/ 
 
 .6 
 

 
 * 
 
 <\ \ v t >V 
 
 ' 
 
 N\
 
 SANDERS' 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER: 
 
 EMBRACING A 
 
 COMPREHENSIVE COURSE OF INSTRUCTION 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES OF RHETORICAL READING; 
 
 A CHOICE COLLECTION OF EXERCISES IN READING, 
 BOTH IN PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 FOE THE USE OP THE 
 
 HIGHER FEMALE SEMINARIES, 
 
 AS ALSO, THE HIGHER CLASSES IX FEMALE SCHOOLS GENERALLY. 
 
 BY CHARLES W. SAXDER?, A.M., 
 
 AUTHOR Or "A SERIES OF SCHOOL READERS," "SPELLER, DEFIXER, AND ANALYZER," 
 " ELOCUTIONARY CHART," " YOUNG CHOIR," " YOUNG VOCALIST," ETC. ETC. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 S. C. GRIGGS & CO., Ill LAKE STREET. 
 
 NEW YORK: IVISON & PHINNEY. 
 
 CINCINNATI: MOORE, WILSTACH, KEYS & co. 
 
 DETROIT: MORSE & SELLECK. 
 
 AUBURN: SEYMOUR & co. 
 
 1855.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 CHARLES W. 8ANDEBS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of 
 New York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY PRINTED BY 
 
 THOMAS B. SMITH J. D. TORREY, 
 
 84 Beekman St., N. Y. 1C Spruce Street.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 " As in life, so in one's studies, the most beautiful and the most 
 humane thing is, I think, so to blend the grave and the gay, that 
 the one may not settle down into melancholy, nor the other 
 degenerate into levity." This observation, which is from the 
 younger Pliny, one of the most agreeable writers of antiquity, and 
 which, in other words by other authors, has often been made, in- 
 dicates the principle, so far as style is concerned, on which the 
 whole series of Sanders' Reading Books, from first to last, has 
 been designed to be constructed. 
 
 In none of the series, however, has the application of this prin- 
 ciple been more studiously observed, since in none has it appeared 
 more decidedly appropriate, than in the present volume. In the 
 selection of the matter, after the first and highest duty, which was 
 to secure in each piece the best possible moral tendency, that which 
 came next in the order of importance, was to awaken and prolong 
 attention by a judicious combination of all varieties of style, sub- 
 ject, and diction. 
 
 But, though the primary object of this, as of every similar work, 
 is to furnish a suitable series of exercises in the art of reading, and 
 though, for the better accomplishment of that purpose, composi- 
 tions, in which gravity and gayety are duly mingled, have been 
 carefully sought, while direct moral instructions are frequently 
 enforced, the book will be found, beside all this, to abound every 
 where in those incidental and collateral teachings, which are all the 
 more striking, because unexpected, and all the more impressive, 
 because connected with particular characters and circumstances. 
 
 To secure pieces, accordingly, in which noble sentiments, ex- 
 pressed in elegant language, fall, as it were, by the way-side, and 
 acquire extraordinary interest from extraordinary circumstances, 
 has been the most difficult task in the preparation of this Young 
 Ladies' Reader. It has cost a deal of time and a deal of thought. 
 For what, in some general sense, might be considered an admira- 
 
 2091536
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 ble composition, might, when regarded as an educational agent, be 
 found, in some particulars, perchance in every important particu- 
 lar, utterly inappropriate. With what success the author has 
 executed this part of his design, is left to the judgment of those 
 experienced in the husiness of education. 
 
 In that part of the work devoted to a formal course of instruc- 
 tion in the principles of Rhetorical Reading, will be found, it is 
 believed, whatever aid written rules can give, on a subject like 
 this. Much, however, as is universally confessed, must, after all, 
 be left to the voice, the taste, and the manner of the living in- 
 structor. 
 
 In explanatory notes, sometimes at the head of an exercise, 
 sometimes at the bottom of the page, the pupil will often find 
 things explained, which are necessary to be known, in order to a 
 full understanding of what is required to be read. This feature of 
 the work is simply an application, so far as seemed desirable, of 
 the author's well-known plan of explanation, adopted in the other 
 members of the series. 
 
 If these few prefatory words convey some general idea of the 
 plan and purpose of the work, their object is sufficiently accom- 
 plished. A more thorough acquaintance with the nature of its 
 claims to usefulness, as a text-book, can be derived only from a 
 careful examination of its contents, and a fair trial in the school- 
 room. That it will bear both these tests, is the cherished hope of 
 the author a hope founded upon the experience of many years 
 in the actual business of teaching, many interchanges of thought 
 with the most eminent educators, added to a wide, varied, and 
 careful observation in all classes of schools. 
 
 That it may, therefore, serve to aid in developing and training 
 the powers of the voice, in securing the charms of a graceful 
 and effective delivery, in instilling noble and elevated senti- 
 ments, in imparting a taste for those refined pleasures that grow 
 out of a just appreciation of what is sublime and beautiful in 
 thought, chaste and elegant in expression, that it may, in fine, 
 prove a worthy auxiliary in that sort of educational discipline 
 that makes THE TEUK LADY, is the confident expectation with 
 which it is submitted to those, for whose use it has been especially 
 prepared. 
 
 New York, April, 1865.
 
 CONTENT S, 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 SECTION I. ARTICULATION 11 
 
 Elementary Sounds of the Letters 12 
 
 Substitutes for the Vowel Elements 13 
 
 Substitutes for the Consonant Elements 13 
 
 Errors in Articulation 14 
 
 Combinations of Consonants 15 
 
 Examples to illustrate Indistinct Articulation 16 
 
 Miscellaneous Examples 17 
 
 SECTION II. ACCENT AND EMPHASIS 18 
 
 Examples of Primary and Secondary Accent 19 
 
 Examples of Intensive Emphasis 20 
 
 Examples of Absolute Emphasis 21 
 
 Examples of Antithetic Emphasis 22 
 
 SECTION IIL INFLECTIONS 23 
 
 Monotone 24 
 
 Rising and Falling Inflections 25 
 
 Rules for the use of Inflections 26 
 
 The Circumflex 32 
 
 SECTION IV. MODULATION 33 
 
 Pitch of Voice 34 
 
 Quantity 36 
 
 Rules for Quantity 37 
 
 Quality 38 
 
 Rules for Quality 38 
 
 NOTATION IN MODULATION 40 
 
 Examples for Exercise in Modulation 40 
 
 SECTION V. TEE RHETORICAL PAUSE. . . . t 43
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 EXERCISES IK RHETORICAL READING. 
 
 EXEP.CISE PAGE 
 
 1. The Sense of Beauty William EUery Channing, 45 
 
 2. The Spirit of Beauty Rufus Dawes, 47 
 
 3. Sabinus and Olinda Oliver Goldsmith, 48 
 
 4. The Proper Education for Females Hannah Mare, 52 
 
 5. I Love to Live, and I Live to Love 55 
 
 6. Life is Sweet 57 
 
 7. Common People T. S. Arthur, 59 
 
 8. The Seen and the Unseen Ephraim Peabody, 62 
 
 9. No Concealment L. H. Sigourney, 67 
 
 10. The Two "Weavers Hannah More, 68 
 
 11. Beauty of the Morning Hervey, 70 
 
 12. The True Dignity of Labor William Howitt, 72 
 
 13. The Laborer Wittiam D. Gallagher, 77 
 
 14. Action always Healthful Cowper, 78 
 
 15. An Eastern Apologue 81 
 
 16. Live not to Yourself. Rev. John Todd, 83 
 
 17. The Wants of Man John Quincy Adams, 85 
 
 18. The Suliote Mother Mrs. Hemans, 88 
 
 19. The Valleys of Lebanon Lamarline, 90 
 
 20. Ruins of Copan and Palenque John L. Stephens, 92 
 
 21. The Old Clock on the Stairs Henry W. Longfellow, 95 
 
 22. Forgive and Forget M. Farquhar Tapper, 97 
 
 23. Bitter Words 99 
 
 24 Religion and Superstition Elizabeth Carter, 100 
 
 25. Domestic Life Vvxsimus Knox, \ 04 
 
 26. Scene from William Tell James Sheridan Knowles, 107 
 
 27. The Indian Lament. , Henry R. Schoolcrafl, 111 
 
 28. Uncle Abel and Little Edward Harriet Beecher Stowe, 113 
 
 20. Dignity of Human Nature Addison, 119 
 
 :;0. Pride of Ancestry Daniel Webster, 121 
 
 31. Nature's Nobility Rev. George Aspinwall, 123 
 
 32. Bendemeer's Stream Thomas Moore 124 
 
 33. Arachne and Melissa Harris, 125 
 
 34. Nature to the Eye of a Christian Alison, 128 
 
 35. The Virtuous Woman Proverbs, 130 
 
 30. The Boy und his Angel Caroline M. Sawyer, 132 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 EXERCISE PAGE 
 
 37. The Life- Voyage Frances S. Osgood, 134 
 
 38. There is a God Chateaubriand, 139 
 
 39. A Night in the Deserts of the New World " 140 
 
 40. Plainness versus Beauty Robert Chambers, 141 
 
 41. The Old House Clock Harper's Magazine, 143 
 
 42. Nature's Gentleman Eliza Cook, 144 
 
 43. The Heritage James Russell I^oweU, 147 
 
 44. True Estimate of Character Tattler, 149 
 
 45. Novelty Henry Grove, 150 
 
 46. A Pitiable Patient 152 
 
 47. The Lover's Leap Literary Magnet, 156 
 
 48. The "Whirlwind Miss Juliet H. Lewis, 161 
 
 49. Know before you Speak Robert Chambers, 163 
 
 50. The Artist Surprised J. Hogg, 1 68 
 
 51. Mortality Knox, 173 
 
 52. The American Forest Girl. Mrs. Hemans, 175 
 
 53. Honor to Women From the German of Schiller, 178 
 
 54. The People always Conquer Edward Everett, 180 
 
 55. The End of Female Education Hannah More, 182 
 
 56. Love the Aged 184 
 
 57. A Lucid Interval Literary Magnet, 186 
 
 58. The Reign of Elizabeth francis Jeffrey, 188 
 
 59. The Princess Charlotte of Wales Robert Hall, 190 
 
 60. The Death-Bed Thomas Hood, 192 
 
 61. A Dirge for the Beautiful D. Ellen Goodman 192 
 
 62. The Pure in Heart shall Meet Again Wm. Leggett, . 194 
 
 63. Life Endeared by Age Oliver Goldsmith, 195 
 
 64. Estimate of Life William Hazlitt, 197 
 
 65. Ravages of Time 199 
 
 66. Passing Away Miss Jewsbury, 200 
 
 67. When is the Time to Die ? Amanda M. Edmond, 201 
 
 68. Historical Reading. Macaulay, 202 
 
 69. Italian Scenery Alison, 204 
 
 70. Loss of the Arctic Henry Ward Beecher, 207 
 
 71. Town and Country J. Sheridan Knowles, 210 
 
 72. Song of the Shirt Thomas Hood, 214 
 
 73. An Address to an Arm-chair, newly-clad W. Somerville, 216 
 
 74. Fashion Mrs. Barbauld, 218 
 
 75. The Mountain of Miseries Addison, 225 
 
 76. Pride . .Alexander Pope, 230 
 
 77. Jenny Lind's Greeting to America , Hazard Tayior, 231
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 78. Victoria's Tears Browning, 232 
 
 79. Female Patriotism Hook, 233 
 
 80. Authors K P. Whippk, 241 
 
 81. Ellen, the Lady of the Lake Walter Scott, 244 
 
 82. The Italian Exile 246 
 
 83. Adversity, with Interjections by the Reader. .Robert Chambers, 247 
 
 84. The Mushroom Family Mackenzie, 252 
 
 85. The Pilgrim From the German of Schiller, by Bulwer, 257 
 
 86. Ode to Contentment ParneU, 258 
 
 87. The Little Word No Merchants 1 Ledger, 261 
 
 88. The Grave Literary Magnet, 264 
 
 89. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard Gray, 267 
 
 90. National Monuments Alison, 271 
 
 91. Where should the Scholar Live? Longfellow, 274 
 
 92. The Belfry Pigeon N. P. Willis, 275 
 
 93. The Stormy Petrel Park Benjamin, 277 
 
 94. Communings of Nature PoUok, 278 
 
 95. Man Kirby, 279 
 
 96. The Modern Navigator Edward Everett, 282 
 
 97. Ximena and Elmina Mrs. Hemans, 284 
 
 98. The Hunter of the Alps From the German of Schiller, 286 
 
 99. Story of Alcander and Septimius Oliver Goldsmith, 288 
 
 100. The Real Duration of Men's Lives T. Noon Talfourd, 292 
 
 101. Value of Time Young, 294 
 
 102. Angelo and Claudia Miss Mitford, 297 
 
 103., Nimroud in Spring A. H. Layard, 299 
 
 104. La Fayette Charles Sprague, 301 
 
 105. Bingen on the Rhine. Mrs. Norton, 304 
 
 106. Parting of Hector and Andromache Pope's Homer's Iliad, 305 
 
 107. The Desert and the Garden Rev. Hottis Reed, 309 
 
 108. Charge against Lord Byron Jeffrey, 313 
 
 109. Lord Byron Robert Pollok, 316 
 
 110. The Raven Edgar A. Poe, 320 
 
 111. The Vision of Carazan Hawkesworth, 354 
 
 112. Gehazi's Punishment Bible, 328 
 
 113. Thanatopsis WiUiam C. Bryant, 330 
 
 114. Hymn of the Seasons Thomson, 333 
 
 11 5. A Remarkable Incident De Quincey, 337 
 
 116. The Talking Lady Miss Mitford, 340 
 
 117. The Unbidden Guest Luetta J. Case, 344 
 
 118. Aspire! M. F. Tupper, 346
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 KTRBCISE PACK 
 
 119. The Aged Mrs. St. Leon Loud, 347 
 
 120. Study Favorable to Originality Charles Butler, 348 
 
 121. Genius E. P. Whipple, 350 
 
 122. The Voices of the Dead. Dewey, 356 
 
 123. Resignation Henry W. Longfellow, 359 
 
 124. The Hour of Death Mrs. Hemans, 361 
 
 125. Moral Beauty Victor Cousin, 362 
 
 126. Human Activity without Limit " 364 
 
 127. Hymn to the Setting Sun G. P. JR. James, 366 
 
 128. Incomprehensibility of God Miss Elizabeth Townsend, 367 
 
 129. Woman : her Power and her Progress L. Aime Martin, 369 
 
 130. Death of Little Nell Charles Dickens, 372 
 
 131. L The Sculptor-Boy's Vision 376 
 
 " II. Constancy George P. Morris, 377 
 
 " III. Freedom of the Mind William Lloyd Garrison, 378 
 
 " IV. Invocation Anne C. Lynch, 378 
 
 V. True "Wit 379 
 
 " VI. The Heart where the Treasure is Bernard Barton, 379 
 
 " VII. Lines from a Lady Born Blind 380 
 
 " VIII. Ode to the Lark James Hogg, 380 
 
 " IX. Epithalamium J. G. C. Brainard, 381 
 
 " X. Strength of Affection Shakspeare, 382 
 
 " XI. Memory of the Departed W. D. Gallagher, 382 
 
 " XII. Mind Akenside, 383 
 
 " XIII. The Flight of Time J. G. Percival, 383 
 
 " XIV Immortality Robert Burns, 384 
 
 " XV. Difference between Knowledge and Wisdom. 384 
 
 132. The Tempest George D. Prentice, 385 
 
 133. The Broken-Hearted u 388 
 
 134. The Stars of Night 390 
 
 135. A Mother's Love Emily Taylor, 391 
 
 136. Infancy and Mature Age Crabbe, 392 
 
 137. Social Enjoyment, where found N. T. Mirror, 394 
 
 138. Forest Trees Washington Irving, 400 
 
 139. Enjoyment of the Present Hour recommended Dryden, 403 
 
 140. The Rainbow Amelia B. Welby, 404 
 
 141. The Light-House Thomas Moore, 406 
 
 142. Solid Improvement, the True End of Female Education 
 Sydney Smith, 407 
 
 143. Rank and Riches, not Essential to Taste and Genius 
 Thomas Carlyle, 411
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 144. The Lord of Burleigh Alfred Tennyson, 413 
 
 145. The Maid of the Inn Southey, 416 
 
 146. The Female Convict to her Infant Dale, 420 
 
 147. The Brahmin and the Rogues Macaulay, 421 
 
 148. Othello's Defense Shakspeare, 422 
 
 149. Hagar in the "Wilderness N. P. Willis, 427 
 
 150. The Prairie on Fire J. Fenimore Cooper, 431 
 
 151. The Acorn E. Oakes Smith, 437 
 
 152. The Falls of Niagara L. H. Sigourney, 446 
 
 153. Origin of the White, the Red, and the Black Man W. Irving, 451 
 
 154. The Ottawa Maid George CoUon, 453 
 
 155. Song of the Lightning G. W. Cutter, 457 
 
 156. Beauty, the Mark God sets upon Virtue R. W. Emerson, 460 
 
 157. Duties of American Citizens Francis Wayland, 462 
 
 158. Earth and Heaven G. F. Richardson, 464 
 
 159. Speak Gently to the Erring F. G. Lee, 465 
 
 160. Character of Napoleon Lamartine, 466 
 
 161. The Corsican not Content William H. Sev;ard, 468 
 
 162. Death of Napoleon Isaac M'LeUan, 471 
 
 163. The Needle Samuel Woodworth, 472 
 
 164. The Victor's Crown Mrs. Hale, 473 
 
 165. The Moral World superior to the Natural Grimke, 475 
 
 166. Beauty of Age L. H. Sigourney, 477 
 
 167. Genius Waking J. G. Percival, 481 
 
 168. Battle of Waterloo Byron, 484 
 
 169. L Hope Campbell, 486 
 
 " II. Immortality of the Soul Addison, 486 
 
 " III. True Happiness R. B. Sheridan, 486 
 
 " IV. A Firm Religious Belief. Sir Humphrey Davy, 487 
 
 V. Nature 487 
 
 " VI. Retrospection 488 
 
 " VII. Selfishness Pope, 488 
 
 " VIII. A Resolute Mind Washington Irving, 488 
 
 " IX. The Drop of Water Richard Mant, 489 
 
 " X. Female Fortitude Washington Irving, 489 
 
 170. Connecticut in Early Times Bancroft, 490 
 
 171. The Tomb of Years Charles Constantine Pise, 493 
 
 172. Evening in Paradise Milton, 494 
 
 173. Power and Providence of God Bible, 498
 
 S A N D E R S' 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEK. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ELOCUTION is the art of delivering written or extem- 
 poraneous composition with force, propriety, and ease. 
 
 It deals, therefore, with words, not only as individuals, but as 
 members of a sentence, and parts of a connected discourse : in- 
 cluding every thing necessary to the just expression of the sense. 
 Accordingly, it demands, in a special manner, attention to the 
 following particulars ; viz., ARTICULATION, ACCENT, EMPHASIS, IN- 
 FLECTION, MODULATION, and PAUSES. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 ARTICULATION. 
 
 ARTICULATION is the art of uttering distinctly and 
 justly the letters and syllables constituting a word. 
 
 It deals, therefore, with the elements of words, just as elocution 
 deals with the elements of sentences : the one securing the true 
 enunciation of each letter, or combination of letters, the other 
 giving to each word, or combination of words, such a delivery as 
 best expresses the meaning of the author. It is the basis of all 
 
 QUESTIONS. What is Elocution ? To what subjects does it require 
 particular attention ? What is Articulation ?
 
 12 
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 good reading, and should be carefully practiced by the learner. 
 The following Directions and Examples are given as guides : 
 
 I. Produce, according to the following Table, all the Ele- 
 mentary Sounds of the Language : 
 
 ELEMENTARY SOUNDS OF THE LETTERS, 
 
 VOWEL SOUNDS. 
 
 ' SUB-TONICS. 
 
 
 TONICS. 
 
 
 Element. 
 
 
 Power. 
 
 Element. 
 
 
 Power. 
 
 20. J 
 
 as in 
 
 Jet. 
 
 I. 1 A 
 2. "A 
 
 as in 
 M 
 
 Ape. 
 _4rm. 
 
 21. L 
 22. M 
 
 M 
 
 U 
 
 Let. 
 ' Man. 
 
 3. S A 
 
 it 
 
 -411. 
 
 23. N 
 
 H 
 
 Not. 
 
 4. 4 A 
 
 (i 
 
 At. 
 
 24. R 
 
 tl 
 
 .Sun. 
 
 5. 'E 
 
 H 
 
 Eve. 
 
 25. Y 
 
 U 
 
 Vent. 
 
 6. "E 
 
 (( 
 
 End. 
 
 26. W 
 
 (( 
 
 TFent. 
 
 7. 'I 
 
 It 
 
 Jce. 
 
 27. Y 
 
 U 
 
 Fes. 
 
 8. 'I 
 
 u 
 
 /t. 
 
 28. 'Z 
 
 u 
 
 Zeal. 
 
 9. 'O 
 
 It 
 
 Old. 
 
 29. 2 Z 
 
 u 
 
 Azure. 
 
 10. 2 O 
 
 tt 
 
 Do. 
 
 30. NG 
 
 u 
 
 Sing. 
 
 11. 3 O 
 
 M 
 
 OK. 
 
 31. TH 
 
 ll 
 
 Thy. 
 
 12. 'U 
 
 ii 
 
 Use. 
 
 
 A-TONica. 
 
 
 13. 2 U 
 
 H 
 
 Up. 
 
 32. F 
 
 as in 
 
 Fit. 
 
 14. S U 
 
 (( 
 
 Pull. 
 
 33. H 
 
 ti 
 
 fiat. 
 
 15. 01 
 
 ll 
 
 Oil 
 
 34. K 
 
 u 
 
 Kid. 
 
 16. OU 
 
 U 
 
 Out. 
 
 35. P 
 
 u 
 
 Pit. 
 
 
 
 
 36. 3 
 
 u 
 
 Sin. 
 
 CONSONANT SOUNDS. 
 
 37. T 
 
 u 
 
 Top. 
 
 
 SUB-TONICS. 
 
 
 38. CH 
 
 u 
 
 Ch&t. 
 
 IT. B 
 
 as in 
 
 But. 
 
 39. SH 
 
 u 
 
 Shun. 
 
 18. D 
 
 m 
 
 Dan. 
 
 40. TH 
 
 u 
 
 Thin. 
 
 19. G* 
 
 u 
 
 Gun. 
 
 41. WHt 
 
 u 
 
 When. 
 
 * Soft G is equivalent to J ; Soft C to S, and hard C and Q to K. 
 X is equivalent to K and S, as in box, or to G and Z, as in exalt. 
 
 f WH is pronounced as if the H preceded W, otherwise it would be 
 pronounced W-hen. R should be slightly trilled before a vowel, For 
 further instructions, see Sanders and Merrill's Elementary and Elocu- 
 tionary Chart. 
 
 QUESTIONS. How many Elementary Sounds are there ? How many 
 vowel sounds ? What are they ? Utter the consonant sounds.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADEB. 13 
 
 SUBSTITUTES FOR THE VOWEL ELEMENTS,, 
 
 1st. For Long 'A, we have ai, as in sail ; au in gauge ; ay in 
 
 lay ; ea in great ; ei in deign ; ey in they. 
 2d. For Flat "A, au in daunt ; ua in guard ; ea in heart. 
 3d. For Broad S A, au in pause; aw in law ; eo in George ; oa in 
 
 groat ; o In Aorn ; ou in sought. 
 4th. For /S%0r 4 A, ai in plaid ; ua in guaranty. 
 5th. For Zcm<7 'E, ea in weak ; ei in seize; ie in brief; eo in |>e0- 
 
 pZe ; * in pique ; ey in key, 
 
 6th. For /5%0r 3 E, a in ay ; ai in said ; ay in says ; ea in dead ; e^ 
 
 in heifer; eo in leopard ; ie in friend; ue'in guess; uinbury. 
 
 7th. For Long 'I, ai in aisle; ei in sleight ; ey in eye ; ie in die/ 
 
 i in guide ; uy in fo/ / y in ry. 
 8th. For Short 2 I, e in English ; ee in fteera ; ie in i#ye ; o in wo- 
 
 Twen / u in Swsy / tii in 'build ; y in symbol. 
 9th. For Zon^ J O, au in hautboy ; eau in beau ; eo in yeoman ; ew 
 
 in sew> ; oa in 60a / oe in A0e / ow in soul ; ow inflow. 
 10th. For Long Slender 2 O, oe in sAoe; ow in soup. 
 11 th. For A0r S O, a in was; <m in hough ; ow in knowledge. 
 12th. For Zong' a U, eaw in beauty ; eu in feud ; ew in dew / ue in 
 
 ce; CM in your ; ui in fruit. 
 
 13th. For Short "U, e in her ; i in sir; oe in doea; o in love. 
 14th. For Aor Slender "IT, o in w>o/; ou in would. 
 15th. For 01, oy in joy. 
 16th. For OU, ow in wow. 
 
 SUBSTITUTES FOR THE CONSONANT ELEMENTS, 
 For F, we have g\ as in laugh ; ph in sphere. 
 For J, <7 in gem, gin, gyre. 
 
 For K, c in caw / cA in chord ; gh in hough ; q in jwii. 
 For S, c in cent, cion, cygnet. 
 For T, d in faced: phth in phthisic. 
 For V,y in o/"; ph in Stephen. 
 For Y, i in onion, valiant. 
 For 'Z, c in suffice ; s in is ; x in Xerxes. " 
 For 2 Z, in treasure ; & it) azure. 
 
 QUESTIONS. How many substitutes has long A ? How many has 
 flat A, and what are they ? How many has broad A, <fec. ? How 
 many substitutes has each of the consonants, and what are they ?
 
 14 
 
 SANDERS' NEW SEKIES. 
 
 For NG, n in languid, linguist. 
 
 For SH, ci in social ; ch in chaise ; si in pension ; s in sure / 
 
 in wswe ; i in notion. 
 For CH, i infustion, mixtion. 
 B, D, G, H, L, M, N, P, and K, have no substitutes. 
 
 II. Avoid the suppression of a syllable ; as, 
 
 cab'n 
 
 cap'n 
 
 barr'l 
 
 ev'ry 
 
 hist'ry 
 
 reg'lar 
 
 sev-ral 
 
 rhet'ric 
 
 for 
 
 cab-in. 
 
 cap-tain. 
 
 bar-rel. 
 
 ev-er-y. 
 
 his-to-ry. 
 
 reg-w-lar. 
 
 sev-er-al. 
 
 rhet-o-ric. 
 
 mem'ry 
 
 jub'lee 
 
 trav'ler 
 
 fam'ly 
 
 vent'late 
 
 des'late 
 
 prob'ble 
 
 par-tic'lar 
 
 for 
 
 mem-o-ry. 
 
 ju-bi-lee. 
 
 trav-el-er. 
 
 fam-i-ly. 
 
 ven-ti-late. 
 
 des-o-late. 
 
 prob-a-ble. 
 
 par-tic-w-lar. 
 
 III. Avoid the omission of any sound properly belonging 
 to a word j as, 
 
 read-in for 
 
 read-in^r. pr'-tect for 
 
 pro-tect. 
 
 swif-ly " 
 
 swift-ly. 
 
 b'-low 
 
 be-low. 
 
 corn-mans " 
 
 com-mancfe. 
 
 p'r-vade 
 
 per-vade. 
 
 wam-er 
 
 warm-er. 
 
 srink-in 
 
 sArink-in^r. 
 
 um-ble 
 
 Aum-ble. 
 
 th'if-ty " 
 
 thrif-ty. 
 
 ap-py 
 
 Aap-py. 
 
 as-ter-is " 
 
 as-ter-isA. 
 
 con-sis " 
 
 con-sis<. 
 
 gov-er-ment " 
 
 gov-ern-ment. 
 
 fa-t'l " 
 
 fa-tal. Feb-u-a-ry " 
 
 Feb-ru-a-ry. 
 
 IV. Avoid the 
 
 substitution of one sound for 
 
 another; as, 
 
 wf-ford for 
 
 <if-ford. 
 
 mod-ist for 
 
 mod-est. 
 
 wil-ler " 
 
 wil-low. 
 
 wp-prove " 
 
 ap-prove. 
 
 sock-it " 
 
 sock-et. 
 
 win-e-gar " 
 
 vin-e-gar. 
 
 fear-lwss " 
 
 fear-less. 
 
 sep-e-rate " 
 
 sep-o-rate. 
 
 cul-ter " 
 
 cul-twre. 
 
 tem-per-it " 
 
 tem-per-ate. 
 
 prod-ua; 
 
 prod-uc<. 
 
 croc-er-dile " 
 
 croc-o-dile. 
 
 judg-mwnt 
 
 judg-ment. 
 
 twb-ac-cwr " 
 
 to-bac-co. 
 
 chil-drtn " 
 
 chil-dren. 
 
 com-prwm-ise " 
 
 com-pro-mise. 
 
 QUESTIONS. "What letters have no substitutes ? "What error in Ar- 
 ticulation would be avoided by the observance of direction II. ? Give 
 examples. What, by direction III. ? Examples. What, by direction 
 IV. ? Examples.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 15 
 
 V. Produce the sounds denoted by the following combi- 
 nations of consonants : 
 
 Let the pupil first produce the sounds of the letters, and then the 
 word, or words, in which they occur. Be careful to give a clear 
 and distinct enunciation to every letter. 
 
 1. Bd, as in roVd; bdst, -proVdst ; bl, bland, able; bid, bumbrd; 
 
 bldst, troubrdst; blst, troubl'st; biz, cruin&fea; br, Jrand; bz, 
 ribs. 
 
 2. Ch, as in church ; cht, fetched. 
 
 3. Dj, as in edge; djd, hedged; dl, bridle; did, riddPd ; dUt, 
 
 bandFst ; dlz, bundles; dn, harden; dr, drove; dth, viidth; 
 dths, breadths; dz, odds. 
 
 4. Fl, as in/ame ; fid, riftd ; fat, sti/Tst ; fiz, rifies ; fr, /rora ; /*, 
 
 qua^, la.aghs ; fst, laugh'st, qu&ff^st ; ft, r&ft ; fts, wafts ; 
 ftst, graft^t. 
 
 5. Gd, as in begg'd ; gdst, bragg'dst ; gl, glide ; gld, strnggPd ; 
 
 gldst, baggVdst ; glst,strarigVst; glz, mingles; gr, grove; gst, 
 begg'st ; gz, figs. 
 
 6. El, as in uncle, anH<?; kid, tricfcVd ; Mdst, truckl'dst ; Iclst, 
 
 cbuckl'st ; klz, wrini-^s ; Icn, hlaci'n ; lend, rectfri'd ; kndst, 
 rectfrfdst ; knst, black'n'st ; km, reckons ; kr, crank ; ks, 
 checks; kt, act. 
 
 (. Lb,asinbulb; Ibd, bnlVd ; lbs,bulbs; Ich, filch; Ich^belch'd; 
 Id, bold; Idst, fold'st ; Idz, bolds; If, self; Ifs, gulfs; Ij, 
 buZ^e; Ik, elk; Iks, silks; lkt,miWd; Ikts, mulcts; lm,elm; 
 Imd, wheZmW ; Imz, films ; In, fall'n ; Ip, belp ; Ips, scalps ; 
 Ipst, belp'st ; Is, false ; 1st, calPst ; It, melt ; Ith, bealth : Iths, 
 stealths; Its, colts; It, delve; Ivd, shelved; Ivz, elves; fe, 
 balls. 
 
 8. Md, as in doomW ; mf, triumph ; mp, bemp ; mpt, tempt; mpts, 
 
 attempts ; mst, eutomVat ; mz, tombs. 
 
 9. Nch, as in bench; ncht, pinched; nd, and; ndst, end'st ; ndz, 
 
 ends ; ng, sung ; ngd, bang'd ; ngth, length ; ngz, songs ; nj, 
 range ; njd, ranged ; nk, ink ; nks, ranks ; nkst, tbank'st ; nat, 
 vrinc'd; nt, sent; nts, rents; ntst, went'st; m, runs. 
 
 10. PI, as in plume ; pld, rippfd ; plst, rip^r< ; plz, apples ; pr, 
 
 2>rince ; ps, sips ; pst, ranp'st.
 
 16 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 11. .SJ, asinherS; rcA, search; rcht, cburch'd ; rbd,orVd; rbdst, 
 
 barVd-st ; rbst, distu?'&'s ; rbz, orbs ; rd, hard ; rdst, beard'st ; 
 rdz, words ; rf, turf; rft, scarfd ; rg, bnrg ; rgz, burgs ; rj, 
 dirge ; rjd, urg'd ; rJc, &rlc ; r&s, ar&s ; rkst, worlc'st ; rlct, 
 dir&W; rJctst, embartfdst; rl, girl; rid, world; rldst, hurld'st; 
 rlst, wbirl'st; rlz, hurZs; ??, arm; rmd, arm'd; rmdst, 
 harm'dst ; rmst, arm'st ; rms, charms ; rn^ turn ; rnd, turned ; 
 rndst, earn'dst ; rnst, learn'st ; rnz, urns ; rp, carp ; rps, 
 harps; rpt, warp'd; rs, verse; rs/i, harsA; rs/, first ; rsts, 
 bursts; rt, dart; rth, earth; rths, births; rts, marts; rtst, 
 darfst; rv, curve ; rvd, nerv'd; rvdst, curv'dst ; rest, swero's^; 
 r2, nerves; rz, errs. 
 
 12. /Sli, as in ship ; sht, hushed; s^, scan, skip ; sis, tusis; slcst, 
 
 fristfst ; skt, risKd ; sZ, slow ; sld, nestVd ; sfe, wrestles ; 
 SOT, smile ; sn, snag ; sp, sport ; sps, lisps ; sp^, clasp' d ; st, 
 stag ; sir, strike ; sis, reste ; *w, swing. 
 
 18. 2"A, as in <Aine, thin ; thd, breath'd; thr, three ; thst, breath'st ; 
 thw, thwack; ihz, writhes; tl, title; tld, sett^-d; tldst, 
 settl'dst ; tlst, settVst; th, nettles; ^r, runk; is, fits; tw, 
 twirl. 
 
 14. F<Z, as in curved; vdst, litfdst: rZ, driu'Z; vld, grovTd; vldst, 
 
 grovTdst; vlst, ArivTst; vn, Aritfn; vst, liv'st; vz, lives. 
 
 15. Wh, as in when, wJiere. 
 
 16. Zd, as in mus'd; zl, dazzle; zld, muzzVd; zldst, dazzPdst ; slst, 
 
 dazzVst ; zlz, mnzzles ; sm, spasro ; zmz, chasms ; zn, ris'n ; 
 znd, re&s'n'd ; sm, pris'?i2 ; zndst, i 
 
 VI. Avoid blending the termination of one word with the 
 beginning of another, or suppressing the final letter or letters 
 of one word, when the next word commences with a similar 
 sound. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 False sighs sicken instead of Fal' sigh' sicken. 
 
 In peril's darkest Aour " In peril's darkest tower. 
 
 QUESTION. What error in Articulation would be avoided by the ob- 
 servance of direction VI. ? Give examples.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 17 
 
 Songs of praises, instead of Song sof praises. 
 
 "We are apt to shut our eyes, " "We are ra.pt to shut tour rise. 
 
 It strikes with an awe, " It strikes with a naw. 
 
 A reader made easy, " A redermadezy. 
 
 The scenes of those dark ages, " The scenes sof those dark cages. 
 
 Dry the orphan's <ears, " Dry the orphan shears. 
 
 Percivaks' acts and extracts, " Percival sac&s sand dextraclcs. 
 
 NOTE. By an indistinct Articulation the sense of a pas- 
 sage is often liable to be perverted. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 . 1. He built him an ice house. 
 He built him a nice house. 
 
 2. My heart is awed within me. 
 My heart is sawed within me. 
 
 3. A grea^ error often exisfe. 
 A great terror often exists. 
 
 4. He is content in either situation. 
 
 He is content in neither situation. . 
 
 5. "Whom ocean feels through all her countless waves. 
 "Who motion feels through all her countless waves. 
 
 6. My brothers ought to owe nothing. 
 My brothers sought to own nothing. 
 
 7. He was called by his father's name. 
 He was scalled by his father's name. 
 
 8. "We traveled o'er fields of ice and snow. 
 "We traveled o'er fields of vice sand snow. 
 
 9. He was drained in the religion of his fathers. 
 He was sprained in the religion of his fathers. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. The highte, depths, lengths, and breadths of the subject. 
 
 2. The flag o/yreedom^foafe once more aloft. 
 
 3. It was decidedly the severest storm of the season. 
 
 4. She sought shelter from the suns/line in the shade. 
 
 5. His shriveled limbs were shivering with the cold. 
 
 QUESTION. How, by indistinct articulation, is the sense of a passage 
 liable to be perverted? Give examples,
 
 18 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 6. A big black bug bit a big black bear. 
 
 7. Sound the roug* aad rugged rocks the ragged rascai ran. 
 
 8. He sawed six long, slim, sleek, sfender sapliugs. 
 
 9. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 From the field of his fame fresh and gory. 
 
 10. .From thy throne in the sky, thou look'st and laugh 1 st at the storni, 
 and guid'st the bolts of Jove. 
 
 11. The unceremoniousness of their comimcnicability is wholly inex- 
 plicable. 
 
 12. The best ofatt governments in this badly governed -world, is a re- 
 puWican government. 
 
 13. When the world is dark with tempests, when thunders rott and 
 lightnings fly, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at 
 the storm. 
 
 14. The hidden ocean showed itself anew, 
 And barren wastes still stole upon the view. 
 
 15. He spoke disinterestedly, reasonably, philosophically, particularly, 
 peremptorily, awthoritattveZy, unhesitatingly, and extemporaneously. 
 
 16. His falchion flashed along the Nile ; 
 
 His hosts he led trough Alpine snows ; 
 O'er Moscow's towers that blazed the wMte, 
 .ffis eagle flag unroUed and froze. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 ACCENT AND EMPHASIS. 
 
 ACCENT and EMPHASIS both indicate some special 
 stress of voice. 
 
 ACCENT is that stress of voice b} which one syllable of a 
 word is made more prominent than others ; EMPHASIS is that 
 stress of voice by which one or more words of a sentence are 
 distinguished above the rest. 
 
 QUESTIONS. What do Accent and Emphasis indicate? What is Ac- 
 cent ? What is Emphasis ?
 
 . 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 19 
 
 ACCENT, 
 
 The accented syllable is sometimes designated thus : 
 (/) ; as, com-mand'-ment. 
 
 NOTE I. Words of more than two syllables generally have 
 two or more of them accented. 
 
 The more forcible stress of voice, is called the Primary 
 Accent; and the less forcible, the Secondary Accent. 
 
 EXAMPLES OF PRIMARY ACCENT. 
 
 Farm'-er, hon'-or, paf-tern, rem'-nant, a-bide', con-dude', af-fect', ea>- 
 pand', a-tone'-ment, be-hav'-ior, con-tent' -ment, un-grate'-ful, in-tens'-ive, 
 trans-ac'-tion. 
 
 EXAMPLES OF PRIMARY A N l> SECONDARY ACCENT. 
 
 In the /ollowing examples the Primary Accent is desig- 
 nated by double accentual marks, thus : 
 
 Ed"-u-cate', ed'-u-ca"-tion. mul"-ti-ply', mul'-ti-pli-ca"-tion, sat"-is-fy', 
 sat'-is-fac"-tion, com'-pre-hend", com-pre-hen"-sion, rec'-om-mend", rec'-om- 
 mend-a"-tion, mo"-ment-a'-ry, com-mu" '-ni-caie' ', com' ' -pli-ment' ' '-al, in- 
 dem' -ni-fi-ca" -tion, ex' '-tem-po-ra" '-ne-ous, coun'-ter-rev'-o-lu"-tion-a-ry. 
 
 NOTE II. The change of accent on the same word, often 
 changes its meaning. 
 
 EXAM PLES. 
 
 col '-league, a partner. col-league', to unite with. 
 
 con'-duct, behavior. con-duct', to lead. 
 
 des'-cant, a song or tune. des-cant', to comment. 
 
 ob'-ject, ultimate purpose. ob-ject', to oppose. 
 
 ref -use, worthless remains. re-fuse', to deny ; reject. 
 
 proj'-ect, apian; a scheme. pro-ject', to jut out. 
 
 in'-ter-dict, a prohibition. in-ter-dict', to forbid. 
 
 o'-ver-throw, ruin; defeat. o-ver-throw', to throw down. 
 
