth, her orphans by her side,—sat there with a crushed heart and hot eye-balls, thinking of her husband, who, she supposed, now lay moldering on the blood-drenched soil of Pa o' li,—there was a tap at the door. She opened it, and that husband, living, though covered with wounds, was in her arms! He had fallen at Pa o' li, but not in death.He was alive,—his wife lay panting on his breast. That night there was a prayer in that wood-embowered cot of the Wis sa hi' kon.
QUESTIONS.—1. What two men are said to have engaged in deadly combat? 2. Which gained the mastery? 3. What did the patriot soldier say to the Tory, when he cried,Quarter? 4. What, when the Tory told him he had a wife and child? 5. What proposal was made to him? 6. How was his fate to be decided? 7. Was his life spared? 8. What proved the justice of the decision?
VES' TI BULE, porch, entrance.VI' BRATE, move to and fro.IM MOR' TALS, undying creatures.MON' U MENTS, memorials.A CHIEVE', accomplish.MU TA BLE, changeable.IM MOR TAL' I TY, deathless existence.IL LU' MIN ATE, enlighten.UN DER STAND' ING, intellect.RE AL' I TIES, truths; facts.AS SAULTS', violent attacks.DE SER' TION, abandonment.IN EX HAUST' I BLE, never-failing.CHAR' TER, title; deed.
E.H. CHAPIN.
1. Young friends', in whatever pursuits you may engage, you must not forget that the lawful objects of human efforts, are but means to higher results and nobler ends. Start not forward in life with the idea of becoming mere seekers of pleasure,—sportive butterflies searching for gaudy flowers. Consider and act with reference to the true ends of existence.
2. This world is but the vestibule of an immortal life. Every action of your life touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity. These thoughts and motives within you, stir the pulses of a deathless spirit. Act not, then, as mere creatures of this life, who, for a little while, are to walk the valleys and the hills, to enjoy the sunshine and to breathe the air, and then pass away and be no more; butactas immortals, with anaimand apurposeworthy of your high nature.
3. Set before you, as the chief object to be obtained, anendthat is superior to any on earth,—a desirable end, A PERFECT END. Labor to accomplish a work which shall survive unchanged and beautiful, when time shall have withered the garland of youth, when thrones of power and monuments of art shall have crumbled into ashes; and, finally, aim to achieve something, which, when these our mutable and perishing voices are hushed forever, shall live amid the songs and triumphs of IMMORTALITY.
4. Well will it be for you, if you have aguidewithin, which will aid you in every issue which will arm you in every temptation, and comfort you in every sorrow. Consult, then, that Volume whose precepts will never fail you. Consult it with a deep aspiration after the true and good, and it shall illuminate your understanding with divine realities.
5. Open your soul, and it shall breathe into it a holy influence, and fill all its wants. Bind it close to your heart; it will be a shield against all the assaults of evil. Read it in the lonely hour of desertion; it will be the best of companions. Open it when the voyage of life is troubled'; it is a sure chart. Study it in poverty'; it will unhoard to you inexhaustible riches. Commune with it in sickness'; it contains the medicine of the soul. Clasp it when dying'; IT IS THE CHARTER OF IMMORTALITY.
QUESTIONS.—1. What ought we not to forget? 2. How ought the world to be regarded? 3. How ought we to act and labor? 4. What ought we to consult?
IN TREP' ID, brave; heroic.BE TO' KEN ED, showed; indicated.E LAS' TIC, springy; agile.AT' TI TUDE, posture; position.UN' DER GROWTH, shrubbery.CON FRONT', stand before.CA TAS' TRO PHE, disaster; calamity.DE TER' RED, hindered; prevented.HUR' RI CANE, violent tempest.BUF' FET ING, beating with the hands.ATH LET' IC, strong; powerful.MI RAC' U LOUS, wonderful.TRE MEN DOUS, terrible; frightful.DES' PE RATE, rash; furious.IN VOL' UN TA RY, spontaneous.CAT' A RACT, waterfall.RE SUS' CI TATE, revive; bring to life.CH AR' AC TER IZ ED, distinguished.
