Chapter VII: Section V: The Rhetorical Pause (1)

RHETORICAL PAUSES are those which are frequently required by the voice in reading and speaking, although the construction of the passage admits of no grammatical point.

These pauses should be as manifest to the ear, as those which are indicated by the comma, semicolon, or other grammatical points, though not commonly denoted by any visible sign. In the following examples they are denoted thus, (||).

EXAMPLES.

1.
In slumbers of midnight || the sailor-boy lay,
His hammock swung loose || at the sport of the wind;
But watch-worn and weary, || his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness || danced o'er his mind. DIMOND.

2.
There is a land, || of every land the pride,
Beloved of heaven || o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns || dispense serener light,
And milder moons || imparadise the night.
O, thou shalt find, || howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, || and that spot thy home!

This pause is generally made before or after the utterance of some important word or clause on which it is especially desired to fix the attention. In such cases it is usually denoted by the use of the dash (--).

EXAMPLES.

1. God said--"_Let there be light!_"

2.
All dead and silent was the earth,
In deepest night it lay;
The Eternal spoke creation's word,
And called to being--Day!

No definite rule can be given with reference to the length of the rhetorical, or grammatical pause. The correct taste of the reader or speaker must determine it. For the voice should sometimes be suspended much longer at the same pause in one situation than in another; as in the two following

EXAMPLES.

LONG PAUSE.

Pause a moment. I heard a footstep. Listen now. I heard it again; but it is going from us. It sounds fainter,--still fainter. It is gone.

SHORT PAUSE.

John, be quick. Get some water. Throw the powder overboard. "It can not be reached." Jump into the boat, then. Shove off. There goes the powder. Thank Heaven. We are safe.

* * * * *

REMARKS TO TEACHERS.

It is of the utmost importance, in order to secure an easy and elegant style in reading, to refer the pupil often to the more important principles involved in a just elocution. To this end, it will be found very advantageous, occasionally to review the rules and directions given in the preceding pages, and thus early accustom him to apply them in the subsequent reading lessons. For a wider range of examples and illustrations, it is only necessary to refer to the numerous and various exercises which form the body of this book. They have been selected, in many cases, with a special view to this object.

PART SECOND.

LESSON I.

HER' O ISM, bravery; courage.
MA LI'' CIOUS, ill disposed; resentful.
AM BI'' TION, eager desire.
SAR CAS' TIC, severe; cutting.
DE RIS' ION, ridicule.
CON FER' RED, bestowed.
RES' CU ED, saved; preserved.
DIS AS' TER, calamity.
IN CLIN' ED, disposed.
SYM' PA THY, fellow-feeling.
TEN' DER ED, offered.
A POL' O GY, excuse.

TRUE HEROISM.

OSBORNE.

1. I shall never forget a lesson which I received when quite a young lad, while attending an Academy. Among my schoolmates were Hartly and Vincent. They were both older than myself, and Vincent was looked up to, as a sort of leader in matters of opinion, and in directing our sports.

2. He was not, at heart, a malicious boy; but he had a foolish ambition of being thought witty and sarcastic; and he made himself feared by a habit of turning things into ridicule. He seemed to be constantly looking out for something to occur, which he could turn into derision.

3. Hartly was a new scholar, and little was known of him among the boys. One morning as we were on our way to school, he was seen driving a cow along the road toward the pasture. A group of boys, among whom was Vincent, met him as he was passing.

4. "Now," said Vincent, "let us have a little sport with our country rustic." So saying, he exclaimed: "Halloo, Jonathan! [Footnote: A title frequently applied to the Yankees by the English.] what is the price of milk? What do you feed her on? What will you take for all the gold on her horns? Boys, if you want to see the latest Paris style, look at those boots!"

5. Hartly waved his hand at us with a pleasant smile, and, driving the cow to the field, took down the bars of a rail-fence, saw her safely in the pasture, and then, putting up the bars, came and entered the school with the rest of us. After school, in the afternoon, he let out the cow, and drove her away, none of us knew where. Every day, for two or three weeks, he went through the same task.

6. The boys who attended the Academy, were nearly all the sons of wealthy parents, and some of them were foolish enough to look down, with a sort of disdain, upon a scholar who had to drive a cow to pasture; and the sneers and jeers of Vincent were often repeated.

7. One day, he refused to sit next to Hartly in school, on a pretense that he did not like the odor of the barn. Sometimes he would inquire of Hartly after the cow's health, pronouncing the word "ke-ow," after the manner of some people.

8. Hartly bore all these silly attempts to wound his feelings and annoy him, with the utmost good nature. He never once returned an angry look or word. One time, Vincent said: "Hartly, I suppose your father intends to make a milkman of you."

9. "Why not?" said Hartly. "Oh, nothing," said Vincent; "only do not leave much water in the cans after rinsing them--that's all!" The boys laughed, and Hartly, not in the least mortified, replied: "Never fear; if I ever rise to be a milkman, I will give _good measure_ and _good milk_ too."

10. A few days after this conversation, there was a public exhibition, at which a number of ladies and gentlemen from the city, was present. Prizes were awarded by the Principal of the Academy, and Hartly and Vincent each received one; for, in respect to scholarship, they were about equal.

11. After the prizes were distributed, the Principal remarked that there was _one prize_, consisting of a medal, which was _rarely_ awarded, not so much on account of its great value, as because the instances are _rare_ that merit it. It is THE PRIZE FOR HEROISM. The last boy on whom it was conferred, was Master Manners, who, three years ago, rescued the blind girl from drowning.

12. The Principal then said, "With the permission of the company, I will relate a short story. Not long since, some boys were flying a kite in the street, just as a poor boy on horseback rode by, on his way to mill. The horse took fright, and threw the boy, injuring him so badly that he was carried home, and confined for some weeks to his bed.