 QUESTION. Which accent has the more forcible stress of voice, the 
 primary, or secondary ? What effect does the change of accent on the 
 same word produce ? Give examples.
 
 20 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 NOTE III. Emphatic words are often printed in Italics. 
 When, however, different degrees of emphasis are to be de- 
 noted, the higher degrees are designated by the use of Cap- 
 itals, LARGER or SMALLER, according to the degree of in- 
 tensity. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. To arms I to ARMS 1 to ARMS! they cry. 
 
 2. Awake, my heart, AWAKE 1 
 Green vales and icy cliffs, ALL join my hymn. 
 
 3. And Agrippa said unto Paul : Almost thou persuadest me to be a 
 Christian. And Paul said : I would to God that not only thou, but also 
 ail that hear me this day, were both almost and ALTOGETHER such as / 
 am, except these bonds. 
 
 4. The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be, and that which 
 is done, is that which shatt be done, and there is no new thing under 
 the son. 
 
 NOTE IV. Emphasis, as before intimated, varies in de- 
 grees of intensity. 
 
 EXAMPLES OF INTENSIVE EMPHASIS. 
 
 1. ARM, warriors, ARM for the conflict ! 
 
 2. The war is inevitable and LET IT COME ! I repeat it, Sir, LET 
 IT COME 1 Patrick Henry. 
 
 3. I know not what course others may take ; but as for me, give me 
 LIBERTY, or give me DEATH I Idem. 
 
 4. The conflict deepens ! ON, ye brave, 
 "Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
 
 6. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign 
 troop remained in my country, I never would lay down my arms. 
 NEVER, NEVER, never. Pitt. 
 
 NOTE V. Emphasis sometimes changes the seat of accent 
 from its ordinary position. 
 
 QUESTIONS. How are emphatic words often denoted ? How are those 
 denoted, which are very emphatic ? How is Emphasis varied ? Repeat 
 the examples of intensive emphasis. What effect has Emphasis some- 
 timoe on accent ? Give examples.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 21 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. He must tVcrease, but I must cfe'crease. 
 
 2. Joseph attends school regularly ; but William, ir'regularly. 
 
 3. Did he perform his part grace' fully, or wn'gracefully ? 
 
 4. There is a difference between jws'sibility and jwo&'ability. 
 
 5. We are not to inquire into the just'ice or zVjustice, the Jion'or or 
 dis honor of the deed ; nor whether it was law' fill or wri'lawful, wise or 
 ww'wise. 
 
 NOTE VI. There are two kinds of Emphasis : Absolute 
 and Antithetic. ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS is used to designate the 
 important words of a sentence, without any direct reference 
 to other words. 
 
 EXAMPLES OF ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS. 
 
 1. Be we men, 
 
 And suffer such dishonor ? MEN, and wash not 
 The stain away in BLOOD ? 
 
 2. Tomorrow, didst thou say? To-MORBOW? 
 It is a period nowhere to be found 
 
 In all the hoary registers of time. Cott&i. 
 
 3. I shall know but one country. The ends /aim at, shall be "MY 
 COUNTRY'S, my GOD'S, and TRUTH'S." Webster. 
 
 4. I was born an American ; I live an American ; I shall die an Amer- 
 ican. Id. 
 
 5. SPEAK our, my friends ; would you exchange it for the DEMON'S 
 DRINK, ALCOHOL? A shout, like the roar of a tempest, answered 
 "NO I' 
 
 6. You, noble Americans, we bless in the name of the God of liberty. 
 Kossuth. 
 
 7. He paused a moment, and with an enchanting smile, whispered 
 softly the name, "England!" Louder he cried, " ENGLAND 1" He 
 waved his handkerchief and shouted, " ENGLAND 1" 
 
 8. SACRED FORMS ! how proud you look I 
 How high you lift your heads into the sky ; 
 
 How huge you are 1 how mighty and how free ! Knowles. 
 
 9. "HOLD I" Tyranny cries ; but their resolute breath 
 Sends back the reply, "INDEPENDENCE or DEATH !" 
 
 QUESTIONS. How many kinds of Emphasis are there ? What is Ab- 
 solute Emphasis ? Give examples.
 
 22 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 NOTE VII. ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS is that which is founded 
 on the contrast of one word or clause with another. 
 
 EXAMPLES OF ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS. 
 
 1. If we have no regard for our own character, we ought, at least, to 
 regard the characters of others. 
 
 2. The wicked flee when no man pursueth ; but the righteous are bold 
 as a lion. Bible. 
 
 3. Living I shall assert it, dying, I shall assert it. Webster. 
 
 4. You were paid to fight Alexander, not to rail at him. 
 
 5. He is the propitiation for our skis ; and not for ours only, but for 
 the sins of the whole world. Bible. 
 
 6. Te worship ye know not whsJt : we know what we worship. 
 
 NOTE Vffl.- The following examples contain two or more 
 sets of Antitheses. 
 
 1. I will make the stars of the west the suns of the east. Kossuth. 
 
 2. We must hold them as we hold the rest of mankind enemies in war, 
 in peace, friends. Jefferson. 
 
 3. The wise man is happy when he gains his own approbation, the fool, 
 when he gains tftit of others. 
 
 4. Without' were fightings, within -were fears. Bible. 
 
 5. When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice ; but when 
 the wicked beareth rule, the people mourn. Ibid. 
 
 6. Faithful are the wounds of a friend ; but the kisses of an enemy are 
 deceitful. Ibid. 
 
 7. Set honor in one eye, and death in the other. 
 And I will look on both indifferently. 
 
 8. A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of hia own 
 heart ; his next, to escape the censure of the world. 
 
 9. Religion raises men above themselves ; irreligion sinks them beneath 
 the brutes. 
 
 10. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be 
 my dying sentiment ; independence NOW, and independence FOREVER ! 
 Webster. 
 
 NOTE IX. The sense of a passage is varied by changing 
 the place of the emphasis. 
 
 QUESTIONS. What is Antithetic Emphasis ? Give examples. What 
 effect has a change of Emphasis on the sense of a passage ? Examples.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 23 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Has James seen his brother to-day? No ; but Charles has. 
 
 2. Has James seen his brother to-day ? No ; but he has heard from 
 him. 
 
 3. Has James seen his brother to-day ? No ; but he saw yours. 
 
 4:. Has James seen his brother to-day? No; but he has seen his 
 sister. ' 
 
 6. Has James seen his brother to-day f No ; but he saw him yes- 
 terday. 
 
 REMARK. To determine the emphatic words of a sentence, 
 as well as the degree and kind of emphasis to be employed, 
 the reader must be governed wlfblly by the sentiment to be 
 expressed. The idea is sometimes entertained, that emphasis 
 consists merely in loudness of tone. But it should be borne 
 in mind, that the most intense emphasis may often be effec- 
 tively expressed, even by a whisper. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 INFLECTIONS. 
 
 INFLECTIONS are turns or slides of the voice, 
 made in reading or speaking ; as, Will you go to 
 
 New or to & 
 
 All the various sounds of the human voice may be com- 
 prehended under the general appellation of tones. The prin- 
 cipal modifications of these tones are the MONOTONE, the 
 RISING INFLECTION, the FALLING INFLECTION, and the CIRCUM- 
 FLEX. 
 
 QUESTION. How are the emphatic words of a sentence determined ? 
 What are inflections? "What are the principal modifications of the hu- 
 man voice ?
 
 24 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 The Horizontal Line ( - ) denotes the Monotone. 
 The Rising Slide (/ ) denotes the Rising Inflection. 
 The Falling Slide (\ ) denotes the Falling Inflection. 
 The Curve (^) denotes the Circumflex. 
 
 The MONOTONE is that sameness of sound, which 
 arises from repeating the several words or syllables of a 
 passage in one and the same general tone. 
 
 REMARK. The Monotone is employed with admirable effect 
 in the delivery of a passage that is solemn or sublime. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Man that is born of a woman, is of few days and full of trouble. 
 He cometh forth like a flower, and Is cut down; he fleeth also as 
 a shadow, and continueth not. 
 
 2. Man dleth, and wasteth away : yea, man giveth up the ghost, 
 and where is he? As the waters fall from the sea, and the flood 
 decayeth and drieth up, so man lieth down, and rlseth not ; till 
 the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be raised out 
 of their sleep. 
 
 3. For thus saith th<i high and lofty one that inhabiteth eternity, 
 whose name is Holy, I dwell in the high and holy place. 
 
 4. Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. 
 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst 
 formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to ever- 
 lasting, Thou art God. Bible. 
 
 5. O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! 
 whence are thy beams, sun ! thy everlasting light ? Ossian. 
 
 6. High on a throne of royal state, which far 
 Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind, 
 
 Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, 
 Showers on her kings barbaric peal and gold, 
 Satan exalted sat ! Milton. 
 
 REMARK. But the inappropriate use of the monotone, a 
 fault into which young people naturally fall, is a very grave 
 
 QUESTION. How are they sometimes denoted ? "What is the Mono- 
 tone? "What passages should be read with the monotone? Give 
 examples ?
 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 
 
 25 
 
 and obstinate error. It is always tedious, and often even 
 ridiculous. It should be studiously avoided. 
 
 The KISING INFLECTION is an upward turn, or slide 
 of the voice, used in reading or speaking ; as, Are you 
 
 prepared to recite your \^ 
 
 The FALLING INFLECTION is a downward turn, or 
 slide of the voice, used in reading or speaking; as, 
 
 What are you 
 
 In the falling inflection, the voice should not sink below the 
 general pitch ; but in the rising inflection, it is raised above it. 
 
 The two inflections may be illustrated by the following 
 diagrams : 
 
 1. Did he act 
 
 fixr^ X/ft^ \Sfc/ 
 
 2. Did they go 4*S or <> They went ^<^ 
 
 3. If the flight of Dryden is / Pope continues longer on 
 
 , 
 
 the ^^ If the blaze of Drydcn's fire is 
 
 the heat of 
 
 Pope's is more regular and \c 
 
 QUESTION'. "What is the Rising Inflection ? What is the Falling In- 
 flection ? In the falling inflection should the voice sink below the gene- 
 ral pitch? Is it raised above the general pitch in the rising inflection ?
 
 26 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 4. And hath man the power, with his pride and will, 
 
 To arouse all nature with storms at will ? 
 Hath he power to color the summer cloud ? 
 To allay the tempest, when hills are bowed ? 
 Can he waken the spring with her festal wreath ? 
 Can the sun grow dim by his latest breath ? 
 Will he come again, when death's vale is trod? 
 Who then shall dare murmur, " There is no God" ? 
 
 REMARK. The same degree of inflection is not, at all times, 
 used, or indicated by the notation. The due degree to be 
 employed, depends on the nature of what is to be expressed. 
 For example ; if a person, under great excitement, asks 
 
 another : Are you in <z? the degree of inflection would be 
 
 A 
 
 much greater, than if he playfully asks : Are you in e?* 
 The former inflection may be called intensive, the latter, 
 common. 
 
 RULES FOR THE USE OF INFLECTIONS. 
 
 RULE I. 
 
 Direct questions, or those which may be answered 
 by yes or wo, usually take the rising inflection ; but their 
 answers, the falling. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Will you send me those flowers ? Yes ; or, I will. 
 
 2. Did you give me seven ? No ; I gave you six. 
 
 3. Are we better than they? No ; in no wise.' 
 
 4. Is he the God of the Jews 6nly ? is he not also of the Gentiles ? 
 Yes; of the Gentiles also. 
 
 QUESTIONS. Is the same degree of inflection to be used at all times ? 
 Repeat Rule I. Give examples.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 27 
 
 5. Do wo then make void 'the law through faith? God forbid: we 
 establish the law. Bible. 
 
 6. "Will he plead against me with his great power ? No ; but he will 
 put strength in me. Id. 
 
 7. Was it ambition that induced Regulus to return to Carthage ? No ; 
 but a love of country and respect for truth an act of moral sublimity, 
 arising out of the firmest integrity. 
 
 8. Hark ! comes there from the pyramids 
 
 And from Siberian wastes of snow 
 And Europe's hills ; a voice that bids 
 The world be awed to mourn him ? No. Pierpont. 
 
 NOTE I. When the direct question becomes an appeal, 
 and the reply to it is anticipated, it takes the intense falling 
 inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. "William, did we not recite our lessons correctly ? 
 
 2. Can a more inconsistent argument be, urged in its favor ? 
 
 3. Did he not perform his part most Admirably ? 
 
 4. Was the Crystal Palace in New York, equal in size to that in 
 London ? 
 
 RULE II. 
 
 Indirect questions, or those which can not be an- 
 swered by yes or no, usually take the falling inflection, 
 and their answers the same. 
 
 EXAM PLE8. 
 
 1. How many lessons have you learned ? Three. 
 
 2. Which has the most credit marks to-day ? Julia. 
 
 3. Where did your father go, last week ? To Boston. 
 
 4. When do you expect him to return ? Next we6k. 
 
 5. Who first discovered America ? Christopher Columbus. 
 
 NOTE I. When the indirect question is one asking a repe- 
 tition of what was not, at first, understood, it takes the rising 
 inflection. 
 
 QUESTION'S. Does the direct question ever require the falling inflec- 
 tion? Give examples. Repeat Rule II. Give examples. Does the 
 indirect question ever require the rising inflection ?
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Where did you find those flowers ? In the lawn. 
 Where did you say ? In the lawn. 
 
 2. When did you say congress adjourned ? Last week. 
 
 NOTE II. Answers to questions, whether direct or indirect, 
 when expressive of indifference, take the rising inflection, or 
 the circumflex. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Where shall we go ? I am not particular. 
 
 2. Shall William go with us ? If he choses. 
 
 3. Which do you prefer ? I have no choice. 
 
 4. Did you care for his friendship ? Not much. 
 
 NOTE III. In some instances, direct questions become in- 
 direct by a change of the inflection from the rising to the 
 falling. 
 
 E XAMPLES. 
 
 ( 
 
 1. Will you come to-morrow or next day ? Yes. 
 
 2. Will you come to-morrow, or next day ? I will come to-morrow. 
 
 EEMARK. The first question asks if the person addressed 
 will come within the two days, and may be answered by yes 
 or no ; but the second asks on which of the two days he will 
 come, and it can not be thus answered. 
 
 RULE III. 
 
 When questions are connected by the conjunction 
 or, the first requires the rising, and the second, the fall- 
 ing inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Does Napoleon merit praise, or censure ? 
 
 2. Was it an act of moral courage, or cowardice, for Cato to fall on 
 his sword ? 
 
 Repeat Note n. How do direct questions become indirect ? What 
 is Rule III. Give examples.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 29 
 
 3. Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath days, or to do evil ? to save 
 life, or to kill? Bible. 
 
 4. Art thou .he that should come, or do we look for another ? 
 
 RULE IV. 
 
 Antithetic terms or clauses usually take opposite in- 
 flections ; generally, the former has the rising, and the 
 latter the falling inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. It appears more like a dream than real life ; more like a romance 
 than a dreadful reality. 
 
 2. By honor and dishonor, by evil report and good report ; as deceiv- 
 ers, and yet true ; as unknown, and yet well known ; as dying, and be- 
 hold, we live ; as chastened, and not killed ; as sorrowful, yet always 
 rejoicing ; as poor, yet making many rich ; as having nothing, yet pos- 
 sessing all things. Bible. 
 
 NOTE I. When one of the antithetic clauses is a negative, 
 and the other an affirmative, generally the negative has the 
 rising, and the affirmative the falling inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Aim not to show knowledge, but to acquire it. 
 
 2. Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth ; a stranger, 
 and not thine own lips. 
 
 3. You should not say goverment, but government. 
 
 4. Show your courage by your deeds, not by your words. 
 
 RULE V. 
 
 The Pause of Suspension, denoting that the sense is 
 incomplete, usually has the rising inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Sir, I implore gentlemen, I adjure them by all they hold dear in 
 this world, by all their love of liberty, by all their veneration for their 
 
 Repeat Rule IV. Give examples. Repeat Note L, and examples. 
 Repeat Rule V., and examples.
 
 30 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Ancestors, by all their regard for posterity, by all their gratitude to Him 
 who has bestowed on them such unnumbered and countless blessings, 
 by all the duties which they owe to mankind, and by all the duties 
 which they owe to themselves, to pause, solemnly pause at the edge of 
 the precipice, before the fearful and dangerous leap is taken into the 
 yawning abyss below, from, which none who ever take it, shall return 
 in safety 
 
 NOTE I. The ordinary direct address, not accompanied 
 with strong emphasis, takes the rising inflection, on the prin- 
 ciple of the pause of suspension. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Te men of Judea, and all ye that dwell in Jerusalem, be this known 
 unto you, and hearken to my words. Bible. 
 
 2. Fight, gentlemen of E'ngland! fight, bold yeoman I 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows TO the head. 
 
 NOTE II. In some instances of a pause of suspension, the 
 sense requires an intense falling inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. The prodigal, if he does not become a pauper, will, at least, have but 
 little to bestow on others. 
 
 REMARK. If the rising inflection is given on pauper, the 
 sense would be perverted, and the passage made to mean, 
 that, in order to be able to bestow on others, it is necessary 
 that he should become a pauper. 
 
 RULE VI. 
 
 Expressions of tenderness, as of grief, or kindness, 
 commonly incline the voice to the rising inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. O my son Ab'salom! my son, my son Ab'salom! Would God I 
 had died for thee, Ab'salom, my son, my son! Bible. 
 
 Note I., and examples. Repeat Note II., and example. Rule VI., 
 and example.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADEB. 31 
 EULE VII. 
 
 The Penultimate Pause, or the last but one, of a pas- 
 sage, is usually preceded by the rising inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. The changing seasons declare the knowledge, power, wisdom, and 
 goodness of'God. 
 
 2. "When the savage provides himself with a hut or a wigwam for 
 shelter, or that he may store up his provisions, he does no more than is 
 done by the rabbit, the beaver, the bee, and birds of every species. 
 
 REMARK. The rising inflection is employed at the penulti- 
 mate pause in order to promote variety, since the voice gene- 
 rally falls at the end of a sentence. 
 
 EULE VIII. 
 
 Expressions of strong emotion, as of anger or sur- 
 prise, and also the language of authority and reproach, 
 are expressed with the falling inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Strike for your homes and liberty, 
 
 And the Heavens you worship o'er you ! 
 
 2. Fools ! and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have 
 written concerning me 1 Bible. 
 
 3. Hash ! breathe it not aloud, 
 The wild winds must not hear it I Yet, again, 
 I tell thee we are FREE I 
 
 4. Arise ! shine ! for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is 
 risen upon thee. Bible. 
 
 EULE IX. 
 
 An emphatic succession of particulars, and emphatic 
 repetition, require the falling inflection. 
 
 Eule VII., and examples. Eule VIII., and examples. Eepeat 
 Eule IX.
 
 32 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Hail, holy light ! offspring of Heaven first-born, 
 Or of the eternal, co-eternal beam. 
 
 2. The tear, 
 The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear 
 Of agony, are thine. 
 
 REMARK. The stress of voice on each successive particular, 
 or repetition, should gradually be increased as the subject 
 advances. 
 
 The CIRCUMFLEX is a union of the two inflections on 
 the same word, beginning either with the falling and 
 ending with the rising, or with the rising and ending 
 
 with the falling ; as, If he goes to ~&o ^ 6l I shall go to 
 
 RULE I. 
 
 The circumflex is mainly employed in the language 
 of irony, and in expressing ideas implying some con- 
 dition, either expressed or understood. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Nero was a virtuous prince ! 
 
 2. 0, excellent interpreter of the laws ! 
 
 3. Am I a d5g, that thou comest to me with staves ? 
 
 4. If you do that, we will do this. 
 
 5. They said, too, as you say : " It is our destiny." 
 
 6. That power is used, not to benefit mankind, but to orush them. 
 
 "7. It has been said that this law is a measure of peace 1 Yes ; such 
 peace as the wolf gives to the lamb the kite to the dove ! 
 
 8. They follow an adventurer, whom they fear, and obey a power 
 which they hate ; we serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom 
 we adore. 
 
 QUESTIONS. What is the Circumflex ? "When is the circumflex mainly 
 employed? Give examples.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 33 
 
 REMARK. The rising inflection and circumflex are so nearly 
 allied, that, in many instances, it may be difficult to determine 
 which should receive the preference in the reading of a pas- 
 sage. This is particularly the case where intense inflection is 
 not required. But the difference between the circumflex and 
 the falling inflection is so obvious, that no one would be liable 
 to mistake which should be employed. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 MODULATION. 
 
 MODULATION implies those variations of the voice, 
 heard in reading or speaking, which are prompted by 
 the feelings and emotions that the subject inspires. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 EXPRESSIVE OF COURAGE AND CHIVALROUS EXCITEMENT. 
 
 PULL < Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, 
 TONE, j Or close the wall up with our English dead 1 
 MIDDLE ( In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man, 
 TONE. ( As modest stillness and humility ; 
 
 f But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
 
 RllOPT 
 
 I Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 "j Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 I Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage, 
 f On, ON, you noblest English, 
 
 HIGH Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof! 
 AND < Fathers, that, Like so many Alexanders, 
 LOUD. Have, hi these parts, from morn till even fought, 
 [ And sheathed their swords for lack of argument 
 QUICK f I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
 AND I Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot ; 
 VERY 1 Follow your spirits, and, upon this charge, 
 LOUD. |^ CRY HEAVEN FOR HARRY! ENGLAND 1 AND ST. GEORGE! 
 
 Shalc-speare. 
 
 QUESTIONS. What is Modulation ? Give an example. 
 2*
 
 34: SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EEMARK. To read the foregoing example in one dull, mo- 
 notonous tone of voice, without regard to the sentiment ex- 
 pressed, would render the passage extremely insipid and life- 
 less. But b y a proper modulation of the voice, it infuses into 
 the mind of the reader or hearer the most animating and ex- 
 citing emotions. 
 
 A correct modulation of the voice is one of the most im- 
 portant requisites in the speaker. For if the voice is kept for 
 a considerable length of time on one continuous key or pitch, 
 he will not only fail to present that variety and force which 
 the subject contains, but he will weary both himself and his 
 hearers. 
 
 The voice is modulated in three different ways, first, it is 
 varied in PITCH ; that is, from high to low tones, and the re- 
 verse. Secondly, it is varied in QUANTITY, or in loudness or 
 volume of sound. Thirdly, it is varied in QUALITY, or in the 
 kind of sound expressed. 
 
 PITCH OF VOICE. 
 
 PITCH OF VOICE has reference to its degree of ele- 
 vation. 
 
 Every person, in reading or speaking, assumes a certain 
 pitch, which may be either high or low, according to circum- 
 stances, and which has a governing influence on the variations 
 of the voice, above and below it. This degree of elevation is 
 usually called the KEY NOTE. 
 
 As an exercise in varying the voice in pitch, the practice 
 of uttering a sentence on the several degrees of elevation, as 
 represented in the following scale, will be found beneficial. 
 First, utter the musical syllables, then the vowel sound, and 
 lastly, the proposed sentence, ascending and descending. 
 
 QUESTIONS. In how many ways is the voice modulated ? "What is 
 meant by pitch of voice ? What practice is recommended for varying 
 the pitch of voice ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 85 
 
 -in-me. Virtue alone survives.- 
 
 7. si & i in die. Virtue alone survives. 
 -6. la o-in-do. Virtue alone survives. 
 
 5. sol o in no. Virtue alone survives. 
 -4. fa a a-in-at. Virtue alone survives. 
 
 3. mi a in ate. Virtue alone survives. 
 
 2. re o-in-far. Virtue alone survives. 
 
 1. do a in oil. Virtue alone survives. 
 
 Although the voice is capable of as many variations in 
 speaking, as are marked on the musical scale, yet for all the 
 purposes of ordinary elocution, it will be sufficiently exact if 
 we mak^j,but three degrees of variation, viz., the Low, the 
 Middle, and the High. 
 
 1. THE Low PITCH is that which falls below the usual 
 speaking key, and is employed in expressing emotions of 
 sublimity, awe, and reverence. 
 
 EXAMPLE.S. 
 
 1. It thunders I Sons of dust in reverence bow ! 
 Ancient of Days ! thou speakest from above ; 
 Almighty ! Trembling like a timid child ! 
 
 I hear thy awful voice I Alarmed afraid 
 I see the flashes of thy lightning wild, 
 
 And in the very grave would hide my head! 
 
 I 
 
 2. THE MIDDLE PITCH is that usually employed in common 
 
 conversation, and in expressing unimpassioned thought and 
 moderate emotion. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. When the sun rises or sets in the heavens, when spring paints the 
 earth, when summer shines in its glory, when autumn pours forth its 
 fruits, or winter returns hi its awful forms, wo view the Creator mani- 
 festing himself in his works. 
 
 2. The verdant lawn, the shady grove, the variegated landscape, the 
 boundless ocean, and the starry heavens, are contemplated with pleas- 
 ure by every beholder. 
 
 QUESTIONS. What is the Low Pitch, and when is it employed? Give 
 examples. For what is the Middle Pitch employed ? Examples.
 
 36 SANDEES' NEW SERIES. 
 
 3. THE HIGH PITCH is that which rises above the usual 
 speaking key, and is used in expressing joyous, and elevated 
 feelings. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Te crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again I 
 
 I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 
 To show they still are free ! Methinks I hear 
 A spirit in your echoes answer me, 
 And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
 Again ! Snowies. 
 
 # 
 QUANTITY. 
 
 QUANTITY has reference to fullness and duration of 
 sound. 
 
 Quantity is two-fold ; consisting in FULLNESS or VOLUME 
 of sound, as soft or loud ; and in TIME, as slow or quick. 
 The former has reference to STRESS ; the latter* to MOVEMENT. 
 
 The degrees of variation in quantity, are numerous, vary- 
 ing from a slight, soft whisper, to a vehement shout. But 
 for all practical purposes, they may be considered as three, 
 the same as in pitch; the soft, the middle, and the loud. 
 
 For exercise in quantity, let the pupil read any sentence ; 
 as, 
 
 " Beauty is a fading flower," 
 
 first in a slight, soft tone, and then repeat it, gradually in- 
 creasing in quantity to the full extent of the voice. Also, let 
 him read it first very slowly, and then repeat it gradually 
 increasing the movement. In doing this, he should be careful 
 not to vary the pitch. 
 
 In like manner, let him repeat any vowel sound, or all of 
 them, and also inversely. Thus : 
 
 QUESTION. What is the High Pitch, and for what is it used ? Ex- 
 amples. What is meant by Quantity ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 37 
 
 OOOOOOOOQOO 
 
 O O o o o 
 
 O o o o o 
 
 REMARK. Quantity is often mistaken for Pitch. But it 
 should be borne in mind that quantity has reference to loud- 
 ness or volume of sound, and pitch to the elevation or depress- 
 ion of a tone. The difference may be distinguished by the 
 slight and heavy strokes on a bell : both of which produce 
 sounds alike in pitch ; but they differ in quantity or loudness, 
 in proportion as the strokes are light or heavy. 
 
 RULES FOR QUANTITY. 
 
 1. SOFT, OR SUBDUED TONES, are those which range 
 from a whisper to a complete vocality, and are used to 
 express fear, ^caution, secrecy, solemnity, and all tender 
 emotions. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, 
 And sighed for pity as in&swered, " No." 
 
 2. Tread softly bow the head, 
 
 In reverent silence bow, 
 No passing bell doth toll, 
 Yet an immortal soul 
 Is passing now. 
 
 2. A MIDDLE TONE, or medium loudness of voice, 
 is employed in reading narrative, descriptive, or didactic 
 sentences. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; 
 But, seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 
 
 2. There is as much eloquence in the tone of voice, in the look, and 
 in the gesture of a speaker, as in the choice of his words. 
 
 QUESTIONS. What is the difference between Quantity and Pitch? 
 What arc soft, or subdued Tones used to express? Give examples. 
 For what is the Middle Tone employed ? Give examples.
 
 38 SANDEES' NEW SERIES. 
 
 3. A LOUD TONE, or fullness and stress of voice, is used in 
 expressing violent passions and vehement emotions. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 L, And once again 
 
 Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
 Of either Brutus ! once again I swear, 
 
 THE ETERNAL CITY SHALL BE FREE ! 
 
 2. On whom do the maledictions fall, usually pronounced in our as- 
 semblies ? Is it not on this man ? Can you point to a more enormous 
 instance of iniquity in any speaker, than this inconsistency between his 
 words and actions. 
 
 QUALITY. 
 
 QUALITY has reference to the kind of sound uttered. 
 
 Two sounds may be alike in quantity and pitch, yet differ 
 in quality. The sounds produced on the clarinet and flute, 
 may agree in pitch and quantity, yet be very unlike in qual- 
 ity. The same is often true in regard to th'e tones of the 
 voice of two individuals. This difference is occasioned 
 mainly by the different positions of the vocal organs. 
 
 The qualities of voice mostly used in reading or speaking, 
 and which should receive the highest degree of culture, are 
 the Pure Tone, the Orotund, the Aspirated, and the Guttural. 
 
 EULES FOE QUALITY. 
 
 1. THE PUEE TONE is a clear, smooth, sonorous flow 
 of sound, usually accompanied with the middle pitch of 
 voice, and is adapted to express emotions of joy, cheer- 
 fulness, love, and tranquillity. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. There is joy in the mountain the bright waves leap 
 Like a bounding stag when he breaks from sleep ; 
 Mirthfully, wildly they flash along 
 Let the heavens ring with song ! 
 
 QUESTIONS. For what is the Loud Tone used? Give examples. 
 What is meant by Quality ? What qualities of voice should receive the 
 highest degree of culture ? What is said of the Pure Tone ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 39 
 
 2. THE OROTUND is a full, deep, round, and pure tone 
 of voice, peculiarly adapted to the expression of sublime 
 and pathetic emotions. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. 'Tis midnight's holy hour and silence now 
 Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 
 The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the winds 
 The bell's deep tones are swelling, 'tis the knell 
 Of the departed year 1 
 
 3. THE ASPIRATED TONE of voice is not a pure, vocal 
 sound, but rather a forcible breathing utterance, and is 
 used to express amazement, fear, terror, anger, revenge, 
 remorse, and fervent emotions. 
 
 E XAMPLES. 
 
 1. Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou affright me I 
 The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight ; 
 Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 
 2. For this, of all their wrongs the worst 
 Great Spirit, let them be aecursed. 
 
 4. THE GUTTURAL QUALITY is a deep, aspirated tone 
 of voice, used to express aversion, hatred, loathing, and 
 contempt. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Thou worm I thou viper ! to thy native earth 
 Return ! Away ! Thou art too base for man 
 To tread upon I Thou scum I Thou reptile ! 
 
 2. Tell me I hate the bowl ? 
 
 Hate is a feeble word : 
 I loathe, abhor, my very soul 
 
 With strong disgust is stirred, 
 Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell, 
 Of the dark beverage of hell I 
 
 QUESTIONS. What, of the Orotund voice ? Give an example of the 
 Orotund voice. Describe the Aspirated Tone of voice. What is it used 
 to express ? Give examples. What is said of the Guttural Quality ? 
 Give examples.
 
 40 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 REMARK. Whenever a habit of reading or speaking in a 
 nasal, shrill, harsh, or rough tone of voice is contracted by 
 the pupil, no pains should be spared in eradicating it, and in 
 securing a clear, full, round, and flexible tone. 
 
 NOTATION IN MODULATION. 
 
 ( ) high. ( p. ) soft. 
 
 ( ) high and loud. (PP-) ver y soft. 
 
 ( o ) low. ( / ) loud. 
 
 ( 00 ) low and loud. (ff-) very loud. 
 
 ( = ) quick. ( pi. ) plaintive. 
 
 ( " ) short and quick. ( < ) increase. 
 
 (si.) slow. ( > ) decrease. 
 
 EXAMPLES FOR EXERCISE IN MODULATION. 
 
 (p.) Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, 
 
 And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; 
 
 (/) But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
 
 The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. 
 
 (si.) When Ajax strives some rocks vast weight to throw, 
 The line, too, labors, and the words move slow ; 
 
 (=) Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 
 
 Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 
 
 (9?) Quick ! Man the boat ! Away they spring 
 
 The stranger ship to aid, 
 And loud their hailing voices ring, 
 As rapid speed they made. 
 
 (*) All dead and silent was the earth, . 
 
 In deepest night it lay ; 
 The Eternal spoke Creation's word, 
 
 And called to being Day ! 
 (=) It streamed from on high, 
 
 All reddening and bright, 
 And angel's song welcomed 
 The new-born light.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 41 
 
 () Strike till the last armed foe expires I 
 
 Strike for your altars and your fires ! 
 Strike for the green graves of your sires I 
 God, and your native land ! HaUeck. 
 
 (si.) Long years have passed, and I behold 
 
 My father's elms and mansions old, 
 
 The brook's bright wave ; 
 (pi.) But, ah ! the scenes which fancy drew, 
 
 Deceived my heart, the friends I knew, 
 
 Are sleeping now beneath the yew, 
 (o) Low in the grave. Hesp. 
 
 ( < ) Shall man, the possessor of so many noble faculties, with all the 
 benefits of learning and experience, have less memory, less gratitude, 
 less sensibility to danger than the beasts 1 ( < ) Shall man, bearing 
 the image of his Creator, sink thus low ? 
 
 Thomas H. Benton. 
 
 (>) The thunders hushed, 
 
 The trembling lightning fled away in fear, 
 
 (p.) The foam-capt surges sunk to quiet rest, 
 
 The raging winds grew still, 
 
 ( pp.) There was a calm I 
 
 ( " ) Hark I a brazen voice 
 
 Swells from the valley, like the clarion 
 
 That calls to battle. Skirting all the hills, 
 ( = ) Speeds the blithe tone, and wakes an answer up 
 
 In rock and forest, till the vale hath talked 
 
 "With all its tongues, and in the fastnesses 
 
 Of the far dingle, (p.) faint and (pp.) fainter heard, 
 ( > ) Dies the last sullen echo. 
 
 He said, and on the rampart bights arrayed 
 
 His trust}* warriors, few, but undismayed ; 
 (si.) Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
 
 (pp.) Still as the breeze, ( 00 ) but dreadful as the storm ! 
 ( p .) Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
 (/.) REVENGE, or DEATH ! the watchword and reply ; 
 () Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
 (/.) And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! CampbeU.
 
 42 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 ( ) Ho 1 sound the tocsin from the tower,- 
 
 And fire the culverin, 
 Bid each retainer arm with speed, 
 
 Call every vassal in. 
 (oo) Up with my banner on the wall, 
 
 The banquet board prepare, 
 Throw wide the portal of rny hall, 
 And bring my armor there I A. G. Gveene. 
 
 () The combat deepens ! ON ! YE BRAVE ! 
 
 Who rush to GLORY, or the GRAVE 1 
 (ff.) WAVE, Munich, all thy banners WAVE ! 
 
 And CHARGE with all thy CHIVALRY I 
 (pi.) Ah 1 few shall part where many meet ! 
 
 The snow shall be their winding sheet, 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulcher 1 CampbeU. 
 
 (si.) At length o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks, 
 
 () "LANK! LAND!" cry the sailors; (ff.) "LAND! LAND! lie 
 
 awakes, 
 
 (") He runs, yes I behold it I it blesseth his sight ! 
 The land I dear spectacle ! transport ! delight ! 
 
 (*') His speech was at first low-toned and slow. Sometimes his voice 
 would deepen, ( 00 ) like the sound of distant thunder; and anon, (") his 
 flashes of wit and enthusiasm would light up the anxious faces of his 
 hearers, (<) like the far-off lightning of a coming storm. 
 
 He woke to hear his sentry's shriek, 
 () To ARMS ! they come, (/.) the GREEK ! the GREEK I 
 
 (oo) Huzza for the sea ! the all-glorious sea ! 
 
 Its might is so wondrous, its spirit so free ! 
 (") And its billows beat time to each pulse of my soul, 
 
 Which, impatient, like them, can not yield to control. 
 
 (") Away ! away ! o'er the sheeted ice, 
 
 Away ! away ! we go ; 
 On our steel-bound feet we move as fleet 
 As deer o'er the Lapland snow.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 43 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 THE RHETORICAL PAUSE. 
 
 BHETORICAL PAUSES are those which, are frequently 
 required by the voice in reading and speaking, although 
 the construction of the passage admits of no grammat- 
 ical pause. 
 
 These pauses are as manifest to the ear, as those which are 
 made by the comma, semicolon, or other grammatical pauses, 
 though not commonly denoted in like manner by any visible 
 sign. In the following examples they are denoted thus, ( || ). 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. And there lay the steedj with his nostril all wide, 
 
 But through them there rolled| not the breath of his pride ; 
 And the foam of his gasping]] lay white on the turf, 
 And cold as the spray]] of the rock-beaten surf. 
 
 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 de- 
 noted by the use of the dash ( ). 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Earth's highest station ends in " HEBE HE LEES !" 
 
 2. And, lo ! the rose, in crimson dressed, 
 Leaned sweetly on the lily's breast, 
 
 And blushing, murmured " LIGHT 1" 
 
 3. The path of wisdom is THE WILL OF GOD. 
 
 4. There, in his dark, carved oaken chair 
 
 Old Rudiger sat DEAD ! A. G. Greene. 
 
 QUESTIONS. What are Rhetorical Pauses? What is said of this 
 pause? Give an example. When is the Rhetorical Pause generally 
 made ? Give examples.
 
 44 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 No definite rule can be given with reference to the length 
 of the rhetorical, or grammatical pauses. 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 fol- 
 lowing 
 
 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. 
 
 QUESTIONS. Are the Rhetorical, or Grammatical Pauses always of the 
 same length ? Give examples of a Long Pause. Of a Short Pause. 
 
 REMARK TO TEACHERS. 
 
 It is of the utmost importance, in order to secure an easy 
 and elegant style of utterance 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. 

 
 SANDERS' YOUNG LADIES' READER, 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 EXERCISES IN RHETORICAL READING. 
 
 EXERCISE I. 
 
 1". RAPH'-A-EL, who is generally considered the greatest painter of 
 modern times, was born at Urbino, in Italy, on Good Friday, March 
 28th, 1483. He died at Rome, on the anniversary of his birthday, 
 at the early age of thirty-seven years, having attained such pro- 
 ficiency in his art, and completed so great a number of splendid works, 
 aa to excite the wonder of the world. 
 
 THE SENSE OF BEAUTY. 
 
 WILLIAM ELLERT CHANNING. 
 
 1. BEAUTY is an all-pervading presence. It unfolds in the 
 numberless flowers of the spring. It waves in the branches 
 of the trees and the green blades of grass. It haunts the 
 depths of the earth and sea, and gleams out in the hues of 
 the shell and the precious stone. And not only these minute 
 objects, but the ocean, the mountains, the clouds, the heavens, 
 the stars, the rising and setting sun, all overflow with beauty. 
 The universe is its temple ; and those men who are alive to 
 it, can not lift their eyes without feeling themselves encom- 
 passed with it on every side. 
 
 2. Now, this beauty is so precious, the enjoyments it gives 
 are so refined and pure, so congenial with our tenderest and 
 noblest feelings, and so akin to worship, that it is painful to
 
 46 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 think of the multitude of men as living in the midst of it, 
 and living almost as blind to it, as if, instead of this fair 
 earth and glorious sky, they were tenants of a dungeon. An 
 infinite joy is lost to the world by the want of culture of this 
 spiritual endowment. 
 
 3. Suppose that I were to visit a cottage, and to see its 
 walls lined with the choicest pictures of Raphael, 1 and every 
 spare nook filled with statues of the most exquisite workman- 
 ship, and that I were to learn that neither man, woman, nor 
 child ever cast an eye at these miracles of art, how should I 
 feel their privation ! how should I want to open their eyes, 
 and to help them to comprehend and feel the loveliness and 
 grandeur which in vain courted their notice ! 
 
 4. But every husbandman is living in sight of the works of 
 a diviner Artist ; and how much would his existence be ele- 
 vated, could he see the glory which shines forth in their 
 forms, hues, proportions, and moral expression ! I have 
 spoken only of the beauty of nature, but how much of this 
 mysterious charm is found hi the elegant arts, and especially 
 in literature ! The best books have most beauty. 
 
 5. The greatest truths are wronged if not linked with 
 beauty, and they win their way most surely and deeply into 
 the soul, when arrayed in this, their natural and fit attire. 
 Now, no man receives the true culture of a man, in whom 
 the sensibility to the beautiful is not cherished ; and I know 
 of no condition in life from which it should be excluded. 
 