1. It was a calm, sunny day in the year 1750; the scene, a piece of forest land in the north of Virginia, near a noble stream of water. Implements of surveying were lying about, and several men reclining under the trees, betokened, by their dress and appearance, that they composed a party engaged in laying out the wild lands of the country.
2. These persons had apparently just finished their dinner. Apart from the group, walked a young man of a tall and compact frame, and moved with the elastic tread of one accustomed to constant exercise in the open air. His countenance wore a look of decision and manliness not usually found in one so young, for he was apparently little over eighteen years of age. His hat had been cast off, as if for comfort, and he had paused, with one foot advanced, in a graceful and natural attitude.
3. Suddenly there was a shriek, then another, and several in rapid succession. The voice was that of a woman, and seemed to proceed from the other side of a dense thicket. At the first scream, the youth turned his head in the direction of the sound; but when it was repeated, he pushed aside the undergrowth which separated him from it, and, quickening his footsteps, as the cries succeeded each other in alarming rapidity, he soon dashed into an open space on the banks of the stream, where stood a rude log-cabin.
4. As the young man broke from the undergrowth, he saw his companions crowded together on the banks of the river, while in the midst stood the woman, from whom proceeded the shrieks, held back by two of the men, but struggling vigorously for freedom. It was but the work of a moment for the young man to make his way through the crowd and confront the female. The instant her eye fell on him, she exclaimed, "Oh! sir, you will do something for me. Make them release me,—for the love of God!My boy,—my poor boy is drowning, and they will not let me go!""It would be madness; she will jump into the river," said one, "and the rapids would dash her to pieces in a moment!"
5. The youth had scarcely waited for these words, for he recollected the child, a bold little boy of four years old, whose beautiful blue eyes and flaxen ringlets made him a favorite with all who knew him. He had been accustomed to play in the little inclosure before the cabin, but the gate having been left open, he had stolen incautiously out, reached the edge of the bank, and was in the act of looking over, when his mother saw him.
6. The shriek she uttered only hastened the catastrophe she feared; for the child, frightened at the cry of its mother, lost its balance, and fell into the stream, which here went foaming and roaring along amid innumerable rocks, constituting the most dangerous rapids known in that section of the country. Scream now followed scream in rapid succession, as the agonized mother rushed to the bank.
7. The party we left reclining in the shade within a few steps of the accident, were immediately on the spot. Fortunate it was that they were so near, else the mother would have jumped in after her child, and both been lost. Several of the men approached the brink, and were on the point of springing in after the child, when the sight of the sharp rocks crowding the channel, the rush and whirl of the waters, and the want of any knowledge where to look for the boy, deterred them, and they gave up the enterprise.
8. Not so with the noble youth. His first work was to throw off his coat; next to spring to the edge of the bank. Here he stood for a moment, running his eyes rapidly over the scene below, taking with a glance the different currents and the most dangerous of the rocks, in order to shape his course when in the stream. He had scarcely formed his conclusion, when he saw in the water a white object, which he knew to be the boy's dress, and he plunged into the wild and roaring rapids.
9."Thank God, he will save my child,"cried the mother;"there he is!—oh! my boy, my darling boy, how could I leave you!"Every one had rushed to the brink of the precipice, and was now following with eager eyes the progress of the youth, as the current bore him onward, like a feather in the embrace of the hurricane. Now it seemed as if he would be dashed against a jutting rock, over which the water flew in foam, and a whirlpool would drag him in, from whose grasp escape would appear impossible.
10. At times, the current bore him under, and he would be lost to sight; then, just as the spectators gave him up, he would appear, though far from where he vanished, still buffeting amid the vortex. Oh, how that mother's straining eyes followed him in his perilous career! how her heart sunk when he went under,—and with what a gush of joy when she saw him emerge again from the waters, and, flinging the waves aside with his athletic arms, struggle on in pursuit of her boy!