13. "None of the boys who had caused the disaster, followed to learn the fate of the wounded boy. There was one, however, who witnessed the accident from a distance, and went to render what service he could. He soon learned that the wounded boy was the grandson of a poor widow, whose only support consisted in selling the milk of a fine cow, of which she was the owner.

14. "Alas! what could she now do? She was old and lame, and her grandson, on whom she depended to drive the cow to pasture, was now sick and helpless. 'Never mind, good woman,' said the boy, 'I can drive your cow.' With thanks, the poor widow accepted his offer.

15. "But the boy's kindness did not stop here. Money was wanted to purchase medicine. 'I have money that my mother sent me to buy a pair of boots,' said the boy; 'but I can do without them for the present.'

16. "'Oh, no!' said the old lady, 'I can not consent to that; but here is a pair of cowhide boots that I bought for Henry, who can not wear them. If you will buy them, giving me what they cost, I can get along very well.' The boy bought the boots, clumsy as they were, and has worn them up to this time.

17. "When the other boys of the Academy saw this scholar driving a cow to the pasture, he was assailed with laughter and ridicule. His thick cowhide boots, in particular, were made matters of mirth. But he kept on cheerfully and bravely, day after day, driving the widow's cow to the pasture, and wearing his thick boots, contented in the thought that he was _doing right_, not caring for all the jeers and sneers that could be uttered.

18. "He never undertook to explain why he drove the cow; for he was not inclined to display his charitable motives, and besides, in heart, he had no sympathy with the false pride that looks with ridicule on any useful employment. It was by _mere accident_ that his course of conduct and self-denial, was yesterday discovered by his teacher.

19. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I appeal to you. Was there not _true heroism_ in this boy's conduct? Nay, Master Hartly, do not steal out of sight behind the blackboard! You were not ashamed of _ridicule_--you must not shun _praise. Come forth, come forth, Master Edward James Hartly, and let us see your honest face!_"

20. As Hartly, with blushing cheeks, made his appearance, the whole company greeted him with a round of applause for his _heroic conduct_. The ladies stood upon benches, and waved their handkerchiefs. The old men clapped their hands, and wiped the moisture from the corners of their eyes. Those clumsy boots on Hartly's feet seemed prouder ornaments, than a crown would have been on his head. The medal was bestowed on him, amid the applause of the whole company.

21. Vincent was heartily ashamed of his ill-natured sneers, and, after the school was dismissed, he went, with tears in his eyes, and tendered his hand to Hartly, making a handsome apology for his past ill manners. "Think no more about it," said Hartly; "let us all go and have a ramble in the woods, before we break up for vacation." The boys, one and all, followed Vincent's example, and then, with shouts and huzzas, they all set forth into the woods--a happy, cheerful group.

QUESTIONS.--1. In what way did Vincent try to make derision of Hartly? 2. How did Hartly receive it? 3. For what did Hartly receive a prize from his teacher? 4. How did the spectators manifest their approbation of Hartly's conduct?

* * * * *

LESSON II.

A VERT' ED, turned aside.
RE PENT' ANT, contrite; sorrowful.
SIN CERE', honest; true-hearted.
SE VERE', harsh; rigid
TAUNTS, scoffs; insults.
PLATE, dishes of gold or silverware.
DE SERT', forsake; abandon.
FAIL' URE, want of success.
SID' ING, taking part.
TYR' AN NY, oppression; cruelty.

YOU AND I.

CHARLES MACKAY.

1. Who would scorn his humble fellow
For the coat he wears?
For the poverty he suffers?
For his daily cares?
Who would pass him in the foot-way
With averted eye?
Would you, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
If _you_ would,--not _I_.

2. Who, when vice or crime repentant,
With a grief sincere,
Asked for pardon, would refuse it,
More than heaven severe?
Who, to erring woman's sorrow,
Would with taunts reply?
Would _you_, brother'! No`,--you _would_ not.
If _you_ would,--not _I_.

3. Would you say that Vice is Virtue
In a hall of state'?
Or, that rogues are not dishonest
If they dine off plate'?
Who would say Success and Merit
Ne'er part company?
Would _you_, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
If _you_ would,--not _I_.

4. Who would give a cause his efforts
When the cause is strong;
But desert it on its failure,
Whether right or wrong`?
Ever siding with the upmost,
Letting downmost lie?
Would _you_, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
If _you_ would,--not _I_.

5. Who would lend his arm to strengthen
Warfare with the right`?
Who would give his pen to blacken
Freedom's page of light`?
Who would lend his tongue to utter
Praise of tyranny?
Would _you_, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
If _you_ would,--not _I_.

QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for the rising and falling inflections, first verse? See page 28. 2. Repeat the rule. 3. What rule for the falling inflections, fifth verse? See page 29. 4. Repeat the rule. What is the meaning of the suffix _en_, in the words _strengthen_, _blacken?_ See SANDERS and McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS OF ENGLISH WORDS, p. 132, Ex. 174.

* * * * *

LESSON III.

WAR' FARE, conflict; struggle.
CLUTCH ES, paws; firm grasp.
DO MIN' ION, rule; sway.
PIN' ION, wing; as of a bird.
PRE' CIOUS, costly; valuable.
SCOFF' ER, scorner.
VA' RI ED, changing; different.
WAVES, moves to and fro.
PRO PHET' IC, (_ph_ like _f_.) foretelling.
DE SPISE', scorn; disdain.
GOAL, the mark that bounds a race.
BECK' ON, motion; invite with the hand.

LIFE'S WORK.

1. _Life is onward:_ use it
With a forward aim;
Toil is heavenly: choose it,
And its warfare claim.
Look not to another
To perform your will;
Let not your own brother
Keep your warm hand still.