 6. Of all luxuries this is the cheapest and most at hand, 
 and it seems to me to be most important to those conditions 
 where coarse labor tends to give a grossness to the mind. 
 From the diffusion of the sense of beauty in ancient Greece, 
 and of the taste for music in modern Germany, we learn that 
 the people at large may partake of refined gratifications, which 
 have hitherto been thought to be necessarily restricted to a few. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What are inflections of the voice? See page 23. 
 2. What rule for the rising inflections on proportions, 4th paragraph ? 
 Ana. Rule VII., page 31.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 47 
 
 EXERCISE II. 
 
 1. EC'-STA-SY, (EC, out and STASIS, a placing, or standing,} is derived from 
 a Greek word signifying, literally, the removal of a thing out of its 
 place. When applied to the mind, it denoted, formerly, a displacing, or 
 unsettling of its powers, that is, madness: thence it has come to indi- 
 cate a sort of intoxication, or bewilderment of joy ; rapturous delight. 
 
 2. CAN'-O-PT, (from a Greek word, meaning a gnat-bar, or mosquito- 
 net for a bed, and that from CONOPS, a gnat, in the same language,) sig- 
 nifies, primarily, a curtain, or covering to keep off gnats or mosqui- 
 toes from the face. It is applied to any shade or covering extended 
 over the head ; hence, the phrase, the canopy of heaven, from the cur- 
 tain-like appearance of the heavens above. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. 
 
 RCFUS DAWKS. 
 
 1. The Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light, 
 And wheels her course in a joyous flight ; 
 I know her track through the balmy air, 
 
 By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there ; 
 She leaves the tops of the mountains green, 
 And gems the valley with crystal sheen. 
 
 2. At morn I know where she rested at night, 
 For the roses are gushing with dewy delight, 
 Then she mounts again, and round her flings 
 A shower of light from her crimson wings, 
 Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high, 
 That silently fills it with ecstasy. 1 
 
 3. At noon she hies to a cool retreat, 
 Where bowering elms over waters meet ; 
 
 She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip, 
 As it smilingly curls like a maiden's lip, 
 When her tremulous bosom would hide, in vain, 
 From her lover, the hope that she loves again. 
 
 4. At eve she hangs o'er the western sky, 
 (*') Dark clouds for a glorious canopy,*
 
 48 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 And round the skirts of their deepen'd fold, 
 She paints a border of purple and gold, 
 Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay, 
 When their god in his glory has passed away. 
 
 5. She hovers around us at twilight hour, 
 
 When her presence is felt with the deepest power ; 
 She silvers the landscape and crowds the stream 
 With shadows that flit like a fairy dream ; 
 Then wheeling her flight through the gladdened air, 
 The Spirit of Beauty is everywhere. 
 
 EXERCISE III. 
 
 1. THE GERMAN OCEAN, or North Sea, is between Great Britain and 
 the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, and Norway. It extends from 
 the Straits of Dover to the most northern of the Shetland Islands : 
 its length is 650 miles, and its greatest breadth about 400. 
 
 2. RE-CRIM-IN-A'-TION, (from RE, again, CRIMKN, a crime, and the suf- 
 fix ATION, the act of making,) signifies the act of making, or charging, 
 crime again ; that is, the act of retorting criminal accusations. 
 
 3. PROV'-I-DENCE is from PRO, before, VID, (Latin video,} to see, and the 
 suffix ENCE, which latter means the act, or state of. Hence, PROVIDENCE 
 signifies, literally, the act of seeing, or seeing to, beforehand; foresight ; 
 forecast, and, when applied to the Divine Being, points to that attri- 
 bute, whereby all things are known from the beginning, and carefully 
 provided for. 
 
 4. CON-JCR'-ED, is made up of CON, together, JTJR, (Latin juro,) to 
 swear, and the suffix ED, which means did: the literal meaning of the 
 whole being did swear together ; that is, did join, or unite under the 
 solemnity of an oath. The word was xised in relation to plots and 
 conspiracies, but it also had the kindred sense of urging, as with the 
 solemnity of an oath, which is the signification in the following 
 piece. With the accent on the first syllable, (con'-jure,) the word sig- 
 nifies to practice witchcraft, or enchantment
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 49 
 
 SABINUS AND OLINDA. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 1. In a fair, rich, and flourishing country, whose cliffs arc 
 washed by the German Ocean, 1 lived Sabinus, a youth formed 
 by nature to make a conquest wherever he thought proper ; 
 but the constancy of his disposition fixed him only with Olin- 
 da. He was, indeed, superior to her in fortune ; but that 
 defect on her side was so amply supplied by her merit, that 
 none was thought more worthy of his regards than she. He 
 loved her, he was beloved by her ; and, in a short time, by 
 joining hands publicly, they avowed the union of their hearts. 
 
 2. But, alas ! none, however fortunate, however happy, are 
 exempt from the shafts of envy, and the malignant effects ot 
 ungoverned appetite. How unsafe, how detestable are they 
 who have this fury for their guide ! How certainly will it 
 lead them from themselves, and plunge them in errors they 
 would have shuddered at, even in apprehension ! 
 
 3. Ariana, a lady of many amiable qualities, very nearly 
 allied to Sabinus, and highly esteemed by him, imagined her- 
 self slighted, and injuriously treated, since his marriage with 
 Olinda. By incautiously suffering this jealousy to corrode in 
 her breast, she began to give a loose to passion ; she forgot 
 those many virtues for which she had been so long and so 
 justly applauded. 
 
 4. Causeless suspicion and mistaken resentment betrayed 
 her into all the gloom of discontent : she sighed without 
 ceasing ; the happiness of others gave her intolerable pain ; 
 she thought of nothing but revenge. How unlike what sho 
 was, the cheerful, the prudent, the compassionate Ariana ! 
 She continually labored to disturb a union so firmly, so affec- 
 tionately founded, and planned every scheme which she thought 
 most likely to disturb it. 
 
 5. Fortune seemed willing to promote her unjust inten- 
 tions. The circumstances of Sabinus had long been embar- 
 rassed by a tedious lawsuit, and, the court determining the 
 
 8
 
 50 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 cause unexpectedly in favor of his opponent, it sunk his for- 
 tune to the lowest pitch of penury from the highest affluence. 
 From the nearness of relationship, Sabinus expected from 
 Ariana those assistances his present situation required ; but 
 she was insensible to all his entreaties, and the justice of 
 every remonstrance, unless he first separated from Olinda, 
 whom she regarded with detestation. 
 
 6. Upon a compliance with her desires in this respect, she 
 promised that her fortune, her interest, and her all, should be 
 at his command. Sabinus was shocked at the proposal ; he 
 loved his wife with inexpressible tenderness, and refused those 
 offers with indignation, which were to be purchased at so high 
 a price. Ariana was no less displeased to find her offers re- 
 jected, and gave a loose to all that warmth which she had long 
 endeavored to suppress. Reproach generally produces re- 
 crimination ;* the quarrel rose to such a hight, that Sabinus 
 was marked for destruction, and the very next day, upon the 
 strength of an old family debt, he was sent to jail, Avith none 
 but Olinda to comfort him in his miseries. 
 
 7. In this mansion of distress they lived together with 
 resignation and even with comfort. She provided the frugal 
 meal, and he read to her while employed in the little offices 
 of domestic concern. Their fellow-prisoners admired their 
 contentment, and, whenever they had a desire of relaxing 
 into mirth, and enjoying those little comforts that a prison af- 
 fords, Sabinus and Olinda were sure to be of the party. 
 
 8. Instead of reproaching each other for their mutual 
 wretchedness, they both lightened it by bearing each a share 
 of the load imposed by Providence. 3 Whenever Sabinus 
 showed the least concern on his dear partner's account, she 
 conjured 4 him by the love he bore her, by those tender ties 
 which now united them for-ever, not to discompose himself; 
 that so long as his affection lasted, she defied all the ills of 
 fortune, and every loss of fame or friendship ; that nothing 
 could make her miserable but his seeming to want happiness, 
 nothing pleased, but his sympathizing with her pleasure.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 61 
 
 9. A continuance in prison soon robbed them of the little 
 they had left, and famine began to make its horrid appearance, 
 yet still was neither found to murmur ; they both looked 
 upon their little boy, who, insensible of their or his own dis- 
 tress, was playing about the room, with inexpressible, yet 
 silent anguish, when a messenger came to inform them, that 
 Ariana was dead, and that her will, in favor of a very distant 
 relation, who was now in another country, might easily be 
 procured and burned, in which case all her large fortune would 
 revert to him, as being the next heir at law. 
 
 10. A proposal of so base a nature filled our unhappy 
 couple with horror ; they ordered the messenger immediately 
 out of the room, and falling upon each other's neck, indulged 
 an agony of sorrow, for now even all hopes of relief were 
 banished. The messenger who made the proposal, however, 
 was only a spy sent by Ariana to sound the dispositions of a 
 man she loved at once and persecuted. 
 
 11. This lady, though warped by wrong passions, was nat- 
 urally kind, judicious, and friendly. She found that all her 
 attempts to shake the constancy or the integrity of Sabinus, 
 were ineffectual ; she had, therefore, begun to reflect, and to 
 wonder how she could so long and so unprovoked injure such 
 uncommon fortitude and affection. 
 
 12. She had, from the next room, herself heard the recep- 
 tion given to the messenger, and could not avoid feeling all 
 the force of superior virtue ; she, therefore, re-assumed her 
 former goodness of heart ; she came into the room with tears 
 in her eyes, and acknowledged the severity of her former 
 treatment. She bestowed the first care in providing them all 
 the necessary supplies, and acknowledged them as the most 
 deserving heirs of her fortune. 
 
 13. From this moment, Sabinus enjoyed an uninterrupted 
 happincfrs with Olinda, and both were happy in the friendship 
 and assistance of Ariana ; who, dying soon after, left them 
 in possession of a large estate, and, in her last moments, 
 confessed that virtue was the only path to true glory,
 
 52 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 and that, however innocence may for a time be depressed, a 
 steady perseverance will, in time, lead it to a certain vic- 
 tory. 
 
 EXERCISE IV. 
 
 1. HOL'-I-DAT, (that is, holy day,) is, literally, a holy day, or day 
 set apart to sacred uses ; hence it came to indicate a day of exemp- 
 tion from ordinary labors or occupation, and thence, also, a day of 
 joy and festivity or amusement. It is often written holyday. 
 
 2. SIR FRANCIS BACON, Baron of Yerulam, was born at London in 
 1561, and died in 1626. He is celebrated as a great reformer of phi- 
 losophy, or, rather, of the modes of conducting philosophical inquiries. 
 
 3. O-LYM'-PI-AN VICTORS, that is, victors in the Olympic games, which 
 were celebrated every fifth year at, Olympia, a sacred spot on the 
 banks of the Alpheus, near Elis in ancient Greece. 
 
 THE PROPER EDUCATION FOR FEMALES. 
 
 HANNAH MORE. 
 
 1. Since there is a season when the youthful must cease to 
 be young, and the beautiful to excite admiration ; to learn 
 how to grow old gracefully is, perhaps, one of the rarest and 
 most valuable arts which can .be taught to woman. And, it 
 must be confessed, it is a most severe trial for those women 
 to be called to lay down beauty, who have nothing else to 
 take up. It is for this sober season of life that education 
 should lay up its rich resources. However disregarded they 
 may hitherto have been, they will be wanted now. 
 
 2. When admirers fall away, and flatterers become mute, 
 the mind will be compelled to retire into itself; and, if it 
 find no entertainment at home, it will be driven back again 
 upon the world with increased force. Yet, forgetting this, do 
 we not seem to educate our daughters exclusively for the 
 transient period of youth, when it is to maturer life we ought 
 to advert 1 Do we not educate them for a crowd, forgetting 
 that they are to live at home ? for the world, and not for
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 53 
 
 themselves ? for show, and not for use 1 for time, and not for 
 eternity 1 
 
 3. Not a few of the evils of the present day arise from a 
 new and perverted application of terms ; among these, per- 
 haps, there is not one more abused, misunderstood, or misap- 
 plied, than the term accomplishments. This word, in its orig- 
 inal meaning, signifies completeness, perfection. But I may 
 safely appeal to the observation of mankind, whether they do 
 not meet with swarms of youthful females, issuing from our 
 boarding-schools, as well as emerging from the more private 
 scenes of domestic education, who are introduced into the 
 world under the broad and universal title of accomplished 
 young ladies, of all of whom it can not very truly and cor- 
 rectly be pronounced, that they illustrate the definition by a 
 completeness which leaves nothing to be added, and a perfec- 
 tion which leaves nothing to be desired. 
 
 4. It would be well, if we would reflect, that we have to 
 educate not only rational, but accountable beings ; and, re- 
 membering this, should we not be solicitous to let our daugh- 
 ters learn of the well-taught, and associate with the well- 
 bred 1 In training them, should we not carefully cultivate 
 intellect, implant religion, and cherish modesty ? Then, 
 whatever is engaging in manners, would be the natural result 
 of whatever is just in sentiment and correct in principle ; 
 softness would grow out "of humility, and external delicacy 
 would spring from purity of heart. Then the decorums, the 
 proprieties, the elegancies, and even the graces, as far as they 
 are simple, pure, and honest, would follow as an almost in- 
 evitable consequence ; for to follow in the train of the Chris- 
 tian virtues, and not to take the lead of them, is the proper 
 place which religion assigns to the graces. 
 
 5. Whether we have made the best use of the errors of our 
 predecessors, and of our own numberless advantages, and 
 whether the prevailing system be really consistent with sound 
 policy, true taste, or Christian principle, it may be worth our 
 while to inquire.
 
 52 SANDEKS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 and that, however innocence may for a time be depressed, a 
 steady perseverance will, in time, lead it to a certain vic- 
 tory. 
 
 EXEECISE IV. 
 
 1. HOL'-I-DAT, (that is, holy day,) is, literally, a holy day, or day 
 set apart to sacred uses ; hence it came to indicate a day of exemp- 
 tion from ordinary labors or occupation, and thence, also, a day of 
 joy and festivity or amusement. It is often written holyday. 
 
 2. SIR FRANCIS BACON, Baron of Verulam, was born at London in 
 1561, and died in 1626. He is celebrated as a great reformer of phi- 
 losophy, or, rather, of the modes of conducting philosophical inquiries. 
 
 3. O-LYM'-PI-AN VICTORS, that is, victors in the Olympic games, which 
 were celebrated every fifth year at Olympia, a sacred spot on the 
 banks of the Alpheus, near Elis in ancient Greece. 
 
 THE PROPER EDUCATION FOR FEMALES. 
 
 HANNAH MORE. 
 
 1. Since there is a season when the youthful must cease to 
 be young, and the beautiful to excite admiration ; to learn 
 how to grow old gracefully is, perhaps, one of the rarest and 
 most valuable arts which can .be taught to woman. And, it 
 must be confessed, it is a most severe trial for those women 
 to be called to lay down beauty, who have nothing else to 
 take up. It is for this sober season of life that education 
 should lay up its rich resources. However disregarded they 
 may hitherto have been, they will be wanted now. 
 
 2. When admirers fall away, and flatterers become mute, 
 the mind will be compelled to retire into itself; and, if it 
 find no entertainment at home, it will be driven back again 
 upon the world with increased force. Yet, forgetting this, do 
 we not seem to educate our daughters exclusively for the 
 transient period of youth, when it is to maturer life we ought 
 to advert 1 Do we not educate them for a crowd, forgetting 
 that they are to live at home "? for the world, and not for
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEK. 53 
 
 themselves ? for show, and not for use 1 for time, and not for 
 eternity 1 
 
 3. Not a few of the evils of the present day arise from a 
 new and perverted application of terms ; among these, per- 
 haps, there is not one more abused, misunderstood, or misap- 
 plied, than the term accomplishments. This word, in its orig- 
 inal meaning, signifies completeness, perfection. But I may 
 safely appeal to the observation of mankind, whether they do 
 not meet with swarms of youthful females, issuing from our 
 boarding-schools, as well as emerging from the more private 
 scenes of domestic education, who are introduced into the 
 world under the broad and universal title of accomplished 
 young ladies, of all of whom it can not very truly and cor- 
 rectly be pronounced, that they illustrate the definition by a 
 completeness which leaves nothing to be added, and a perfec- 
 tion which leaves nothing to be desired. 
 
 4. It would be w T ell, if we would reflect, that we have to 
 educate not only rational, but accountable beings ; and, re- 
 membering this, should we not be solicitous to let our daugh- 
 ters learn of the well-taught, and associate with the well- 
 bred 1 In training them, should we not carefully cultivate 
 intellect, implant religion, and cherish modesty 1 Then, 
 whatever is engaging in manners, would be the natural result 
 of whatever is just in sentiment and correct in principle ; 
 softness would grow out of humility, and external delicacy 
 would spring from purity of heart. Then the decorums, the 
 proprieties, the elegancies, and even the graces, as far as they 
 are simple, pure, and honest, would follow as an almost in- 
 evitable consequence ; for to follow in the train of the Chris- 
 tian virtues, and not to take the lead of them, is the proper 
 place which religion assigns to the graces. 
 
 5. Whether we have made the best use of the errors of our 
 predecessors, and of our own numberless advantages, and 
 whether the prevailing system be really consistent with sound 
 policy, true taste, or Christian principle, it may be worth our 
 while to inquire.
 
 56 SANDEKS'NEW SEEIES. 
 
 5. " / love to live" said an aged one, 
 
 Whose hour of life was well-nigh run : 
 Think you such words from him were wild ? 
 The old man was again a child. 
 
 6. And ever thus in this fallen world, 
 
 Is the banner of hope to the breeze unfurled ; 
 And only with a hope on' high, 
 Can a mortal ever love to die. 
 
 I LIVE TO LOVE. 
 
 7. " / live to love" said a laughing girl, 
 
 And she playfully tossed each flaxen curl ; 
 And she climbed on her loving father's knee, 
 And snatched a kiss in her childish glee. 
 
 8. " / live to love" said a maiden fair, 
 
 As she twined a wreath for her sister's hair ; 
 They were bound by the chords of love together, 
 And death alone could these sisters sever. 
 
 9. " I live to love," said a gay young bride, 
 
 Her loved one standing by her side ; 
 
 Her life told again what her lips had spoken, 
 
 And never was the link of affection broken. 
 
 10. " I live to love" said a mother kind, 
 
 " I would live a guide to the infant mind ;" 
 Her precepts and example given, 
 Guided her children home to heaven. 
 
 11. " I shall live to love" said a fading form, 
 
 And her eye was bright and her cheek grew warm ; 
 As she thought on the blissful world on high, 
 Where she would live to love and never die.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEE. 57 
 
 12. And ever thus in this lower world, 
 
 Should the banner of love be wide unfurled, 
 And when we meet in the world above, 
 We may LOVE TO LIVE AND LIVE TO LOVE. 
 
 EXERCISE VI. 
 
 LIFE IS SWEET. 
 
 1. " 0, life is sweet!" said a merry child, 
 (") "And I love, I love to roam 
 
 In the meadows green, 'neath the sky serene, 
 
 O, the world is a fairy home ! 
 There are trees hung thick with blossoms fair, 
 
 And flowers gay and bright, 
 There's the moon's clear ray, and the sun-lit day, 
 
 O, the world is a world of light !" 
 
 2. " 0, life is sweet /" said a gallant youth, 
 
 As he conn'd the storied page ; 
 And he pondered on the days by-gone, 
 
 And the fame of a former age. 
 There was hope in his bright and beaming eye, 
 
 And he longed for riper years ; 
 He clung to life, he dared its strifej" 
 
 He felt nor dread nor fears. 
 
 3. " 0, life is sweet /" came merrily 
 
 From the lips of a fair young bride, 
 And a happy smile she gave the while 
 
 To the dear one by her side. 
 " O, life is sweet ! for we will live 
 
 Our constancy to prove ; 
 Thy sorrow mine, my trials thine, 
 
 Our solace in our love." 
 
 r
 
 58 SANDERS' ]STEW SERIES. 
 
 4. " 0, life is sweet /" said a mother fond, 
 
 As she gazed on her helpless child, 
 And she closer pressed to her gladdened breast 
 
 Her babe, who unconscious, smiled. 
 "My life shall be for thee, my child, 
 
 Pure, guiltless, as thou art ; 
 And who shall dare my soul to tear 
 
 From the tie that forms a part ?" 
 
 5. " 0, life is sweet!" said an aged sire, 
 (si. ) Whose eye was sunk and dim ; 
 
 His heart was bent, his strength was spent, 
 
 Could life be sweet to him ? 
 O, yes ; for round the old man's chair 
 
 His children's children clung ; 
 And each dear face and warm embrace 
 
 Made life seem very young. 
 
 6. Thus life is sweet, from early youth 
 
 To weak, enfeebled age; 
 Love twines with life, through care and strife, . 
 
 In every varied stage. 
 Though rough, perchance, the path we tread, 
 
 And dark the sky above, 
 In every state there 's something yet, 
 
 To live for and to love. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the falling inflection on sweet, in each para- 
 graph? See Rule VIII., page 31. 2. "What rule for the rising inflec- 
 tion on him, and the falling on yes, fifth stanza ? 3. In what respec-t do 
 the third and seventh lines of each stanza differ from the rest ? 4. 
 How, according to the notation marks, should the first and fifth 
 stanzas be read ? See page 40.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 59 
 
 EXERCISE VII. 
 
 COMMON PEOPLE. 
 
 T. 8. ARTHUR. 
 
 1. "Are you going to call upon Mrs. Clayton and her 
 daughters, Mrs. Marygold f asked a neighbor, alluding to a 
 family that had' just moved into Sycamore Row. 
 
 2. " No, indeed, Mrs. Lemmington, that I am not. I don't 
 visit everybody." 
 
 3. " I thought the Claytons were a very respectable fami- 
 ly," remarked Mrs. Lemmington. 
 
 4. " Respectable! Everybody is getting respectable now- 
 a-days. If they are respectable, it is very lately they have 
 become so. What is Mr. Clayton, I wonder, but a school- 
 master ! It's too bad that such people will come crowding 
 themselves into genteel neighborhoods. The time was, when 
 to live in Sycamore Row was guarantee enough for any one ; 
 but now, all kinds of people have come into it." 
 
 5. " I have never met Mrs. Clayton," remarked Mrs. Lem- 
 mington ; *' but I have been told that she is a most estimable 
 woman, and that her daughters have been educated with 
 great care. Indeed, they are represented as being highly ac- 
 complished girls." 
 
 6. " Well, I don't care what they are represented to be. 
 I 'm not going to keep company with a schoolmaster's wife 
 and daughters ; that 's certain. 
 
 7. " Is there anything disgraceful in keeping a school ?" 
 
 8. " No ; nor in making shoes, either. But. then, that's no 
 reason why I should keep company with my shoemaker's 
 wife ; is it ? Let common people associate together, that 's 
 my doctrine." 
 
 9. " But what do you mean by common people, Mrs. Mary- 
 gold ?" 
 
 10. " Why, I mean common people. Poor people. People 
 who have not come of a respectable family. That 's what I mean, "
 
 
 60 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 11. "I am not sure that I comprehend your explanation 
 much better than I do your classification. If you mean, as 
 you say, poor people, your objection willTiot apply with full 
 force to the Claytons ; for they are now in tolerably easy cir- 
 cumstances. As to the family of Mr. Clayton, I believe his 
 father was a man of integrity, though not rich. And Mrs. 
 Clayton's family I know to be without reproach of any kind." 
 
 12. " And yet they are common people for all that," perse- 
 vered Mrs. Marygoldy " Was n't old Clayton a mere petty 
 deader in small wares. And was n't Mrs. Clayton's father a 
 mechanic "?" 
 
 13. " Perhaps, if some of us were to go back a generation 
 or two, we might trace out an ancestor who held no higher 
 place in society," Airs. Lemmington remarked quietly. " I 
 have no doubt that"? should." 
 
 14. " I have no fears of that kind," replied Mrs. Marygold, 
 in an exulting tone. ; " I shall never blush when my pedigree 
 is traced." 
 
 15. " Nor I either, I hope. Still, I should not wonder, if 
 some one of my ancestors had disgraced himself; for there 
 are but few families that are not cursed with a spotted sheep. 
 But I have nothing to do with that, and ask only to be judged 
 by what I am not by what my progenitors have been." 
 
 16. " A standard that few will respect, let me tell you." 
 
 17. " A standard that far the largest portion of society will 
 regard as the true one, I hope," replied Mrs. Lemmington. 
 "But surely, you do not intend refusing to call upon the 
 Claytons for the reasons you have assigned, Mrs. Marygold f ' 
 
 18. " Certainly I do. They are nothing but common people, 
 and therefore beneath me. I shall not stoop to associate with 
 them." 
 
 19. '' I think that I will call upon them. In fact, my object 
 in dropping in this morning, was to see, if you would not ac- 
 company me," said Mrs. Lemmington. 
 
 20. " Indeed, I will not, and for the reasons I have given. 
 They are only common people. You will be stooping." 

 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 61 
 
 21. "No one stoops in doing a kind act. Mrs. Clayton is 
 a stranger in the neighborhood, and is entitled to the courtesy 
 of a call, if no more ; and that I shall extend to her. If I 
 find her to be uncongenial in her tastes, no intimate acquaint- 
 anceship need be formed. If she is congenial, I will add 
 another to my list of valued friends. You and I, I find, esti- 
 mate differently, /judge every individual by merit, yow, by 
 family or descent." 
 
 22. " You can do as you please," rejoined Mrs. Marygold, 
 somewhat coldly. " For my part, I am particular about 
 my associates. I will visit Mrs. Florence and Mrs. Har- 
 wood, and such as move in good society, but as to your 
 school-teachers' wives and daughters, I must beg to be ex- 
 cused." 
 
 23. " Every one to her taste," rejoined Mrs. Lemmington, 
 with a smile, as she moved towards the door where she stood 
 for a few moments to utter some parting compliments, and 
 then withdrew. 
 
 24. Five minutes afterwards she was shown into Mrs. 
 Clayton's parlors, where, in a moment or two, she was met 
 by the lady upon whom she had called, and received with an 
 easy gracefulness that at once charmed her. A brief conver- 
 sation convinced her that Mrs. Clayton was, in intelligence 
 and moral worth, as far above Mrs. Marygold, as that per- 
 sonage imagined herself to be above her. Her daughters, 
 who came in while she sat conversing with their mother, 
 showed themselves to possess all those graces of mind and 
 manner that win upon our admiration so irresistibly. An 
 hour passed quickly and pleasantly, and then Mrs. Lemming- 
 ton withdrew. 
 
 25. The difference between Mrs. Lemmington and Mrs. 
 Marygold was simply this. The former had been familiar 
 with what is called the best society from her earliest recollec- 
 tion, and, being, therefore, constantly in association with those 
 looked upon as the upper class, knew nothing of the upstart 
 self-estimation which is felt by certain weak, ignorant persons,
 
 62 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 who, by some accidental circumstance, are elevated far above 
 the condition in which they moved originally. 
 
 26. She could estimate true worth in humble garb as well 
 as in velvet and rich satins. She was one of those individu- 
 als who never passed an old and worthy domestic in the 
 street without recognition, or stopping to make some kind in- 
 quiry one who never forgot a familiar face, or neglected to 
 pass a kind word to even the humblest who possessed the 
 merit of good principles. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What rule for the rising inflection on Mrs. Marygold, 
 9th and 17th paragraphs ? See Note I, page 30. 2. What kind of em- 
 phasis on /and you, 21st paragraph ? See Note VII., page 22. 3. What 
 kind of emphasis on best, 25th paragraph ? See Note VI., page 21. 
 
 EXERCISE VIII. 
 
 1. TRANS-FIG' -URE, (from TRANS, implying change, and FIGURE, a form 
 or shape,} is to change the form or figure ; to transform. 
 
 2. THE SOUTHERN CROSS (in Latin, Crux Australia) is a brilliant 
 little constellation, consisting of four principal stars, too far south, 
 however, to be seen by us, in these northern regions. 
 
 3. THE POLAB STAR is a star of the second magnitude, forming the 
 extremity of Ursa Minor, or the Little Bear. 
 
 THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN. 
 
 EPHRAIM PEABODY. 
 
 1. Here is a whaling vessel in the harbor, her anchors up, 
 and her sails unfurled. The last boat has left her. and she is 
 now departing on a voyage of three, and, perhaps, four years 
 in length. All that the eye sees is, that she is a fine ship, 
 and that it has cost much labor to fit her out. Those on 
 board will spend years of toil, and will then return, while the 
 profits of the voyage will be distributed, as the case may be, 
 to be squandered, or to be added to already existing hoards. 
 So much appears. But there is an unpublished history,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 63 
 
 which, could it be revealed, and brought vividly before the 
 mind, would transfigure 1 her, and enshrine her in an almost 
 awful light. 
 
 2. There is not a stick of timber in her whole frame, not a 
 plank or a rope, which is not, in some mysterious way, en- 
 veloped with human interests and sympathies. Let us trace 
 this part of her history, while she circles the globe, and re- 
 turns to the harbor from which she sailed. At the outset, the 
 labor of the merchant, the carpenter, and of all employed on 
 her, has not been mere sordid labor. The thought of their 
 homes, of their children, and of what this labor may secure 
 for them, has been in their hearts. 
 
 3. And they who sail in her, leave behind homes, wives, 
 children, parents ; and, years before they return, those who 
 are dearest to them, may 'be in their tombs. What bitter 
 partings, as if by the grave's brink, are those which take 
 place, when the signal to unmoor calls them on board. There 
 are among them young men, married, perhaps, but a few 
 weeks before, and those of maturer years, whose young 
 children cleave to their hearts as they go. 
 
 4. How deeply, as the good ship sails out into the open 
 sea, is she freighted with memories and affections ! Every 
 eye is turned toward the receding coast, as if the pangs of 
 another farewell were to be endured. Fade slowly, shores 
 that encircle their homes ! Shine brightly, ye skies, over 
 those dear ones whom they leave behind ! 
 
 5. They round the capes of continents, they traverse every 
 zone, their keel crosses every sea ; but still, brighter than the 
 Southern Cross 2 or the Polar Star, 3 shines on their souls the 
 light of their distant home. In the calm moonlight rise be- 
 fore the mariner the forms of those whom he loves ; in the 
 pauses of the gale, he hears the voices of his children. Beat 
 upon by the tempest, worn down with labor, he endures all. 
 Welcome care and toil, if these may bring peace and happi- 
 ness to those dear ones who meet around his distant fireside ! 
 
 6. And the thoughts of those in that home, compassing tho
 
 64: SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 globe, follow him wherever he goes. Their prayers blend 
 with all the winds which swell his sails. Their affections 
 hover over his dreams. Children count the months and the 
 days of a father's absence. The babe learns to love him, and 
 to lisp his name. Not a midnight storm strikes their dwell- 
 ing, but the wife starts from her sleep, as if she heard, in the 
 wailing of the wind, the sad forebodings of danger and wreck. 
 Not a soft wind blows, but comes to her heart as a gentle 
 messenger from the distant seas. 
 
 7. And, after years of absence, they approach their native 
 shores. As the day closes, they can see the summits of the 
 distant highlands, hanging like stationary clouds on the hori- 
 zon. And long before the night is over, their sleepless eyes 
 catch the light glancing across the rim of the seas, from the 
 light-house at the entrance of the bay. With the morning 
 they are moored in the harbor. 
 
 8. The newspapers announce her arrival. But here again, 
 how little of her cargo is of that material kind which can be 
 reckoned in dollars and cents ! She is freighted with human 
 hearts, with anxieties, and hopes, and fears. There are many 
 there, who have not dared to ask the pilot of home. The 
 souls of many, which yesterday were full of joy, are now 
 overshadowed with anxiety. They almost hesitate to leave 
 the ship, and pause for some one from the shore to answer 
 those questions of home and of those they love, which they 
 dare not utter. There are many joyful meetings, and some 
 that are full of sorrow. 
 
 9. Let us follow one of this crew. He is still a youth. 
 Years ago, of a wild, and reckless, and roving spirit, he left 
 his home. He had fallen into temptations which had been 
 too strong for his feeble virtue. His feet had been familiar 
 with the paths of sin and shame. But, during the present 
 voyage, sickness and reflection have " brought him to him- 
 self." Full of remorse for evil courses, and for that parental 
 love which he has slighted, he has said : " I will arise and go to' 
 my father's house ;" they who gave me birth shall no longer
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 65 
 
 mourn over me as lost. I will smooth the pathway of age to 
 them, and be the support of their feeble steps. 
 
 10. He is on his way to where they dwell in the country. 
 As the sun is setting, he can see, from an eminence over which 
 the road passes, their solitary home on a distant hill-side. O 
 scene of beauty, such as, to him, no other land can show ! 
 There is the church, here a school-house, and the homes of 
 those whom he knew in childhood. He can see the places, 
 where he used to watch the golden sunset ; not, as now, with 
 a heart full of penitence, and fear, and sorrow for wasted 
 years, but in the innocent days of youth. There are the pas- 
 tures and the woods, where he wandered, full of the dreams 
 and hopes of childhood fond hopes and dreams that have 
 issued in such sad realities. 
 
 11. The scene to others would be but an ordinary one. 
 But, to him, the spirit gives it life. It is covered all over 
 with the golden hues of memory. His heart leaps forward 
 to his home, but his feet linger. May not death have been 
 there ? May not those lips be hushed in the silence of the 
 grave, from which he hoped to hear the words of love and 
 forgiveness ? He pauses on the way, and does not approach, 
 till he beholds a light shining- through the uncurtained win- 
 dows of the humble dwelling. And even now his hand is 
 drawn back, which was raised to lift the latch. He would see, 
 if all are there. With a trembling heart, he looks into the 
 window, and there blessed sight ! he beholds his mother, 
 busy, as was her wont, and his father, only grown more rev- 
 erend with increasing age, reading that holy book which he had 
 taught his son to revere, but which that son had so forgotten. 
 
 12. But there were others ; and, lo ! one by one they en- 
 ter, young sisters, who, when he last saw them, were but 
 children that sat on the knee, but have now grown up almost 
 to womanly years. And now another fear seizes him. How 
 shall they receive him ? May not he be forgotten 1 May 
 they not reject him ? But he will, at least, enter. He raises 
 the latch, with a heart too full for utterance, he stands, silent
 
 66 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ tv^^^^^^^^^-^^v^-^^^- 
 
 and timid, in the door-way. The father raises his head, the 
 mother pauses and turns to look at the guest who enters. It 
 is but a moment, when burst from their lips the fond words 
 of recognition my son ! my son ! 
 
 13. Blessed words, which have told so fully that nothing re- 
 mains to be told, the undying strength of parental love ! To 
 a traveler who might that night have passed this cottage 
 among the hills, if he had observed it at all, it would have 
 spoken of nothing but daily toil, of decent comfort, of ob- 
 scure fortunes. Yet, at that very hour, it was filled with 
 thanksgivings, which rose like incense to the heavens, because 
 that " he who was lost, was found ; and he that was dead, was 
 alive again." 
 
 14. Thus ever under the visible is the invisible. Through 
 dead material forms circulate the currents of spiritual life. 
 Desert rocks, and seas, and shores, are humanized by the 
 presence of man, and become alive with memories and affec- 
 tions. There is a life which appears, and under it, in every 
 heart, is a life which does not appear, which is to the former 
 as the depths of the sea to the waves, and the bubbles, and the 
 spray on its surface. There is not an obscure house among 
 the mountains, where the whole romance of life, from its 
 dawn to its setting, through its brightness and through its 
 gloom, is not lived through. 
 
 15. The commonest events of the day are products of 
 the same passions and affections which, in other spheres, de- 
 cide the fate of kingdoms. Outwardly, the ongoings of ordi- 
 nary life are like the movements of machinery, lifeless, me- 
 chanical, common place repetitions of the same trifling events. 
 But they are neither lifeless, nor old, nor trifling. The pas- 
 sions and affections make them ever new and original, and the 
 most unimportant acts of the day reach forward in their re- 
 sults into the shadows of eternity. 
 
 QUESTION. 1. Where are the passages to be found referred to in 
 the 9th and 13th paragraphs? See Luke, chap. S.Y., 17th, 18th, and 
 32d verses.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 67 
 
 EXERCISE IX. 
 
 In order to pronounce such \vords as think 'st, could' 'st, sleep 'st, bid'st, 
 <fec., clearly and distinctly, pupils should be frequently exercised on 
 the examples presented on pages 15 and 16. 
 
 NO CONCEALMENT. 
 
 Ik H. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 1 . Think'st thou to be concealed, thou little stream, 
 
 That through the lonely vale dost wend thy way, 
 Loving beneath the darkest arch to glide 
 
 Of woven branches, blent with hillocks gray? 
 The mist doth track thee, and reveal thy course 
 
 Unto the dawn, and a bright line of green 
 Tinting thy marge, and the white flocks that haste, 
 
 At summer noon, to taste thy crystal sheen, 
 Make plain thy wanderings to the eye of day. 
 
 And then, thy smiling answer to the moon, 
 Whose beams so freely on thy bosom sleep, 
 
 Unfold thy secret, even to night's dull noon 
 How could'st thou hope, in such a world as this, 
 To shroud thy gentle path of beauty and of bliss 1 
 
 2. Think'st thou to be concealed, thou little seed, 
 
 That in the bosom of the earth art cast, 
 And there, like cradled infant sleep'st awhile. 
 
 Unmoved by trampling storm or thunder blast 1 
 Thou bid'st thy time ; for herald Spring shall come, 
 
 And wake thee, all unwilling as thou art ; 
 Unhood thy eyes, unfold thy clasping sheath, 
 
 And stir the languid pulses of thy heart ; 
 The loving rains shall woo thee, and the dews 
 
 Weep o'er thy bed, and, ere thou art aware, 
 Forth steals the tender leaf, the wiry stem, 
 
 The trembling bud. the flower that scents the air, 
 And soon, to all, thy ripened fruitage tells 
 The evil or the good that in thy nature dwells.
 
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 3. Think'st thou to be concealed, thou little thought, 
 
 That in the curtained chamber of the soul 
 Dost wrap thyself so close, and dream to do 
 
 A secrect work 1 Look to the hues that roll 
 O'er the changed brow, the moving lips behold, 
 
 Linking thee unto speech, the feet that run 
 Upon thy errands, and the deeds that stamp 
 
 Thy lineage plain before the noonday sun ; 
 Look to the pen that writes thy history down 
 
 In those tremendous books that ne'er unclose, 
 Until the day of doom, and blush to see 
 
 How vain thy trust in darkness to repose, 
 Where all things tend to judgment. So, beware, 
 O erring human heart ! what thoughts thou lodgest there. 
 
 EXERCISE X. 
 THE TWO WEAVERS. 
 
 HANNAH MOEK. 
 
 1. As at their work two weavers sat, 
 Beguiling time with friendly chat, 
 They touch'd upon the price of meat, 
 So high, a weaver scarce could eat. 
 
 2. " What with my bairns and sickly wife," 
 
 Quoth Dick, " I 'm almost tired of life ; 
 So hard my work, so poor my fare, 
 'Tis more than mortal man can bear. 
 
 " How glorious is the rich man's state ! 
 His house so fine ! his wealth so great ! 
 Heav'n is unjust, you must agree ; 
 Why all to him ? why none to me ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 69 
 
 4. " In spite of what the Scripture teaches, 
 
 In spite of all the parson preaches, 
 
 This world (indeed I've thought so long,) 
 
 Is rul'd methinks, extremely wrong. 
 
 5. " Where'er I look, howe'er I range, 
 
 'Tis all confus'd and hard, and strange ; 
 The good are troubl'd and oppress'd, 
 And all the wicked are the bless'd." 
 
 6. Quoth John, " Our ignorance is the cause 
 Why thus we blame our Maker's laws ; 
 Parts of his ways alone we know ; 
 
 'Tis all that man can see below. 
 
 7. " Seest thou that carpet not half done, 
 
 Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun ? 
 
 Behold the wild confusion there, 
 
 So rude the mass it makes one stare ! 
 
 8. "A stranger, ignorant of -the trade, 
 
 Would say, no meaning 's there convey'd ; 
 For where 's the middle, where 's the border ? 
 ^ Thy carpet now is all disorder." 
 
 9. Quoth Dick, " My work is yet in bits, 
 
 it still in every part it fits ; 
 'sides, you reason like a lout, 
 Why man, that carpet's inside out." 
 
 10. Says John, " Thou say 'st the thing I mean, 
 And now 1 hope to cure thy spleen ; 
 
 This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt, 
 Is but a carpet inside out. 
 
 11. "As when we view these shreds and ends, 
 
 We know not what the whole intends ;
 
 70 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 So, when on earth things look but odd, 
 They 're working still some scheme of GOD. 
 