11. But it seemed as if his generous efforts were not to avail; for, though the current was bearing off the boy before his eyes, scarcely ten feet distant, he could not, despite his gigantic efforts, overtake the drowning child. On flew the youth and child; and it was miraculous how each escaped being dashed in pieces against the rocks. Twice the boy went out of sight, and a suppressed shriek escaped the mother's lips; but twice he reappeared, and then, with hands wrung wildly together, and breathless anxiety, she followed his progress, as his unresisting form was hurried with the onward current.
12. The youth now appeared to redouble his exertions, for they were approaching the most dangerous part of the river, where the rapids, contracting between the narrow shores, shot almost perpendicularly down a declivity of fifteen feet. The rush of the waters at this spot was tremendous, and no one ventured to approach its vicinity, even in a canoe, lest he should be dashed in pieces. What, then, would be the youth's fate, unless he soon overtook the child? He seemed fully sensible of the increasing peril, and now urged his way through the foaming current with a desperate strength.
13. Three times he was on the point of grasping the child, when the waters whirled the prize from him. The third effort was made just as they were entering within the influence of the current above the fall; and when it failed, the mother's heart sunk within her, and she groaned, fully expecting the youth to give up his task. But no; he only pressed forward the more eagerly; and, as they breathlessly watched amid the boiling waters, they saw the form of the brave youth following close after that of the boy.
14. And now, like an arrow from the bow, pursuer and pursued shot to the brink of the precipice. An instant they hung there, distinctly visible amid the foaming waters. Every brain grew dizzy at the sight. But a shout of involuntary exultation burst from the spectators, when they saw the boy held aloft by the right arm of the youth,—a shout that was suddenly checked with horror, when they both vanished into the abyss below!
15. A moment elapsed before a word was spoken, or a breath drawn. The mother ran forward, and then stood gazing with fixed eyes at the foot of the cataract, as if her all depended upon what the next moment should reveal. Suddenly she gave the glad cry, (f.) "There they are! See! they are safe!—Great God, I thank thee!" And, sure enough, there was the youth still unharmed, and still buffeting the waters. He had just emerged from the boiling vortex below the cataract. With one hand he held aloft the child, and with the other he was making for the shore.
16. They ran, they shouted, they scarcely knew what they did, until they reached his side, just as he was struggling to the bank. They drew him out almost exhausted. The boy was senseless; but his mother declared that he still lived, as she pressed him frantically to her bosom. The youth could scarcely stand, so faint was he from his exertions.
17. Who can describe the scene that followed,—the mother's calmness while she strove to resuscitate her boy, and her wild gratitude to his preserver, when the child was out of danger, and sweetly sleeping in her arms? Our pen shrinks at the task. But her words, pronounced then, were remembered afterwards by more than one who heard them.
18. "God will reward you," said she, "asIcan not. He will do great things for you in return for this day's work, and the blessings of thousands besides mine will attend you." And so it was; for, to theheroof that hour, were subsequently confided the destinies of a mighty nation. But, throughout his long career, what tended to make him more honored and respected beyond all men, was theself-sacrificing spirit, which, in the rescue of that mother's child, as in the more august events of his life, characterized OUR BELOVED WASHINGTON.
QUESTIONS.—1. Describe the scene where this accident took place. 2. What did the woman say to the young man? 3. Why would not the men release the woman? 4. What did the young man do? 5. Did he finally succeed in saving the child? 6. What did the mother say to him? 7. Who did this youth prove to be?