2. _Life is onward:_ never
Look upon the past;
It would hold you ever
In its clutches fast.
_Now_ is your dominion;
Weave it as you please;
Bid not the soul's pinion
To a bed of ease.

3. _Life is onward:_ try it,
Ere the day is lost;
It hath virtue: buy it,
At whatever cost.
If the World should offer
Every precious gem,
Look not at the scoffer,
Change it not for them.

4. _Life is onward:_ heed it,
In each varied dress;
Your own _act_ can speed it
On to happiness.
His bright pinion o'er you
Time waves not in vain,
If Hope chant before you
Her prophetic strain.

5. _Life is onward:_ prize it,
In sunshine and in storm;
Oh! do not despise it
In its humblest form.
Hope and Joy together,
Standing at the goal,
Through life's darkest weather
Beckon on the soul.

QUESTIONS.--1. What do _it_ and _them_ refer to, third verse, last line? 2. Repeat the word _sunshine_ several times in quick succession.

* * * * *

LESSON IV.

AC CUS' TOM ED, used; habituated.
PLAN TA' TIONS, settlements.
PRO TEC' TION, safety; defense.
RE PROACH' FUL, reproving.
CAP' TUR ED, taken prisoners.
DE CID' ED, concluded.
COR O NET, little crown.
SA LUT' ED, greeted.
MON' ARCH, sovereign; ruler.
CON CEAL' ED, hid; secreted.
RE STOR' ED, brought back.
VI' O LENCE, outrage; wrong.
RE BUK' ED, reproved.
LEAGUE, compact; alliance.
TER' RI BLE, fearful; dreadful.
AT TEND' ANT, waiter; servant.

THE YOUNG CAPTIVES.

1. Many years ago, dining the early settlements in New England, the children were accustomed to gather large quantities of nuts, which grew in great abundance in the forests that surrounded their little plantations.

2. In one of these nut-gatherings, a little boy and girl, the one eight and the other four years of age, whose mother was dead, became separated from their companions. On their way home, they came across some wild grapes, and were busily engaged in gathering them, till the last rays of the setting sun were fading away.

3. Suddenly they were seized by two Indians. The boy struggled violently, and his little sister cried to him for protection; but in vain. The Indians soon bore them far beyond the bounds of the settlement. Night was far advanced before they halted. Then they kindled a fire, and offered the children some food.

4. The heart of the boy swelled high with grief and anger, and he refused to eat. But the poor little girl took some parched corn from the hand of the Indian who held her on his knee. He smiled as he saw her eat the kernels, and look up in his face with a wondering, yet reproachful eye. Then they lay down to sleep in the dark forest, each with an arm over his little captive.

5. Great was the alarm in the colony when these children did not return. Every spot was searched, where it was thought possible they might have lost their way. But when, at length, their little basket was found, overturned in a tangled thicket, they came to the conclusion that they must have been captured by the Indians.

6. It was decided that before any warlike measures were adopted, the father should go peacefully to the Indian king, and demand his children. At the earliest dawn of morning he departed with his companions. They met a friendly Indian pursuing the chase, who consented to be their guide.

7. They traveled through rude paths, until the day drew near a close. Then, approaching a circle of native dwellings, in the midst of which was a tent, they saw a man of lofty form, with a coronet of feathers upon his brow, and surrounded by warriors. The guide saluted him as his monarch, and the bereaved father, bowing down, thus addressed him:

8. "King of the red men, thou seest a father in pursuit of his lost children. He has heard that your people will not harm the stranger in distress. So he trusts himself fearlessly among you. The king of our own native land, who should have protected us, became our foe. We fled from our dear homes--from the graves of our fathers.

9. "The ocean wave brought us to this New World. We are a peaceful race, pure from the blood of all men. We seek to take the hand of our red brethren. Of my own kindred, none inhabit this wilderness, save two little buds, from a broken, buried stem.

10. "Last night, sorrow entered into my soul, because I found them not. Knowest thou, O king, if thy people have taken my children'? Knowest thou where they have concealed them'? Cause them, I pray thee, to be restored to my arms. So shall the Great Spirit bless thy own tender plants, and lift up thy heart when it weigheth heavily on they bosom."

11. The Indian monarch, fixing on him a piercing glance, said: "Knowest thou me'? Look in my eyes`! Look`! Answer me`! Are they the eyes of a stranger`!" The bereaved father replied that he had no recollection of having ever before seen his countenance.

12. "Thus it is with the white man. He is dim-eyed. He looketh on the _garments_ more than on the _soul_. Where your plows turn up the earth, oft have I stood watching your toil. There was no coronet on my brow. But I was king. And you knew it not.

13. "I looked upon your people. I saw neither pride nor violence. I went an _enemy_, but returned a _friend_. I said to my warriors, 'Do these men no harm. They do not hate Indians.' Then our white-haired prophet of the Great Spirit rebuked me. He bade me make no league with the pale faces, lest angry words should be spoken of me, among the shades of our buried kings.

14. "Yet, again, I went where thy brethren have reared their dwellings. Yes; I entered thy house. _And thou knowest not this brow'?_ I could tell _thine_ at midnight, if but a single star trembled through the clouds. My ear would know _thy_ voice, though the storm was abroad with all its thunders.

15. "I have said that I was king. Yet I came to thee hungry, and thou gavest me bread. My head was wet with the tempest. Thou badest me lie down on thy couch, and thy son, for whom thou mournest, covered me.

16. "I was sad in spirit, and thy little daughter, whom thou seekest with tears, sat on my knee. She smiled when I told her how the beaver buildeth his house in the forest. My heart was comforted, for I saw that she did not hate Indians.