 12. " No plan, no pattern can we trace ; 
 
 All wants proportion, truth, and grace ; 
 The motley mixture we deride, 
 Nor see the beauteous upper side. 
 
 13. " But, when we reach that world of light, 
 
 And view those works of God aright, 
 Then shall we see the whole design, 
 And own the Workman is divine. 
 
 14. " What now seem random strokes, will there 
 
 All order and design appear ; 
 
 Then shall we praise what here we spurn'd, 
 
 For then the carpet shall be turrfd" 
 
 15. "Thou'rt right," quoth Dick, "no more I '11 grumble, 
 
 That this sad world 's so strange a jumble ; 
 My impious doubts are put to flight, 
 For my own carpet sets me right." 
 
 EXERCISE XI. 
 BEAUTY OF THE MORNING. 
 
 HEEVEY. 
 
 1. It was early in a summer morning, when the air was cool, 
 the earth moist, the whole face of the creation fresh and gay, 
 that I lately walked in a beautiful flower garden, and at once 
 regaled the sense and indulged the fancy. The noisy world 
 was scarce awake ; business had not quite shaken off his 
 sound sleep, and riot had but just reclined his giddy head. 
 All was serene, all was still. Every thing tended to inspire 
 tranquillity of mind, and invite to serious thought ; only the
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 71 
 
 watchful lark had left her nest, and was mounting on high to 
 salute the opening day. 
 
 2. Elevated in the air, sh, 1 seemed to call the laborious 
 husbandman to his toil, and all her fellow-songsters to their 
 notes. Earliest of birds, companion of the dawn, may I al- 
 ways rise at thy voice ! rise to offer the matin-songjjind adore 
 that beneficent Being, who maketh the outgoing of the mom- 
 ing and evening to rejoice. How charming is it to rove 
 abroad at this sweet hour of prime ! to enjoy the calm of 
 nature, to tread the dewy lawns, and taste the unruffled fresh- 
 ness of the air ! 
 
 Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
 With charm of earliest birds ! 
 
 3. What a pleasure do the sons of sloth lose ! Little is 
 the sluggard sensible how delicious an entertainment he for- 
 goes for the poorest of all animal gratifications ? Shall man 
 be lost in luxurious ease ? Shall man waste those precious 
 hours in idle slumbers, while the vigorous sun is up, and go- 
 ing on his Maker's errand, and all the feathei'ed choir are 
 hymning the Creator, and paying 'their homage in harmony ? 
 No : let him highten the melody of the tuneful tribes by ad- 
 ding the rational strains of devotion. Let him improve the 
 fragrant oblations of nature, by mingling with the rising odors 
 the refined breath of praise. It is natural for man to look 
 upward, to throw his first glance upon the objects that are 
 above him. 
 
 Straight toAvard heav'n my wandering eyes I turn'd, 
 And gaz'd awhile the ample sky. 
 
 4. Prodigious theater ! where lightnings dart their fire, and 
 thunders utter their voice ; where tempests spend their rage, 
 and worlds unnumber'd roll at large. " Here hath God set 
 a tabernacle for the sun." Behold him coming forth from 
 the chambers of the east. See the clouds, like floating cur- 
 tains are thrown back at his approach. With what refulgent
 
 72 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 majesty does he walk abroad ! How transcendently bright 
 is his countenance, shedding day and inexhaustible light 
 through the universe ! 
 
 5. Methinks I discern a thousand admirable properties in 
 the sun. It is certainly the best material emblem of the 
 Creator. There is more of God in its luster, energy, and 
 usefulness, than in any other visible being. To worship it as 
 a deity was the most excusable of all' the heathen idolatries. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Are the questions in the 3d paragraph direct or in- 
 direct ? 2. With what inflection, then, should they be read ? 
 
 EXERCISE XII. 
 
 1. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, an eminent English poet, was born iu 
 Sussex county, in 1792. lie was the author of several poetical works, 
 displaying genius of the highest order He was drowned by the 
 wreck of his own sailing-boat in a violent storm, on his return from 
 Leghorn to his house, on the gulf of Lcrici, July 8th, 1822. 
 
 THE TRUE DIGNITY OF LABOR. 
 
 WILLIAM HOWITT. 
 
 1. From the foundation of the world there has been a ten- 
 dency to look down upon labor, and upon those who live by 
 it, with contempt, as though it were something mean and ig- 
 noble. This is one of those vulgar prejudices which have 
 arisen from considering everything vulgar that was peculiar 
 to the multitude. Because the multitude have been suffered 
 to remain too long rude and ignorant, everything associated 
 with their condition has been confounded with the circum- 
 stances of this condition. 
 
 2. The multitude were, in their rudeness and ignorance, 
 mean in the public estimation, and the labor of their hands 
 was held to be mean too. Nay, it has been said that labor 
 is the result of God's primary curse, pronounced on man 
 for his disobedience. But that is a great mistake. God told
 
 YOUNG- LADIES' READER. 73 
 
 Adam that the ground was cursed for his sake, but not that 
 his labor was cursed. He told him that in the sweat of his 
 face he should eat his bread till he returned to the ground. 
 
 3. But, so far from labor partaking of the curse, it was 
 given him as the means of triumphing over the curse. The 
 ground was to produce thorns and thistles, but labor was to 
 extirpate these thorns and thistles, and to cover the face of 
 the earth with fruit-trees and bounteous harvests. And labor 
 has done this ; labor has already converted the earth, so far 
 as the surface is concerned, from a wilderness into a paradise. 
 Man eats his bread in the sweat of his face, but is there any 
 bread so sweet as that, when he has only nature to contend 
 with, and not the false arrangements of his fellow men 1 ? 
 
 4. S far is labor from being a curse, so far is it from be- 
 ing a disgrace^ it is the very principle which, like the winds 
 of the air, or the agitation of the sea, keeps the world in 
 health. It is the very life-blood of society, stirring in all its 
 veins, and diffusing vigor and enjoyment through the whole 
 system. Without man's labor, God had created the world in 
 vain ! Without our labor, all life, except that of the rudest 
 and most savage kind, must perish. Arts, civilization, refine- 
 ment, and religion must perish. Labor is the grand pedestal 
 of God's blessings upon earth ; it is more like man and the 
 world itself it is the offspring and the work of God. 
 
 5. So then, labor, instead of being the slave and the drudge, 
 is really the prince and the demigod. It is no mean species 
 of action, but it is, in truth, a divine principle of -the universe, 
 issuing from the bosom of the Creator, and for the achieve- 
 ment of his most glorious purpose, the happiness of all his 
 creatures. Who was and is the first great laborer 1 It is 
 God himself ! In the far depths of the unexplored eternity 
 of the past, God began his labors. He formed world after 
 world, and poised them in infinite space, in the beautiful lan- 
 guage of Shelley, 1 like 
 
 " Islands in the oaean of the world." 
 
 6. From that time to the present, there is every rational 
 
 8
 
 74 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 cause to believe that he has gone on laboring. He is the great 
 Laborer of eternity ; and it is the highest of possible honors to 
 be admitted to labor with him. There is no patent of nobil- 
 ity, which can confer a glory like this. When he had finished 
 his labor on our planet, his last and noblest work being man, 
 he conferred on him a partnership in his labors. He handed 
 down to him the great chain of labor, and bade him encircle 
 the world with it. 
 
 7. He elected us as his successors here ; and, from that 
 time to this, the great family of man has gone on laboring 
 with head and hand in a myriad of ways, carrying out, by the 
 unceasing operations of intellect and mechanic skill, by in- 
 vention and construction, the designs of the Almighty for the 
 good of his creatures. Can there positively be a sight more 
 delightful to the great unseen, but watchful Father of the 
 Universe, than that of all his countless rational creatures busy 
 at the benificent scheme of boundless labors, out of which 
 springs the gladness of all life 1 
 
 8. After the lapse of thousands of years, and when the 
 cunning and the proud had cast a base stigma on that which 
 God had created good and the medium of good, Christ came, 
 and what were his remarkable words ? " Mij Father worketh 
 hitherto, and I work.'''' Thus again, the revelation of the Gos- 
 pel was also a grand revelation of the dignity of labor. It 
 was acknowledged to be a principle exercised by the Divinity 
 itself. Every one who labored was made to appear, not the 
 slave of man, but the fellow-laborer of God. Where, then, 
 is the meanness of labor ? If God himself does not disdain 
 to use it, shall we ? If God seems even to glory in his labors, 
 shall we be ashamed of ours ? No ! Labor is, as we have 
 asserted, a divine principle of the universe ; it is the most 
 honorable thing on the earth, and, next to God himself, it is 
 the most ancient in heaven. 
 
 9. All honor then to labor, the offspring of Deity ; the 
 most ancient of ancients, sent forth by the Almighty into 
 these nether worlds ; the most noble of nobles ! Honor to
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 75 
 
 that divine principle which has filled the earth with all the 
 comforts, and joys, and affluence that it possesses, and is un- 
 doubtedly the instrument of happiness wherever life is found. 
 Without labor, what is there ? Without it, there were no 
 world itself. 
 
 10. Whatever we see or perceive in heaven or on the 
 earth is the product of labor. The sky above us, the ground 
 beneath us, the air we breathe, the sun, the moon, the stars 
 what are they ? The product of labor. They are the labors 
 of the Omnipotent, and all our labors are but a continuance 
 of His. Our work is a divine work. We carry on what 
 God began. We build up, each in his own vocation, the 
 grand fabric of human honor and human happiness, exercising 
 all our faculties and powers, physical and intellectual, and the 
 result is What ? 
 
 11. The scene of all our glories, the sum of all our achieve- 
 ments as a race, every thing which history can tell, which art 
 has accomplished, which science has exhumed from the depths' 
 of oblivious darkness, which embellishes our abodes, and ani- 
 mates us to still greater victories in the cause of man and 
 mind. 
 
 12. What a glorious spectacle is that of the labor of man 
 upon the earth ! It includes every thing in it that is glorious. 
 Look round, my friends, and tell me what you see that is 
 worth seeing that is not the work of your hands, and of the 
 hands of your fellows the multitude of all ages ? 
 
 13. What is it that felled the ancient forests, and cleared 
 vast morasses of other ages ? That makes green fields smile 
 in the sun, and corn, rustling in the breezes of heaven, whisper 
 of plenty and domestic joy ? What raised first the hut, and 
 then the cottage, and then the palace 1 What filled all these 
 with food and furniture with food simple and also costly ; 
 with furniture of infinite variety, from the three-legged stool 
 to the most magnificent cabinet and the regal throne ? What 
 made glass, and dyed it with all the hues of rainbows, or of 
 summer sunsets ? What constructed presses, and books, and
 
 76 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 filled up the walls of libraries, every inch of which contained 
 a mass of latent light hoarded for the use of ages 1 What 
 took the hint from the split walnut-shell which some boy 
 floated on the brook, and set on the flood first the boat, and 
 then the ship, and has scattered these glorious children of 
 man, the water-walking ships, over all the oceans of the 
 world, and filled them with the produce of all lands, and the 
 machinery and steam of profoundest inventions ? 
 
 14. What has made the wide sea like a great city street, 
 where merchants are going to and fro full of eager thoughts 
 of self-accumulation, but not the less full of international 
 blessings ? What has made the land like one great garden, 
 laid down its roads that run like veins to every portion of 
 the system of life, cut its canals, cast up its lines of rail- ways, 
 and driven along them, in fire and vapor, the awful but bene- 
 ficial dragons of modern enterprise ? What has piled up all 
 our cities with their glittering and exhaustless wealth, their 
 splendid utensils, their paintings, their mechanic wonders, all 
 serving domestic life, and its beloved fireside delights ? La- 
 bor ! labor ! LABOR ! It is labor, and your labor, men of the 
 multitude, that has done it all ! 
 
 15. True, the wise ones tell us that it is intellect that has 
 done it. And all honor to intellect ! It is not I, nor you, 
 fellow-workers, who will attempt to rob the royal power of 
 intellect of one iota of his renown. Intellect is also a glori- 
 ous gift of the Divinity, a divine principle in the earth. 
 We set intellect at the head of labor, and bid it lead the way 
 to all wonders and discoveries ; but we know that intellect 
 can not go alone. Intellect can not separate itself from labor. 
 
 16. Intellect has also its labor ; and in its most abstract 
 and ethereal form can not develop itself without the co-opera- 
 tion of its twin-brother labor. When intellect exerts itself, 
 when it thinks, and invents, and discovers, it then labors. 
 Through the medium of labor it does all that it does ; and 
 upon labor it is perfectly dependent to carry out all its me- 
 chanical operations. Intellect is the head, labor the right
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 77 
 
 hand. Take away the hand, and the head is a magazine of 
 knowledge and fire that is sealed up in eternal darkness. 
 Such are the relationships of labor and intellect. 
 
 EXERCISE XIII. 
 THE LABORER. 
 
 WH. D. OAiLAGHEB. 
 
 1 Stand up erect ! Thou hast the form, 
 
 And likeness of thy GOD ! who more ? 
 
 A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm. 
 
 Of daily life, a heart as warm 
 
 And pure, as breast e'er wore. 
 
 2. What then 1 Thou art as true a man 
 
 As moves the human mass among ; 
 As much a part of the great plan 
 That with Creation's dawn began, 
 
 As any of the throng. 
 
 3. Who is thine enemy 1 the high 
 
 fn station, or in wealth the chief? 
 The great, who coldly pass thee by, 
 With proud step and averted eye 1 
 
 Nay ! nurse not such belief. 
 
 4. If true unto thyself thou wast, 
 
 What were the proud one's scorn to thee ? 
 A feather, which thou mightest cast 
 Aside, as idly as the blast 
 
 The light leaf from the tree. 
 
 5. No ; uncurb'd passions, low desires, 
 
 Absence of noble self-respect, 
 Death, in the breast's consuming fires, 
 To that high nature which aspires 
 
 Forever, till thus check'd.
 
 78 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 6. These are thine enemies thy worst ; 
 
 They chain thee to thy lowly lot : 
 Thy labor and thy life accursed. 
 O, stand erect ! and from them burst ! 
 
 And longer suffer not ! 
 
 7. Thou art thyself thine enemy ! 
 
 The great ! what better they than thou ? 
 As theirs, is not thy will as free ? 
 Has GOB with equal favors thee 
 
 Neglected to endow ? 
 
 8. True, wealth thou hast not 'tis but dust ! 
 
 Nor place uncertain as the wind ! 
 But that thou hast, which, with thy crust, 
 And water, may despise the lust 
 
 Of both, a noble mind. 
 
 9. With this, and passions under ban, 
 
 True faith, and holy trust in GOD, 
 Thou art the peer of any man. 
 Look up then : that thy little span 
 
 Of life may be well trod ! 
 
 EXERCISE XIV. 
 ACTION ALWAYS HEALTHFUL. 
 
 OOWPEB. 
 
 1. By ceaseless action, all that is subsists. 
 Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel 
 That Nature rides upon, maintains her health, 
 Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 
 An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves. 
 Its own revolvency upholds the world.
 
 YOUNG LADIES* READER. 79 
 
 2. Winds from all quarters agitate the air, 
 And fit the limpid element for use, 
 
 Else noxious ; oceans, rivers, lakes and streams, 
 
 All feel the freshening impulse, and are cleansed 
 
 By restless undulation ; e'en the oak 
 
 Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm : 
 
 He seems, indeed, indignant, and to feel 
 
 The impression of the blast with proud disdain, 
 
 Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm 
 
 He held the thunder ; but the monarch owes 
 
 His firm stability to what he scorns, 
 
 More fixed below, the more disturbed above. 
 
 3. The law, by which all creatures else are bound, 
 Binds man, the lord of all. Himself derives 
 No mean advantage from a kindred cause ; 
 From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. 
 The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
 When custom bids, but no refreshment find ; 
 For none they need : the languid eye, the cheek 
 Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, 
 And withered muscle, and the vapid soul, 
 Reproach their owner with that love of rest, 
 To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 
 
 4. Not such the alert and active. Measure life 
 By its true worth, the comfort it affords, 
 And their's alone seems worthy of the name. 
 Good health, and its associate in the most, 
 Good temper ; spirits prompt to undertake, 
 And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; 
 The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs ; 
 E'en age itself seems privileged in them 
 
 With clear exemption from its own defects. 
 A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 
 The veteran shows, and gracing a gray beard
 
 80 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 With youthful smiles, descends toward the grave 
 Sprightly and old, almost without decay. 
 
 5. Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most, 
 Farthest retires, an idol, at whose shrine 
 Who oftenest sacrifice, are favored least. 
 The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, 
 
 Is Nature's dictate. Strange ! there should be found, 
 
 Who, self-imprisoned in their proud saloons, 
 
 Eenounce the odors of the open field 
 
 For the unscented fictions of the loom ; 
 
 Who, satisfied only with penciled scenes, 
 
 Prefer to the performance of a God 
 
 Th' inferior wonder of an artist's hand ! 
 
 Lovely, indeed, the mimic works of Art ; 
 
 But Nature's works far lovelier. 
 
 6. I admire, 
 None more admires, the painter's magic skill, 
 Who shows me that which I shall never see, 
 Conveys a distant country into mine, 
 
 And throws Italian light on English walls : 
 
 But imitative strokes can do no more 
 
 Than please the eye, sweet Nature's every sense, 
 
 The air salubrious of her lofty hills, 
 
 The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales, 
 
 And music of her woods, no works of man 
 
 May rival these ; these all bespeak a power 
 
 Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
 
 7. Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast ; 
 'Tis free to all 'tis every day renewed ; 
 Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. 
 He does not scorn it who, imprisoned long 
 In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
 To sallow sickness, which the vapors, dank 
 And clammy, of his dark abode have bred, 
 Escapes at last to liberty and light :
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 81 
 
 His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue ; 
 
 His eye relumines its extinguished fires ; 
 
 He walks, he leaps, he runs, is winged with joy, 
 
 And riots in the sweets of every breeze. 
 
 EXERCISE XV. 
 
 1. SA'- TYK, in Grecian mythology, a sort of inferior deity, or demi- 
 god, represented as a monster, half a man and half goat, having short 
 horns on the head, the body covered with hair, and the feet and tail 
 of a goat. 
 
 2. PE'-EI, among the Persians, was an elf or fairy, fancied to be a de- 
 scendant of fallen angels, and awaiting only the termination of the 
 penance enjoined, to return to the bliss of Paradise. 
 
 3. MUF'-TI, among the Mohammedans, is an official interpreter of Mo- 
 hammedan law. Every large town contains at least one ; the one 
 residing at Constantinople being, in some sense, over all the rest. 
 
 AN EASTERN APOLOGUE. 
 
 1. Abdallah sat at his morning meal, when there alighted 
 on the rim of his goblet a little fly. It sipped an atom of 
 sirup and was gone. But it came next morning, and the 
 next, and the next again, till at last the scholar noticed it. 
 Not quite a common fly, it seemed to know that it was beau- 
 tiful, and it soon grew very bold. And, lo ! a great wonder : 
 it became daily larger, and yet larger, till there could be dis- 
 cerned in the size, as of a locust, the appearance as of a man. 
 From a handbreadth it reached the stature of a cubit ; and 
 still, so winning were its ways, that it found more and more 
 favor with this son of infatuation. It frisked like a Satyr, 1 
 and it sang like a Peri, 2 and like a moth of the evening it 
 danced on the ceiling, and, like the king's gift, withersoever it 
 turned, it prospered. 
 
 2. The eyes of the simple one were blinded, so that he 
 
 4*
 
 82 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 could not in all this perceive the subtilty of an evil gin. 
 Therefore the lying spirit waxed bolder and yet bolder, and 
 whatsoever his soul desired of dainty meats, he freely took ; 
 and when the scholar waxed wroth, and said : " This is my 
 daily portion from the table of the Mufti ; 3 there is not enough 
 for thee and me," the dog-faced deceiver played some pleasant 
 trick, and caused the silly one to smile. Until, in process of 
 time, the scholar perceived that, as his guest grew stronger 
 and stronger, he himself waxed weaker and weaker. 
 
 3. Now, also, there arose frequent strife betwixt the de- 
 mon and his dupe, and at last the youth smote the fiend 
 so sore, that he departed for a season. And, when he was 
 gone, Abdallah rejoiced and said : " I have triumphed over 
 mine enemy, and whatsoever time it pleaseth me, I shall 
 smite him so that he die. Is he not altogether in mine own 
 power ?" But after not many days the gin came back again, 
 and this time he was arrayed in goodly garments, and he 
 brought a present in his hand, and he spake of the days of 
 their first friendship, and he looked so mild and feeble, that 
 his smooth words wrought upon this dove without a heart, 
 and saying : " Is he not a little one ?" he received him again 
 into his chamber. 
 
 4. On the morrow, when Abdallah came not into the as- 
 sembly of studious youth, the Mufti said : " Wherefore tarri- 
 eth the son of Abdul 1 Perchance, he sleepeth." Therefore 
 they repaired even to his chamber ; but to their knocking he 
 made no answer. Wherefore, the Mufti opened the door, 
 and, lo ! there lay on the divan the dead body of his disciple. 
 His visage was black and swollen, and on his throat was the 
 pressure of a finger, broader than the palm of a mighty man. 
 All the stuff, the gold, and the changes of raiment belonging 
 to the hapless one, were gone, and in the soft earth of the gar- 
 den were seen the footsteps of a giant. The mufti measured 
 one of the prints, and, behold ! it was six cubits long. 
 
 5. Eeader, canst thou expound the riddle ? Is it the Bottle, 
 or the Betting-book ? Is it the Billiard-table or the Theater ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 83 
 
 Is it Smoking ? Is it Laziness ? Is it Novel-reading "? But 
 know that an evil habit is an elf constantly expanding. It 
 may come in at the key-hole, but it will soon grow too big 
 for the house. Know, also, that no evil habit can take the life 
 of your soul, unless you yourself nourish it, and cherish it, 
 and by feeding it with your own vitality, give it a strength 
 greater than your own. 
 
 EXERCISE XVI. 
 LIVE NOT TO YOURSELF. 
 
 EKV. JOHN TODD. 
 
 1. On a frail little stem in the garden hangs the opening rose. 
 Go ask why it hangs there ! " I hang there," says the beau- 
 tiful flower, " to sweeten the air which man breathes, to open 
 my beauties, to kindle emotion in his eye, to show him the 
 hand of his God, who penciled each leaf, and laid them thus 
 on my bosom. And, whether you find me here to greet him 
 every morning, or whether you find me on the lone mountain- 
 side, with the bare possibility that he will throw me one pass- 
 ing glance, my end is the same. I live not to myself." 
 
 2. Beside yon highway stands an aged tree, solitary and 
 alone. You see no living thing near it, and you say, surely 
 that must stand for itself alone. " No ;" says the tree, " God 
 never made me for a purpose so small. For more than a 
 hundred years I have stood here. In summer, I have spread 
 out my arms, and sheltered the panting flocks which hastened 
 to my shade ; in my bosom I have concealed and protected 
 the brood of young birds, as they lay and rocked in their 
 nests ; in the storm I have more than once received in my 
 body the lightning's bolt, which had else destroyed the trav- 
 eler ; the acorns which I have matured from year to year, 
 have been carried far and wide, and groves of forest oaks can, 
 claim me as their parent.
 
 84 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 3. " I have lived for the eagle which has perched on my 
 top ; for the humming-bird,' that has paused and refreshed its 
 giddy wings ere it danced away again like a blossom of the 
 air ; for the insect that has found a home within the folds of 
 my bark ; and, when I can stand no longer, I shall fall by the 
 hand of man, and I will go to strengthen the ship which 
 makes him lord of the ocean, and to his dwelling, to warm 
 his hearth and cheer his home. I live not to myself." 
 
 4. On yonder mountain-side comes down the silver brook, 
 in the distance resembling a ribbon of silver, running and 
 leaping as it dashes joyously and fearlessly down. Go ask 
 the leaper what it is doing. " I was born," says the brook, 
 " high up the mountain ; but there I could do no good ; and 
 so I am hurrying down, running ' where I can, and leaping 
 where I must, but hastening down to water the sweet valley, 
 where the thirsty cattle may drink, where the lark may sing 
 on my margin, where I may drive the mill for the accommo- 
 dation of man, and then widen into the great river, and bear 
 up his steamboats and shipping, and finally plunge into the 
 ocean, to rise again in vapor, and perhaps come back again, 
 in the clouds, to my own native mountain, and live my short 
 life over again. Not a drop of water comes down my chan- 
 nel, in whose bright face you may not read, ' None of us liveth 
 to himself.' " 
 
 5. Speak now to that solitary star that hangs in the far 
 verge of heaven, and ask the bright sparkler what it is doing 
 there 1 Its voice comes down the path of light, and cries : 
 " I am a mighty world ! I was stationed here at the creation. 
 I was among the morning stars that sang together, and among 
 the sons of God that shouted for joy, at the creation of the 
 earth. Aye, I was there 
 
 " When the radiant morn of creation broke, 
 And the world in the smile of God awoke, 
 And the empty realms of darkness and death 
 Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 85 
 
 And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame, 
 
 From the void abyss by myriads came, 
 
 In the joy of youth, as they darted away 
 
 Through the \videning wastes of space to play, 
 
 Their silver voices in chorus rung, 
 
 And this was the song the bright ones sung." 
 
 6. " Here, among the morning stars, I hold my place, and 
 help to keep other worlds balanced and in their places. I have 
 oceans and mountains, and I support myriads of immortal 
 beings on my bosom ; and, when I have done this, I send my 
 bright beams down to earth, and the sailor takes hold of the 
 helm, and fixes his eye on me, and finds his home across the 
 ocean. Of all the countless hosts of my sister stars, who 
 walk forth in the great space of creation, not one, not one 
 lives or shines for herself." 
 
 7. And thus God has written upon the flower that sweetens 
 the air, upon the breeze that rocks that flower on its stem, 
 upon the rain-drops which swell the mighty river, upon the 
 dew-drop that refreshes the smallest sprig of moss that rears 
 its head in the desert, upon the ocean that rocks every swim- 
 mer in its chambers, upon every penciled shell that sleeps in 
 the caverns of the deep, as well as upon the mighty sun 
 which warms and cheers the millions of creatures that live in 
 its light upon all hath He written, " NONE OF us LIVETH TO 
 HIMSELF." 
 
 EXERCISE XVII. 
 
 THE following poem was written in June, 1840, when the author 
 was seventy-four years of age, under these circumstances : Gen. Ogle 
 informed Mr. Adams that several young ladies in his district had re- 
 quested him to obtain his autograph for them. In accordance with 
 this request, Mr. Adams wrote the following beautiful poem upon 
 "ToE WANTS OF MAN," each stanza upon a sheet of note paper. 
 What American young lady would not set a precious value upon such 
 an autograph from this illustrious statesman ?
 
 86 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 THE WANTS OF MAN. 
 
 JOHN QOTNCY ADAMS. 
 
 1. " Man wants but little here below, 
 
 Nor wants that little long ;"* 
 'Tis not with me exactly so, 
 
 But 'tis so in the song. 
 My wants are many, and, if told, 
 
 Would muster many a score, 
 And were each wish a mint of gold, 
 
 I still should long for more. 
 
 2. I want a warm and faithful friend, 
 
 To cheer the adverse hour, 
 "Who ne'er to flatter will descend, 
 
 Nor bend the knee to power. 
 A friend to chide me when I 'm wrong, 
 
 My inmost soul to see ; 
 And that my friendship proves as strong 
 
 For him, as his for me. 
 
 3. I want a kind and tender heart 
 
 For others' wants to feel, 
 A soul secure from Fortune's dart, 
 
 And bosom armed with steel. 
 To bear divine chastisements' rod, 
 
 And mingling in my plan 
 Submission to the will of God, 
 
 With charity to man. 
 
 4. I want a keen, observing eye, 
 
 An ever-listening ear, 
 The truth through all disguise to spy, 
 
 And Wisdom's voice to hear : 
 A tongue to speak at Virtue's need 
 
 In Heaven's sublimest strain ; 
 
 * Goldsmith's Hermit.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 87 
 
 And lips the cause of man to plead, 
 And never plead in vain. 
 
 5. I want uninterrupted health 
 
 Throughout my long career ; 
 And streams of never-failing wealth, 
 
 To scatter far and near, 
 The destitute to clothe and feed, 
 
 Free bounty to bestow ; 
 Supply the helpless orphan's need, 
 
 And soothe the widow's woe. 
 
 6. I want the genius to conceive, 
 
 The talents to unfold 
 Designs, the vicious to retrieve ; 
 
 The virtuous to uphold ; 
 Inventive power, combining skill ; 
 
 A persevering soul, 
 Of human hearts to mold the will, 
 
 And reach from pole to pole. 
 
 7. I want the seals of power and place ; 
 
 The ensigns of command ; 
 Charged by the people's unbought grace 
 
 To rule my native land, 
 For crown nor scepter would I ask, 
 
 But from nay country's will, 
 By day, by night, to ply the task, 
 
 Her cup of bliss to fill. 
 
 8. I want the voice of honest praise 
 
 To follow me behind ; 
 And to be thought, in future days, 
 
 The friend of human kind, 
 That after ages, as they rise, 
 
 Exulting may proclaim,
 
 88 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 In choral union, to the skies, 
 Their blessing on my name. 
 
 9. And O ! while circles in my veins 
 
 Of life, the purple stream, 
 And yet a fragment small remains 
 
 Of nature's transient dream ; 
 My soul, in humble hope unscared, 
 
 Forget not thou to pray, 
 That this thy want may be prepared, 
 
 To meet the judgment day. 
 
 EXEECISE XVIII. 
 THE SULIOTE MOTHER. 
 
 MRS. HEMAKS. 
 
 1. She stood upon the loftiest peak, 
 
 Amidst the clear blue sky : 
 
 A bitter smile was on her cheek, 
 
 And a dark flash in her eye. 
 
 2. " Dost thou see them, boy ? through the dusky pines, 
 (<) Dost thou see where the foeman's armor shines 1 
 
 Hast thou caught the gleam on the conqueror's crest ? 
 My babe, that I cradled on my breast ! 
 Would'st thou spring from thy mother's arms with joy 
 That sight hath cost thee a father, boy !" 
 
 3. For in the rocky strait beneath, 
 (pi.) Lay Suliote, sire and son, 
 
 They had heaped high the piles of death, 
 Before the pass was won. 
 
 4. " They have crossed the torrent, and on they come ! 
 
 Woe for the mountain hearth and home !
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 89 
 
 There, where the hunter laid by his spear, 
 There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear, 
 There, where I sang thee, fair babe, to sleep, 
 Naught but the blood-stain our trace shall keep !" 
 
 5. And now the horn's loud blast was heard, 
 
 And now the cymbal's clang, 
 Till even the upper air was stirred, 
 As cliff and hollow rang. 
 
 6. " Hark ! they bring music, my joyous child ! 
 
 What saith the trumpet to Suit's wild ! 
 
 Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire, 
 
 As if at a glance of thine armed sire ? 
 
 Still ! (p.) be thou still ! there are brave men low, 
 
 Thou would'st not smile could' st thou see him now !** 
 
 7. But nearer came the clash of steel, 
 < And louder swelled the horn, 
 And farther yet the tambour's peal 
 
 Through the dark pass was borne. 
 
 8. " Hear'st thou the sound of their savage rnirth ? 
 
 Boy, thou wert free when I gave thee birth, 
 Free, and how cherished my warrior's son ! 
 He, too, hath blessed thee, as I have done ! 
 Aye, and unchain'd must his loved ones be 
 Freedom, young Suliote, for thee and me !" 
 
 9. And from the arrowy peak she sprung, 
 
 And fast the fair^hild bore : 
 A vail upon the wina was flung, 
 A cry, (p.) and all was o'er ! 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the rising inflection on babe, 4th verse, and on 
 boy and Suliote, 8th verse ? 2. Why the rising inflections in the 2d 
 verse.
 
 90 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE XIX. 
 
 1. PIC-TUR-ESQUE' (from the Italian Pittoresco) signifies, literally, 
 painter-like, or picture-like, and is used conventionally to denote all 
 those objects, or combinations of objects, which, in form and color, 
 are suitable for pictorial representation. 
 
 2. AV'-A-LANCHE (French avaler, to descend) is a snow-slip ; that is, 
 a mass of snow collected on the bights of a mountain, and gradually 
 sliding down by the force of its own weight. It often descends 
 with destructive energy, bringing down with it all the ground on 
 which it lies, together with trees, rocks, <fcc., <fec. 
 
 3. PET'-RI-FIED (from PETRI, stone, and FIED, made) signifies made, or 
 changed into stone. 
 
 VALLEYS OF LEBANON. 
 
 LAMARTINE. 
 
 1. After a ride of two hours, we reached a deeper, nar- 
 rower, and more picturesque 1 valley than any we had yet 
 traversed. Right and left arose, like two perpendicular rain- 
 parts, three or four hundred feet high, two chains of moun- 
 tains, which appeared to have been recently separated from 
 each other by a blow from the Great Framer of worlds, or, 
 perhaps, by the earthquake which shook Lebanon to its foun- 
 dation, when the Son of Man, rendering up his soul to God, 
 not far from these mountains, gave that last sigh which re- 
 pelled the spirit of error, and oppression, and falsehood, and 
 breathed virtue, liberty, and life into a renovated world. 
 
 2. Gigantic blocks, loosened from each side of the moun- 
 tains, and scattered like pebbles by the hands of children into 
 the stream, formed the horrid, deep, vast, and rugged bed of 
 this dried-up torrent ; some of whose stones were masses 
 higher and larger than the loftiest houses. 
 
 3. Some rested firmly on their bases, like solid and ever- 
 lasting cubes ; some, suspended by their angles, and sup- 
 ported by the pressure of other invisible rocks, seemed as 
 though still in the act of falling and rolling, downward, pre- 
 senting the appearance of ruin in action a perpetual falling,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 91 
 
 a chaos of stones, an endless avalanche 2 of rocks rocks of 
 somber gray, streaked with flame-color and white opaque 
 the petrified 3 waves of a granite flood : not one drop of wa- 
 ter in the deep interstices of this bed, calcined by the burn- 
 ing sun of Syria ; not a blade of grass, a stalk, or creeping 
 plant, either in the torrent or in the cracked and abrupt de- 
 clivities on each side of the abyss. 
 
 4. It was an ocean of stones, a cataract of rocks, to which 
 the diversity of their forms, the variety of their positions, the 
 singularity of their appearances, the play of light and shade 
 on their sides and surfaces, seemed to impart motion and 
 fluidity. 
 
 5. We followed this valley of lamentations for two hours, 
 with no other variation in the scene than that arising from the 
 circuitous route which the torrent itself took among the moun- 
 tains, or by the manner, more or less striking, with which the 
 rocks were grouped in their foaming stony bed. 
 
 6. This valley will never be effaced from my imagination. 
 This country must have been the primitive land, the land of 
 tragic poesy and human lamentations ; the pathetic and lofty 
 strain of prophecies is felt here in its wild, pathetic, and lofty 
 nature. All the images of Biblical poetry are engraved in 
 imposing characters on the furrowed surface of Lebanon and 
 its gilded summits, its valleys, through which the streams 
 peacefully flow valleys mute and lifeless. 
 
 7. The divine spirit, the superhuman inspiration, which has 
 passed over the souls and the harps of the poetic nation, to 
 whom God spake by symbols and images, thus struck more 
 forcibly the eyes of bards devoted to God from their infancy, 
 and nourished them with a sustenance more invigorating than 
 that on which we feed ; we, the wasted and aged heirs of the 
 harp of antiquity, who have only before our eyes nature, 
 mild, beautiful, and cultivated nature civilized but wither- 
 ed, as we are ourselves.
 
 92 SANDEES' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 EXERCISE XX. 
 
 1. AM-PHI-THE'-A-TER, (from AMPHI, about, and THEATER, a place for 
 seeing,} was an edifice enclosing a space entirely encompassed by 
 rows of seats rising one behind the other. It was oval in shape, and 
 designed for the exhibition of public shows of gladiators and wild 
 beasts. 
 
 2. CO-LOS'-SAL, (from Colossus, an enormous ancient statue at Rhodes,) 
 denotes any thing of enormous or vast dimensions. 
 
 3. PE'-TRA, (literally, a rock or stone,) a celebrated ancient city in 
 the north of Arabia. Its ruins still exist. 
 
 EUINS OF COPAN AND PALENQUE. 
 
 JOHN L. STEPHEN'S. 
 
 1. We returned to the base of the pyramidal structure, 
 and ascended by regular stone steps, in some places forced 
 apart by bushes and saplings, and in others thrown down by 
 the growth of large trees, while some remained entire. In 
 parts they were ornamented with sculptured figures and rows 
 of death's heads. Climbing over the ruined top, we reached 
 a terrace qvergrown with trees, and, crossing it, descended by 
 stone steps into an area so covered with trees, that at first 
 we could not make out its form, but which, on clearing the 
 way with the machete, we ascertained to be a square, and 
 with steps on 'all the sides almost as perfect as those of the 
 Roman amphitheater. 1 
 
 2. The steps were ornamented with sculpture, and on the 
 south side, about half way up, forced out of its place by 
 roots, was a collossal" Read, evidently a portrait. We 
 ascended these steps, and reached a- broad terrace a hun- 
 dred feet high, overlooking the river, and supported by the 
 wall which we had seen from the opposite bank. The whole 
 terrace was covered with trees, and, even at this hight from, 
 the ground, were two gigantic Ceibas, or wild cotton trees of 
 India, above twenty feet in circumference, extending their 
 half-naked roots fifty or a hundred feet around, binding down
 
 YOUNG LADIES' BEADEE. 93 
 
 the ruins, and shading them with their wide-spreading 
 branches. 
 
 3. We sat down on the very edge of the wall, and strove 
 in vain to penetrate the mystery by which we were surround- 
 ed. Who were the people that built this city ? In the ruined 
 cities of Egypt, even in the long-lost Petra 3 , the stranger 
 knows the story of the people whose vestiges are around him. 
 America, say historians, was peopled by savages ; but savages 
 never reared these structures, savages never carved these 
 stones. We asked the Indians who made them, and their 
 dull answer was, " Quien sabe ?" " Who knows 1" 
 
 4. There were no associations connected with the place ; 
 none of those stirring recollections which hallow Rome, 
 Athens, and 
 
 " The world's great mistress on the Egyptian plain ;" 
 
 but architecture, sculpture, and painting, all the arts which 
 embellish life, had flourished in this overgrown forest ; 
 orators, warriors, and statesmen, beauty, ambition, and glory, 
 had lived and passed away, and none knew that such things 
 had been, or could tell of their past existence. Books, the 
 records of knowledge, are silent on this theme. 
 
 5. The city was desolate. It lay before us fike a shattered 
 bark in the midst of the ocean, her masts gone, her name ef- 
 faced, her crew perished, and none to tell whence she came, 
 to whom she belonged, how long on her voyage, or what 
 caused her destruction ; her lost people to be traced only by 
 some fancied resemblance in the construction of the vessel, and, 
 perhaps, never to be known at all. The place where we sat, ' 
 was it a citadel from which an unknown people had sounded 
 the trumpet of war 1 or a temple for the worship of the God 
 of peace ? or did the inhabitants worship the idols made with 
 their own hands, and offer sacrifices on the stones before 
 them? 
 
 G. All was mystery, dark, impenetrable mystery and 
 every circumstance increased it. In Egypt, the colossal
 
 94 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 skeletons of gigantic temples stand in the unwatered sands in 
 all the nakedness of desolation ; here, an immense forest 
 shrouded the ruins, hiding them from sight, hightening the 
 impression and moral effect, and giving an intensity and al- 
 most wildness to the interest. 
 
 7. Here were the remains of a cultivated, polished, and 
 peculiar people, who had passed through all the stages inci- 
 dent to the rise and fall of nations ; reached their golden age, 
 and perished, entirely unknown. The links which connected 
 them with the human family were severed and lost, and these 
 were the only memorials of their footsteps upon earth. We 
 lived in the ruined palace of their kings ; we went up to their 
 desolate temples and fallen altars ; and, wherever we moved, 
 we saw the evidences of their taste, their skill in arts, their 
 wealth, and power. 
 
 8. In the midst of desolation and ruin, we looked back to 
 the past, cleared away the gloomy forest, and fancied every 
 building perfect, with its terraces and pyramids, its sculp- 
 tured and painted ornaments, grand, lofty, and imposing, and 
 overlooking an immense inhabited plain ; we called back into 
 life the strange people who gazed at us in sadness from the 
 walls ; pictured them in fanciful costumes and adorned with 
 plumes of feathers, ascending the terraces of the palace, and 
 the steps leading to the temples, and often we imagined a 
 scene of unique and gorgeous beauty and magnificence. 
 