RAB' BI, teacher or doctor.HEA' THEN, pagan; gentile.BOUND' A RIES, limits.WAN' DER ED, strayed.SUB MIS' SIVE, resigned; humble.PIL' GRIM, wanderer.RE PEL' LED, drove off.IN HOS' PI TA BLE, unkind to strangers.MAN' TLE, garment, cloak.CON SOL' ING, comforting.RE POS' ING, lying down; resting.CA LAM' I TY, misfortune.POUN' CED, fell or jumped suddenly.IM PLOR' ING, begging; entreating.DE SPOIL' ED, robbed.CHURL' ISH, surly; rude.
JOHN G. SANE.
1. A pious Rabbi, forced by heathen hate,To quit the boundaries of his native land,Wandered abroad, submissive to his fate,Through pathless woods and wastes of burning sand.2. A patient ass, to bear him in his flight,A dog, to guard him from the robber's stealth,A lamp, by which to read the law at night,—Was all the pilgrim's store of worldly wealth.3. At set of sun he reached a little town,And asked for shelter and a crumb of food;But every face repelled him with a frown,And so he sought a lodging in the wood.4. "'Tis very hard," the weary traveler said,"And most inhospitable, I protest,To send me fasting to this forest bed;But God is good, and means it for the best!"5. He lit his lamp to read the sacred law,Before he spread his mantle for the night;But the wind rising with a sudden flaw,He read no more,—the gust put out the light.6. "'Tis strange," he said, "'tis very strange, indeed,That ere I lay me down to take my rest,A chapter of the law I may not read,—But God is good, and all is for the best!"7. With these consoling words the Rabbi triesTo sleep,—his head reposing on a log,—But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy eyes,A wolf came up and killed his faithful dog.8. "What new calamity is this?" he cried;"My honest dog—a friend who stood the testWhen others failed—lies murdered at my side!Well,—God is good, and means it for the best."9. Scarce had the Rabbi spoken, when, alas!—As if, at once, to crown his wretched lot,A hungry lion pounced upon the ass,And killed the faithful donkey on the spot.10. "Alas!—alas!" the weeping Rabbi said,"Misfortune haunts me like a hateful guest;My dog is gone, and now my ass is dead,—Well, God is good, and all is for the best!"11. At dawn of day, imploring heavenly grace,Once more he sought the town, but all in vain;A band of robbers had despoiled the place,And all the churlish citizens were slain.12. "Now God be praised!" the grateful Rabbi cried,"If I had tarried in the town to rest,I too, with these poor villagers had died,—Sure, God is good, and all is for the best!"13. "Had not the saucy wind put out my lamp,By which the sacred law I would have read,The light had shown the robbers to my camp,And here the villains would have left me dead.14. "Had not my faithful animals been slain,Their noise, no doubt, had drawn the robbers near,And so their master, it is very plain,Instead of them, had fallen murdered here.15. "Full well I see that this hath happened soTo put my faith and patience to the test;Thanks to His name! for now I surely knowThat God is good, and all is for the best!"
FU TU' RI TY, events to come.CON SULT', counsel with.PRE TEN' SIONS, claims; assumptions.FOR' TI TUDE, patience; endurance.MOD' EL, pattern; example.RES IG NA' TION, submissiveness.O VER WHELMS', overcomes.IN GRAT' I TUDE, unthankfulness.VAG' A BOND, vagrant; worthless.IM' PU DENCE, sauciness.DES' TI NY, fate; final lot.DE CEAS' ED, dead.DE PRIV' ED, robbed.IN CUR' RED, brought on; caused.CON SUL TA' TIONS, couselings.CAL CU LA' TIONS, reckonings.PRE TER NAT' U RAL, (PRETER,beyond;) beyond what is natural; miraculous.IN VOLV' ED, (IN,in; VOLVED,rolled;) rolled in; enveloped.IN TER RUPT', (INTER,in, between; RUPT,to break;) break in between; stop; hinder.
[Headnote 1: JOB, a patriarch, celebrated for his patience, constancy, and piety. For note on DAVID, see page 138.]
NOTE.—The dash at the end of a remark denotes that the speaker is interrupted by the one with whom he is conversing.