17. "Turn not on me such a terrible eye. I am no stealer of babes. I have reproved the people who took thy children. I have sheltered them for thee. Not a hair of their head is hurt. Thinkest thou that the red man can forget kindness'? They are sleeping in my tent. Had I but a single blanket, it should have been their bed. Take them, and return unto thy people."

18. He waved his hand to an attendant, and, in a moment, the two children were in the arms of their father. The white men were kindly sheltered for that night, and, the next day, they bore the children to their home, and the people rejoiced at their safe return.

QUESTIONS.--1. By whom wore those children taken captive? 2. Who went in search of them? 3. What did he say to the king of the tribe? 4. What reply did the Indian monarch make? 5. Were the children restored to their father? 6. What is meant by the _New World_, 9th paragraph? 7. What by _two little buds, from a broken, buried stem_, same paragraph?

* * * * *

LESSON V.

IM' AGE. form; likeness.
ELAPS' ED, glided away.
WAY' WARD NESS, perverseness.
SHUD' DER ING, chilling tremor.
PAS' SION ATE, easily excited to anger.
MAS' TER Y, rule; sway.
HEAD' STRONG, stubborn; obstinate.
UN DER WENT', experienced.
AF FEC' TION, love; attachment.
THRESH' OLD, entrance.
ANX I' E TY, care; solicitude.
PER PET' U AL, continual.

MY MOTHER'S LAST KISS.

MRS. E. OAKES SMITH.

1. I was but five years old when my mother died; but her image is as fresh in my mind, now that twenty years have elapsed, as it was at the time of her death. I remember her, as a pale, gentle being, with a sweet smile, and a voice soft and cheerful when she praised me; and when I had erred, (for I was a wild, thoughtless child,) there was a mild and tender earnestness in her reproofs, that always went to my little heart.

2. Methinks I can now see her large, blue eyes moist with sorrow, because of my childish waywardness, and hear her repeat: "My child, how can you grieve me so?" She had, for a long time, been pale and feeble, and sometimes there would come a bright spot on her cheek, which made her look so lovely, I thought she must be well. But then she spoke of dying, and pressed me to her bosom, and told me to be good when she was gone, and to love my father, and be kind to him; for he would have no one else to love.

3. I recollect she was ill all day, and my little hobbyhorse and whip were laid aside, and I tried to be very quiet. I did not see her for the whole day, and it seemed very long. At night, they told me my mother was too sick to kiss me, as she always had done before I went to bed, and I must go without it. But I could not. I stole into the room, and placing my lips close to hers, whispered: "Mother, dear mother, won't you kiss me?"

4. Her lips were very cold, and when she put her hand upon my cheek, and laid my head on her bosom, I felt a cold shuddering pass all through me. My father carried me from the room; but he could not speak. After they put me in bed, I lay a long while thinking; I feared my mother would, indeed, die; for her cheek felt cold, as my little sister's did when she died, and they carried her little body away where I never saw it again. But I soon fell asleep.

5. In the morning I rushed to my mother's room, with a strange dread of evil to come upon me. It was just as I feared. A white linen covered her straight, cold form. I removed it from her face: her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were hard and cold. But my mother's dear, dear smile was there, or my heart would have broken.

6. In an instant, all the little faults, for which she had so often reproved me, rushed upon my mind. I longed to tell her how good I would always be, if she would but stay with me. I longed to tell her how, in all time to come, her words would be a law to me. I would be all that she had wished me to be.

7. I was a passionate, headstrong boy; and never did this frame of temper come upon me, but I seemed to see her mild, tearful eyes full upon me, just as she used to look in life; and when I strove for the mastery over my passions, her smile seemed to cheer my heart, and I was happy.

8. My whole character underwent a change, even from the moment of her death. Her spirit seemed to be always with me, _to aid the good_ and _root out the evil_ that was in me. I felt it would grieve her gentle spirit to see me err, and I _could not_, _would not_, do so.

9. I was the child of her affection. I knew she had prayed and wept over me; and that even on the threshold of the grave, her anxiety for my welfare had caused her spirit to linger, that she might pray once more for me. I never forgot my mother's last kiss. It was with me in sorrow; it was with me in joy; it was with me in moments of evil, like a perpetual good.

QUESTIONS.--1. What was the age of the person represented in this piece? 2. What, when his mother died? 3. What did he say of himself when a child? 4. Had he ever grieved his mother? 5. What did he say of his _faults_, after his mother's death? 6. What did he desire to tell her? 7. How ought you to treat your mother, in order to avoid the reproaches of your own conscience?

* * * * *

LESSON VI.

SUR PRISE', amazement.
PER' ISH ED, died.
STINT' ED, small of size.
STERN, severe; harsh; rigid.
LOI' TER, linger; tarry.
STAG' GER ED, reeled to and fro.
FORD' ED, waded.
ES CAP ED, fled from.

THE DEAD CHILD'S FORD.

MRS. E. OAKES SMITH.

1. "Dear mother, here's the _very_ place
Where little John was found,
The water covering up his face,
His feet upon the ground.
Now won't you tell me _all about_
The death of little John'?
And how the woman sent him out
Long after sun was down'?
And tell me _all about the wrong_,
And _that_ will make the story long."

2. I took the child upon my knee
Beside the lake so clear;
For _there_ the tale of misery
Young Edward begged to hear
He looked into my _very_ eyes,
With sad and earnest face,
And caught his breath with wild surprise,
And turned to mark the place
Where _perished_, years agone, the child
Alone, beneath the waters wild.

3. "A weakly orphan boy was John,
A barefoot, stinted child,
Whose work-day task was never done,
Who wept when others smiled.
Around his home the trees were high,
Down to the water's brink,
And almost hid the pleasant sky,
Where wild deer came to drink."
('') "And did they come, the pretty deer'?
And did they drink the water here'?"