 9. In the romance of the world's history, nothing ever im- 
 pressed me more forcibly than the spectacle of this once 
 
 - great and lovely city, overturned, desolate, and lost ; discov- 
 ered by accident, overgrown with trees for miles around, and 
 without even a name to distinguish it. Apart from every 
 thing else, it was a mourning witness to the world's mu- 
 tations. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What rule for the rising inflection on war, and the 
 falling inflection on peace, hands, and them, 5th paragraph ? 2. What 
 rule for the rising inflection on wealth, 7th paragraph.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 95 
 
 EXERCISE XXI. 
 
 1. HOR'-O-LOGE (HORO, hour, and LOGE, that which tells or notes,) is from 
 two Greek words signifying, together, that which tells the hour ; that 
 is, a sun-dial ; a clock ; a timepiece. 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 
 
 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 1. Somewhat back from the village street 
 Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
 Across its antique portico 
 
 Tall poplar trees their shadows throw ; 
 And from its station in the hall, 
 An ancient timepiece says to all, 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 2. Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
 
 And points and beckons with its hands 
 From its case of massive oak, 
 Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
 Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 3. By day its voice is low and light ; 
 But, in the silent dead of night, 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
 It echoes along the vacant hall, 
 Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
 
 And seems to say at each chamber-door, 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 4. Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
 Through days of death and days of birth,
 
 96 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
 And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe, 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 5. In that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
 
 His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
 The stranger feasted at his board ; 
 But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
 That warning timepiece never ceased, 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 6. There groups of merry children played, 
 There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 
 O precious hours ! O golden prime, 
 
 And affluence of love and time ! 
 Even as a miser counts his gold, 
 Those hours the ancient timepiece told, 
 (si.) "Forever never! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 7. From that chamber, clothed in white, 
 
 (") The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
 
 There, in that silent room below, 
 (jpl.) The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
 
 And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair, 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 8. All are scattered now and fled, 
 Some are married, some are dead ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 97 
 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 (pi.) " Ah ! when shall they all meet again 1" 
 As in the days long since gone by, 
 The ancient timepiece makes reply', 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 9. Never here, forever there, 
 
 Where all parting, pain, and care, 
 And death, and time shall disappear, 
 Forever there, but never here ! 
 The horologe 1 of Eternity 
 Sayeth this incessantly, 
 (si.) " Forever never ! 
 Never forever !" 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. How, according to the notation marks, should the 
 words forever never be read ? See page 40. 2. How should the 4th 
 lines of the 7th and 8th stanzas be read ? 3. Why the falling inflec- 
 tion on hours, prime, and time, 6th stanza ? See Rule VIII., page 31. 
 4. On what principle are the words here and there emphatic, 9th 
 stanza? See note VI L, page 22. 
 
 EXERCISE XXII. 
 FORGIVE AND FORGET. 
 
 M. FAEQUHAR TUPPER. 
 
 1. When streams of unkindness as bitter as gall, 
 
 Bubble up from the heart to the tongue, 
 And Meekness is writhing in torment and thrall, 
 
 By the hand of Ingrat&ide wrung, 
 In the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair, 
 
 While the anguish is festering yet, 
 None, none but an angel, or God, can declare, 
 " I now can forgive and forget," 
 5
 
 98 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 2. But, if the bad spirit is chased from the heart, 
 
 And the lips are in penitence steeped, 
 With the wrong so repented, the wrath will depart, 
 
 Though scorn on injustice were heaped ; 
 For the best compensation is paid for all ill, 
 
 When the cheek with contrition is wet, 
 And every one feels it is possible still, 
 
 At once to forgive and forget. 
 
 3. To forget ? It is hard for a man with a mind, 
 
 However his heart may forgive, 
 To blot out all perils and dangers behind, 
 
 And but for the future to live : 
 Then how shall it be ? for at every turn 
 
 Recollection the spirit will fret, 
 And the ashes of injury smoulder and burn, 
 
 Though we strive to forgive and forget. 
 
 4. O, hearken ! my tongue shall the riddle unseal, 
 
 And mind shall be partner with heart, 
 While thee to thyself I bid conscience reveal, 
 
 And show thee how evil thou art. 
 Remember thy follies, thy sins, and thy crimes, 
 
 How vast is that infinite debt ! 
 Yet Mercy hath seven by seventy times 
 
 Been swift to forgive and forget ! 
 
 5. Brood not on insults or injuries old, 
 
 For thou art injurious too ; 
 Count not their sum, till the total is told, 
 
 For thou art unkind and untrue ; 
 And, if all thy harms are forgotten, forgiven, 
 
 Now mercy with justice is met, 
 O, who would not gladly take lessons of Heaven, 
 
 Nor learn to forgive and forget 1
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 99 
 
 6. Yes, yes ; let a man, when his enemy weeps, 
 
 Be quick to receive him, a friend ; 
 For thus on his head in kindness he heaps 
 
 Hot coals, to refine and amend ; 
 And hearts that are Christian more eagerly yearn, 
 
 As a nurse on her innocent pet, 
 Over lips that, once bitter, to penitence turn, 
 
 And whisper, (p.) FORGIVE AND FORGET. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the rising inflection on forget, 3d stanza? 2. 
 What rule for the falling inflection on hearken, 4th stanza ? 3. How, 
 according to the notation, may the words forgive and forget be made 
 emphatic, last line ? See Remark, page 23. 
 
 EXERCISE XXIII. 
 BITTER WORDS. 
 
 1. Would'st thou a wanderer reclaim, 
 A wild and restless spirit tame ; 
 Check the warm flow of youthful b!6od, 
 And lead a lost one back to Go J ? 
 Pause, if the spirit's wrath be stirred, 
 Speak not to him a bitter word, 
 Speak not, that bitter word may be 
 The stamp that seals his destiny. 
 
 2. If widely he hath gone astray, 
 
 And dark excess has marked his way ; 
 'Tis pitiful, but yet beware, 
 Reform must come from kindly care. 
 Forbid thy parting lips to move, 
 But in the gentle tones of love ; 
 Though sadly his young heart hath erred, 
 Speak not to him a bitter word.
 
 100 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 3. The lowering frown he will not bear, 
 The venomed chid ings will not hear ; 
 The ardent spirit will not brook 
 The stinging tooth of sharp rebuke ; 
 Thou would'st not goad the restless steed, 
 To calm his fire or check his speed ; 
 Then let no angry tones be heard, 
 Speak not to him a bitter word. 
 
 4. Go kindly to him make him feel 
 Your heart yearns deeply for his weal ; 
 Tell him the dangers thick that lay 
 Around his " widely devious way ;" 
 So shalt thou win him, call him back 
 From pleasure's smooth, seductive track, 
 And warnings thou hast mildly given, 
 May guide the wanderer up to Heaven. 
 
 EXERCISE XXIV. 
 RELIGION AND SUPERSTITION. 
 
 ELIZABETH CARTER. 
 
 1. Methought I was in the midst of a very entertaining 
 set of company, and extremely delighted in attending to a 
 lively conversation, when, on a sudden, I perceived one of 
 the most shocking figures imagination can frame, advancing 
 towards me. She was dressed in black, her skin was con- 
 tracted into a thousand wrinkles, her eyes deep sunk in her 
 head, and her complexion pale and livid as the countenance 
 of death. Her looks were filled with terror and unrelenting 
 severity, and her hands armed with whips and scorpions. 
 
 2. As soon as she came near, with a horrid frown, and a 
 voice that chilled my very blood, she bade me follow her. I 
 obeyed, and she led me through rugged paths, beset with
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 101 
 
 briers and thorns, into a deep, solitary valley. Wherever she 
 passed, the fading verdure withered beneath her steps ; her 
 pestilential breath infected the air with malignant vapors, ob- 
 scured the luster of the sun, and involved the fair face of 
 heaven in universal gloom. Dismal bowlings resounded 
 through the forest, from every baleful tree the night-raven 
 uttered his dreadful note, and the prospect was filled with 
 desolation and horror. In the midst of this tremendous scene, 
 my execrable guide addressed me in the following manner : 
 
 3. " Retire with me, O rash, unthinking mortal, from the 
 vain allurements of a deceitful world, and learn that pleasure 
 was not designed the portion of human life. Man was born 
 to mourn and to be wretched ; this is the condition of all be- 
 low the stars, and whoever endeavors to oppose it, acts in con- 
 tradiction to the will of Heaven. Fly, then, from the fatal 
 enchantments of youth and social delight, and here consecrate 
 the solitary hours to lamentation and woe. Misery is the 
 duty of all sublunary beings, and every enjoyment is an of- 
 fense to the Deity, who is to be worshiped only by the mor- 
 tification of every sense of pleasure, and the everlasting ex- 
 ercise of sighs and tears." 
 
 4. This melancholy picture of life quite sunk my spirits, 
 and seemed to annihilate every principle of joy within me. 
 I threw myself beneath a blasted yew, where the winds blew 
 cold and dismal round my head, and dreadful apprehensions 
 chilled my heart. Here I resolved to lie till the hand of 
 death, which I impatiently invoked, should put an end to the 
 miseries of a life so deplorably wretched. In this sad situa- 
 tion I espied on one hand of me a deep, muddy river, whose 
 heavy waters rolled on in slow, sullen murmurs. Here I de- 
 termined to plunge, and was just upon the brink, when I found 
 myself suddenly drawn back. 
 
 5. I turned about, and was surprised by the sight of the 
 loveliest object I had ever beheld. The most engaging charms 
 of youth and beauty appeared in all her form ; effulgent 
 glories sparkled in, her eyes, and their awful splendors were
 
 102 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 softened by the gentlest looks of compassion and peace. At 
 her approach, the frightful specter, who had before tormented 
 me, vanished away ; and with her, all the horrors she had 
 caused. The gloomy clouds brightened into cheerful sun- 
 shine, the groves recovered their verdure, and the whole re- 
 gion looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden. 
 
 6. I was quite transported at this unexpected change, and 
 reviving pleasure began to glad my thoughts, when, with 
 a look of inexpressible sweetness, my beauteous deliverer 
 thus uttered her divine instructions : " My name is Re- 
 ligion. I am the offspring of Truth and Love, and the 
 parent of Benevolence, Hope, and Joy. That monster, from 
 whose power I have freed you, is called Superstition ; she 
 is the child of Discontent, and her followers are Fear and 
 Sorrow. Thus different as we are, she has often the in- 
 solence to assume my name and character, and seduces un- 
 happy mortals to think us the same, till she at length drives 
 them to the borders of Despair, that dreadful abyss into 
 which you were just going to sink. 
 
 7. "Look round and survey the various beauties of the 
 globe, which Heaven has destined for the seat of the human 
 race, and consider whether a world thus exquisitely framed, 
 could be meant for the abode of misery and pain. For what 
 end has the lavish hand of Providence diffused such innumer- 
 able objects of delight, but that all might rejoice in the privi- 
 lege of existence, and be filled with gratitude to the beneficent 
 Author of it ? Thus to enjoy the blessings he has sent, is 
 virtue and obedience ; and to reject them merely as means 
 cf pleasure, is pitiable ignorance, or absurd perverseness. 
 Infinite goodness is the source of created existence ; the 
 proper tendency of every rational being, from the highest 
 order of raptured seraphs, to the meanest rank of man, is to 
 rise incessantly from lower degrees of happiness to higher. 
 They have each faculties assigned them for various orders of 
 delights." 
 
 8. " What ?" cried I ! "is this the language of Religion ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 103 
 
 Does she lead her votaries through flowery paths, and bid 
 them pass an unlaborious life ? Where are the painful toils 
 of virtue, the mortifications of penitents, the self-denying ex- 
 ercises of saints and heroes ?" "The true enjoyments of a 
 reasonable being," answered she, mildly, " do not consist in 
 unbounded indulgence, or luxurious ease ; in the tumult of 
 passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light 
 amusements. 
 
 9. " Yielding to immoral pleasure corrupts the mind, living 
 to animal and trifling ones debases it ; both in their degree 
 disqualify it for its genuine good, and consign it over to 
 wretchedness. Whoever would be really happy, must make 
 the diligent and regular exercise of his superior powers his 
 chief attention, adoring the perfections of his Maker, express- 
 ing good-will to his fellow-creatures, and cultivating inward 
 rectitude. To his lower faculties he must allow such gratifi- 
 cations as will, by refreshing him, invigorate his nobler pur- 
 suits. In the regions inhabited by angelic natures, unmingled 
 felicity for ever blooms, joy flows there with a perpetual and 
 abundant stream, nor needs there any mound to check its 
 
 COU PSO ^fr^t^T^v^t^TTV^* 
 
 10. "To him who is animated with a view of obtaining 
 approbation from the Sovereign of the universe, no difficulty 
 is insurmountable. Secure in this pursuit of every needful 
 aid, his conflict with the severest pains and trials is little more 
 than the vigorous exercise of a mind in health. His patient 
 dependence on that Providence which looks through all eter- 
 nity, his silent resignation, his ready accommodation of his 
 thoughts and behavior to its inscrutable ways, is at once the 
 most excellent sort of self-denial, and a source of the most 
 exalted transports. 
 
 11. " Society is the true sphere of human virtue. In so- 
 cial, active life, difficulties will perpetually be met with; re- 
 straints of many kinds will be necessary ; and studying to 
 behave right in respect to these, is a discipline of the human 
 heart, useful to others, and improving to itself. Sufteririg is
 
 104 SAN DEES' NEW SERIES. 
 
 no duty, but where it is necessary to avoid guilt, or to do 
 good ; nor pleasure a crime, but where it strengthens the in- 
 fluence of bad inclinations, or lessens the generous activity of 
 virtue. The happiness allotted to man in his present state is 
 indeed faint and low, compared with his immortal prospects 
 arid noble capacities ; but yet whatever portion of it the dis- 
 tributing hand of Heaven offers to each individual, is a need- 
 ful support and refreshment for the present moment, so far 
 as it may not hinder the attaining of his final destination. 
 
 12. " Return, then, with me from continual misery to 
 moderate enjoyment and grateful alacrity. Return from the 
 contracted views of solitude to the proper duties of a rela- 
 tive and dependent being. Religion is not confined to cells 
 and closets, nor restrained to sullen retirement. These are 
 the gloomy doctrines of Superstition, by which she endeavors 
 to break those chains of benevolence and social affection that 
 link the welfare of every particular with that of the whole. 
 Remember that the greatest honor you can pay to the Author 
 of your being, is by such a cheerful behavior as discovers a 
 mind satisfied with his dispensations." Here my preceptress 
 paused, and I was going to express my acknowledgments for 
 her discourse, when a ring of bells from the neighboring vil- 
 lage, and a new-risen sun darting his beams through my 
 windows, awakened me. 
 
 EXERCISE XXV. 
 
 1. HO'-MKB, a celebrated poet of antiquity, who lived about the 9th 
 century before the Christian era. Seven cities disputed for the honor 
 of being his birth-place. His great works are the Iliad, which treats 
 of the siege of Ilium, or ancient Troy, and the Odyssey, which has 
 for its subject the return of Ulysses, a great Grecian hero, from Troy 
 to Ithaca, his native country. 
 
 2. HEC'-TOK, son of Priam, king of Troy, was the bravest of all the 
 Trojan chiefs that fought against the Greeks during the ten years' 
 siege.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 105 
 
 8. AN-DROM'-A-CHE, wife of the celebrated Trojan, Hector, was re- 
 markable for her domestic virtues, and for the constancy of her at- 
 tachment to her husband. See Exercise CVL, p. 305. 
 
 DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 VICESIMUS KNOX 
 
 1. An active life is exposed to many evils which can not 
 reach a state of retirement ; but it is found, by the uniform 
 experience of mankind, to be, upon the whole, productive of 
 the most happiness. All are found desirous of avoiding the 
 listlessness of an unemployed condition. Without the in- 
 centives of ambition, of fame, of interest, of emulation, men 
 eagerly rush upon hazardous and painful enterprises. There is 
 a quick succession of ideas, a warm flow of spirits, an animated 
 sensation, consequent on exertion, which amply compensates 
 the chagrin of disappointment and the fatigue of attention. 
 
 2. One of the most useful effects of action is, that it renders 
 repose agreeable. Perpetual rest is pain of the most intol- 
 erable kind. But a judicious interchange of rest and motion, 
 of indolent enjoyment and strenuous efforts, gives a true 
 relish of life, which, when too tranquil, is insipid, and, when 
 too much agitated, disgustful. 
 
 3. This sweet repose, which is necessary to restore, by re- 
 laxing the tone of the weary mind, has been sought for by 
 the wisest and greatest of men at their own fireside. Sena- 
 tors and heroes have shut out the acclamations of an applauding 
 world, to enjoy the prattling of their little ones, and to partake 
 the endearments of family conversation. They knew that even 
 their best friends, in the common intercourse of life, were in 
 some degree actuated by interested motives in displaying 
 their affection ; that many of their followers applauded them in 
 hopes of reward ; and that the giddy multitude, however zealous, 
 were not always judicious in their approbation. But the at- 
 tentions paid them at their fireside, the smiles which exhilarated 
 their own table, were the genuine result of undissembled love. 
 
 4. The nursery has often alleviated the fatigues of the bar 
 and the senate-house. Nothing contributes more to raise the 
 
 5*
 
 106 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 gently-pleasing emotions than the view of infant innocence, 
 enjoying the raptures of a game at play. All the sentiments 
 of uncontrolled nature display themselves to the view, and 
 furnish matter for agreeable reflection to the mind of the 
 philosophical observer. 
 
 5. To partake with children in their little pleasures, is by 
 no means unmanly. It is one of the purest sources of mirth. 
 It has an influence in amending the heart, which necessarily 
 takes a tincture from the company that surrounds us. Inno- 
 cence as well as guilt is communicated, and increased by the 
 contagion of example. And the great author of evangelical 
 philosophy has taught us to emulate the simplicity of the in- 
 fantine age. He seems, indeed, himself to have been delighted 
 with young children, and found in them, what he in vain 
 sought among those who judged themselves their superiors, 
 unpolluted purity of heart. 
 
 6. Amojag the great variety of pictures which the vivid 
 imagination of Homer 1 has displayed throughout the Iliad, 
 there is not one more pleasing than the family piece which 
 represents the parting interview between Hector 2 and Androm- 
 ache. 3 It deeply interests the heart while it delights the 
 imagination. The hero ceases to be terrible, that he may be- 
 come amiable. We admire him while he stands completely 
 armed in the field of battle ; but we love him mere while he 
 is taking off his helmet, that he may not frighten his little boy 
 with its nodding plumes. 
 
 7. We are refreshed with the tender scene of domestic 
 love, while all around breathes rage and discord. We are 
 pleased to see the arm which is shortly to deal death and 
 destruction among a host of foes, employed in caressing an 
 infant son with the embraces of paternal love. A professed 
 critic would attribute the pleasing effect entirely to contrast ; 
 but the heart has declared, previously to the inquiries of 
 criticism, that it is chiefly derived from the satisfaction which 
 we naturally take in beholding great characters engaged in 
 tender and amiable employments.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 107 
 
 EXERCISE XXVI. 
 SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. 
 
 Emma. I never knew a weary night before ! 
 I have seen the sun a dozen times go down, 
 And still no William, and the storm was on, 
 Yet have I laid me down in peace to sleep, 
 The mountain with the lightning all a-blaze, 
 And shaking with the thunder, but to-night 
 Mine eyes refuse to close, (si.) The old man rests : 
 Pain hath outworn itself, and turn'd to ease. 
 How deadly calm 's the night ! (") What 's that ? I 'm grown 
 An idiot with my fears. I do not know 
 The avalanche ! Great Power that hurls it down, 
 Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps ! 
 What keeps him ? 'tis but four hours' journey hence : 
 He 'd rest ; then four hours back again. What keeps him ? 
 Erni would sure be found by him he knows 
 The track, well as he knows the road to Altorf ! 
 
 Melchtal. Help ! (in his sleep.) 
 
 Emma. What 's the matter ? Only the old man dreaming : 
 He thinks again they 're pulling out his eyes. 
 I 'm sick with terror ! Merciful powers ! what 's this 
 That fills my heart with horrible alarm ? 
 And yet it can not see. 
 
 Melch. (waking.) Where am I ? 
 
 Emma. Father! 
 
 Melch. My daughter, is it thou ! Thank Heaven, I 'm here ! 
 Is 't day yet 1 
 
 Emma. No. 
 
 Melch. Is 't far on the night ! 
 
 Emma. Methinks, about the turn on 't. 
 
 Melch. Is the boy 
 Come back ? 
 
 Emma. No, father.
 
 108 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Melch. Nor thy husband ? 
 
 Emma. No. 
 
 Melch. A woeful wife and mother have I made thee ! 
 Would thou hadst never seen me. 
 
 Emma. Father ! 
 
 Melch. Child! 
 
 Emma. Methinkslhearastep! I do! (knocking.') A knock! 
 
 Melch. 'Tis William ! 
 
 Emma. No ; it is not William's knock. (Opens the door.) 
 1 told you so. Your will ? 
 
 Enter STRANGER. 
 
 Stran. Seeing a light, 
 
 I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for shelter ; 
 For I have miss'd my way. 
 
 Emma. Whence come you, friend ? 
 
 Stran. From Altorf. 
 
 Emma. Altorf ! Any news from thence ? 
 
 Stran. Aye ! News to harrow parents' hearts, and make 
 The barren bless themselves that they are childless ! 
 
 Emma. May Heaven preserve my boy ! 
 
 Melch. What say'st thy news ? 
 
 Stran. Art thou not Melchtal he whose eyes, 'tis said, 
 The tyrant has torn out ? 
 
 Melch. Yes, friend, the same. 
 
 Stran. Is this thy cottage 1 
 
 Melch. No ; 'tis William Tell's. 
 
 Stran. 'Tis William Tell's and that's his wife Good night ! 
 
 Emma. (Rushing between him and the door.) 
 Thou stirr'st not hence until thy news be told ! 
 
 Stran. My news ! In sooth 'tis nothing thou wouldst heed. 
 
 Emma. 'Tis something none should heed so well as I ! 
 
 Stran. I must be gone. 
 
 Emma. Thou seest a tigress, friend, 
 Spoil'd of her mate and young, and yearning for them. 
 Don't thwart her ! Come, thy news ! What fear'st thou, man 1
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADER. 109 
 
 What more has she to dread, who reads thy looks, 
 
 And knows the most has come ? Thy news ! Is 't bondage ? 
 
 Stran. It is. 
 
 Emma. Thank Heaven, it is not death ! Of one 
 Or two 1 
 
 Stran. Of two. 
 
 Emma. A father and a son ? 
 Is't not? 
 
 Stran. It is. 
 
 Emma. My husband and my son 
 Are in the tyrant's power ! There 's worse than that ! 
 What 's that is news to harrow parents' breasts, 
 The which the thought to only tell, 'twould seem, 
 Drives back the blood to thine ? Thy news, I say ! 
 Wouldst thou be merciful, this is not mercy ! 
 Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman's aim, 
 Wouldst thou not have the fatal arrow speed, 
 Eather than watch it hanging in the string 1 
 Thou 'It drive me mad ! Let fly at once ! 
 
 Melch. Thy news from Altorf, friend, whate'er it is ! 
 
 Stran. To save himself and child from certain death, 
 Tell is to hit an apple, to be placed 
 Upon the stripling's head. 
 
 Melch. My child ! my child !. 
 Speak to me ! Stranger, hast thou killed her 1 
 
 Emma. No ! 
 
 No, father. I 'm the wife of William Tell ; 
 Oh, but to be a man ! to have an arm 
 To fit a heart swelling with the sense of wrong ! 
 Unnatural insufferable wrong ! 
 When makes the tyrant trial of his skill 1 
 
 Stran. To-morrow. 
 
 Emma. Spirit of the lake and hill, 
 Inspire thy daughter ! On the head of him 
 Who makes his pastime of a mother's pangs, 

 
 110 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 > Launch down thy vengeance by a mother's hand. 
 
 Know'st the signal when the hills shall rise 1 (To Melchtal.) 
 
 Melch. Are they to rise ? 
 
 Emma. I see thou knowest naught. 
 
 Stran. Something 's on foot ! 'Twas only yesterday, 
 That, traveling from our canton,' I espied 
 Slow toiling up a steep, a mountaineer 
 Of brawny limb, upon his back a load 
 Of faggots bound. Curious to see what end 
 Was worthy of such labor, after him 
 I took the cliff; and saw its lofty top 
 Receive his load, which went but to augment 
 A pile of many another. 
 
 Emma. 'Tis by fire ! 
 Fire is the signal for the hills to rise ! (Rushes out.) 
 
 Melch. Went she not forth ? 
 
 Stran. She did she 's here again, 
 And brings with her a lighted brand. 
 
 Melch. My child, 
 What dost thou with a lighted brand ? 
 
 (Re-enter EMMA with a brand.) 
 
 Emma. Prepare 
 To give the signal for the hills to rise ! 
 
 Melch. Where are the faggots, child, for such a blaze ? 
 
 Emma. I '11 find the faggots, father. (Exit.) 
 
 Melch. She 's gone 
 Again ! 
 
 Stran. She is I think into her chamber. 
 
 Emma. (Rushing in.) Father, the pile is fired ! 
 
 Melch. What pile, my child ? 
 
 Emma. The joists and rafters of our cottage, father ! 
 
 Melch. Thou hast not fired thy cottage ? but thou hast ! 
 Alas, I hear the crackling of the flames ! 
 
 Emma. Say'st thou, alas ! when I do say, thank Heaven ? 
 Father, this blaze will set the land a-blaze 
 With fire that shall preserve, and not destroy it. 

 
 LADIES' READER. Ill 
 
 Blaze on ! BLAZE ON ! O, may'st thou be a beacon 
 
 To light its sons enslaved to liberty'. 
 
 How fast it spreads ! A spirit 's in the fire : 
 
 It knows the work it does. ( Goes to the door., and opens it.) 
 
 The land is free ! 
 
 Yonder 's another blaze ! Beyond that, shoots 
 Another up ! Anon will every hill 
 Redden with vengeance. Father, come ! Whate'er 
 Betides us, worse we're certain can't befall, 
 And better may ! Oh, be it liberty 
 Safe hearts and homes, husbands and children ! Come, 
 It spreads apace. Blaze on blaze on BLAZE ON ! (Exeunt.) 
 
 EXERCISE XXVII. 
 THE INDIAN LAMENT. 
 
 HENRY R. SCHOOLCRAFT. 
 
 1. MAN'-I-TOU is the name of a kind of charm, or amulet, a con- 
 secrated horn, or feather, or some such thing, worn by the Indians, 
 as a remedy or preventive of disease or evil influence. 
 
 1. The blackbird is singing on Michigan's shore, 
 As sweetly and gayly as ever before ; 
 
 For he knows to his mate he at pleasure can hie, 
 
 And the dear little brood she is teaching to fly. 
 
 The sun looks as ruddy, and rises as bright, 
 
 And reflects o'er the mountains as beamy a light 
 
 As it ever reflected, or ever expressed, 
 
 When my skies were the bluest, my dreams were the best. 
 
 2. The fox and the panther, both beasts of the night, 
 Retire to their dens on the gleaming of light, 
 
 And they spring with a free and a sorrowless track, 
 For they know that their mates are expecting them back. 
 Each bird and each beast, it is bless'd in degree : 
 All nature is cheerful, ail happy, but me.
 
 112 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 3. I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair ; 
 (si.) I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair ; 
 
 I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows, 
 And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes ; 
 I will weep for a 'season, on bitterness fed, 
 For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead ; 
 But they died not by hunger, or lingering decay ; 
 The steel of the white man hath swept them away. 
 
 4. This snake-skin, that once I so sacredly wore, 
 
 I will toss with disdain to the storm-beaten shore ; 
 
 Its charms I no longer obey or invoke ; 
 
 Its spirit hath left me, its spell is now broke. 
 
 I will raise up my voice to the source of the light ; 
 
 I will dream on the wings of the blue-bird at night ; 
 
 I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves, 
 
 And that minister balm to the bosom that grieves ; 
 
 And will take a new Manitou, 1 such as shall seem 
 
 To be kind and propitious in every dream. 
 
 5. O ! then I shall banish these cankering sighs, 
 And tears shall no longer gush salt from my eyes ; 
 
 I shall wash from my face every cloud-colored stain ; 
 
 Red red shall alone on my visage remain ! 
 
 I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak bow ; 
 
 By night and by day I will follow the foe ; 
 
 Nor lakes shall impede me, nor mountains, nor snows ; 
 
 His blood can alone give my spirit repose. 
 
 6. They came to my cabin when heaven was black ; 
 I heard not their coming, I knew not their track ; 
 But I saw, by the light of their blazing fusees, 
 They were people engendered beyond the big seas : 
 
 (pi.) My wife and my children, O, spare me the tale ! 
 For who is there left that is kin to GEEHALE !
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 113 
 
 EXERCISE XXVIII. 
 UNCLE ABEL AND LITTLE EDWARD. 
 
 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 
 
 1. Were any of you born in New England, in the good 
 old catechising, school-going, orderly times 1 If you were, 
 you must remember my Uncle Abel ; the most perpendicu- 
 lar, rectangular, upright, downright good man that ever la- 
 bored six days and rested on the Sabbath. 
 
 2. You remember his hard, weather-beaten countenance, 
 where every line seemed to be drawn with a pen of iron and 
 the point of a diamond ; his considerate gray eyes, that moved 
 over objects as if it were not best to be in a hurry about see- 
 ing ; the circumspect opening and shutting of his mouth ; his 
 down-sitting and up-rising ; all of which appeared to be per- 
 formed with a conviction afore-thought, in short, the whole 
 ordering of his life and conversation, which was, according to 
 the tenor of the military order " to the right-about face 
 forward march !" 
 
 3. Now, if you supposed, from all this triangularism of exte- 
 rior, that this good man, had nothing kindly within, you were 
 much mistaken. You often find the greenest grass under a 
 snow-drift, and though my uncle's mind was not exactly of 
 the flower-garden kind, still there was an abundance of whole- 
 some and kindly vegetation there. 
 
 4. It is true, he seldom laughed, and never joked himself; 
 but no man had more weighty and serious conviction of what 
 a good joke was in another ; and when some exceeding witti- 
 cism was dispensed in his presence, you might see Uncle 
 Abel's face slowly -relax into an expression of solemn satis- 
 faction, and he would look at the author with a certain quiet 
 wonder, as if it was astonishing how such a thing could ever 
 come into a man's head. 
 
 5. Uncle Abel also had some relish for the fine arts ; in 
 proof whereof I might adduce the pleasure with which he 
 gazed at the plates in his family Bible, the likeness whereof I
 
 114 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 presume you never any of you saw ; and he was also such 
 an eminent musician, that he could go through the singing- 
 book at a sitting, without the least fatigue, beating time like 
 a windmill all the way. 
 
 6. He had, too, a liberal hand, though his liberality was all 
 by the Rule of Three and Practice. He did to his neighbors 
 exactly as he would be done by, he loved some things in 
 this world sincerely, he loved his God much, but honored 
 and feared Him more ; he was exact with others, he was more 
 exact with himself, and expected his God to be more exact 
 still. 
 
 7. Every thing in Uncle Abel's house was in the same 
 time, place, manner, and form, from year's end to year's end. 
 There was old Master Bose, a dog after my uncle's own 
 heart, who always walked as if he were learning the multipli- 
 cation table. There was the old clock, for ever ticking in the 
 kitchen-corner, with a picture on its face of the sun, forever 
 setting behind a perpendicular row of poplars. There was 
 the never-failing supply of red peppers and onions, hanging 
 over the chimney. There were the yearly hollyhocks and 
 morning-glories, blooming around the windows. There was 
 the " best room" with its sanded floor, and ever-green aspara- 
 gus bushes, its cupboard with a glass door in one corner, 
 and the stand, with the great Bible and almanac on it, in the 
 other. 
 
 8. There was Aunt Betsy, who never looked any older, 
 because she always looked as old as she could, who always 
 dried her catnip and wormwood the last of September, and 
 began to clean house the first of May. In short, this was the 
 land of continuance. Old Time never seemed to take into 
 his head to practice either addition, subtraction, or multiplica- 
 tion, on its sum total. 
 
 9. This Aunt Betsy aforenamed, was the neatest and most 
 efficient piece of human machinery that ever operated in forty 
 places at once. She was always everywhere, predominating 
 over, and seeing to, every thing, and though my uncle had
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 115 
 
 been twice married, Aunt Betsy's rule atid authority had 
 never been broken. She reigned over his wives when living, 
 and reigned after them when dead, and so seemed likely to 
 reign to the end of the chapter. 
 
 10. But my uncle's latest wife left Aunt Betsy a much less 
 tractable subject than had ever before fallen to her lot. 
 Little Edward was the child of my uncle's old age, and a 
 brighter, merrier little blossom never grew up on the verge 
 of an avalanche. He had been committed to the nursing of 
 his grandmother, until he had arrived at the years of indiscre- 
 tion, and then my old uncle's heart yearned toward him, and 
 he was sent for home. 
 
 11. His introduction into the family excited a terrible sen- 
 sation. Never was there such a contemner of dignities 
 such a violater of all high places and sanctities, as this very 
 Master Edward. It was all in vain to try to teach him de- 
 corum. He was the most outrageously merry little elf that 
 ever shook a head of curls, and it was all the same to him. 
 whether it was " Sabba-day" or any other day. 
 
 12. He laughed and frolicked with every body and every 
 thing that came in his way, not even excepting his solemn 
 old father ; and when you saw him with his arms around the 
 old man's neck, and his bright blue eyes and blooming cheek 
 pressing out by the bleak face of Uncle Abel, you almost 
 fancied that you saw spring caressing winter. Uncle Abel's 
 metaphysics were sorely puzzled to bring this sparkling, 
 dancing compound of spirit and matter into any reasonable 
 shape ; for he did mischief with an energy and perseverance 
 that was truly astonishing. 
 
 13. Once, he scoured the floor with Aunt Betsy's best 
 Scotch snuff, and once he washed up the hearth with Uncle 
 Abel's most immaculate clothes-brush, and once he spent half 
 an hour in trying to make Bose wear his father's spectacles. 
 In short, there was no use, but the right one, to which he did 
 not put every thing that came in his way. 
 
 14. But Uncle Abel was most of all puzzled to know what
 
 116 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 to do with him on the Sabbath ; for on that day Master Ed- 
 ward seemed to exert himself particularly to be entertaining. 
 " Edward, Edward, must not play on Sunday," his father 
 would say, and then Edward would shake his curls over his 
 eyes, and walk out of the room as grave as a catechism ; but 
 the next moment you might see pussy scampering in all dis- 
 may through the " best room," with Edward at her heels, to 
 the manifest discomposure of Aunt Betsy, and all others in 
 authority. 
 
 15. At last my uncle came to the conclusion, that " it 
 was n't in natur to teach him any better," and that " he would 
 no more keep Sunday than the brook down the lot." My 
 poor uncle ! he did not know what was the matter with his 
 heart, but certain it was, that he lost all faculty of scolding, 
 when little Edward was in the case ; though he would stand 
 rubbing his spectacles a quarter of an hour longer than com- 
 mon, when Aunt Betsy was detailing his witticisms and 
 clever doings. But, in process of time, our hero compassed 
 his third year, and arrived at the dignity of going to school. 
 
 16. He went illustriously through the Spelling-book, and 
 then attacked the Catechism ; went from " Man's Chief End" 
 to " the Commandments" in a fortnight, and at last came 
 home inordinately merry, to tell his father he had got to 
 " Amen." 
 
 17. After this he made a regular business of saying over 
 the whole every Sunday evening, standing with his hands 
 folded in front, and his checked apron smoothed down, occa- 
 sionally giving a glance over his shoulder, to see whether 
 pussy was attending. Being of a very benevolent turn of 
 mind, he made several very commendable efforts to teach 
 Bose the Catechism, in which he succeeded as well as could 
 be expected. In short, without further detail, Master Ed- 
 ward bade fair to be a literary wonder. 
 
 18. But, alas, for poor little Edward ! bis merry dance 
 was soon over. A day came when he sickened. Aunt Betsy 
 tried her whole herbarium, but in vain ; he grew rapidly
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADER. 117 
 
 worse and worse. His father sickened in heart, but said 
 nothing ; he only staid by his bedside day and night, trying 
 all means to save him, with affecting pertinacity. 
 
 19. " Can't you think of any thing more, doctor ?" said he 
 to the physician, when every thing had been tried in vain. 
 " Nothing," answered the physician. A slight convulsion 
 passed over my uncle's face. " Then the Lord's will be 
 done !" said he. 
 
 20. Just at that moment a ray of the setting sun pierced 
 the checked curtains, and gleamed like an angel's smile across 
 the face of the little sufferer. He awoke from disturbed 
 sleep. " Oh dear ! oh, I am so sick !" he gasped feebly. 
 His father raised him in his arms ; he breathed easier, and 
 looked up with a grateful smile. 
 
 21. Just then his old playmate, the cat, crossed the floor. 
 " There goes pussy," said he ; " oh dear, I shall never play 
 with pussy any more." At that moment a deadly change 
 passed over his face ; he looked up to his father with an im- 
 ploring expression, and put out his hands. There was one 
 moment of agony, and then the sweet features all settled with 
 a smile of peace, and " mortality was swallowed up of life." 
 
 22. My uncle laid him down, and looked one moment at 
 his beautiful face ; it was too much for his principles, too 
 much for his pride, and " he lifted up his voice and wept." 
 
 23. The next morning was the Sabbath the funeral day, 
 and it rose " with breath all incense and with cheek all 
 bloom." Uncle Abel was as calm and colleeted as ever, but 
 in his face there was a sorrow-stricken expression that could 
 not be mistaken. 
 
 24. I remember him at family prayers bending over the 
 great Bible, and beginning the psalm, " Lord, thou hast been 
 our dwelling-place in all generations." Apparently, he was 
 touched by the melancholy splendor of the poetry ; for, after 
 reading a few verses, he stopped. There was a dead silence, 
 interrupted only by the ticking of the clock. He cleared his 
 voice repeatedly, and tried to go on, but in vain. He closed
 
 118 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 the book, and knelt to prayer. The energy of sorrow broke 
 through his usual formal reverence, and his language flowed 
 forth with a deep and sorrowful pathos, which I have never 
 forgotten. The God so much reverenced, so much feared, 
 seemed to draw near to him as a friend and comforter, to be 
 his refuge and strength, " a very present help in time of 
 trouble." 
 
 25. My uncle arose, and I saw him walk toward the room, 
 of the departed one. I followed, and stood with him over 
 the dead. He uncovered the face. It was set with the seal 
 of death ; but, oh ! how surpassingly lovely was the impres- 
 sion ! The brilliancy of life was gone, but the face was 
 touched with the mysterious triumphant brightness which 
 seems like the dawning of heaven. 
 
 26. My uncle looked long and steadily. He felt the 
 beauty of what he gazed on ; his heart was softened, but he 
 had no words for his feelings. He left the room unconscious- 
 ly, and stood in the front door. 
 
 27. The bells were ringing for church, the morning was 
 bright, the birds were singing merrily, and the little pet 
 squirrel of little Edward was frolicking about the door. My 
 uncle watched him as he ran, first up one tree and then an- 
 other, and then over the fence, whisking his brush and chat- 
 tering just as if nothing was the matter. With a deep sigh, 
 Uncle Abel broke forth " How happy that cretur is ! Well, 
 the Lord's will be done." 
 
 28. That day, the dust was committed to dust, amid the 
 lamentations of all who had known little Edward. Years 
 have passed since then, and my uncle has long been gath- 
 ered to his fathers, but his just and upright spirit has entered 
 the liberty of the sons of God. 
 
 29. Yes, the good man may have opinions which the philo- 
 sophical scorn, weaknesses at which the thoughtless smile, 
 but death shall change him into all that is enlightened, wise, 
 and refined. " He shall shine as the brightness of the firma- 
 ment, and as the stars for ever and ever."
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 119 
 
 EXERCISE XXIX. 
 
 1. PLA'-TO, a most illustrious philosopher of ancient Greece, waa 
 born about the year B. C. 429, and died B. C. 347. 
 
 2. TUL'-LY, that is, Marcus Tullius Cicero, the chief of Roman ora- 
 tors. He was born at Arpinum, a small town south-east of Rome, 
 B. C. 106, and died, through the instigation of Mark Antony, by the 
 hand of a man whom he had once, it is said, successfully defended in 
 a trial for some serious offense. 
 
 3. ROCHE'-FOU-CAULT. a celebrated wit and nobleman of the reign 
 of Louis XIV., was born in the year 1613. He died in 1680. He is 
 chiefly famous for his work entitled " Reflections and Maxims." 
 
 DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 1. I must confess, there is nothing that more pleases me, 
 in all that I read in books, or see among mankind, than such 
 passages as represent human nature in its proper dignity. 
 As man is a creature made up of different extremes, he has 
 something in him very great and very mean. A skillful artist 
 may draw an excellent picture of him in either of these 
 views. 
 
 2. The finest authors of antiquity have taken him on the more 
 advantageous side. They cultivate the natural grandeur of 
 the soul, raise in her a generous ambition, feed her with hopes 
 of immortality and perfection, and do all they can to widen 
 the partition between the virtuous and the vicious > by making 
 the difference betwixt them as great as between gods and 
 brutes. In short, it is impossible to read a page in Plato, 1 
 Tully, 2 and a thousand other ancient moralists, without being 
 a greater and a better man for it. 
 
 3. On the contrary, I could never read any of our modish 
 French authors, or those of our own country, who are the 
 imitators and admirers of that trifling nation, without being 
 for some time out of humor with myself, and at every thing 
 about me. Their business is to depreciate human nature, and 
 consider it under its worst appearances. They give mean
 
 120 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 interpretations and base motives to the worthiest actions ; 
 they resolve virtue and vice into constitution. In short, 
 they endeavor to make no distinction between man and 
 man, or between the species of men and that of brutes. 
 As an instance of this kind of authors, among many others, 
 let any one examine the celebrated Rochefoucault, 3 who is the 
 great philosopher for administering of consolation to the idle, 
 the envious, and worthless part of mankind. 
 
 4. I remember a young gentleman of moderate under- 
 standing, but great vivacity, who, by dipping into many au- 
 thors of this nature, had got a little smattering of knowledge, 
 just enough to make an atheist or free-thinker, but not a phi- 
 losopher or a man of sense. With these accomplishments, 
 he went to visit his father in the country, who was a plain, 
 rough, honest man, and wise, though not learned. The son, 
 who took all opportunities to show his learning, began to es- 
 tablish a new religion in the family, and to enlarge the nar- 
 rowness of their country notions, in which he succeeded so 
 well, that he had seduced the butler by his table talk, and 
 staggered his eldest sister. 
 
 5. The old gentleman began to be alarmed at the schisms 
 that arose among his children, but did not yet believe his 
 son's doctrine to be so pernicious as it really was, until one 
 day, talking of his setter-dog, the son said, " he did not ques- 
 tion but Tray was as immortal as any one of the family ;" 
 and in the heat of the argument told his father, " that, for his 
 own part, he expected to die like a dog." Upon which, the 
 old man, starting up in a very great passion, cried out ; 
 " Then, sir, you shall live like one ;" and, taking his cane in 
 his hand, cudgeled him out of his system. This had so good 
 an effect upon him, that he took up from that day, fell to read- 
 ing good books, and is now a bencher of the Middle 
 Temple.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 121 
 
 EXERCISE XXX. 
 PRIDE OF ANCESTRY. 
 
 DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 1. It is a noble faculty of our nature which enables us to 
 connect our thoughts, our sympathies, and our happiness with 
 what is distant in place or time ; and, looking before and after, 
 to hold communion at once with our ancestors and our pos- 
 terity. Human and mortal although we are, we are never- 
 theless not mere insulated beings, without relation to the 
 past or the future. Neither the point of time nor the spot of 
 earth in which we physically live, bounds our rational and in- 
 tellectual enjoyments. 
 
 2. We live in the past by a knowledge of its history, and 
 in the future by hope and anticipation. By ascending to an 
 association with our ancestors ; by contemplating their ex- 
 ample and studying their character ; by partaking their sen- 
 timents and imbibing their spirit ; by accompanying them in 
 their toils ; by sympathizing in their sufferings, and rejoicing 
 in their successes and their triumphs, we mingle our own 
 existence with theirs, and seem to belong to their age. 
 
 3. We become their contemporaries, live the lives which 
 they lived, endure what they endured, and partake in the re- 
 wards which they enjoyed. And in like manner, by running 
 along the line of future time, by contemplating the probable 
 fortunes of those who are coming after us ; by attempting 
 something which may promote their happiness, and leave 
 some not dishonorable memorial of ourselves for their regard, 
 when we shall sleep with the fathers, we protract our own 
 earthly being, and seem to crowd whatever is future, as well 
 as all that is past, into the narrow compass of our earthly 
 existence. 
 
 4. As it is not a vain and false, but an exalted and religious 
 imagination, which leads us to raise our thoughts from the orb 
 which, amidst this universe of worlds, the Creator has given 
 us to inhabit, and to send them with something of the feeling 
 

 
 122 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 which nature prompts, and teaches to be proper among chil- 
 dren of the same Eternal Parent, to the contemplation of the 
 myriads of fellow-beings with which his goodness has peopled 
 the infinite of space, so neither is it false or vain to consider 
 ourselves as interested or connected with our whole race 
 through all time ; allied to our ancestors ; allied to our pos- 
 terity ; closely compacted on all sides with others ; ourselves 
 being but links in the great chain of being, which begins 
 with the origin of our race, runs onward through its success- 
 ive generations, binding together the past, the present, and 
 the future, and terminating at last with the consummation of 
 all things earthly, at the throne of God. 
 
 5. There may be, and there often is, indeed, a regard for 
 ancestry, which nourishes only a weak pride ; as there is also 
 a care for posterity, which only disguises an habitual avarice, 
 or hides the workings of a low and groveling vanity. But 
 there is also a moral and philosophical respect for our ances- 
 tors, which elevates the character and improves the heart. 
 
 6. Next to the sense of religious duty and moral feeling, I 
 hardly know what should bear with stronger obligation on a 
 liberal and enlightened mind, than a consciousness of alliance 
 with excellence which is departed ; and a consciousness, too, 
 that in its acts and conduct, and even in its sentiments, it 
 may be actively operating on the happiness of those who 
 come after it. Poetry is found to have few stronger concep- 
 tions, by which it would affect or overwhelm the mind, than 
 those in which it presents the moving and speaking image of 
 the departed dead to the senses of the living. This belongs 
 to poetry, only because it is congenial to our nature. 
 
 7. Poetry is, in this respect, but the handmaid of true phi- 
 losophy and morality. It deals with us as human beings, 
 naturally reverencing those whose visible connection with 
 this state of being is severed, and who may yet exercise we 
 know not what sympathy with ourselves; and when it 
 carries us forward, also, and shows us the long-continued re- 
 sult of all the good we do in the prosperity of those who
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADER. 123 
 
 follow us, till it bears us from ourselves, and absorbs us in an 
 intense interest for what shall happen to the generations 
 after us, it speaks only in the language of our nature, and 
 affects us with sentiments which belong to us as human beings. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXI. 
 NATURE'S NOBILITY. 
 
 REV. GEORGE ASPINWALL. 
 
 1 . Room for a nobleman to pass ! 
 
 In costly robes ? in trappings gay ? 
 A fop tricked out before the glass ? 
 
 No ; clad in sober gray, 
 A nobleman in heart is he, 
 With mind for his nobility. 
 
 2. His crest, a soul in virtue strong, 
 
 His arms, a heart with candor bright, 
 Which gold bribes not to what is wrong, 
 
 Nor blinds to what is right ; 
 The patent of his courtly race, 
 Behold it in his open face ! 
 
 3. He cringes not on those above, 
 Nor tramples on the worm below ; 
 Misfortunes can not cool his love, 
 
 Or flattery make it grow : 
 Stanch to his friends in woe or weal, 
 As is the magnet to the steel. 
 
 4. He envies not the deepest sage ; 
 He scoffs not at the meanest wight ; 
 And all the war that he doth wage 
 
 Is in the cause of right ;
 
 124 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 For broad estate, and waving land, 
 He has the poor man's willing hand* 
 
 5. He is not rich, and yet, indeed, 
 
 Has wealth ; nor poor, has stock, though small ; 
 Nor rich, he gives so much to need ; 
 
 Not poor, for on him fall 
 Such blessings from relieved distress, 
 To crown his path with happiness. 
 
 6. Room for a lord, ye truckling crew, 
 
 Who round earth's great ones fawn and whine ! 
 Fall back ! and gaze on something new ; 
 
 A lord, at least, in mind, 
 That bravest work in Nature's plan, 
 
 An UPRIGHT, INDEPENDENT MAN. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. "Why the rising inflection at the questions in the first 
 stanza, and the falling at the answer? See Rule I., page 26. 2. 
 "What rule for the inflections as marked in the fifth stanza ? See 
 Rule IV., page 29. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXII. 
 
 BE careful to avoid a singing tone in reading this piece; to -which 
 there is a strong tendency in unpracticed readers. 
 
 BENDEMEER'S* STREAM. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 1. There 's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, 
 
 And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; 
 In the time of my childhood, 'twas like a sweet dream, 
 To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 
 
 2. That bower and its music I never forget, 
 
 But oft, when alone, in the bloom of the year, 
 
 * Name of a river near the ruina of Chilminar.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 125 
 
 I think Is the nightingale singing there yet ? 
 
 Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer ? 
 
 3. N6 ; the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, 
 
 But some blossoms were gathered while freshly they shone, 
 And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave 
 All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. 
 
 4. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 
 
 An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 
 Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, 
 Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer ! 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What rule for the inflections, as marked in the 2d 
 and 3d stanzas ? 2. How many accented syllables are there in each 
 line ? 3. How many unaccented syllables ? 
 
 EXERCISE XXXIII. 
 ARACHNE AND MELISSA; OR, THE ART OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 HARRIS. 
 
 1. Almost every object that attracts our notice, has its 
 bright and its dark side. He who habituates himself to 
 look at the displeasing side, will sour his disposition, and 
 consequently impair his happiness ; while he who constantly 
 beholds it on the bright side, insensibly meliorates his tem- 
 per, and in consequence of it improves his own happiness, 
 and the happiness of all about him. 
 
 2. Arachne and Melissa are two friends. They are both 
 of them women in years, and alike in birth, fortune, educa- 
 tion, and accomplishments. They were originally alike in 
 temper too ; but, by different management, are grown the re- 
 verse of each other. Arachne has accustomed herself to look 
 only on the dark side of every object. If a new poem makes 
 its appearance with a thousand brilliancies, and but one or two
 
 126 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 blemishes, she slightly skims over the passages that should 
 give her pleasure, and dwells upon those only that fill her 
 with dislike. If you show her a very excellent portrait, she 
 looks at some part of the drapery, which has been neglected, 
 or to a hand or finger which has been left unfinished. 
 
 3. Her garden is a very beautiful one, and kept with great 
 neatness and elegancy ; but if you take a walk with her in 
 it, she talks to you of nothing but blights and storms, of 
 snails and caterpillars, and how impossible it is to keep it 
 from the litter of falling leaves. If you sit down in one of 
 her temples, to enjoy a delightful prospect, she observes to 
 you that there is too much wood, or too little water ; that 
 the day is too sunny, or too gloomy ; that it is sultry, or windy, 
 and finishes with a long harangue upon the wretchedness 
 of our climate. When you return with her to the company, 
 in hope of a little cheerful conversation, she casts a gloom 
 over all, by giving you the history of her own bad health, or 
 of some melancholy accident that has befallen one of her 
 daughter's children. Thus she insensibly sinks her own 
 spirits, and the spirits of all around her, and at last discovers, 
 she knows not why, that her friends are grave. 
 
 4. Melissa is the reverse of all this. By constantly habit- 
 uating herself to look only on the bright side of objects, she 
 preserves a perpetual cheerfulness in herself, which, by a kind 
 of happy contagion, she communicates to all about her. If 
 any misfortune has befallen her, she considers it might have 
 been worse, and is thankful ' to Providence for an escape. 
 She rejoices in solitude, as it gives her an opportunity of 
 knowing herself; and in society, because she can communi- 
 cate the happiness she enjoys. 
 
 5. She opposes every man's virtues to his failings, and can 
 find out something to cherish and applaud in the very worst 
 of her acquaintances. She opens every book with a desire 
 to be entertained or instructed, and, therefore, seldom fails of 
 securing her object. Walk with her, though it be on a heath 
 or a common, and she will discover numberless beauties, un-
 
 YOUNG 'LADIES' READER. 127 
 
 observed before, in the hills, the dales, the brooms, brakes, 
 and the variegated flowers of weeds and poppies. 
 
 6. She enjoys every change of weather and of season, as 
 bringing with it something of health or convenience. In 
 conversation, it is a rule with her never to start a subject that 
 leads to anything gloomy or disagreeable. You, therefore, 
 never hear her repeating her own grievances, or those of her 
 neighbors, or, what is worst of all, their faults and imperfections. 
 If anything of the latter kind be mentioned in her hearing, she 
 has the address to turn it into entertainment, by changing 
 the most odious railing into a pleasant raillery. Thus Me- 
 lissa, like the bee, gathers honey from every weed ; while 
 Arachne, like the spider, sucks poison from the fairest flowers. 
 The consequence is, that of two tempers once very nearly al- 
 lied, the one is ever sour and dissatisfied, the other, always 
 gay and cheerful ; the one spreads a universal gloom, the 
 other, a continual sunshine. 
 
 7. There is nothing more worthy of our attention, than this 
 art of 'happiness. In conversation, as well as life, happiness 
 very often depends upon the slightest incidents. The taking 
 notice of the badness of the weather, a north-east wind, the 
 approach of winter, or any trifling circumstance of the disa- 
 greeable kind, will insensibly rob a whole company of its good 
 humor, and fling every member of it into the vapors. If, 
 therefore, we would be happy in ourselves, and are desirous 
 of communicating that happiness to all about us, these tri- 
 fling matters of conversation ought carefully to be attend- 
 ed to.- 
 
 8. The brightness of the sky, the lengthening of the day, 
 the increasing verdure of the spring, the arrival of any little 
 piece of good news, or whatever carries with it the most dis- 
 tant glimpse of joy, will frequently be the parent of a social 
 and happy conversation. Good manners exact from us this 
 regard to our company. The clown may repine at the sun- 
 shine that ripens the harvest, because his turnips are burnt 
 up by it ; but the man of refinement will extract pleasure
 
 128 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 from the. thunder-storm to which he is exposed, by remarking 
 on the plenty and refreshment which may be expected from 
 the succeeding shower. 
 
 9. Thus does politeness, as well as good sense, direct us to 
 look at every object on the bright side, and, by thus acting, 
 we cherish and improve both. By this practice it is, that 
 Melissa has become the wisest and best of women living, and 
 by this practice, may every person arrive at that agreeable- 
 ness of temper, of which the natural and never-failing fruit is 
 happiness. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. On what principle are the words bright and dark, 
 emphatic, 1st paragraph ? Note VII., page 22. 2. On what princi- 
 ple are the inflections marked in the 3d paragraph ? Rule IV., page 
 29. 3. "What rule for the inflections as marked in the 2d paragraph ? 
 Rule VII., page 31. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXIV. 
 
 1. THE WILDERNESS OF JUDEA was the wild and inhospitable region 
 lying eastward of Jerusalem, in the direction of the river Jordan 
 and the Dead Sea. 
 
 2. VIR'-GIL, whose full name was Publius Virgilius Maro, was a 
 celebrated Latin poet, born about seventy years before Christ. His 
 most famous work is an epic poem, called the JEneid, from the hero 
 ^Eneas, whose wanderings and final settlement in Italy, after the 
 fall of ancient Troy, it commemorates. 
 
 3. ATH'-ENS, the celebrated capital of Attica, in ancient Greece, 
 was founded, according to the common account, by Cecrops, B. C. 
 1550. 
 
 4. THE .<E'-GE -AN is that part of the Mediterranean Sea situated be- 
 tween Greece and Asia Minor. It is now called the Archipelago. 
 
 5. EUS'-TACZ, or EUS-TA'-THI-US, a learned critic, who wrote com- 
 mentaries upon the works of Homer and other ancient writers. He 
 was born at Constantinople, and flourished in the twelfth century. 
 His commentary upon Homer is said to be an inexhaustible mine 
 of ancient erudition.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 129 
 
 NATURE TO THE EYE OF A CHRISTIAN. 
 
 ALISON. 
 
 1. Whatever leads our minds habitually to the Author of 
 the Universe ; whatever mingles the voice of nature with 
 the revelation of the gospel ; whatever teaches us to see, in 
 all the changes of the world, the varied goodness of Him, in 
 whom " we live, and move, and have our being," brings us 
 nearer to the spirit of the Savior of mankind. But, it is not 
 only as encouraging a sincere devotion, that these reflections 
 are favorable to Christianity : there is something, moreover, 
 peculiarly allied to its spirit in such observations of external 
 nature. 
 
 2. When our Savior prepared himself for His temptation, 
 his agony, and death, he retired to the wilderness of Judea 1 
 to inhale, we may venture to believe, a holier spirit amidst 
 its solitary scenes, and to approach to a nearer communion 
 with his Father, amidst the sublimest of his works. It is 
 with similar feelings, and to worship the same Father, that 
 the Christian is permitted to enter the temple of nature ; 
 and, by the spirit of his religion, there is a language infused 
 into the objects which she presents, unknown to the worshiper 
 of former times. 
 
 3. To all, indeed, the same objects appear the same sun 
 shines the same heavens are open; but to the Christian 
 alone it is permitted to know the Author of these things ; to 
 see His spirit " move in the breeze and blossom in the 
 spring," and to read, in the changes which occur in the mate- 
 rial world, the varied expression of eternal love. It is from 
 the influence of Christianity, accordingly, that the key has 
 been given to the signs of nature. It was only when the 
 Spirit of God moved on the face of the deep, that order and 
 beauty were seen in the world. 
 
 4. It is, accordingly, peculiarly well worthy of observation, 
 that the beauty of nature, as felt in modern times, seems to 
 have been almost unknown to the writers of antiquity. They 
 described occasionally the scenes in which they dwelt ; but, 
 
 6*
 
 130 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 if we except Virgil, 2 whose gentle mind seems to have antici- 
 pated, in this instance, the influence of the gospel, never with 
 any deep feeling of their beauty. 
 
 5. Then, as now, the citadel of Athens 3 looked upon the 
 evening sun, and her temples flamed in his setting beam ; 
 but what Athenian writer ever described the matchless glories 
 of the scene? Then, as now, the silvery clouds of the 
 ./Egean 4 Sea rolled round her verdant isles, and sported in the 
 azure vault of heaven ; but what Grecian poet has been in- 
 spired by the sight 1 The Italian lakes spread their waves 
 beneath a cloudless sky. and all that is lovely in nature was 
 gathered around them ; yet even Eustace 6 tells us that a few 
 detached lines is all that is left in regard to them by the Ro- 
 man poets. 
 
 6. The Alps themselves, 
 
 " The palaces of nature, whose vast walls 
 Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
 And throned eternity in icy halls 
 Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls 
 The avalanche the thunderbolts of snow," 
 
 even these, the most glorious objects which the eye of 
 man can behold, were regarded by the ancients with senti- 
 ments only of dismay or horror ; as a barrier from hostile 
 nations, or as the dwelling of barbarous tribes. The torch 
 of religion had not then lightened the face of nature ; they 
 knew not the language which she spoke, nor felt that holy 
 spirit which, to the Christian, gives the sublimity of these 
 scenes. 
 
 EXEECISE XXXV. 
 THE VIRTUOUS WOMAN. 
 
 PROVERBS, CHAP. YYXT. 
 
 1. Who can find a virtuous woman ? for her price is far 
 above rubies.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 131 
 
 2. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that 
 he shall have no need of spoil. 
 
 3. She will do him good, and not evil, all the days of her 
 life. 
 
 4. She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with 
 her hands. 
 
 5. She is like the merchants' ships ; she bringeth her food 
 from afar. 
 
 6. She riseth, also, while it is yet night, and giveth meat to 
 her household, and a portion to her maidens. 
 
 7. She considereth a field, and buyeth it ; with the fruit of 
 her hands she planteth a vineyard. 
 
 8. She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengthened 
 her arms. 
 
 9. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good ; her candle 
 goeth not out by night. 
 
 10. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold 
 the distaff. 
 
 11. She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she 
 reacheth forth her hands to the needy. 
 
 12. She is not afraid of the snow for her household ; for all 
 her household are clothed with scarlet. 
 
 13. She maketh herself coverings of tapestry ; her clothing 
 is silk and purple. 
 
 14. Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth 
 among the elders of the land. 
 
 15. She maketh fine linen and selleth it ; and delivereth 
 girdles unto the merchant. 
 
 16. Strength and honor are her clothing, and she shall re- 
 joice in time to come. 
 
 17. She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and in her 
 tongue is the law of kindness. 
 
 18. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and 
 eateth not the bread of idleness. 
 
 19. Her children arise up, and call her blessed ; her hus- 
 band, also, and he praiseth her.
 
 132 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 20. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excel- 
 lest them all. 
 
 21. Favor is decei' 1 -I, and beauty is vain; but a woman 
 that feareth the LORD. c - shall be praised. 
 
 22. Give her of the :-uit of her hands ; and let her own 
 works praise her in tl .j.ites. 
 
 EXEECISE XXXVI. 
 THE BOY AND HIS ANGEL. 
 
 CAROLINE M. SAWYER. 
 
 1. " Oh, mother, I 've been with an angel to-day I 
 I was out, alone, in the forest, at play, 
 Chasing after the butterflies, watching the bees, 
 And hearing the woodpecker tapping the trees j 
 So I played, and I played, till, so weary I grew, 
 I sat down to rest in the shade of a yew, 
 
 While the birds sang so sweetly high up on its top, 
 I held my breath, mother, for fear they would stop ! 
 Thus a long while I sat, looking up to the sky, 
 And watching the clouds that went hurrying by, 
 When I heard a voice calling just over my head, 
 That sounded as if ' Come, oh brother !' it said ; 
 And there, right over the top of the tree, 
 Oh, mother, an angel was beck'ning to me ! 
 
 2. " And, ' brother !' once more, ' come, oh brother !' he cried, 
 And flew on light pinions close down by my side ! 
 
 And, mother, O never was being so bright, 
 
 As the one which then beam'd on my wondering sight ! 
 
 His face was as fair as the delicate shell, 
 
 His hair down his shoulders in fair ringlets fell, 
 
 His eyes resting on me, so melting with love, 
 
 Were as soft and as mild as the eyes of a dove !
 
 - YOUNG LADIES' READER. 133 
 
 And, somehow, dear mother, I felt not afraid, 
 As his hand on my brow he caressingly laid, 
 And whispered so softly and gently to me, 
 (p.) ' Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee 
 
 3. " And then on my forehead he tenderly press'd 
 
 Such kisses oh, mother, they thrilled through my breast, 
 (=) As swiftly as lightning leaps down from on high, 
 When the chariot of God rolls along the black sky ! 
 While his breath, floating round me, was soft as the breeze 
 That play'd in my tresses, and rustled the trees. 
 At last on my head a deep blessing he pour'd, 
 Then plumed his bright pinions and upward he soar'd ! 
 And up, up he went, through the blue sky, so far, 
 He seem'd to float there like a glittering star. 
 Yet still my eyes follow' d his radiant flight, 
 Till, lost in the azure, he pass'd from my sight ! 
 Then, oh, how I fear'd, as I caught the last gleam 
 Of his vanishing form, it was only a dream ! 
 (p.) When soft voices whispered once more from the tree, 
 ' Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee !' " 
 
 4. Oh, pale grew that mother, and heavy her heart ; 
 
 For she knew her fair boy from this world must depart ! 
 
 That his bright locks must fade in the dust of the tomb, 
 
 Ere the autumn winds withered the summer's rich bloom ! 
 
 Oh, how his young footsteps she watch'd day by day.* 
 
 As his delicate form wasted slowly away, 
 
 Till the soft light of heaven seemed shed o'er his fact 
 
 And he crept up to die in her loving embrace ! 
 
 " Oh, clasp me, dear mother, close, close to your bre 
 
 On that gentle pillow again let me rest ! 
 
 Let me once more gaze up to that dear, loving eye, 
 
 And then, oh, methinks, I can willingly die ! 
 
 Now kiss me, dear mother ! oh, quickly ! for see, 
 
 The bright, blessed angels are waiting for me !"
 
 134 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 5. Oh, wild was the anguish that swept through her breast, 
 (pi.) As the long, frantic kiss on his pale lips she press'd ! 
 And felt the vain search of his soft, pleading eye, 
 As it strove to meet hers ere the fair boy could die. 
 " I see you not, mother, for darkness and night 
 Are hiding your dear loving face from my sight 
 But I hear your low sobbings, dear mother, good-by, 
 The angels are ready to bear me on high ! 
 I will wait for you there, but, oh, tarry not long, 
 Lest grief at your absence should sadden my song !" 
 He ceased, and his hands meekly clasp'd on his breast, 
 While his sweet face sank down on its pillow of rest, 
 Then, closing his eyes, now all rayless and dim, 
 Went up with the angels that waited for him ! 
 
 EXERCISE XXXVII. 
 THE LIFE-VOYAGE. 
 
 FRANCES 8. OSQOOD. 
 
 1. Once in the olden time there dwelt, 
 
 Beside the sounding sea, 
 A little maid, her garb was coarse, 
 Her spirit pure and free. 
 
 2. Her parents were a humble twain, 
 
 And poor as poor could be ; 
 Yet gayly sang the guileless child, 
 Beside the sounding sea. 
 
 3. The hut was bare, and scant the fare, 
 
 And hard her little bed ; 
 But she was rich ! A single gem 
 Its beauty round her shed. 
 
 4. She walk'd in light ! 'twas all her wealth 
 
 That pearl, whose lustrous glow
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 135 
 
 Made her white forehead dazzling fair, 
 And pure as sunlit snow. 
 
 5. Her parents died ! With tears she cried, 
 
 " God will my father be !" 
 Then launched alone her shallop light, 
 And bravely put to sea. 
 
 6. The sail she set was virgin-white, 
 
 As inmost lily leaf, 
 
 And angels whisper'd her from heaven, 
 To loose it, or to reef. 
 
 7. And ever on the dancing prow 
 
 One glorious brilliant burn'd, 
 By whose clear ray she read her way, 
 And every danger learn'd : 
 
 8. For she had hung her treasure there, 
 Her heaven-illumined pearl ! 
 
 And so she steer'd her lonely bark, 
 That fair and guileless girl ! 
 
 9. The wind was fresh, the sails were free, 
 (") High dash'd the diamond spray, 
 
 And, merrily leaping o'er the sea, 
 The light skiff left the bay ! 
 
 10. But soon false, evil spirits came, 
 (si.) And strove, with costly lure, 
 
 To bribe her maiden heart to shame, 
 And win her jewel pure. 
 
 11. They swarmed around the fragile boat, 
 
 They brought her diamonds rare, 
 To glisten on her graceful throat, 
 And bind her flowing hair ! 

 
 136 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 12. They brought her gold from Afric-land, 
 
 And from the sea-king's throne 
 They pilfer'd gems, to grace her hand 
 And clasp her virgin zone. 
 
 3. But still she shook the silken curl 
 
 Back from her beaming eyes, 
 And cried, " I bear my spotless pearl 
 Home, home to yonder skies ! 
 
 14. " Now shame ye not your ocean gems 
 
 And Eastern gold to show 1 
 Behold ! how mine outburns them all ! 
 God's smile is in its glow !" 
 
 15. Fair blows the wind, the sail swells free, 
 (^r) High shoots the diamond spray, 
 
 And merrily o'er the murmuring sea 
 The light boat leaps away ! 
 
 16. They swarm'd around the fragile bark, 
 
 They strove with costlier lure, 
 To bribe her maiden heart to shame, 
 And win her jewel pure. 
 
 17. " We bring thee rank, we bring thee power,- 
 
 We bring thee pleasures free, 
 
 No empress, in her silk-hung bower, 
 
 May queen her realm like thee ! 
 
 18. " Now yield us up the one white pearl ! 
 
 'Tis but a star whose ray 
 Will fail thee, rash, devoted girl, 
 When tempests cloud thy way." 
 
 19. But still she smiled a loftier smile, 
 
 And raised her frank, bright eyes,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 137 
 
 And cried, " I bear my vestal star 
 (<) Home, home to yonder skies !" 
 
 20. The wind is fresh the sail swells free 
 (") High shoots the diamond spray ! 
 
 And merrily o'er the moaning sea 
 The light boat leaps away ! 
 
 21. Suddenly, stillness broods around, 
 (') A stillness as of death, 
 
 Above, below no motion, sound ! 
 Hardly a struggling breath ! 
 
 22. Then wild and fierce the tempest came, 
 (^ ) The dark wind-demons clash'd 
 
 Their weapons swift the air was flame ! 
 The waves in madness dash'd I 
 
 23. They swarm'd around the tossing boat 
 
 " Wilt yield thy jewel now ? 
 Look ! look ! already drenched in spray, 
 It trembles at the prow. 
 
 24. " Be ours the gem ! and, safely launched 
 
 Upon a summer sea, 
 
 Where never eUjnd may frown in heaven, 
 Thy pinnace light shall be I" 
 
 25. But still she smiled a fearless smile, 
 
 And raised her trusting eyes, 
 And cried, " I bear my talisman 
 (<) Home, home to yonder skies !" 
 
 26. And safe through all that blinding storm 
 
 The true bark floated on,
 
 138 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 And soft its pearl-illumined prow 
 Through all the tumult shone ! 
 
 27. An angel, guided through the clouds 
 
 By that most precious light, 
 Flew down the fairy helm to take, 
 And steer the boat aright. 
 
 28. Then died the storm upon the sea ! 
 
 High dash'd the diamond spray, 
 (") And merrily leaping light and free, 
 The shallop sail'd away. 
 
 29. And meekly, when at eve her bark 
 
 Its destined port had found, 
 She moor'd it by the mellow spark 
 Her jewel shed around ! 
 
 30. Would' st know the name the maiden wore ? 
 
 'Twas Innocence like thine ! 
 Would'st know the pearl she nobly bore ? 
 'Twas Truth a gem divine ! 
 
 31. Thou hast the jewel keep it bright, 
 
 Undimmed by mortal fear, 
 And bathe each stain upon its light 
 With Grief's repentant tear ! 
 
 32. Still shrink from falsehood's fairest guise, 
 
 By flattery unbeguiled ; 
 Still let thine heart speak from thine eyes, 
 My pure and simple child ! 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. How, according to the notation marks, should the 
 20th, 21st, and 22d verses be read ? 2. Why the rising inflection 
 on now, 23d stanza? 3. What rule for the inflections, as marked 
 in the 30th stanza?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADER. 139 
 
 EXERCISE XXXVIII. 
 THERE IS A GOD. 
 
 CHATEAUBRIAND. 
 
 1. There is a God ! The herbs of the valley, the cedars 
 of the mountain, bless him the insect sports in his beams 
 the elephant salutes him -with the rising orb of day the bird 
 sings him in the foliage the thunder proclaims him in the 
 heavens the ocean declares his immensity man alone has 
 said, "There is no God."* 
 
 2. Unite in thought, at the same instant, the most beautiful 
 objects in nature ; suppose that you see at once all the hours 
 of the day, and all the seasons of the year ; a morning of 
 spring, and a morning of autumn ; a night bespangled with 
 stars, and a night covered with clouds ; meadows enameled 
 with flowers, forests hoary with snow ; fields gilded by the 
 tints of autumn ; then alone you will have a just conception 
 of the universe. 
 
 3. While you are gazing on that sun which is plunging 
 under the vault of the west, another observer admires him 
 emerging from the gilded gates of the east. By what incon- 
 ceivable magic does that aged star, which is sinking, fatigued 
 and burning, in the shades of the evening, re-appear, at the 
 same instant, fresh and humid with the rosy dew of morning ! 
 At every instant of the day, the glorious orb is at once rising, 
 resplendent at noonday, and setting in the west ; or rather 
 our senses deceive us, and there is, properly speaking, no 
 east, or south, or west, in the world. Every thing reduces 
 itself to one single point, from whence the King of Day sends 
 forth at once a triple light in one single substance. 
 
 4. The bright splendor is, perhaps, that which nature can 
 present, that is most beautiful ; for while it gives us an idea of 
 the perpetual magnificence and resistless power of God, it ex- 
 hibits, at the same time, a shining image of the glorious Trinity. 
 
 * What is the person who says, " There is no God," called in 
 Scripture ? See Psalm xiv., v. 1.
 
 140 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXIX. 
 A NIGHT IN THE DESERTS OF THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 CHATEAUBRIAND. 
 
 1. One evening I had lost my way in a forest, at a short 
 distance from the Falls of Niagara. Soon the day expired 
 around me, and I tasted, in all its solitude, the lovely spec- 
 tacle of a night in the deserts of the New World. An hour 
 after sunset, the moon showed itself above the branches, on 
 the opposite side of the horizon. An embalmed breeze, 
 which the Queen of Night seemed to bring with her from the 
 East, preceded her with its freshening gales. 
 
 2. The solitary star ascended by degrees in the heavens ; 
 sometimes she followed peaceably her azure course, sometimes 
 she reposed on the groups of clouds, which resembled the 
 summits of lofty mountains covered with snow. These 
 clouds, opening and closing their sails, now spread themselves 
 out in transparent zones of white satin, now dispersed into 
 light bubbles of foam, or formed in the heavens bars of 
 white so dazzling and sweet, that you could almost believe 
 you felt their snowy surface. 
 
 3. The scene on the earth was of equal beauty ; the declin- 
 ing day, and the light of the moon, descended into the inter- 
 vals of the trees, and spread a faint gleam even in the pro- 
 foundest part of the darkness. The river which flowed at 
 my feet, alternately lost itself in the woods, and re-appeared 
 brilliant with the constellations of night which reposed on its 
 bosom. In a savanna on the other side of the river, the 
 moonbeams slept without movement on the verdant turf. 
 
 4. A few birches agitated by the breeze, and dispersed 
 here and there, formed isles of floating shadow on that mo- 
 tionless sea of light. All would have been in profound re- 
 pose, but for the fall of a few leaves, the breath of a tran- 
 sient breeze, and the moaning of the owl ; while in the dis- 
 tance, at intervals, the deep roar of Niagara was heard, which,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 141 
 
 prolonged from desert to desert in the calm of the night, 
 expired at length in the endless solitude of the forest. 
 
 5. The grandeur, the surpassing melancholy of that scene, 
 can be expressed by no human tongue the finest nights of 
 Europe can give no conception of it. In vain, amidst our 
 cultivated fields does the imagnation seek to expand it meets 
 on all sides the habitations of men, but, in those savage re- 
 gions, the soul loves to shroud itself in the ocean of forests, 
 to hang over the gulf of cataracts, to meditate on the shores 
 of lakes and rivers, and feel itself alone as it were with God. 
 
 EXERCISE XL. 
 
 1. THE BEAU- IDEAL is the idea, or conception of what is perfect; 
 an image, in the mind, of beauty -without blemish or deformity of 
 any kind. 
 
 2. THE VENUS OF FLORENCE is a celebrated statue of the goddess 
 Venus, in the imperial gallery at Florence. Though small, it is of 
 beautiful proportions and exquisite finish, but with a face of little 
 expression, as observed in the piece below. 
 
 PLAINNESS versus BEAUTY. 
 
 EGBERT CHAMBERS. 
 
 1. The very admiration we bestow on beauty tends to 
 diminish its title to esteem. The possessor of the quality 
 becomes puffed up with the homage of our gaze, and deems 
 nothing else to be necessary to secure approbation. But 
 though this is the usual and plain-sailing way of accounting 
 for the inferiority of character, which too often attends good 
 looks, there is, perhaps, another and better reason for our never 
 attaching the idea of intellectual or moral excellence to beauty. 
 
 2. There is considerable reason for supposing that the beau- 
 ideal 1 of beauty is also the beau-ideal of insipidity, and that 
 it is only in certain degrees of departure from the former 
 property, that we find certain degrees of exemption from the 
 latter. Thus, the exquisite Venus of Florence, 2 the wonder
 
 142 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 and the passion of the world, is not less remarkable for the 
 absence of every appearance of mental charm, than for the 
 possession of every animal grace. 
 
 3. And, if we cast back upon all the faces we" have most 
 admired, we will be apt to confess, in regard to most of them, 
 that it was not perfect beauty, but only some approach to it, 
 that we were delighted with. There seems to be a mysteri- 
 ous sense, either the result of frequent observation, or an in- 
 nate and instinctive faculty, which leads us to attach ideas of 
 uncertainty and emptiness to beauty, even at the moment 
 our eye is gratified with the sight of it. It is only considered 
 as a tincture, a rainbow in the heaven of the human face, a 
 finery which is presently to pass away, leaving something 
 tawdry behind. Plain looks are something in the regular 
 course of things a consistent, uniform peculiarity ; but beau- 
 ty is a mere accident. 
 
 4. It is in the female face that beauty is most advantageous 
 and least harmful. It is natural there ; we look for it ; and, 
 when we find it in a certain degree, it usually conveys a 
 pleasing impression. Even here, however, we still allow it 
 only the admiration due to a thing affecting the physical sur- 
 face, and are apt to look with more expectation to a plain face 
 for those inner qualities which are most entitled to esteem. 
 We look on beauty as we look upon the rose the fairest of 
 flowers while it lasts, but proverbially short-lived and easily 
 blighted. 
 
 5. Plainness, on the other hand, is the unpretending ever- 
 green which is to adorn our garden with a certain steady 
 amount of good looks all the year round. Beauty seems to 
 have an unfortunate effect upon the most of females, filling 
 them with affectation and conceit. Hence, it often happens 
 that men retire with contempt and indignation from the tem- 
 ple of vain beauty, and unite themselves with homely good 
 sense and true unpretending gentleness. 
 
 6. Look around both the natural and the artificial world, 
 and it will be found that similar associations are every where
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 143 
 
 awakened. Whatever is most beautiful in the sky, on the 
 ground, in the tribes of animated nature, carries to us the im- 
 pression of brevity of duration and insolidity of substance. I 
 might except the heavenly bodies, if I thought it strictly 
 proper to style those objects beautiful. The blossom passes 
 away before the leaf, and the leaf falls, while the tree, the 
 least beautiful of the whole, remains. The goldfinch is the 
 creature of a few summers, while the raven lives a century. 
 
 7. The air fills in an hour with creatures that seem shed 
 prismatically from sunbeams, but which, in another hour, sink 
 back into their real nativity, the dust. The gay poppy is but 
 a weed ; the food of man is found in the bristling and repul- 
 sive corn. In the artificial world we habitually expect the 
 sound and plain to go together. 
 
 8. A gaudy-colored dress is usually a thin thing of ging- 
 ham and gauze, designed only to be worn for a few sunshiny 
 forenoons. The most valuable articles of attire are generally 
 simple in form and hue ; and so accustomed are we to judge 
 accordingly, that to make an unsubstantial thing sober in 
 color, would be the surest way to gain for it some share of 
 sincere esteem. 
 
 EXERCISE XLI. 
 
 THE OLD HOUSE CLOCK. 
 
 HARPER'S MAGAZINE. 
 1. O ! the old, old clock of the household stock, 
 
 Was the brightest thing, and neatest ; 
 Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, 
 
 And its chimes rang still the sweetest ; 
 'Twos a monitor, too, though its words were few, 
 
 Yet they lived, though nations altered ; 
 And its voice, still strong, warned old and young, 
 
 When the voice of friendship faltered ; 
 (") " Tick ! tick !" it said, " quick, quick to bed ; 
 For ten I 've given warning ;
 
 144 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Up ! up ! and go, or else you know, 
 
 You '11 never rise soon in the morning !" 
 
 2. A friendly voice was that old, old clock, 
 
 As it stood in the corner smiling, 
 And blessed the time with a merry chime, 
 
 The wintry hours beguiling ; 
 But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, 
 
 As it called at daybreak boldly ; 
 When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way, 
 
 And the early air looked coldly : 
 " Tick ! tick !" it said, " quick out of bed ; 
 
 For five I Ve given warning ; 
 You '11 never have health, you '11 never have wealth, 
 
 Unless you 're up soon in the morning !" 
 
 3. Still hourly the sound goes round and round, 
 
 With a tone that ceases never ; 
 While tears are shed for bright days fled, 
 (jpl.) And the old friends lost for ever ! 
 
 Its heart beats on, though hearts are gone, 
 
 That beat like ours, though stronger ; 
 Its hands still move, though hands we love, 
 
 Are clasped on earth no longer ! 
 " Tick ! tick !" it said, " to the church-yard bed. 
 
 The grave hath given' warning : 
 Up ! up ! and rise, and look at the skies, 
 
 And prepare for a heavenly morning !" 
 
 EXERCISE XLII. 
 