Mrs. Credulous.Are you the fortune-teller, sir, that knows every thing?
Fortune-Teller.I sometimes consult futurity, madam; but I make no pretensions to any supernatural knowledge.
Mrs. C.Ay, soyousay; but every body else says you knowevery thing; and I have come all the way from Boston to consult you; for you must know I have met with a dreadful loss.
F. T.We are liable to losses in this world, madam.
Mrs. C.Yes; and I have had my share of them, though I shall be only fifty, come Thanksgiving.
F. T.You must have learned to bear misfortunes with fortitude, by this time.
Mrs. C.I don't know how that is, though my dear husband, rest his soul, used to say, "Molly, you are as patient as Job,[Headnote 1] though you never had any children to lose, as he had."
F. T.Job was a model of patience, madam, and few could lose their all with so much resignation.
Mrs. C.Ah, sir', that is too true'; for even the small lossIhave suffered, overwhelms me!
F. T.The loss of property, madam, comes home to the bosom of the best of us.
Mrs. C.Yes, sir; and when the thing lost can not be replaced, it is doubly distressing. When my poor, good man, on our wedding day, gave me the ring, "Keep it, Molly," said he, "till you die, for my sake." And now, that I should have lost it, after keeping it thirty years, and locking it up so carefully all the time, as I did—
F. T.We can not be too careful in this world, madam; our best friends often deceive us.
Mrs. C.True, sir, true,—but who would have thought that the child I took, as it were, out of the street, and brought up as my own, could have been guilty of such ingratitude? She never would have touched what was not her own, if her vagabond lover had not put her up to it.
F. T.Ah, madam, ingratitude is the basest of all crimes!
Mrs. C.Yes; but to think that the impudent creature should deny she took it, when I saw it in the possession of that wretch myself.
F. T.Impudence, madam, usually accompanies crime. But my time is precious, and the star that rules your destiny will set, and your fate be involved in darkness, unless I proceed to business immediately. The star informs me, madam, that you are a widow.
Mrs. C.La! sir, were you acquainted with my deceased husband?
F. T.No, madam; we do not receive our knowledge by such means. Thy name is Mary, and thy dwelling-place is Boston.
Mrs. C.Some spirit must have told you this, for certain.
F. T.This is not all, madam. You were married at the age of twenty years, and were the sole heir of your deceased husband.
Mrs. C.I perceive, sir, you knoweverything.
F. T.Madam, I can not help knowing what Idoknow; I must therefore inform you that your adopted daughter, in the dead of night—
Mrs. C.No, sir; it was in the day-time.
F. T.Do not interrupt me, madam. In the dead of night, your adopted daughter planned the robbery which deprived you of your wedding-ring.
Mrs. C.No earthly being could have told you this, for I never let my right hand know that I possessed it, lest some evil should happen to it.
F. T.Hear me, madam; you have come all this distance to consult the fates, and find your ring.
Mrs. C.You have guessed my intention exactly, sir.
F. T.Guessed'! madam'. Iknowthis is your object; and I know, moreover, that your ungrateful daughter has incurred your displeasure, by receiving the addresses of a worthless man.
Mrs. C.Every word is gospel truth.
F. T.This man has persuaded your daughter—
Mrs. C.I knew he did, I told her so. But good sir, can you tell me who has the ring?
F. T.This young man has it.
Mrs. C.But he denies it.
F. T.No matter, madam, he has it.
Mrs. C.But how shall I obtain it again?
F. T.The law points out the way, madam,—it ismybusiness to point out the rogue,—you must catch him.
Mrs. C.You are right, sir,—and if there is law to be had, I will spend every cent I own, but I will have it. I knew he was the robber, and I thank you for the information. [Going.]
F. T.But thanks, madam, will not pay for all my nightly vigils, consultations, and calculations.
Mrs. C.Oh, right, sir! I forgot to pay you. What am I indebted to you?