4. Cried Edward, with a wondering eye:
"Now, mother, tell to me,
Was John about as _large_ as I'?
Pray tell, how _big_ was he'?"
"He was an _older_ boy than _you_,
And _stouter_ every way;
For, water from the well he drew,
And hard he worked all day.
But then poor John was sharp and thin,
With sun-burnt hair and sun-burnt skin.

5. "His mother used to spin and weave;
From farm to farm she went;
And, though it made her much to grieve,
She John to service sent.
He lived with one, a woman stern,
Of hard and cruel ways;
And he must bring her wood to burn,
From forest and highways;
And then, at night, on cold, hard bed,
He laid his little, aching head.

6. "The weary boy had toiled all day
With heavy spade and hoe;
His mistress met him on the way,
And bade him quickly go
And bring her home some sticks of wood,
For she would bake and brew;
When he returned, she'd give him food;
For she had much to do.
And then she charged him not to stay,
Nor loiter long upon the way.

7. "He went; but scarce his toil-worn feet
Could crawl along the wood,
He was so spent with work and heat,
And faint for lack of food.
He bent his aching, little back
To bear the weight along,
And staggered then upon the track;
For John was _never_ strong;
His eyesight, too, began to fail,
And he grew giddy, faint, and pale.

8. "The load was small, _quite_ small, 'tis true,
But John could bring no more;
The woman in a rage it threw,--
She stamped upon the floor.
(_f_.) 'No supper you shall have to-night;
So go along to bed,
You good-for-nothing, ugly fright,
You little stupid-head!'"
Said Edward: "_I_ would _never_ go;
She wouldn't _dare_ to serve _me_ so!"

9. "The moon-beams fell upon the child
As, weeping, there he lay;
And gusty winds were sweeping wild
Along the forest way,
When up rose John, at dead of night;
For he would see his mother;
_She_ loved her child, although _he_ might
Be _nothing_ to another.
That narrow creek he forded o'er,--
'Tis nearer than around the shore.

10. "But here the shore is rough, you see;
The bank is high and steep;
And John, who climbed on hands and knee,
His footing could not keep.
He backward fell, all, all alone;
Too weak was he to rise;
(_pl._) And no one heard his dying moan,
Or closed his dying eyes.
How still he slept! And grief and pain
Could never come to him again.

11. "A stranger, passing on his way,
Found him, as you have said;
His feet were out upon the clay,
The water o'er his head.
And then his foot-prints showed the path
He took, adown the creek,
When he escaped the woman's wrath,
So hungry, faint, and weak.
And people now, as you have heard,
Do call the place, THE DEAD CHILD'S FORD."

QUESTIONS.--1. Was John an orphan, or half orphan? 2. Was he drowned at night, or in the daytime? 8. By whom was he found? 4. What is the place called where he was drowned? 5. Give the rule for the rising inflections, as marked in the 1st, 2d, and 4th verses. 6. Why are there no quotation marks at the beginning of the 2d verse? 7. Why are half quotations used in the 3d and 8th verses? 8. How should a part of the 8th and 10th verses be read, according to the notation marks? See page 41.

* * * * *

LESSON VII.

EX CLAIM' ED, cried out.
DE MAND' ING, asking; requiring.
A MISS', wrong; improperly.
AC CUS' ED, charged with.
BREACH, violation.
VIS' ION, sight; view.
DE SCRIP' TION, account.
SLUG' GARD, lazy person.

LAME AND LAZY,--A FABLE.

[Footnote: For an explanation of the term fable, see page 236.]

1. Two beggars, LAME and LAZY, were in want of bread. _One_ leaned on his crutch, the _other_ reclined on his couch. Lame called on Charity, and humbly asked for a _cracker_. Instead of a cracker, he received a _loaf_.

2. Lazy, seeing the gift of Charity, exclaimed: "What`! ask a _cracker_ and receive a _loaf'_? Well, I will ask a loaf." Lazy now applied to Charity, and called for a loaf of bread. "Your demanding a loaf," said Charity, "proves you a _loaf_-er. You are of that class and character who _ask_ and _receive not_; because you ask amiss."

3. Lazy, who always found fault, and had rather whine than work, complained of _ill-treatment_, and even accused Charity of a breach of an exceeding great and precious promise: "Ask, and ye shall receive."

4. Charity pointed him to a painting in her room, which presented to his vision three personages, Faith, Hope and Charity. Charity appeared larger and fairer than her sisters. He noticed that her right hand held a pot of honey, which fed a bee disabled, having lost its wings. Her left hand was armed with a whip to keep off the drones.

5. "I do not understand it," said Lazy. Charity replied: "It means that Charity _feeds_ the lame, and _flogs_ the lazy." Lazy turned to go. "Stop," said Charity, "instead of _coin_, I will give you _counsel_. Do not go and live on your poor mother; I will send you to a _rich ant_."

6. "_Rich aunt'_?" echoed Lazy. "Where shall I find her'?" "You will find a description of her," replied Charity, "in Proverbs, sixth chapter, sixth, seventh, and eighth verses, which read as follows: 'Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise; which, having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provided her meat in summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.'"

7. MORAL. Instead of waiting and wishing for a rich UNCLE to _die_, go and see how a rich ANT _lives_.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is the quotation in the 3d paragraph to be found? Answer. John, 16th chapter, 24th verse. 2. Where, the quotation in the sixth paragraph? 3. Why does it commence with a half quotation? Answer. Because it denotes a quotation within a quotation.

* * * * *

LESSON VIII.