 1. PROMETHEAN, pertaining to Prometheus ; who, according to the 
 old mythology of the Greeks, was exposed to the wrath of Jupiter, 
 on account of his having taught mortals the arts, and especially the 
 use of fire: stealing it, for that purpose, from heaven, and conceal- 
 ing it in a pipe, or hollow staff.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 145 
 
 NATURE'S GENTLEMAN. 
 
 ELIZA COOK. 
 I. 
 
 Whom do we dub as gentleman ? The kn&ve, the fo6l, the brute, 
 If they but own full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly suit ! 
 The parchment scroll of titled line, the ribbon at the knee, 
 Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree ! 
 
 n. 
 
 But Nature, with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born, 
 And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn ; 
 She molds with care a spirit rare, half human, half divine, 
 And cries, exulting : " Who can make a gentleman like mine ? 
 
 She may not spend her common skill about the outward part, 
 But showers her beauty, grace, and light, upon the brain and 
 
 heart. 
 
 She may not choose ancestral fame, his pathway to illume; 
 The sun that sheds the brightest day, may rise from mist and 
 
 gloom. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Should Fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound, 
 He shares it with a bounteous hand, and scatters blessings round : 
 The treasure sent, is rightly spent, and serves the end designed, 
 When held by nature's gentleman, the good, the just, the kind. 
 
 He turns not from the cheerless home, where Sorrow's offspring 
 
 dwell, 
 
 He '11 greet the peasant in his hut, the culprit in his cell, 
 He stays to hear the widow's plaint of deep and mourning love, 
 He seeks to aid her lot below, and prompt her faith above. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The orphan child, the friendless one, the luckless or the poor, 
 Will never meet his spurning frown, or leave his bolted door. 
 
 7 

 
 146 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 His kindred circles all mankind, his country all the globe, 
 An honest name his jeweled star, the truth his ermine robe. 
 
 He wisely yields his passions up to reason's firm control : 
 His pleasures are of crimeless kind, and never taint the soul. 
 He may be thrown among the gay and reckless sons of life, 
 But will not love the revel scene, or heed the brawling strife. 
 
 He wounds no breast with jeer or jest, yet bears no honeyed 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 He 's social with the gray-haired one, and merry with the young. 
 He gravely shares the council speech, or joins the rustic game, 
 And shines as Nature's gentleman, in every place the same. 
 
 IX. 
 
 No haughty gesture marks his gait, no pompous tone his word, 
 No studied attitude is seen, no palling nonsense heard ; 
 He '11 suit his bearing to the hour, laugh, listen, learn, or teach, 
 With joyous freedom in his mirth, and candor in his speech. 
 
 He worships God with inward zeal, and serves him in each 
 deed; 
 
 He would not blame another's faith, nor have one martyr bleed ; 
 
 Justice and mercy form his code ; he puts his trust in Heaven ; 
 
 His prayer is, "If the heart mean well, may all else be for- 
 given!" 
 
 XI. 
 
 Though few of such may gem the earth, yet such rare gems there 
 
 are, 
 
 Each shining in his hallowed sphere, as virtue's polar star. 
 Though human hearts, too oft are found, all gross, corrupt and 
 
 dark, 
 Yet, yet, some bosoms breathe and burn, lit by Promethean 1 spark.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 147 
 
 There are some spirits, nobly just, unwarped by pelf or pride, 
 Great in tbe calm, but greater still, when dashed by adverse tide ; 
 They hold the rank no king can give, no station can disgrace; 
 Nature puts forth her gentleman, and monarchs must give place. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the falling inflection on gentleman, first line, 
 first stanza ? 2. Why the falling on the knave, fool, and brute, same 
 line ? See Rule II. page 27. 3. On what principle is the word her 
 emphatic, in the second and twelfth stanzas ? See Note VII. p. 22. 
 
 EXERCISE XLIII. 
 THE HERITAGE. 
 
 JAMES EUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 1. The rich man's son inherits lands, 
 
 And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, 
 And he inherits soft, white hands, 
 
 And tender flesh that fears the cold, 
 
 Nor dares to wear a garment old ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 2. The rich man's son inherits cares ; 
 
 The bank may break, the factory burn, 
 A breath may burst his bubble shares, 
 
 And soft, white hands could hardly earn 
 
 A living that would serve his turn ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 3. The rich man's son inherits wants, 
 
 His stomach craves for dainty fare ; 
 With sated heart he hears the pants 
 Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, 
 And wearies in his easy chair ; 

 
 148 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 4. What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
 A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ; 
 King of two hands, he does his part 
 In every useful toil and art ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 5. What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, 
 A rank adjudged with toil-won merit, 
 Content that from employment springs, 
 A heart that in his labor sings ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 6. What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 A patience learned by being poor, 
 Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, 
 A fellow-feeling that is sure 
 To make the outcast bless his door ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 7. O rich man's son ! there is a toil, 
 
 That with all other level stands ; 
 Large charity doth never soil, 
 
 But only whiten, soft, white hands, 
 This is the best crop from thy lands ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 Worth being rich to hold in fee. 
 
 8. O poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ; 
 
 There is worse weariness than thine,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 149 
 
 In merely being rich and great ; 
 Toil* only gives the soul to shine, 
 And makes rest fragrant and benign ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 Worth being poor to hold in fee. 
 
 9. Both heirs to some six feet of sod, 
 
 Are equal in the earth at last ; 
 Both, children of the same dear God, 
 
 Prove title to your heirship vast 
 
 By record of a well-filled past ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 Well worth a life to hold in fee. 
 
 EXERCISE XLIV. 
 TRUE ESTIMATE OF CHARACTER. 
 
 TATTLER. 
 
 1. It is to me a very great meanness, and something much 
 below a philosopher, which is what I mean by a gentleman, 
 to rank a man among the vulgar for the condition of life he 
 is in, and not according to his behavior, his thoughts, and sen- 
 timents, in that condition. -For, if a man be loaded with 
 riches and honors, and in that state of life has thoughts and 
 inclinations below the meanest artificer ; is not such an arti- 
 ficer, who, within his power, is good to his friends, moderate 
 in his demands for his labor, and cheerful in his occupation, 
 very much superior to him who lives for no other end but to 
 serve himself, and assumes a preference in all his words and 
 actions to those who act their part with much more grace 
 than himself? 
 
 2. Epictetus has made use of the similitude of a stage-play 
 to human life with much spirit. " It is not," says he, " to be 
 considered among the actors, who is prince, or who is beggar,
 
 150 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 but who acts prince or beggar best." The circumstance of 
 life should not be that which gives us place, but our be- 
 havior in that circumstance is what should be our solid dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 3. Thus, a wise man should think no man above him or be- 
 low him, any further than it regards the outward order or 
 discipline of the world ; for, if we conceive too great an idea 
 of the eminence of our superiors, or subordination of our infe- 
 riors, it will have an ill effect upon our behavior to both. He 
 who thinks no man above him but for his virtue, none below 
 him but for his vice, can never be obsequious or assuming in 
 a wrong place ; but will frequently emulate men in rank be- 
 low him, and pity those above him. 
 
 4. This sense of mankind is so far from a leveling princi- 
 ple, that it only sets us upon a true basis of distinction, and 
 doubles the merit of such as become their condition. A man 
 in power, who can, without the ordinary prepossessions which 
 stop the way to the true knowledge and service of mankind, 
 overlook the little distinctions of fortune, raise obscure merit, 
 and discountenance successful indesert, has, in the minds of 
 knowing men, the figure of an angel rather than a man ; and 
 is above the rest of men in the highest character he can be, 
 even that of their benefactor. 
 
 EXERCISE XLV. 
 NOVELTY. 
 
 HENRY GROVE. 
 
 1. One advantage of our inclination for novelty is, that it 
 annihilates all the boasted distinctions among mankind. Look 
 not up with envy t8 those above thee ! Sounding titles, 
 stately buildings, fine gardens, gilded chariots, rich equipages, 
 what are they 1 They dazzle every one but the possessor ; 
 to him that is accustomed to them, they are cheap and re- 
 gardless things : they supply him not with brighter images or
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 151 
 
 more sublime satisfactions, than the plain man may have, 
 whose small estate will just enable him to support the 
 charge of a simple, unencumbered life. He enters heed- 
 less into his rooms of state, as you or I do under our poor 
 sheds. 
 
 2. The noble paintings and costly furniture are lost on him ; 
 he sees them not ; as how can it be otherwise, when, by cus- 
 tom, a fabric infinitely more grand and finished, that of the 
 universe, stands unobserved by the inhabitants, and the ever- 
 lasting lamps of heaven are lighted up in vain, for any notice 
 that mortals take of them 1 Thanks to indulgent Nature, 
 which not only placed her children originally upon a level, 
 but still, by the strength of this principle, in a great measure 
 preserves it, in spite of all the care of man to introduce arti- 
 ficial distinctions. 
 
 3. To add no more is not this fondness for novelty, which 
 makes us out of conceit with all we already have, a convinc- 
 ing proof of a future state ? Either man was made in vain, 
 or this is not the only world he was made for ; for there can 
 not be a greater instance of vanity than that to which man is 
 liable, to be deluded from the cradle to the grave with fleet- 
 ing shadows of happiness. His pleasures, and those not con- 
 siderable neither, die in the possession, and fresh enjoyments 
 do not rise fast enough to fill up half his life with satisfaction. 
 
 4. When I see persons sick of themselves any longer than 
 they are called away by something that is of force to chain 
 down the present thought ; when I see them hurry from 
 country to town, and then from the town back again into the 
 country, continually shifting postures, and placing life in all 
 the different lights they can think of: "Surely," say I to 
 myself, " life is vain, and the man beyond expression stupid 
 or prejudiced, who, from the vanity of life, can not gather 
 that he is designed for immortality."
 
 152 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE XLVI. 
 
 A PITIABLE PATIENT. 
 PHYSICIAN AND LADY. 
 
 Phys. Madam, you look exceedingly well this morning : I 
 hope you feel yourself recovered from your indisposition. 
 
 Lady (rather warmly}. I am astonished, sir, that a gentle- 
 man of your skill should be deceived by appearances : I was 
 never worse in my life. 
 
 Phys. (smiling). Indeed ! will you favor me with some ac- 
 count of the symptoms of your illness ? 
 
 Lady. Really, I can do no such thing : all I feel assured of 
 is, that I am altogether in a state of torture. 
 
 Phys. What ! madam, are you in bodily pain 1 
 
 Lady. No. I have a horrid freedom from any pain. 
 
 Phys. Some painful object, perhaps, affects your mind ? 
 
 Lady. No, sir. My agony is, that I have not one subject 
 which can, in the smallest degree, interest me : I would give 
 a hundred pounds for some serious cause of grief, something 
 over which I could weep profusely. 
 
 Phys. Your case is certainly pitiable, but I hope not with- 
 out remedy. Will you allow me to ask you, madam, how 
 you have spent the last week ? 
 
 Lady. Upon my word, sir, it is out of my power to comply 
 with your request. I really keep no journal, and my memory 
 has not such a prodigious tenacity as you suppose. I will en- 
 deavor to give you an account of the last two days. Aye this 
 is Wednesday. Well, sir, I rose on Monday morning, and 
 
 Phys. May I ask at what hour you rose ? 
 
 Lady (with a slight blush). It was rather late : two o'clock, 
 I believe ; but I had been at a party during almost the whole 
 of the preceding night. As soon as I was dressed, I rode to 
 the Park. 
 
 Phys. You have not mentioned your breakfast. I hope 
 you did not omit that essential meal.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 153 
 
 Lady (a little vexed). I I took my breakfast in bed. Well, 
 sir, the Park was so crowded that my carriage could hardly 
 move along : this would not have annoyed me much, but un- 
 fortunately it was a very cold day, and, having a slight rheu- 
 matism in my face, I could not venture to put down the win- 
 dow ; so that, sir, I had no opportunity of showing my new 
 French head-dress and shawl. You will allow, sir, that this 
 was a very mortifying circumstance. 
 
 Phys. Be assured, madam, of my sympathy. 
 
 Lady. Well, sir : I returned home in expectation of finding 
 
 Professor B , who had promised to dedicate a concerto to 
 
 me : the traitor was not there, but in his stead a letter of 
 apology, in which he pretended to recollect that he was under 
 a previous obligation to dedicate the thing to Lady Belville ; 
 but I understand the whole affair she has been bribing him. 
 
 I flung away the letter in contempt ; but what was I to do 
 with my spare time 1 It wanted nearly three hours to din- 
 ner, and as my toilet only occupies two, I had an hour upon 
 my hands. It was impossible to have recourse to my music, 
 having been so recently ill treated by one of its professors ; 
 books I cannot read ; even French tales have become insipid. 
 Luckily I fell asleep. 
 
 In the evening, I went to Mrs. Morton's rout ; but, such is 
 my ill fortune, that I really think that there is a conspiracy to 
 reduce me to a state of apathy. Would you believe it, sir, 
 that, although I played till three o'clock in the morning, I 
 could neither win nor lose, though I made every effort in my 
 power by extravagant betting and careless playing. You see 
 that my case is hopeless. 
 
 Phys. Tolerably bad ; but I trust not incurable. 
 
 Lady. You will change your opinion when you hear more. 
 I was determined yesterday morning to indemnify myself for 
 the vexations of the preceding day : I ordered my carriage by 
 two o'clock, and had already put on my favorite French bon- 
 net and shawl, when a servant came in and announced my 
 mischievous cousin, Lady Courton. 
 
 7*
 
 154 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 It was no slight evil to be interrupted just as I was going 
 on my morning expedition ; but what was my horror, when 
 Lady Courton entered with a shawl twice as beautiful as my 
 own ! I nearly fainted : she saw my distress, and instantly 
 discovered the cause of it ; but, with her usual malice, began 
 to tease me by desiring me to admire it, and to guess its 
 value. 
 
 After harassing me for half an hour, she observed that she 
 would not detain me, as I appeared to be going out. We 
 went down stairs together ; but, to my astonishment, I could 
 not see her carriage. " What 's the matter, my dear cousin ?" 
 she exclaimed. " Where 's your carriage ?" I asked. " Is 
 that all ?" she said, laughing : " O I sent it away ; for you ' 
 must know that I intended to lounge away the morning with 
 you at your pianoforte ; but, as you are for a ride, I '11 ac- 
 company you." Was ever any thing so consummately ill-na- 
 tured ? You know, sir, it was quite impossible that I could 
 take her into my chariot, and make myself a foil to show her 
 finery. I felt a sudden giddiness, and declined going out. 
 
 Phys. It certainly was a matter of much embarrassment, 
 but I doubt whether it amounted to a physical or moral im- 
 possibility. 
 
 Lady. The case, sir, is so peculiarly feminine, that I can not 
 allow you to be an adequate judge of it. 
 
 Phys. Your reproof is very just. But how did you spend 
 the remainder of the day, which began so miserably "? 
 
 Lady. Worse and worse. My cousin tormented me till 
 nine o'clock, when I left her and went to the opera. 
 
 Phys. Here, madam, you received, no doubt, some pleas- 
 urable compensation for the troubles of the day. 
 
 Lady. Quite the contrary. I was tired to death. How 
 could it be otherwise, when I heard only one tolerable song, 
 and saw only one tolerable dancer. I was engaged to a sup- 
 per party at Lady Belville's ; but as I knew that treacherous 
 professor would be there, I would not go to swell her inso- 
 lent triumph : so I drove home, and went to bed. Now, sir,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 155 
 
 you have heard my case, what remedy do you suggest for 
 my miseries ? 
 
 Phys. My remedy, I am afraid, will not be very palatable ; 
 but I will stake my reputation on its efficacy. In the first 
 place, madam, I must positively insist that you go but to one 
 rout in a week, if to any. 
 
 Lady. Monstrous and impossible ! 
 
 Phys. It may be so, madam ; but you must vanquish the 
 monster, and make " impossibility slight work." In the next 
 place, you must never breakfast in bed, but must rise let 
 me see, I will not be too harsh at eight o'clock, under pen- 
 alty of 
 
 Lady. What penalty, sir ? 
 
 Phys. Under penalty, madam, of losing that cheerful 
 bloom of your complexion, and that elastic elegance of your 
 limbs, for which you are now so justly celebrated. 
 
 Lady. Sir, you seem a judicious person, but your prescrip- 
 tion is very rigid. 
 
 Phys. In the third place, you must become more independ- 
 ent of your dress. I see, madam, and understand that con- 
 temptuous frown ; but hear me further. While you rely for 
 fame on the splendor or beauty of your dress, you are likely 
 to be perpetually worsted by the lucky purchaser of some 
 more exquisite ornament, or the ingenious propagator of some 
 new fashion. Surely, madam, it will be better to trust to the 
 irresistible graces of your person I speak, madam, merely 
 professionally to the enchanting character of your conversa- 
 tion, than to a French bonnet or a French shawl. You will 
 thus be sure of perpetual admiration ; for I can not learn that 
 you need fear any competitors on this score. 
 
 Lady (smiling most graciously). I am sure, sir, you will 
 never find me an intractable patient : you know, sir, I always 
 had the utmost confidence in your judgment. 
 
 Phys. You do me honor, madam. In the fourth place, you 
 must not give up your music, because a mean-minded professor 
 has so shamefully affronted you. I presume, madam, that
 
 156 SANDERS' NEW SEBIES. 
 
 you have no cause of complaint against Mozart ; he can not 
 have been so ungrateful as to offend a lady who adds grace 
 to his most consummate harmonies. 
 
 Lady (affecting to laugh). You are very pleasant this 
 morning, sir ; and really your advice seems very reasonable : 
 I shall consider it very seriously. But come, sir, I feel as if 
 I were much better. The carriage, I see, is at the door ; and 
 you must allow me to ask your company to Johnson's, where 
 I want your judgment on a picture which I think of purchas- 
 ing. Your carriage can follow. 
 
 Phys. I have not much time for viewing pictures, but I 
 shall be proud to attend you for a short time. I am glad to 
 see you so much better. 
 
 Lady. My spirits are much less depressed than they were. 
 
 Phys. If you follow my advice, you will continue to be 
 equally cheerful as now. 
 
 Lady. We will talk more about that as we ride along. 
 You must not administer your remedy all at one time. , But 
 come, sir, the carriage is ready. 
 
 Phys. I attend you, madam. (Aside.) O Flattery! were 
 you never used for worse purposes, a flatterer might become, 
 in some sense, a benefactor of the race. 
 
 EXEKCISE XLVII. 
 
 About ten miles to the south of Dublin, and just on the borders of 
 the county of "Wicklo-w, is situated a very beautiful and romantic 
 glen, called "the Dargle," the joint property of Lord Monk, and the 
 Hon. James Grattau, son of the late celebrated orator. To this cho- 
 sen spot many a gay and happy party repair from the noise and 
 bustle of the city, to enjoy its delightful scenery, a cold dinner in 
 "Grattan's Cottage," and a dance at evening on the grass. A rock, 
 which is called the "Lover's Leap, rises ip a considerable hight 
 above the glen. The circumstance which gave it that name, is de- 
 tailed in the following little poem, which is supposed to be recited 
 near the spot. 
 

 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 157 
 
 THE LOVER'S LEAP. 
 
 LTTERABY MAGNET. 
 
 1. Behold yon beetling rock, whose brow 
 Hangs pending o'er the glen below ; 
 A tale, not easily forgot, 
 
 Is told of that same fearful spot ; 
 
 And thus it runs : One summer's day, 
 
 A bridal party blithe and gay, 
 
 Came hither to enjoy the scene, 
 
 And dance at evening on the green. 
 
 Maria was the gentle bride, 
 
 Her husband's joy, her parents' pride, 
 
 That morning sun arose, to shed 
 
 Its luster on her happy head, 
 
 But ere its parting beams glanc'd down, 
 
 On valley green, and mountain brown, 
 
 A mourning bride she was ! 
 
 2. They laugh'd and revel'd till the sun 
 In heav'n his mid-day course begun, 
 When, to avoid the scorching heat, 
 
 In groups they sought some cool retreat. 
 Maria, with her bosom friend, 
 In yonder grove, retir'd to spend 
 An hour of confidence, and share 
 The breezes that were sporting there ; 
 While William, full of hope and joy, 
 His happy moments to employ, 
 Wound through that rocky path to gain 
 A prospect of the neighb'ring plain, 
 Which, bounded by the distant skies, 
 In variegated beauty lies. 
 
 3. His steps were watch'd, his way pursued, 
 By one who thirsted for his blood,
 
 158 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 , Inflam'd by jealousy and fir'd 
 
 By fiendish rage, he but desir'd 
 To live to strike a deadly blow, 
 And lay his hated rival low. 
 He lov'd Maria, and he strove, 
 By every stratagem of love, 
 To captivate her gentle heart ; 
 But vain he found his ev'ry art, 
 That undivided realm to share, 
 For William rul'd supremely there. 
 
 4. Enraged and stung, his hair he tore, 
 A deep and deadly vengeance swore. 
 And, to fulfill his dark intent, 
 
 The bridal morn he chose to vent 
 His smother'd rage. He trac'd his way, 
 Like blood-hound hov'ring on his prey, 
 Silent and sure. (") While gay and light, 
 The happy bridegroom climbed the hight, 
 Borne on the wings of bliss elate, 
 And thoughtless of impending fate, 
 He just had gain'd the dizzy place, 
 And felt the fresh breeze fan his face, 
 (o') When pale and trembling in his ire, 
 With quiv'ring lip, and eye of fire, 
 His foe sprung on the fatal spot 
 Their conference was brief and hot : 
 
 5. Insult began, ( = ) defiance flash'd, 
 A rash and sudden blow was dash'd 
 
 They grasp'd, they strove, they strain'd for breath, 
 Their struggle was the strife of death. 
 Twice to the dizzy ledge they roll'd, 
 Clasp'd in each other's deadly fold, 
 And twice they backward fell, and then 
 Kenew'd the fatal fight again j 

 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADEE. 159 
 
 _~~~~~~~~-~ ~~ -~- ~-~ ~" 
 
 The aim of each was now to throw, 
 His rival on the rocks below. 
 
 6. To compromise they bade adieu, 
 And nothing short of death would do. 
 They spoke no word of. rage or hate, 
 But, in each fearful pause of fate, 
 Panting for breath, pale, parch'd, and spent, 
 Their looks still gave-' defiance vent. 
 
 (p.] No sound was heard, no hand was nigh, 
 To hold an olive-branch ; the sky, 
 As if it smiled upon the fight, 
 Was still, blue, beautiful, and bright, 
 j 
 
 7. Again the frightful steep they eye'd, 
 And, struggling hard, again they tried 
 To fling each other down. At length, 
 William's activity and strength, 
 Had work'd his now exhausted foe, 
 Just to the grave that yawned below ; 
 One effort more, and he was free, 
 But, in this dire extremity, 
 
 His rival drew a deadly blade, 
 
 One sure and fatal plunge he made, 
 
 The weapon pierc'd young William's breast, 
 
 A groan and struggle marked the rest. 
 
 8. The victor's eye no longer flash'd, 
 
 The cold drops from his brow he dash'd, 
 (*) And slowly rose ; his haggard look 
 
 Betray'd his soul. He shudder'd, shook, 
 
 And glanc'd around, with timid eye, 
 
 To see no evidence was nigh ; 
 
 Then dragged the body to the edge, 
 
 And from the steep and dizzy ledge,
 
 160 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 He hurl'd it over rocks and all ; 
 'Twas dash'd to pieces from the fall. 
 
 9. And then he silently withdrew. 
 The bloody story no man knew : 
 The mangled limbs were found, and all 
 Lamented William's luckless fall. 
 'Twas thought, in clambering the hight 
 And turning, that his brain grew light : 
 Or that some faithless crag gave way, 
 And hurl'd him from the sight of day, 
 To instant death. Maria's grief 
 Was silent, but beyond relief. 
 
 10. Deep in a gloomy solitude, 
 
 She kept her maiden widowhood, 
 
 For three sad years ; and, when, at last, 
 
 Her lonely boundary she passed, 
 
 To mingle in the world again, 
 
 All friendly efforts were in vain 
 
 Her pensive moments to beguile, 
 
 Or raise one melancholy smile. 
 
 11. At last she died, and time roll'd on, 
 Till years were counted twenty-one 
 Since that sad bridal-day the steep 
 
 Had long been named "the Lover's Leap." 
 
 Although the dismal story then 
 
 Was fading from the minds of men, 
 
 When, writhing on his bed of death, 
 
 The murd'rer, with his dying breath, 
 
 In deepest agony reveal'd 
 
 The fearful tale so long conceal'd, 
 
 And then he raving DIED ! 
 
 QUESTION. 1. What pause is required for a just reading of the last 
 line ? See page 43.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 161 
 
 EXERCISE XLVIII. 
 THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 MISS JULIET H. LEWIS, 
 
 1. The whirlwind " would take a walk one day," 
 
 (And a very fast " walker is he,") 
 So bustling about, 
 He at length set out, 
 With a step right blithe and free. 
 
 2. 'Twas plainly seen, as he rushed along, 
 
 He was bent on frolic that day ; 
 (") He whistled with glee, 
 
 Or sung merrily, 
 For his heart was glad and gay. 
 
 3. His path lay straight through the dark green wood, 
 
 And away o'er the mountain's broad brow ; 
 His track you might trace, 
 In every place ; 
 For he left his mark, I trow. 
 
 4. The aspen was first to hear his voice, 
 
 And she shook through each branch at the sound ; 
 The timid young tree 
 Trembled fearfully, 
 As she sank upon the ground. 
 
 5. The hickory heard his sister fall, 
 
 And exclaimed, with an ill-natured sneer, 
 " She 's nervous to-day, 
 And doth fade away ; 
 Such weakness can't flourish here." 
 
 6. As onward the whirlwind came, he heard 
 
 The rude scoffer unfeelingly jest ;
 
 162 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 So wrenching about 
 His old trunk, so stout, 
 The strong one was laid to rest. 
 
 7. The pine saw the hickory's shivered trunk, 
 
 And bowed low as the wind whistled past ; 
 But the courtesy 
 Of the nodding tree 
 Did save her from the blast. 
 
 8. The oak, in defiance, tossed his head ; 
 
 For a veteran right bold was he ; 
 But a single stroke 
 Felled the mighty oak ; 
 Alas ! for the proud old tree ! 
 
 9. On ! (<) onward still ! and his mighty breath 
 
 Sings an anthem of glad triumph now, 
 And he laughs to see 
 Each old forest tree, 
 At his coming, meekly bow. 
 
 10. The blooming rose heard' the whirlwind's voice, 
 
 And it filled her with weighty alarms ; 
 But he loved the blush 
 Of the flowering bush, 
 And bore her off in his arms. 
 
 11. On ! (<) onward still ! o'er the land he sweeps, 
 
 With wreck, and ruin, and rush, and roar, 
 Nor stops to look back 
 On his dreary track, 
 But speeds to the spoils before ! 
 
 QUESTION. 1. How, according to the notation marks, should 9th 
 and llth stanzas be read ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 163 
 
 EXERCISE XLIX. 
 KNOW BEFORE YOU SPEAK. 
 
 EGBERT CHAMBERS. 
 
 1. Amongst the petty dishonesties of common life, there are 
 some more hurtful, but, perhaps, none more paltry, than that 
 of pretending to know where one is ignorant. It is a fault 
 into which many not ill-me'aning persons are drawn, from a 
 false shame which would probably be checked, if any imme- 
 diate evil consequences seemed likely to flow from it. They 
 dislike to appear at a loss, or defeated, or under a short-com- 
 ing about any thing; and thus are tempted either to affect 
 knowledge where they have it not, or in some way to allow 
 it to be supposed, that they are not ignorant. For example ; 
 some one adverts to a fact in science with which he is fa- 
 miliar. 
 
 2. Perhaps it is brought forward for the instruction or en- 
 tertainment of the rest, perhaps to show his own knowl- 
 edge, perhaps only in the fair course of conversation ; no 
 matter how it may be in this respect the point, at present, in 
 question, is the want of candor in the persons whom he is 
 addressing, in hearing as if they understood that and all the 
 related facts, putting on an intelligent look, assenting to the 
 proposition as if convinced of its soundness, and, perhaps, even 
 hazarding some remarks, that may favor the supposition of 
 their being as well informed on the subject as the first speak- 
 er. Or, perhaps, a passage of a classic or foreign author is 
 quoted pedantically or otherwise, it matters not ; what I 
 have to remark is the unconscientiousness of the rest of the 
 company, or of particular members of it, in letting the thing 
 pass as an intelligible part of the discourse, and appearing to 
 sanction its appositeness, when, in reality, they are either al- 
 together ignorant of the language, in which it is written, or 
 have been unable to follow the sense of the passage with any 
 degree of clearness. 
 
 3. When any rational and well-meaning person feels him 

 
 164 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 self tempted into such courses, let Mm only consider how 
 absurd it is to suppose, that there can be any real disgrace in 
 being ignorant of any particular fact whatever. Science is a 
 vast field, so is learning, insomuch that there can be no 
 man in existence acquainted with the whole of either. The 
 most eminent in both scientific knowledge and learning know 
 only a part, and are liable to be found ignorant of much. 
 This is well known, and universally acknowledged. 
 
 4. When, therefore, any ordinary person is found unac- 
 quainted with some particular fact, or even with some entire 
 science, or some whole language, there is no reason why he 
 should be deemed a generally ignorant man. It may be pre- 
 sumed that, if he is ignorant of one thing, he is conversant 
 with another, as is the case with the most eminent students ; 
 and thus he may pass very well, though openly acknowledg- 
 ing that, on the point in question, he is blank as a new-born 
 babe. These considerations apply with particular force to 
 the last of the above classes of cases. The knowledge is 
 there of a kind which no rational person attempts to make 
 himself master of. It is rather discreditable, in some little 
 measure, to be too well read in such facts. And how well 
 may a man fulfill his duties in the world, and how well in- 
 formed may he be in what is useful and serviceable, although 
 he does not know one fact in the topography of Ceylon ! 
 
 5. If these considerations fail, let us only reflect for a mo- 
 ment on the disgrace of being detected in an attempt to con- 
 ceal ignorance. There is a story of Sheridan having once ap- 
 parently quoted a passage from a Greek poet in the House 
 of Commons, when in reality he only uttered a gabble resem- 
 bling Greek. An honorable gentleman, who spoke after him, 
 fully assented to the application of the passage to the case in 
 question. How ineffably ridiculous must that man have ap- 
 peared when Sheridan disclosed the trick ! This is a dishonor, 
 to which every one is exposed who, in any way, however 
 slight or negative, affects to appear knowing where he is 
 ignorant.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 165 
 
 6. The practice is also to be regarded as very injurious to 
 conversation. Indeed, when one remembers how much of the 
 time of most social assemblages is occupied in the vaporings 
 of those who would fain be thought knowing, or in worrying 
 down the assertions hazarded by ignorant effrontery, or in al- 
 lowing those who know nothing, on the point in question, to 
 speak of something else not called for, merely that they may 
 seem to know something ; and when he contrasts this unin- 
 structive jabber with the comparatively well-authenticated 
 statements to be found in books, he might almost be tempt- 
 ed to think that a page well read is worth a whole evening of 
 ordinary conversation. Perhaps it would really be so, if there 
 were not in conversation a gratification to a different part of 
 the mental nature, the social feelings, and, also, an excitement 
 which occasionally scintillates new and original ideas, and 
 leads to profitable trains of thought and inquiry for the future. 
 
 7. Speaking vaguely in ignorance, and then defending what 
 has been said, is another of the great banes of conversation 
 in all except highly-accomplished circles ; and I have often 
 wished for the. presence of some one who, having committed 
 a whole encyclopaedia, almanac, and ready-reckoner to his 
 mind, would be able to correct all wide and false speaking, 
 and thus check long endless discussions in the outset. I once 
 witnessed the good effects of such a monitor, in the course of 
 an excursion in an Irish steamer. Some young men were de- 
 livering their ideas about a variety of matters in the usual 
 loose way, and one of them, at length, remarked of the pyra- 
 mids, that they were so very high, that he verily believed the 
 Wicklow hills were a joke to them. 
 
 8. " I should think not," said a solemn, quiet-looking man. 
 " The pyramids are known to be very much less than the 
 Wicklow mountains." 
 
 " And did you ever see the py'ramids, then ?" 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " But / have ; and I can tell you, the Wicklow hills are 
 nothing at all beside them."
 
 166 SANDEES' NEW SERIES. 
 
 9. " I am sorry, sir," resumed the solemn man, " that I 
 can not join you in that opinion. Although I have not seen 
 the pyramids, I know their measure by the accounts of the 
 best authors. The largest is now fixed at five hundred and 
 forty-three feet high. But the Wicklow hills are generally 
 from two to three thousand feet. Besides, pyramids are only 
 the one-third of prisms of equal base and hight, and the 
 solidity is as one-third of the area of the base by the hight ; 
 while the Wicklow hills, being of a swelling form, must, in 
 proportion to hight, give more solid contents." 
 
 10. Here was one assertion of loud ignorance completely 
 put down. But another was not long wanting. 
 
 " What sad accounts these are for the ladies !" remarked 
 one of the young men ; " I mean the accounts which are pub- 
 lished of the greater number of women than men in our 
 principal cities, as ascertained by the late census." 
 
 11. " What can it be owing to ?" inquired another. 
 
 " Why, I suppose it must be owing to a vast number of 
 men being taken away as emigrants, soldiers, and sailors, 
 and to so many of them getting killed in battle and other- 
 wise." 
 
 " I should rather think there must be more women born 
 than men." 
 
 " Oh, not at all ; the numbers must be equal at first, you 
 know." 
 
 " I know nothing of the kind. There can not be so 
 very many men carried away to the colonies and the army. 
 It must be owing to the greater number of girls born. 
 Why, nearly every family I know has more girls than 
 boys." 
 
 12. " Well, for my part, I can not see how the sexes should 
 not be equal at first." 
 
 " But they can not be equal, I tell you !" 
 
 Thus commenced a dispute which was kept up stoutly on 
 both sides for a quarter of an hour, without one particle of 
 real information on either ; when, at length, one of the con-
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADEB. 167 
 
 tending parties asked the solemn man, if he did not think his 
 view of the question right. 
 
 13. "No ; I don't," said the solemn man, " neither of you is 
 right. On the average of European countries, a hundred and 
 six boys are born for every hundred girls. If, therefore, the 
 two sexes had an equal chance of life, and remained in equal 
 circumstances, there should be a preponderance of males to 
 that extent. To account for the opposite being the case, we 
 may chiefly look to the ascertained greater value of female 
 than male life. 
 
 14. "A man at forty has the expectation of twenty-seven 
 more years ; but a woman of forty has the expectation of 
 thirty-one years ; and so on in proportion at other ages. The 
 superiority of female to male life is partly, no doubt, owing 
 to the comparative exemption of women from the severer 
 hardships of life, and from warfare ; but it is probably owing, 
 in most part, to the superior adaptation of their constitutions 
 to the existing general circumstances of society, as the excess 
 of male mortality is greatest in infancy : the deaths of boys 
 in the first year in Europe being as about four to three of 
 girls. 
 
 15. It was, of course, pedantic to have so much out-of-the- 
 way knowledge at command ; but its effect in the present 
 case, in stopping short what would probably have been an in- 
 cessant wrangle for the remainder of the voyage, made me 
 truly thankful, that the solemn man had chanced to be of our 
 company. I am no advocate for all men being crammed 
 with facts such as those which this individual could bring 
 forth so readily ; but it is surely no unreasonable demand 
 that, when men are totally ignorant of any subject, they will 
 refrain from disputing about it ; that, in short, they should 
 
 KNOW BEFORE THEY SPEAK. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the rising inflection on pyramid, and the fall- 
 ing on No, 8th paragraph? See RuleL, page 26. 2. What kind of 
 emphasis 011 /', same paragraph i See Note \ ii., page 22.
 
 168 SAN DEES' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE L. 
 
 THE ARTIST SURPRISED. 
 
 J. HOGG. 
 
 1. It may not be known to all the admirers of the genius 
 of Albrecht Durez, that the famous engraver was endowed 
 with a better half, so peevish in temper, that she was the tor- 
 ment not only of his own life, but also of his pupils and do- 
 mestics. Some of the former were cunning enough to pur- 
 chase peace for themselves by conciliating the common tyrant 
 but woe to those unwilling or unable to offer aught in pro- 
 pitiation. Even the wiser ones were spared only by having 
 their offenses visited upon a scape-goat. 
 
 2. This unfortunate individual was Samuel Duhobret, a 
 disciple whom Durez had admitted into his school out of 
 charity. He was employed in painting signs and the coarse 
 tapestry then used in Germany. He was about forty years 
 of age, little, ugly, and humpbacked ; was the butt of every 
 ill joke among his fellow disciples, and was picked out as a 
 special object of dislike by Madame Durez. But he bore all 
 with patience, and ate, without complaint, the scanty crusts 
 given him every day for dinner, while his companions often 
 fared sumptuously. 
 
 3. Poor Samuel had not a spice of envy or malice in his 
 heart. He would at any time have toiled half the night to as- 
 sist or serve those who were wont oftenest to laugh at him, or 
 abuse him loudest for his stupidity. True, he had not the quali- 
 ties of social humor or wit, but he was an example of indefati- 
 gable industry. He came to his studies every morning at day- 
 break, and remained at work until sunset. Then he retired 
 into his lonely chamber, and wrought for his own amusement. 
 
 4. Duhobret labored three years in this way, giving him- 
 self no time for exercise or recreation. He said nothing to 
 a single human being of the paintings he produced in the soli- 
 tude of his cell, by the light of his lamp. But his bodily 
 energies wasted and declined under incessant toil. There
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 169 
 
 were none sufficiently interested in the poor artist to mark 
 the feverish hue of his wrinkled cheek, or the increasing at- 
 tenuation of his mis-shapen frame. 
 
 5. None observed that the uninviting pittance set aside for 
 his mid-day repast, remained for several days untouched. 
 Samuel made his appearance regularly as ever, and bore, 
 with the same meekness, the gibes of his fellow-pupils, or the 
 taunts of Madame Durez, and worked with the same untiring 
 assiduity, though his hands would sometimes tremble, and his 
 eyes become suffused a weakness probably owing to the ex- 
 cessive use he had made of them. 
 
 6. One morning Duhobret was missing at the scene of his 
 daily labors. His absence created much remark, and many 
 were the jokes passed upon the occasion. One surmised this, 
 and another that, as the cause of the phenomenon, and it was 
 finally agreed that the poor fellow must have worked himself 
 into an absolute skeleton, and taken his final stand in the glass 
 frame of some apothecary, or been blown away by a puff of 
 wind, while his door happened to stand open. No one thought 
 of going to his lodgings to look after him or his remains. 
 
 7. Meanwhile the object of their mirth was tossing on a 
 bed of sickness. Disease, which had been slowly sapping 
 the foundations of his strength, burned in every vein ; his 
 eyes rolled and flashed in delirium ; his lips, usually so silent, 
 muttered wild and incoherent words. In days of health, poor 
 Duhobret had his dreams, as all artists, rich or poor, will 
 sometimes have. He had thought that the fruit of many 
 years' labor, disposed of to advantage, might procure him 
 enough to live, in an economical way, for the rest of his life. 
 He never anticipated fame or fortune ; the hight of his am- 
 bition, or hope, was to possess a tenement large enough to 
 shelter him from the inclemencies of the weather, with means 
 enough to purchase one comfortable meal per day. 
 
 8. Now, alas ! however, even that one hope had deserted 
 him. He thought himself dying, and thought it hard to die 
 without one to look kindly upon him; without the words 
 
 8
 
 170 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 of comfort that might soothe his passage to another world. 
 He fancied his bed surrounded by fiendish faces, grinning at 
 his sufferings, and taunting him with his inability to summon 
 power to disperse them. At length the apparitions faded 
 away, and the patient sunk into an exhausted slumber. 
 
 9. He awoke unrefreshed ; it was the fifth day he had lain 
 there neglected. His mouth was parched ; he turned over, 
 and feebly stretched out his hand toward the earthen pitcher, 
 from which, since the first day of his illness, he had quenched 
 his thirst. Alas ! it was empty ! Samuel lay for a few mo- 
 ments thinking what he should do. He knew he must die of 
 want, if he remained there alone ; but to whom could he ap- 
 ply for aid in procuring sustenance ? 
 