F. T.Only five dollars, madam.
Mrs. C.[Handing him the money.] There it is, sir. I would have paid twenty rather than not have found the ring.
F. T.I never take but five, madam. Farewell, madam, your friend is at the door with your chaise.
[He leaves the room.]
[Enter, Friend.]
Friend. Well, Mary, what does the fortune-teller say?
Mrs. C.Oh, he told me I was a widow, and lived in Boston, and had an adopted daughter,—and——
Friend.But you knew all this before, did you not?
Mrs. C.Yes; but how shouldheknow it? He told me, too, that I had lost a ring,—
Friend.Did he tell you where to find it?
Mrs. C.Oh yes! he says that fellow has it, and I must go to law and get it, if he will not give it up. What do you think of that?
Friend.It is precisely what any fool could have told you. But how much did you pay for this precious information?
Mrs. C.Only five dollars.
Friend.How much was the ring worth?
Mrs. C.Why, two dollars, at least.
Friend.Then you have paid ten dollars for a chaise to bring you here, five dollars for the information that you had already, and all this to gain possession of a ring not worth one quarter of the expense!
Mrs. C.Oh, the rascal! how he has cheated me! I will go to the world's end but I will be revenged.
Friend.You had better go home, and say nothing about it; for every effort to recover your money, will only expose your folly.
QUESTIONS.—1. What had Mrs. Credulous said, by which the fortune-teller knew all the circumstances relative to the loss of her ring? 2. How was she told she must get her ring? 3. What did she pay the fortune-teller? 4. How much for the chaise? 5. What was her ring worth? 6. Was she a bright dame?
UN FAL' TER ING, steady.CON FID' ING LY, trustingly.SOOTH' ING LY, tenderly, calmly.AL LUR'ING, seductive; flattering.AP PRO' PRI ATE, proper; peculiar.SUB MIS' SION, resignation.IN' VA LID, sick or infirm person.CON TENT' MENT, satifaction.MEA' GER, scanty.CON' FI DENCE, faith; reliance.AS SUAG' ED, relieved; mitigated.FER' VEN CY, heat; ardent feeling.RA DI A TION luster.FRU I' TION, realization; enjoyment.
[Footnote: AL' LE GO RY is a word of Greek origin. It is made up of two parts; ALL,other; and EGORY,discourse; the literal meaning of the compound being,discourseaboutotherthings; that is, things other than those expressed by the words, literally interpreted. Allegory is, therefore, the general name for that class of compositions, asFables,Apologues,Parables, andMyth, in which there is adoublesignification, oneliteraland the otherfigurative; the literal being designed merely to give a more clear and impressive view of that which is figurative.]
1. Many years ago, three beautiful sisters came into our world to lighten the burdens of earth's toiling pilgrims, and aid them in preparation for a higher state of existence. Alike commissioned by the Great Father, they were sent on errands of mercy, and were not to turn away from scenes of darkness, sorrow, and suffering.
2. FAITH had a firm, unfaltering step; HOPE, a beaming eye, ever turned to the future; and LOVE, a pitying glance, and a helping hand. They journeyed confidingly together; and when they found a stricken being in danger of perishing by the wayside, FAITH soothingly whispered, "My Father doeth all things well;" HOPE pointed to the cooling shade just in advance; and LOVE assisted him to rise, and aided his feeble steps.
3. Groups of fair children played near the path in which they were traveling. Some of these did not understand the tones of FAITH; but they all listened eagerly to the alluring strains of HOPE, who painted brighter scenes than those they were enjoying, and flowers more fragrant than any they yet had gathered. LOVE delighted to linger with the youthful band, lessening their trials, and increasing their pleasures.
4. Her gentle touch arrested the little hand that was lifted against a playmate, and her soothing voice calmed the angry passions which were swelling in the bosom. When a child stumbled in the way, she tenderly raised it up again, or when a thorn pierced the unwary finger, she kindly removed it, and bound up the bleeding wound.