HAUGH'TY, proud; disdainful.
PAR TIC' U LAR LY, especially.
TRANS ACT', do; perform.
A BASH' ED, confused.
DIS COV' ER, find out.
EX AM' INE (_egz am' in_), look over; inspect.
REC' TI FY, correct; make right.
REC' OM PENSE, reward.
DE SERVES', merits.
DE CLIN' ING, failing.
PRE VENT' ED, hindered.
AP PRO BA' TION, approval.
PRE'CEPTS, instructions; counsels.
BEN E FAC' TOR, friend; one that benefits.
A MASS' ED, gathered.
A DAPT' ED, suited.
CON FI DEN' TIAL, trusty; trusted.
IN TEG' RI TY, honesty.

FAITHFULNESS IN LITTLE THINGS.

ELIZA A. CHASE.

1. "Is Mr. Harris in'?" inquired a plainly, but neatly dressed boy, twelve or thirteen years of age, of a clerk, as he stood by the counter of a large bookstore.

The clerk regarded the boy with a haughty look, and answered: "Mr. Harris is in; but he is engaged."

2. The boy looked at the clerk hesitatingly, and then said: "If he is not particularly engaged, I would like to see him."

"If you have any business to transact, _I_ can attend to it," replied the clerk. "Mr. Harris can not be troubled with boys like you."

3. "What is this, Mr. Morley?" said a pleasant-looking man, stepping up to the clerk; "what does the boy want?"

"He insisted on seeing you, though I told him you were engaged," returned the clerk, a little abashed by the manner of his employer.

4. "And what do you wish to see me about, my lad?" inquired Mr. Harris, kindly.

The boy raised his eyes, and, meeting the scornful glance of the clerk, said timidly: "I wish you to look at the bill of some books which I bought here, about three months since. There is a mistake in it, which I wish to correct."

5. "Ah, my boy, I see," replied Mr. Harris; "you have _overpaid_ us, I suppose!"

"No, sir," answered the boy. "On the contrary, I purchased some books which are _not charged_ in the bill, and I have called to pay for them."

6. Mr. Harris looked at the boy earnestly for a moment, and then asked: "When did you discover this mistake?"

"Not until I reached home," replied the lad. "When I paid for the books I was in a great hurry, fearing the boat would leave before I could reach it, and I did not examine the bill."

7. "Why did you not return before, and rectify the mistake?" asked the gentleman, in a tone slightly altered.

"Because, sir, I live some distance from the city, and have not been able to return till now."

8. "My dear boy," said Mr. Harris, "you have given me great pleasure. In a long life of mercantile business, I have never met with an instance of this kind before. You have _acted nobly_ and deserve a recompense."

"I ask no recompense," returned the boy. "_I have done nothing but my duty_--a simple act of justice, and that deserves no reward, but itself."

9. "May I ask who taught you such noble principles'?" inquired Mr. Harris.

"My mother'," answered the boy, bursting into tears.

10. "Blessed is the child who has such a mother," said Mr. Harris, "and blessed is the mother of such a child. Be faithful to her teachings, my dear boy, and you will be the staff of her declining years."

"Alas, sir," said the boy, "my mother is dead! It was her sickness and death which prevented me from coming here before."

11. "What is your name?" inquired Mr. Harris.

"Edward Delong."

"Have you a father living'?"

"No, sir. My father died when I was an infant."

12. "Where do you reside?"

"In the town of Linwood, about fifty miles from this city."

"Well, my boy, what are the books which were forgotten?"

"Tacitus and a Latin Dictionary."

13. "Let me see the bill. Ha! signed by A. C. Morley. I will see to that. Here, Mr. Morley!" called Mr. Harris; but the clerk was busily engaged in waiting on a customer at the opposite side of the store, bowing and smiling in the most attentive manner.

14. "Edward," continued Mr. Harris, "I am not going to _reward_ you for what you have done; but I wish to manifest my approbation of your conduct in such a manner, as to make you remember the wise and excellent precepts of your departed mother. Select from my store any ten books you choose, which, in addition to the two you had before, shall be a _present_ to you; and henceforth, as now, my boy, remember and not 'despise the day of small things.' If ever you need a friend, call on me, and I will assist you."

15. The grateful boy thanked his kind benefactor, and, with tears in his eyes, bowed and left the store.

Edward Delong wished for knowledge, and, though the scanty means left him by his mother, could hardly satisfy his desire, by diligence and economy he had advanced far beyond most boys of his age. By working nights and mornings for a neighbor, he had amassed, what seemed to him, a large sum of money, and this was expended in books.

16. Edward's home was now with a man who regarded money as the chief end and aim of life, and severe and constant physical labor as the only means of obtaining that end. For two years Edward struggled with his hopeless condition, toiling early and late to obtain a livelihood.

17. Edward now resolved to go to the city, to seek some employment, better adapted to promote his education. He entered the same store where he purchased the books, and inquired for Mr. Harris.

"He is engaged," replied the polite clerk. "If you will wait a moment, he will be at liberty."

18. "Did you wish to see me?" asked Mr. Harris of the boy, whose thoughts were so intense that he had not noticed the approach of his friend.

"Mr. Harris!" exclaimed Edward, and it was all he could say. For the remembrance of past favors bestowed on him by his kind benefactor, so filled his heart with gratitude, that further utterance was denied.

"My noble Edward!" said the old gentleman. "And so you needed a friend. Well, you shall have one."

19. Five years from that time, Edward Delong was the confidential clerk of Mr. Harris, and, in three more, a partner in the firm. The integrity of purpose, which first won the regard of his benefactor, was his guide in after life. Prosperity crowned his efforts, and happiness blessed his heart,--the never-failing result of _faithfulness in little things_.

QUESTIONS.--1. Why did Edward Delong wish to see Mr. Harris? 2. Had he overpaid for the books he purchased? 3. What did he say when Mr. Harris told him he deserved a recompense? 4. What books were not charged in the bill? 5. In what way did Mr. Harris manifest his approval of Edward's conduct? 6. How long after this, before he again called on Mr. Harris? 7. Why could he not, at first, talk with Mr. Harris? 8. What did Edward finally become?

* * * * *

LESSON IX.

GRACE' FUL LY, beautifully.
PROUD' LY, splendidly.
FOR' EIGN (_for' en_), distant.
CLIMES, countries; regions.
SYM' BOL, sign; emblem.
FEAR' FUL, dreadful; terrible.
CAN' NON RY, discharge of cannon.
JU' BI LEE, season of public joy.
WIT' NESS ED, seen; beheld.
NA' TIVE, birth-giving.
BOON, gift; blessing.
PAR' A DISE, blissful abode.

THE AMERICAN BOY.

SON.

Father, look up, and see that flag!
How gracefully it flies!
Those pretty stripes, they seem to be
A rainbow in the skies.

FATHER.

It is your country's flag, my boy,
And proudly drinks the light,
O'er ocean's wave, in foreign climes,
A symbol of our might.

SON.

Father, what fearful noise is that,
Now thundering in the clouds?
Why do they, cheering, wave their hat,
And rush along in crowds?

FATHER.

It is the voice of cannonry,
The glad shouts of the free;
This is a day of memory,
'Tis FREEDOM'S JUBILEE!

SON.

I wish that _I_ was now a man, _I'd free my country_ too, And cheer as loudly as the rest; But, father, why don't _you_?

FATHER.

I'm getting old and weak; but still
My heart is big with joy;
I've witnessed many a day like this,
Shout you aloud, my boy!

SON.

(oo) HURRAH, FOR FREEDOM'S JUBILEE,
God bless our native land!
And may _I_ live to hold the boon
Of _freedom_ in my hand.

FATHER.

Well done, my boy, grow up, and love
The land that gave you birth,--
A land where Freedom loves to dwell,--
A paradise on earth.

QUESTIONS.--1. Of what is our flag a symbol? 2. What is meant by _Freedom's jubilee_? 3. What is the use of the apostrophes in the words _I'd_, _I'm_, _I've_, &c.

* * * * *

LESSON X.

BIL' LOWS, waves; surges.
DE LIGHT', joy; pleasure.
DOOM, fate; end.
TWINK' LES, sparkles.
GLARE, bright, dazzling light.
EX PANSE', surface; extent.
SWEEP, pass or drive over.
RIFE, filled; abounding.
VOY' AGE, passage; journey.
AN' CHOR ED, moored; fixed.
HA' VEN, harbor.
PEACE' FUL LY, quietly; calmly.

THE SAILOR BOY'S SONG.

WRITTEN BY A GIRL THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE.

1.
(_''_) Oh! the sea, the sea
Is the place for me,
With its billows blue and bright;
I love its roar,
As it breaks on the shore,
And its danger to me is delight.

2.
Oh! I love the wave,
And the sailor brave,
Who often meets his doom
On the ocean vast,
And sleeps his last
In a shell and coral tomb.

3.
And, in the night,
The moon's soft light
Smiles sweetly on the foamy billow:
And many a star,
As it twinkles afar,
Seems to rise from a watery pillow.

4.
In the noontide glare,
Oh! bright and fair
Is the wide expanse of ocean;
In the morn's first light
'Tis a glorious sight,
So full of life and motion.

5.
When the tempests sweep
The rolling deep,
And the angry billows swell,
I mind not the strife,
Which to me is rife
With thoughts that I can not tell.

6.
When life's voyage is o'er,
And I sail no more
On the ocean's troubled breast,
Safe anchored above,
In the haven of love,
May the sailor boy peacefully rest.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is meant by _coral tomb_, 2d verse? 2. What, by _watery pillow_, third verse.

* * * * *

LESSON XI.

FOUN DA' TION, commencement.
DO MES' TI CA TED, tamed.
FA' VOR ITE, one specially favored.
CA RESS' ED, fondled; petted.
GAM' BOL ING, skipping; frolicking.
IM' PULSE, feeling of excitement.
DI LAT' ED, distended.
SPEC TA' TORS, observers; lookers on.
EN DEAV' OR ED, tried; attempted.
ANX' IOUS, very desirous.
IN TER CEPT', (INTER, _between_; CEPT, _to take_ or _seize_;)
to stop on the way.
BE TRAY' ED, showed; disclosed.
RE STRAIN' ED, held back; checked.
COW' ED, depressed with fear.
EN GRAV' ED, cut; inscribed.

In this lesson every pause is marked with its appropriate inflection.

CHASE OF THE PET FAWN.

MISS COOPER.

1. Within twenty years from the foundation of our village', [Footnote: Cooperstown, New York.] the deer had already become scarce', and', in a brief period later', they had almost entirely fled from the country`. One of the last of these beautiful creatures, a pretty little fawn, had been brought in from the woods, when it was very young, and had been nursed and petted by a young lady in the village, until it became completely domesticated.

2. It was graceful, as those little creatures always are, and so gentle and playful that it became a great favorite. Following the different members of the family about, it was caressed and welcomed everywhere. One morning, after gamboling about as usual, until weary, it threw itself down in the sunshine, at the feet of one of its friends, upon the door-step of a store.

3. There came along a countryman, who, for several years, had been a hunter by pursuit, and who still kept several hounds, one of which came to the village with him, on this occasion. The dog, as it approached the place where the fawn lay, suddenly stopped; the little animal saw him, and darted to its feet.

4. It had lived more than half its life among the villagers, and had apparently lost all fear of them; but it now seemed to know instinctively that an enemy was at hand. In an instant, its whole character and appearance seemed changed; all its past habits were forgotten; every wild impulse was awake; its head erect, its nostrils dilated, its eyes flashing.