5. While the sisters were busy in their appropriate mission, a pale-cheeked lad mingled with the group of merry children, though too weak to share their sports. FAITH stole to his side, and whispered of the great Parent above, who afflicts in wisdom, and chastens in love. His eye brightened while she spoke, and he looked upward with that trust and submission which he had never before experienced.
6. Then HOPE came, with visions of returning health, when his frame would be strong and his heart buoyant. But when HOPE and FAITH were gone, again his head drooped, and the tear started. Then LOVE sat down by the invalid, twining a garland of summer blossoms for his pale brow, and singing sweet melodies which charmed his listening ear. The pain was all gone now; smiles wreathed his pallid lips, and the sick boy laughed as merrily as his more robust companions.
7. The sisters, in their journeyings, entered the abode of poverty. It was a humble dwelling, and yet it looked cheerful, yea, even inviting, when the three graced it with their presence. FAITH shed a spirit of calm contentment and heavenly trust in those lowly walls; HOPE whispered of the better mansions prepared for the followers of the Lamb; and LOVE, not less exalted than her sisters, threw a charm over the meager fare and scanty attire of the inmates. FAITH taught them to offer the daily prayer in trusting confidence; HOPE pointed beyond this world to joys which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard; while LOVE lessened each burden, and increased each simple pleasure. FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY! ye, indeed, can make a paradise of the humblest home!
8. There was a darkened chamber, with a wan form tossing restlessly upon the couch. Wealth was there; but it could not allay pain, or prolong life. FAITH, noiseless as a spirit form, glided to the sick one's side. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him," was her language, as she pointed upward. HOPE fain would have whispered of length of days, but she knew this could not be; so she spoke of life eternal, where there is no more pain. Then LOVE smoothed the pillow, and bathed the fevered brow, pausing not in her tender ministries through the night-watches. When morning dawned, the spirit of the sick man passed away, though not until FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE had assuaged the anguish of the parting pang.
9. Weeping mourners gathered around the dead. There were tears,—for "tears well befit earth's partings;" there was sorrow,—for what bitterness is like unto that of the bereaved, when the grave opens to infold the heart's best treasure? Yet FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE were there, assuaging those tears, and mitigating that sorrow. FAITH, even while her cheeks were wet, exclaimed, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."
10. HOPE'S language was, "Not lost, but gone before;" and her eye, having lost none of its brightness, saw with prophetic vision a reunion yet to come. LOVE tenderly wiped away each gathering tear, and gave deeper fervency to the trusting confidence of FAITH, and the inspiring strains of HOPE. And when the sleeper was committed to the dust, these gentle sisters lingered in the lonely house, and by the darkened hearth.
11. Such are FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY,—given by God to lighten human sorrow, and bless the creatures He has made. They have each a mission to fulfill,—different, it is true, and yet they move in harmony. FAITH enables us to submit trustingly to daily trials, viewing a kind Father's hand in each passing event. HOPE, when the sky is dark, and the path thorny, points not only to fairer scenes below, but to that brighter world where there is no night and no sorrow.
12. LOVE lightens every burden, and reflects upon earth a faint radiation of heavenly blessedness,—for the Scriptures assure us that "God is love: and every one that loveth is born of God." The time will come when, the purposes of the wise Creator being accomplished, Faith and Hope will cease. Faith will be lost in sight, Hope in fruition; but Love will remain, binding the spirits of the redeemed in blissful communion, and uniting them to God the Father and Christ the Elder Brother.
13. Faith, Hope, and Charity! blessed spirits! May they be inmates of every heart! May they assist each of us in the peculiar trials which none can know but ourselves! They will come to us if we seek their presence; but they must be carefully nurtured. Let us cherish them in our bosoms, and they will bless us constantly in our pilgrimage below, and conduct us to the presence of our God.