5. In another instant, before the spectators had thought of the danger, and before its friends could secure it, the fawn was leaping wildly through the street, and the hound in full chase. The by-standers were eager to save it; several persons instantly followed its track; the friends who had long fed and fondled it, were calling the name it had hitherto known; but, in vain.

6. The hunter endeavored to call back his dog; but, with no better success. In half a minute, the fawn had turned the first corner, dashed onward toward the lake, and thrown itself into the water. But, if, for a moment, the startled creature believed itself safe in the lake, it was soon undeceived; for the hound followed in hot and eager chase, while a dozen village dogs joined in the pursuit.

7. A large crowd collected on the bank--men, women, and children,--anxious for the fate of the little animal. Some threw themselves into boats, hoping to intercept the hound before he reached his prey. But the splashing of the oars, the voices of men and boys, and the barking of the dogs, must have filled the beating heart of the poor fawn with terror and anguish; as if every creature on the spot where it had once been caressed and fondled, had suddenly turned into a deadly foe.

8. It was soon seen that the fawn was directing its course across a bay, toward the nearest borders of the forest. Immediately the owner of the hound crossed the bridge, ran at full speed in the same direction, hoping to stop his dog as he landed. On swam the fawn, as it had never swam before; its delicate head scarcely seen above the water, but leaving a disturbed track which betrayed its course alike to anxious friends and fierce enemies.

9. As it approached the land, the interest became intense. The hunter was already on the same side of the lake, calling loudly and angrily to his dog; but the animal seemed to have quite forgotten his master's voice in the pitiless pursuit. The fawn touched the land; in one leap, it had crossed the narrow piece of beach, and, in another instant, it would reach the cover of the woods.

10. The hound followed true to the scent, aiming at the same spot on the shore. His master, anxious to meet him, had run at full speed, and was now coming up at the same critical moment. Would the dog listen to his voice? Could the hunter reach him in time to seize and control him? A shout from the spectators proclaimed that the fawn had passed out of sight into the forest. At the same instant, the hound, as he touched the land, felt the hunter's strong arm clutching his neck.

11. The worst was believed to be over; the fawn was leaping up the mountain-side, and its enemy restrained. The other dogs, seeing their leader cowed, were easily managed. A number of men and boys dispersed themselves through the wood in search of the little creature; but, without success. They all returned to the village, reporting that the animal had not been seen by them. Some persons thought that, after its fright had passed over, it would return of its own accord.

12. It wore a pretty collar with its owner's name engraved upon it, so that it could be easily known from any other fawn, that might be straying about the woods. Before many hours had passed, a hunter presented himself before the lady, whose pet the little creature had been, and showed a collar with her name upon it. He said that he was out hunting in the morning, and saw a fawn in the distance. The little creature, instead of bounding away as he expected, moved toward him. He took aim, fired, and shot it to the heart.

13. When he found the collar about its neck, he was very sorry he had killed it. One would have thought that that terrible chase would have made it afraid of man; but no; _it forgot the evil_, and _remembered the kindness only_; and came to meet, as a friend, the hunter who shot it. It was long mourned by its best friend.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where did the lady reside who kept this pet fawn? 2. Is there a lake near that village? 3. What river rises in that lake? 4. Describe the chase of the pet fawn. 5. How came it to be shot? 6. What did it forget, and what remember?

* * * * *

LESSON XII.

IN' FLU ENCE, moral power.
DROOP' ED. bent over; languished.
TING' ED, stained; colored.
DEL' I CATE, soft; tender.
TRIB' UTE, pay; requital.
CASE' MENT, window.
PERCH' ED, alighted.
PLAINT' IVE, sorrowful.
AF FRIGHT' ED, alarmed.
TIM' ID, fearful; timorous.
RE STRAIN' ED, held back.
AT TEST', bear witness.
SUA' SION, act of persuading.
COM PLI' ANCE, submission.
PAL' ED, inclosed.
DE BAS' ED, degraded.
DE' VI ATE, wander; stray.
LE' NI ENT, mild; merciful.

KINDNESS.

KATE CLARENCE.

1. Not _man_ alone, but _every thing_ in nature, owns its influence. I knew a little flower that sprang up amidst the weeds and brambles of a long-neglected garden; but soon drooped its slender stem, and its leaves grew tinged from the waste around.

2. I took it to my home, supported its drooping stem, and placed it where the warm sunshine and refreshing showers cheered its little life. Again it raised its beautiful head, and its delicate buds burst forth in gladness; and when the winds of autumn came, the dying flower gave up to me its golden seeds--a thankful tribute for my love. 'Twas a little thing, but _kindness_ did the deed.

3. There came to my casement, one winter's morning, a shivering, starving bird, and perched itself there, striving to tell its tale of suffering; but feeble were its plaintive notes, and its glossy breast was ruffled in the blast. I raised the window. Affrighted, the little wanderer spread its wings, as if to soar away; but, weak and faint, it sank fluttering in my outstretched hands. I drew it in. Alarmed, it darted round and round the room, and beat against the frosted pane. _O Cruelty! thou hast taught even the little birds to doubt!_

4. When the little stranger grew less timid, I gave it clear water, and tempting food, and so, for many weeks, we dwelt together; but when came the first warm, sunny day, I opened my doors, and it flew away,--_away up, up_ into the dark-blue heavens, till it was lost to my eager gaze.

5. But not an hour had passed, ere I heard the flutter of its tiny wings, and saw, without, its little breast glittering in the golden sunbeams. It had a joyous life. No wired cage restrained its restless wing; but, free as the summer cloud, would it come each day, and gladly would my delighted soul drink in the silvery notes of its gladdening melody.