 10. An idea seemed, at last, to strike him. He arose 
 slowly, and with difficulty, from the bed, went to the other 
 side of the room, and took up the picture he had painted last. 
 He resolved to carry it to the shop of a salesman, and hoped 
 to obtain for it sufficient to furnish him with the necessaries 
 of life for a week longer. Despair lent him strength to walk, 
 and to carry his burden. On his way he passed a house, 
 about which there was a crowd. He drew nigh asked what 
 was going on, and received for an answer, that there was to 
 be a sale of many specimens of art, collected by an amateur 
 in the course of thirty years. It has often happened that col- 
 lections made with infinite pains by the proprietor, were sold 
 without mercy or discrimination, after his death. 
 
 11. Something whispered the weary Duhobret, that here 
 w^ould be the market for his picture. It was a long way yet 
 to the house of the picture-dealer, and he made up his mind 
 at once. He worked his way through the crowd, dragged 
 himself up the steps, and, after many inquiries, found the auc- 
 tioneer. That personage was a busy, important little man, 
 with a handful of papers ; he was inclined to notice somewhat 
 roughly the interruption of the lean, sallow hunchback, im- 
 ploring as were his gestures and language. 
 
 12. " What do you call your picture ?" at length, said ho,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 171 
 
 carefully looking at it. " It is a view of the Abbey of New- 
 bourg with its village and the surrounding landscape," re- 
 plied the eager and trembling artist. 
 
 13. The auctioneer again scanned it contemptuously, and 
 asked what it was worth. " Oh, that is what you please 
 whatever it will bring," answered Duhobret. " Hem ! it is 
 too odd to please, I should think ; I can promise you no more 
 than three thalers." 
 
 14. Poor Samuel sighed deeply. He had spent on that 
 piece the nights of many months. But he was starving now ; 
 and the pitiful sum offered would give bread for a few days. 
 He nodded his head to the auctioneer, and retiring, took his 
 seat in a corner. 
 
 15. The sale began. After some paintings and engravings 
 had been disposed of, Samuel's was exhibited. " Who bids at 
 three thalers ? Who bids ?" was the cry. Duhobret listened 
 eagerly, but none answered. "Will it find a purchaser 1 ?" 
 said he, despondingly to himself. Still there was a dead si- 
 lence. He dared not look up ; for it seemed to him that all 
 the people were laughing at the folly of the artist who could 
 be insane enough to offer so worthless a piece at a public sale. 
 " What will become of me ?" was his mental inquiry. " That 
 work is certainly my best ;'' and he ventured to steal another 
 glance. ' ; Does it not seem that the wind actually stirs those 
 boughs and moves those leaves ! How transparent is the 
 water ! what life breathes in the animals that quench their 
 thirst at that spring ! How that steeple shines ! How beau- 
 tiful are those clustering trees !" This was the last expiring 
 throb of an artist's vanity. The ominous silence continued, 
 and Samuel, sick at heart, buried his face in his hands. 
 
 16. " Twenty-one thalers !" murmured a faint voice, just 
 as the auctioneer was about to knock down the picture. The 
 stupefied painter gave a start of joy. He raised his head 
 and looked to see from whose lips those blessed words had 
 come. It was the picture-dealer, to whom he had first thought 
 of applying.
 
 172 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 17. " Fifty thalers," cried a sonorous voice. This time a 
 tall man in black was the speaker. There was a silence of 
 hushed expectation. " One hundred thalers," at length, thun- 
 dered the picture-dealer. 
 
 18. " Three hundred !" " Five hundred !" " One thousand !" 
 Another profound silence, and the crowd pressed around the 
 two opponents, who stood opposite each other with eager and 
 angry looks. 
 
 19. " Two thousand thalers !" cried the picture-dealer, and 
 glanced around him triumphantly, when he saw his adversary 
 hesitate. "Ten thousand !"' vociferated the tall man', his face 
 crimson with rage, and his hands clenched convulsively. The 
 dealer grew paler ; his frame shook with agitation ; he made 
 two or three efforts, and at last cried out "Twenty thousand !" 
 
 20. His tall opponent was not to be vanquished. He bid 
 forty thousand. The dealer stopped; the other laughed a 
 low laugh of insolent triumph, and a murmur of admiration 
 was heard in the crowd. It was too much for the dealer ; he 
 felt his peace at stake. " Fifty thousand !" exclaimed he in 
 desperation. It was the tall man's turn to hesitate. Again 
 the whole crowd were breathless. At length, tossing his arms 
 in defiance, he shouted " One hundred thousand !" The crest- 
 fallen picture-dealer withdrew ; the tall man victoriously bore 
 away the prize. 
 
 21. How was it, meanwhile, with Duhobret, while this ex- 
 citing scene was going on ? He was hardly master of his 
 senses. He rubbed his eyes repeatedly, and murmured to 
 himself, " After such a dream, my misery will seem more 
 cruel!" When the contest ceased, he rose up bewildered, 
 and went about asking first one, then another, the price of the 
 picture just sold. It seemed that his apprehension could not 
 at once be enlarged to so vast a conception. 
 
 22. The possessor was proceeding homeward, when a de- 
 crepit, lame, and humpbacked invalid tottering along by the 
 aid of a stick, presented himself before him. He threw him 
 a piece of money, and waved his hand as dispensing with his
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 173 
 
 thanks. " May it please your honor," said the supposed beg- 
 gar, " I am the painter of that picture !" and he again rubbed 
 his eyes. 
 
 23. The tall man was Count Dunkelsback, one of the rich- 
 est noblemen in Germany. He stopped, took out his pocket- 
 book, tore out a leaf, and wrote on it a few lines. " Take it, 
 friend," said he ; " it is a check for your money. Adieu." 
 
 24. Duhobret finally persuaded himself that it was not a 
 dream. He became the master of a castle, sold it, and re- 
 solved to live luxuriously for the rest of his life, and to cul- 
 tivate painting as a pastime. But, alas, for the vanity of hu- 
 man expectation ! He had borne privation and toil ; pros- 
 perity was too much for him, as was proved soon after, when 
 an indigestion carried him off. His picture remained long in 
 the cabinet of Count Dunkelsback, and afterwards passed 
 into the possession of the king of Bavaria. 
 
 EXERCISE LI. 
 MORTALITY. 
 
 KNOX. 
 
 1. Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 
 (") Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, 
 
 A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
 (>) He passes from life to his rest in the grave ! 
 
 2. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, 
 Be scattered around, and together be laid ; 
 
 And the young, and the old, and the low, and the high, 
 Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie. 
 
 3. The child that a mother attended and loved, 
 The mother that infant's affection that proved, 
 The husband that mother and infant that blest 
 Each, all are away to their dwelling of rest.
 
 174 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 4. The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye 
 Shone beauty and pleasure, her triumphs are by ; 
 
 And the memory of those that beloved her and prais'd, 
 Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 
 
 5. The hand of the king, that the scepter hath borne, 
 The brow of the priest, that the miter hath worn, 
 The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, 
 Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 
 
 6. The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, 
 
 The herdsman who climb'd with his goats to the steep, 
 The beggar that wander'd in search of his bread, 
 Have faded away like the grass that we -tread. 
 
 7. The saint that enjoy'd the communion of Heaven, 
 The sinner that dared to remain unforgiven, 
 
 The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
 Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 
 
 8. So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed, 
 That wither away to let others succeed ; 
 
 So the multitude comes even there we behold, 
 To repeat every tale that hath often been told. 
 
 9. For we are the same things that our fathers have been, 
 We see the same sights that our fathers have seen ; 
 We drink the same streams, and we feel the same sun, 
 And we run the same course that our fathers have run. 
 
 10. The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think ; 
 From the death we are shrinking from, they too would 
 
 shrink ; 
 
 The life we are clinging to, they too would cling ; 
 But it speeds from the earth, like a bird on the wing. 
 
 11. They loved but their story we cannot unfold ; 
 
 (*) They scorned but the heart of the haughty is cold ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 175 
 
 They grieved but no wail from their slumbers may come; 
 They joy'd but the voice of their gladness is dumb. 
 
 12. They died ! (pi.) aye, they died ; and we things that are now, 
 Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
 
 Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, 
 Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road. 
 
 13. Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain, 
 Are mingled together like sunshine and rain ; 
 
 And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge, 
 Still follow each other like surge upon surge. 
 
 14. 'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, 
 From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, 
 From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud ; 
 Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. How, according to the notation, should the first 
 stanza be read ? 2. How the eleventh and twelfth stanzas ? 3. What 
 direction is given for securing the distinct articulation of such words 
 as fast-flitting, fast-flying, second line, first stanza? See Remark, 
 page 15. 
 
 EXERCISE LII. 
 
 THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL. 
 
 MRS. IIEMAN9. 
 
 Wildly and mournfully the Indian drum 
 
 On the deep hush of moonlit forests broke ; 
 " Sing us a death-song, for thine hour is come ;" 
 
 So the red warriors to their captive spoke. 
 Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone, 
 
 A youth a fair-haired youth of England stood, 
 Like a king's son ; though from his cheek had flown 
 
 The mantling crimson of the island blood, 
 And his pressed lips looked marble.
 
 176 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 2. Fiercely bright, 
 
 And high around him, blazed the fires of night, 
 Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro, 
 
 As the wind passed, and, with a fitful glow, 
 Lighting the victim's face, j But who could tell 
 Of what within his secret heart befell, 
 Known but to Heaven that hour ? 
 
 3. Perchance a thought 
 Of his far home then so intensely wrought, 
 That his full image, pictured to his eye, 
 
 On the dark ground of mortal agony, 
 Rose clear as day ! and he might see the band 
 Of his young sisters, wandering hand in hand, 
 Where the laburnums drooped ; or haply binding 
 The jasmine, up the door's low pillars winding ; 
 Or, as day closed upon their gentle mirth, 
 Gathering, with braided hair, around the hearth 
 Where sat their mother ; and that mother's face, 
 Its grave sweet smile yet wearing in the place 
 Where so it ever smiled ! 
 
 4. Perchance the prayer 
 Learned at her knee came back on his despair ; 
 
 *The blessing from her voice, the very tone 
 Of her " Good-night !" might breathe from boyhood gone ! 
 He started and looked up ; thick cypress boughs, 
 
 Full of strange sound, waved o'er him, darkly red 
 In the broad stormy fire-light ; savage brows, 
 
 With tall plumes crested, and wild hues o'erspread,v 
 Girt him like feverish phantoms ; and pale stars 
 Looked through the branches as through dungeon bars, 
 Shedding no hope. He knew, he felt his doom ; 
 (z.)Oh, what a. tale to shadow with its gloom 
 That happy hall in England ! Idle fear ! 
 Would the winds tell it ? who might dream or hear 
 The- secrets of the forests ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 177 
 
 5. (*) To the stake 
 
 They bound him ; and the proud young soldier strove 
 His father's spirit in his breast to wake, 
 
 Trusting to die in silence ! He, the love 
 Of many hearts ! the fondly -reared the fair, 
 Gladdening all eyes to see ! And fettered there, 
 He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand 
 Flamed up to light it, in the chieftain's hand. 
 
 6. He thought upon his God. (p.~) Hush ! hark ! a cry 
 Breaks on the stern and dread solemnity ; 
 
 A step hath pierced the ring ! Who dares intrude 
 On the dark hunters in their vengeful mood ? 
 A girl a young slight girl a fawn-like child 
 Of green se -'annas and the leafy wild. 
 Springing, unmarked till then, as some lone flower, 
 Happy because the sunshine is its dower ; 
 Yet one that knew how early tears are shed, 
 For hers had mourned a playmate brother dead. 
 
 7. She had sat gazing on the victim long, 
 Until the pity of her soul grew strong ; 
 
 And, by its passion's deepening fervor swayed, 
 
 Even to the stake she rushed, and gently laid 
 
 His bright head on her bosom, and around 
 
 His form her slender arms, to shield it, wound 
 
 Like close Liannes ; then raised her glittering eye 
 
 And clear-toned voice, that said, (ff.~) " He shall not die /" 
 
 8. " HE SHALL NOT DIE !" the gloomy forest thrilled 
 
 To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell 
 On the fierce throng ; and heart and hand were stilled, 
 Struck down, as by the whisper of a spell. 
 
 9. They gazed, their dark souls bowed before the maid, 
 She of the dancing step in wood and glade ! 
 
 And, as her cheek flushed through its olive hue, 
 As her black tresses to the night-wind flew, 
 
 8*
 
 - 
 178 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Something o'ermastered them from that young mien, 
 Something of Heaven, in silence felt and seen ; 
 And, seeming to their child-like faith a token, 
 That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken, 
 
 (si.) They loosed the bonds that held their captive's breath ; 
 From his pale lips they took the cup of death ; 
 They quenched the brand beneath the cypress-tree ; 
 
 C#)" AWAY !" they cried, ''young stranger, THOU ART FREE !" 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the falling inflection on fear, 4th stanza? See 
 Rule VIII., page 31. 2. What rule for the rising inflection on it, 4th 
 stanza ? 3. What, for the falling on forests, 4th stanza ? 
 
 EXERCISE LI II. 
 HONOR TO WOMEN. 
 
 FROM THE GEEMAN.OF SCHILLEE. 
 
 1. Honor to women ! entwining and braiding, 
 Life's garland with roses forever unfading, 
 
 In the vail of the graces all modestly kneeling, 
 Love's band with sweet spells have they wreathed, have 
 
 they blessed ; 
 And, tending with hands ever pure, have caressed 
 
 The flame of each holy, each beautiful feeling. 
 
 2. Ever truth's bright bounds out-ranges 
 
 Man, and his wild spirit strives, 
 Ever with each thought that changes 
 
 As the storm of passion drives ; 
 With heart appeased, contented never, 
 
 Grasps he at the future's gleam. 
 Beyond the stars pursuing ever 
 The restless phantom of his dream. 
 
 3. But the glances of women, enchantingly glowing, 
 Their light woos the fugitive back, ever throwing 

 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 179 
 
 A link round the present, that binds like a spell ; 
 In the neat cottage-home of the mother presiding, 
 All graces, all gentleness, round them abiding, 
 
 As nature's true daughters, how sweetly they dwell ! 
 
 4. (") Man is ever warring, rushing 
 
 Onward through life's stormy way, 
 Wild his fervor, fierce and crushing, 
 
 Knows he neither rest nor stay ; 
 Creating, slaying day by day 
 
 Urged by passion's fury brood, 
 A hydra band, whose heads, for aye 
 
 Fall, to be for aye renewed. 
 
 5. But women, to sweet silent praises resigning 
 Such hopes as affection is ever enshrining, 
 
 Pluck the moment's brief flowers as they wander along, 
 More free in their limited range, richer ever 
 Than man, proudly soaring with fruitless endeavor 
 
 Through the infinite circles of science and song. 
 
 6. Strong, and proud, and self-commending, 
 
 Man's cold heart doth never move 
 To a gentler spirit bending, 
 
 To the godlike power of love ; 
 Knows not soul-exchange so tender, 
 
 Tears, by others' tears confessed ; 
 Life's dark combats steel, and render 
 
 Harder his obdurate breast ! 
 
 7. Oh ! wakened like harp, and as gently resembling 
 Its murmuring chords, to the night-breezes trembling, 
 
 Breathes woman's fond soul, and as feelingly too ; 
 Touched lightly, touched deeply, oh, ever she borrows 
 Grief itself from the image of grief, and her sorrows 
 
 Ever gem her soft eyes with Heaven's holiest dew.
 
 180 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 8. Man, of power despotic lord, 
 
 In power doth insolently trust ; 
 Scythia argues with the sword, 
 
 Persia, crouching, bites the dust. 
 In their fury -fights engaging, 
 
 Combat spoilers, wild and dread, 
 Strife, and war, and havoc raging 
 
 Where the charities have fled. 
 
 9. But gently entreating, and sweetly beguiling, 
 Woman reigns while the graces around her are smiling, 
 
 Calming down the fierce discord of hatred and pride ; 
 Teaching all whom the strife of wild passions would sever, 
 To unite in one bond, and with her, and forever, 
 
 All hopes, each emotion, they else had denied. 
 
 EXERCISE LIV. 
 THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT. 
 
 1. It was one of those great days, one of those elemental 
 occasions in the world's affairs, when the people rise and act 
 for themselves. Some organization and preparation had been 
 made, but, from the nature of the case, with scarce any effect 
 on the events of that day, It may be doubted whether there 
 was an efficient order given the whole day to any body of 
 men as large as a regiment. 
 
 2. It was the people, in their first capacity, as citizens and 
 as freemen, starting from their beds at midnight, from their 
 firesides and from their fields, to take their own cause into 
 their own hands. Such a spectacle is the hight of the moral 
 sublime, when the want of every thing is fully made up by 
 the spirit of the cause, and the soul within stands in place of 
 discipline, organization, resources. 
 
 3. In the prodigious efforts of a veteran army, beneath the
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 181 
 
 dazzling splendor of their array, there is something revolting 
 to the reflective mind. The ranks are filled with the desper- 
 ate, the mercenary, the depraved ; an iron slavery, by the 
 name of subordination, merges the free will of one hundred 
 thousand men in the unqualified despotism of one ; the hu- 
 manity, mercy, and remorse, which scarce ever desert the 
 individual bosorn, are sounds without a meaning to that fear- 
 ful, ravenous, irrational monster of prey, a mercenary army. 
 
 4. It is hard to say, who are most to be commiserated, the 
 wretched people, on whom it is let loose, or the still more 
 wretched people, whose substance has been sucked out, to 
 nourish it into strength and fury. But in the efforts of the 
 people of the people struggling for their rights, moving not 
 in organized, disciplined masses, but in their spontaneous ac- 
 tion, man for man, and heart for heart there is something 
 glorious. They can then move forward without orders, act 
 together without combination, and brave the flaming lines of 
 battle, without entrenchments to cover, or walls to shield 
 them. 
 
 5. No dissolute camp has worn off from the feelings of the 
 youthful soldier the freshness of that home, where his mother 
 and his sisters sit waiting, with tearful eyes and aching hearts, 
 to hear good news from the wars ; no long service in the 
 ranks of a conqueror has turned the veteran's heart into 
 marble ; their valor springs not from recklessness, from 
 habit, from indifference to the preservation of a life, knit by 
 no pledges to the life of others, but in the strength and spirit 
 of the cause alone, they act, they contend, they bleed. 
 
 6. In this, they conquer. The people always conquer. 
 They always must conquer. Armies may be defeated ; kings 
 may be overthrown, and new dynasties imposed by foreign 
 arms on an ignorant and slavish race, that care not in what 
 language the covenant of their subjection runs, nor in whose 
 name the deed of their barter and sale is made out. But 
 the people never invade ; and, when they rise against the in- 
 vader, aro never subdued. .
 
 182 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 7. If they are driven from the plains, they fly to the moun- 
 tains. Steep rocks and everlasting hills are their castles ; the 
 tangled, pathless thicket their palisades, and nature God, is 
 their ally. Now he overwhelms the hosts of their enemies 
 beneath his drifting mountains of sand ; now he buries them 
 beneath a falling atmosphere of polar snows ; he lets loose 
 his tempests on their fleets ; he puts a folly into their coun- 
 sels, a madness into the hearts of their leaders ; and never 
 gave, and never will give, a full and final triumph over a vir- 
 tuous, gallant people, resolved to be free. 
 
 EXERCISE LV. 
 THE END OF FEMALE EDUCATION. 
 
 HANNAH MORE. 
 
 1. To -woman, therefore, whatever be her rank, I would 
 recommend a predominance of those more sober studies, 
 which, not having display for their object, may make her wise 
 without vanity, happy without witnesses, and content without 
 panegyrists; the exercise of which may not bring celebrity, 
 but will improve usefulness. She should pursue every kind 
 of study which will teach her to elicit truth ; which will lead 
 her to be intent upon realities, will give precision to her ideas, 
 will make an exact mind. 
 
 2. She should cultivate every study which, instead of stimu- 
 lating her sensibility, will chastise it ; which will neither cre- 
 ate an excessive nor a false refinement ; which will give her 
 definite notions ; will bring the imagination under dominion ; 
 will lead her to think, to compare, to combine, to methodize ; 
 which will confer such a power of discrimination, that her 
 judgment shall learn to reject what is dazzling, if it be not 
 solid ; and to prefer, not what is striking, or bright, or new, 
 but what is just. That kind of knowledge which is rather 
 fitted for home consumption than foreign exportation, is pecu- 
 liarly adapted to woman.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 183 
 
 3. There have not been wanting ill-judging females, who 
 have affected to establish an unnatural separation between 
 talents and usefulness, instead of bearing in mind that talents 
 are the great appointed instruments of usefulness ; who have 
 acted as if knowledge were to confer on woman a kind 
 of fantastic sovereignty, which should exonerate her from 
 the discharge of female duties ; whereas, it is only meant 
 the more eminently to qualify her for the performance of 
 them. 
 
 4. A woman of real sense will never forget that, while the 
 greater part of her proper duties are such as the most moder- 
 ately gifted may fulfill with credit since Providence never 
 makes that to be very difficult which is generally necessary ; 
 
 yet that the most highly endowed are equally bound to fulfill 
 them ; and let her remember that the humblest of these 
 offices, performed on Christian principles, are wholesome for 
 the minds, even of the most enlightened, as they tend to the 
 casting down of those " high imaginations " which women of 
 genius are too much tempted to indulge. 
 
 5. For instance, ladies whose natural vanity has been ag- 
 gravated by a false education, may look down on economy as 
 a vulgar attainment, unworthy of the attention of a highly 
 cultivated intellect ; but this is the false estimate of a shallow 
 mind. Economy, such as a woman of fortune is called on to 
 practice, is not merely the petty detail of small daily expenses, 
 the shabby curtailments and stinted parsimony of a little 
 mind, operating on little concerns ; but it is the exercise of a 
 sound judgment exerted in the comprehensive outline of or- 
 der, of arrangement, of distribution; of regulations, by which 
 alone well-governed societies, great and small, subsist. She 
 who has the best-regulated mind, will, other things being 
 equal, have the best-regulated family. 
 
 6. As, in the superintendence of the universe, wisdom is seen 
 in its effects; and as, in the visible works of Providence, that 
 which goes on with such beautiful regularity, is the result not 
 of chance, but of design ; so that management which seems
 
 184 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 the most easy, is commonly the consequence of the best-con- 
 certed plan ; and a well-concerted plan is seldom the offspring 
 of an ordinary mind. A sound economy is a sound under- 
 standing brought into action ; it is calculation realized ; it is 
 the doctrine of proportion reduced to practice ; it is foreseeing 
 consequences, and guarding against them ; it is expecting con- 
 tingencies, and being prepared for them. 
 
 7. The truth is, women who are so puffed up with the con- 
 ceit of talents, as to neglect the plain duties of life, will not 
 frequently be found to be women of the best abilities. And 
 here may the author be allowed the gratification of observing, 
 that those women of real genius and extensive knowledge, 
 whose friendship has conferred honor and happiness on her 
 own life, have been, in general, eminent for economy and the 
 practice of domestic virtues ; and have risen superior to the 
 poor affectation of neglecting the duties and despising the 
 knowledge of common life, with which literary women have 
 been frequently, and not always unjustly, accused. 
 
 EXERCISE LVI. 
 LOVE THE AGED. 
 
 1. I love the old to lean beside 
 
 The antique easy -chair. 
 And pass my fingers softly o'er 
 
 A wreath of silvered hair. 
 To press my glowing lips upon 
 
 The furrowed brow, and gaze 
 Within the sunken eye, where dwells 
 
 The " light of other days." 
 
 2. To fold the pale and feeble hand 
 
 That on my youthful head
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 185 
 
 Has laid so tenderly, the while 
 
 The evening prayer was said ; 
 To nestle down close to the heart, 
 
 And marvel how it held 
 Such tomes of legendary lore, 
 
 The chronicles of eld. 
 
 3. O Youth ! thou hast so much of joy, 
 
 So much of life and love, 
 So many hopes Age -has but one 
 
 The hope of bliss above. 
 Then turn awhile from these away 
 
 To cheer the old, and bless 
 The wasted heart-spring with a stream 
 
 Of gushing tenderness. 
 
 4. Thou treadest now a path of bloom, 
 
 And thine exulting soul 
 Springs proudly on, as though it mocked 
 
 At Time's unfelt control. 
 But they have marched a weary way, 
 
 Upon a thorny road : 
 Then soothe the toil-worn spirits, ere 
 
 They pass away to God. 
 
 5. Yes, love the aged bow before 
 
 The venerable form, 
 So soon to seek beyond the sky 
 
 A shelter from the storm. 
 Aye, love them ; let the silent heart, 
 
 With reverence untold, 
 As pilgrims very near to Heaven, 
 
 Regard and love the old. 
 
 QUESTION. 1. What kind of emphasis on many and one, third 
 stanza ?
 
 186 SANDERS' "NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE LVII. 
 A LUCID INTERVAL. 
 
 LITERARY MAGNET. 
 
 1. O ! light is pleasant to the eye, 
 
 And health comes rustling on the gale, 
 Clouds are careering through the sky, 
 
 Whose shadows mock them down the dale ; 
 Nature as fresh and fragrant seems 
 As I have met her in my dreams. 
 
 2. For I have been a prisoner long 
 
 In gloom and loneliness of mind, 
 Deaf to the melody of song, 
 
 To every form of beauty blind ; 
 Nor morning dew, nor evening balm, 
 Might cool my check, my bosom calm. 
 
 3. But now the blood, the blood returns, 
 
 (=) With rapturous pulses through my veins ; 
 My heart, new-born within me, burns, 
 
 My limbs break loose, they cast their chains : 
 Rekindled at the sun, my sight 
 Tracks to a point the eagle's flight. 
 
 4. I long to climb those old gray rocks, 
 
 Glide with yon river to the deep ; 
 Range the green hills with herds and flocks, 
 
 Free as the roe-buck, run and leap ; 
 Then mount the lark's victorious wing, 
 And from the depths of ether sing. 
 
 5. O Earth ! in maiden innocence, 
 
 Too early fled thy golden time ; 
 O Earth ! Earth ! Earth ! for man's offense, 
 Doom'd to dishonor in thy prime ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 187 
 
 Of how much glory then bereft ! 
 Yet what a world of bliss was left ! 
 
 6. The thorn, harsh emblem of the curse, 
 
 Puts forth a paradise of flowers ; 
 Labor, man's punishment, is nurse 
 
 To halcyon joys at sunset hours : 
 Plague, famine, earthquake, want, disease, 
 Give birth to holiest charities. 
 
 7. And Death himself, with all the woes 
 
 That hasten, yet prolong, his stroke, 
 Death brings with every pang repose, 
 
 With every sigh he solves a yoke ; 
 Yes, his cold sweats and moaning strife 
 Wring out the bitterness of life. 
 
 8. Life, life, with all its burdens dear ! 
 
 Friendship is sweet Love sweeter still 
 Who would forego a smile, a tear, 
 
 One generous hope, one chastening ill ? 
 Home, kindred, country ! these are ties 
 Might keep an angel from the skies. 
 
 9. But these have angels never known, 
 
 Unvex'd felicity their lot : 
 Their sea of glass before the throne, 
 
 Storm, lightning, shipwreck, visit not : 
 Our tides, beneath the changing moon, 
 Are soon appeased are troubled soon. 
 
 10. Well, I will bear what all have borne, 
 
 Live my few years, and fill my place : 
 O'er old and young affections mourn, 
 Rent one by one from my embrace,
 
 188 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Till suffering ends, and I have done 
 With all delights beneath the sun. 
 
 11. Whence came I ? Memory can not say ; 
 
 What am 1 1 Knowledge will not show ; 
 Bound whither ? Ah ! away, away, 
 
 Far as eternity can go : 
 Thy love to win, thy wrath to flee, 
 O God ! thyself my helper be. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. "What rule for the falling inflection on earth, fifth 
 stanza ? 2. What rule for the inflections as marked in the eleventh 
 stanza ? 
 
 EXERCISE LVIII. 
 
 1. RES-TO-RA'-TION, in English History, is applied to the act of re- 
 establishing the monarchical form of government, after the close of 
 the interval from Jan. SO, 1649, when Charles I. was beheaded, to 
 May 29th, 1660, when Charles II. acceded to the throne 
 
 2. PER-I-CLES, a celebrated Athenian orator, warrior, and statesman, 
 born about 500 B. C. For forty years he was the leading spirit in 
 Athens, which city, in many ways, he embellished and made glorious. 
 
 3. AU-GUS'-TUS, a Roman emperor, born B. C. 63, and died A. D. 14. 
 He gave great encouragement to the cultivation of literature and 
 the arts. 
 
 4. LEO X. became Pope of Rome in 1513, in the 38th year of his 
 age He was a munificent patron of learning and the arts. 
 
 5. Louis XIV., of France, was born Sept. 5th, 1638. His reign was 
 long, and adorned with men of celebrity in almost every walk of 
 life. He gave great encouragement to the arts and sciences. 
 
 THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH. 
 
 FRANCIS JEFFREY. 
 
 1. There never was, any where, any thing like the sixty or 
 seventy years that elapsed from the middle of Elizabeth's 
 reign, to the period of the Restoration. 1 In point of real 
 force and originality of genius, neither the age of Pericles, 2
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 189 
 
 nor the age of Augustus, 3 nor the times of Leo X., 4 nor of 
 Louis XIV., 5 can come at all into comparison. 
 
 2. For, in that short period, we shall find the names of al- 
 most all the very great men that this nation has ever pro- 
 duced the names of Shakspeare, and Bacon, and Spenser, 
 and Sydney and Hooker, and Taylor, and Barrow, and Ra- 
 leigh and Napier, and Milton, and Cudworth, and Hobbes, 
 and many others ; men, all of them, not merely of great 
 talents and accomplishments, but of vast compass and reach 
 of understanding, and of minds truly creative and original ; 
 not perfecting art by the delicacy of their taste, or digesting 
 knowledge by the justness of their reasonings, but making 
 vast and substantial additions to the materials, upon which 
 taste and reason must hereafter be employed, and enlarging, 
 to an incredible and unparalleled extent, both the stores and 
 the resources of the human faculties. 
 
 3. Whether the brisk concussion which was given to men's 
 minds by the force of the Reformation, had much effect in 
 producing this sudden development of British genius, we can 
 not undertake to determine. For our own part, we should 
 be rather inclined to hold, that the Reformation itself was 
 but one symptom or effect of that great spirit of progression 
 and improvement, which had been set in operation by deeper 
 and more general causes, and which afterwards blossomed out 
 into this splendid harvest of authorship. 
 
 4. But whatever may have been the causes that determined 
 the appearance of those great works, the fact is certain, not 
 only that they appeared together in great numbers, but that 
 they possessed a common character, which, in spite of the 
 great diversity of their subjects and designs, would have made 
 them be classed together as the works of the same order or 
 description of men, even if they had appeared at the most 
 distant intervals of time. 
 
 5. They are the works of giants, in short and of giants of 
 one nation and family ; and their characteristics are, great 
 force, boldness, and originality, together with a certain raciness
 
 190 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 of English peculiarity, which distinguishes them from all 
 those performances that have since been produced among our- 
 selves, upon a more vague and general idea of European ex- 
 cellence. 
 
 6. Their sudden appearance, indeed, in all this splendor of 
 native luxuriance, can only be compared to what happens on 
 the breaking up of a virgin soil, where all the indigenous 
 plants spring up at once with a rank and irrepressible fertility, 
 and display whatever is peculiar or excellent in their nature, 
 on a scale the most conspicuous and magnificent. 
 
 7. The crops are not, indeed, so clean as where a more ex- 
 hausted mold has been stimulated by systematic cultivation ; 
 nor so profitable as where their quality has been varied by a 
 judicious admixture of exotics, and accommodated to the 
 demands of the universe by the combinations of an unlimited 
 trade. But of those whose chief object of admiration is the 
 living power and energy of vegetation, and who take delight 
 in contemplating the various forms of her unforced and natu- 
 ral perfection, no spectacle can be more rich, splendid, or 
 attractive. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. "Why the rising inflection on genius, 3d paragraph ? 
 See Rule V., page 29. 2. Why the rising inflection on splendid, last 
 paragraph? See Rule VII., page 31. 
 
 EXERCISE LIX. 
 THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES. 
 
 ROBERT HALL. 
 
 1. It is no reflection on this amiable princess to suppose, that 
 in her early dawn, with the dew of her youth so fresh upon 
 her, she anticipated a long series of years, and expected to be 
 led through successive scenes of enchantment, rising above 
 each other in fascination and beauty. 
 
 2. It is natural to suppose she identified herself with 
 this great nation which she was born to govern ; and that,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 191 
 
 while she contemplated its pre-eminent luster in arts and in 
 arms, its commerce encircling the globe, its colonies diffused 
 through both hemispheres, and the beneficial effects of its in- 
 stitutions extending to the whole earth, she considered them 
 as so many component parts of her grandeur. 
 
 3. Her heart, we may well conceive, would often be ruffled 
 with emotions of trembling ecstasy, when she reflected tha* 
 it washer province to live entirely for others, to compose the 
 felicity of a great people, to move in a sphere which would 
 afford scope for the exercise of philanthropy the most enlarged, 
 of wisdom the most enlightened ; and that, while others are 
 doomed to pass through the world in obscurity, she was to 
 supply the materials of history, and to impart that impulse 
 to society, which was to decide the destiny of future genera- 
 tions. 
 
 4. Fired with the ambition of equaling or surpassing the 
 most distinguished of her predecessors, she probably did not 
 despair of reviving the remembrance of the brightest parts 
 of their story, and of once more attaching the epoch of Brit- 
 ish glory to the annals of a female reign. It is needless to 
 add, that the nation went with her, and probably outstripped 
 her in these delightful anticipations. 
 
 ^"5. We fondly hoped that a life so inestimable would be 
 protracted to a distant period, and that, after diffusing the 
 blessings of a just and enlightened administration, and being 
 surrounded by a numerous progeny, she would gradually, in 
 a good old age, sink under the horizon, amid the embraces of 
 her family, and the benedictions of her country. 
 
 6. But, alas ! (pi.) these delightful visions are fled, and what 
 do we behold in their room but the funeral pall and shroud, 
 a palace in mourning, a nation in tears, and the shadow of 
 death settled over both like a cloud ! O the unspeakable 
 vanity of human hopes ! the incurable blindness of man to 
 futurity ! ever doomed to grasp at shadows, to seize with 
 avidity what turns to dust and ashes in his hands, to sow the 
 wind, and reap the whirlwind.
 
 192 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE LX. 
 
 This and the following piece should be read quite slow, and in a 
 pathetic tone of voice. f 
 
 THE DEATH-BED 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 1. We watched her breathing through the night, 
 (p.) Her breathing soft and low, 
 
 As in her breast the wave of life 
 Kept heaving to and fro ! 
 
 2. So silently we seem'd to speak, 
 (**) So slowly moved about, 
 
 As we had lent her half our powers 
 To eke her being "out ! 
 
 3. Our very hopes belied our fears, 
 
 Our fears our hopes belied, 
 We thought her dying when she slept, 
 And sleeping when she died ! 
 
 4. For when the morn came, dim and sad, 
 
 And chill with early showers, 
 Her quiet eyelids closed she had 
 Another morn than ours ! 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What kind of pause at the dash, 4th stanza ? See 
 Remarks, page 43. 2. What kind of emphasis on the words itali- 
 cised, 3d stanza ? See Note VII., page 22. 
 
 EXERCISE LXI. 
 A DIRGE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 D. ELLEN GOODMAN. 
 
 1. Softly, peacefully, 
 (pi.) Lay her to rest ; 
 Place the turf lightly 
 On her young breast ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 193 
 
 Gently, solemnly, 
 
 Bend o'er the bed, 
 Where ye have pillowed 
 
 Thus early her head. 
 
 2. Plant a young willow 
 
 Close by her grave ; 
 Let its long branches 
 
 Soothingly wave ; 
 Twine a sweet rose-tree 
 
 Over the tomb ; 
 Sprinkle fresh buds there, 
 
 Beauty and bloom. 
 
 3. Let a bright fountain, 
 
 Limpid and clear, 
 Murmur its music, 
 
 Smile through a tear ; 
 Scatter its diamonds 
 
 Where the loved lies, 
 Brilliant and starry, 
 
 Like angels' eyes. 
 
 4. Then shall the bright birds 
 
 On golden wing, 
 s. v Lingering over, 
 
 Murmuring sing : 
 Then shall the soft breeze 
 
 Pensively sigh, 
 Bearing rich fragrance 
 
 And melody by. 
 
 5. Lay the sod lightly 
 
 Over her breast ; 
 Calm be her slumbers, 
 Peaceful her rest. 

 
 
 194 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Beautiful, lovely, 
 She was but given, 
 
 A fair bud to earth, 
 To blossom in heaven. 
 
 EXERCISE LXII. 
 THE PURE IN HEART SHALL MEET AGAIN. 
 
 WILLIAM LEGGEIT. 
 
 1. If yon bright stars, which gem the night, 
 
 Be each a blissful dwelling sphere, 
 Where kindred spirits re-unite, 
 
 Whom death hath torn asunder here, 
 How sweet it were at once to die, 
 
 And leave this blighted orb afar, 
 Mixed soul with soul, to cleave the sky, 
 
 And soar away from star to star. 
 
 2. But O, how dark, how drear, how lone, 
 
 '' Would seem the brightest world of bliss, 
 If, wandering through each radiant one, 
 
 W T e failed to find the loved of this ! 
 If there no more the ties shall twine, 
 
 That Death's cold hand alone can sever ! 
 Ah ! then these stars in mockery shine, ^ 
 
 More hateful as they shine forever. 
 
 3. It can not be ; each hope, each fear, 
 
 That lights the eye, or clouds the brow, 
 Proclaims there is a happier sphere 
 
 Than this bleak world that holds us now. 
 There is a voice which sorrow hears, 
 
 When heaviest weighs life's galling chain, 
 'Tis Heaven that whispers, " Dry thy tears, 
 
 TlIE PURE IN HEART SHALL MEET AGAIN."
 
 
 YOUXG LADIES' READER. 195 
 
 EXERCISE LXIII. 
 LIFE ENDEARED BY AGE. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 1. Age, that lessens the enjoyment of life, increases our de- 
 sire of living. Those dangers which, in the vigor of youth, 
 \ve had learned to despise, assume* new terrors as we grow 
 old. Our caution increasing as our years increase, fear be- 
 comes at last the prevailing passion of the mind ; and the 
 small remainder of life is taken up in useless efforts to keep 
 off our end, or provide for a continued existence. 
 
 2. Strange contradiction in our nature, and to which even 
 the wise are liable ! If I should judge of that part of life, 
 which lies before me, by that which I have already seen, the 
 prospect is hideous. Experience tells me, that my past en- 
 joyments have brought no real felicity, and sensation assures 
 me, that those I have felt are stronger than those which are 
 yet to come. Yet experience and sensation in vain persuade ; 
 hope, more powerful than either, dresses out the distant pros- 
 pect in fancied beauty ; some happiness, in long perspective, 
 still beckons me to pursue, and, like a losing gamester, 
 every new disappointment increases my ardor to continue 
 the game. 
 
 3. Whence, my friend, this increased love of life, which 
 grows upon us with our years ? whence comes it, that we 
 thus make greater efforts to preserve our existence at a period 
 when it becomes scarcely worth the keeping ? Is it that Na- 
 ture, attentive to the preservation of mankind, increases our 
 wishes to live, while she lessens our enjoyments ; and, as she 
 robs the senses of every pleasure, equips imagination in the 
 spoil 1 
 
 4. Life would be insupportable to an old man who, loaded 
 with infirmities, feared death no more than when in the vigor 
 of manhood ; the numberless calamities of decaying nature, 
 and the consciousness of surviving every pleasure, would at 
 once induce him, with his own hand, to terminate the scene
 
 196 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 of misery ; but, happily, the contempt of death forsakes him 
 at a time, when it could be only prejudicial, and life acquires 
 an imaginary value in proportion as its real value is no more. 
 
 5. Our attachment to every object around us increases, in 
 general, from the length of our acquaintance with it. " I 
 would not choose," says a French philosopher, " to see an old 
 post pulled up with which I had been long acquainted." A 
 mind long habituated to a certain set of objects insensibly 
 becomes fond of seeing them ; visits them from habit, and 
 parts from them with reluctance. Hence proceeds the ava- 
 rice of the old in every kind of possession ; they love the 
 world and all that it produces ; they love life and all its ad- 
 vantages ; not because it gives them pleasure, but because 
 they have known it long. 
 
 6. Chinvang, the Chaste, ascending the throne of China, 
 commanded that all who were unjustly detained in prison 
 during the preceding reigns should be set free. Among the 
 number who came to thank their deliverer on this occasion, 
 there appeared a majestic old man, who, falling at the empe- 
 ror's feet, addressed him as follows : " Great father of China, 
 behold a wretch, now eighty -five years old, who was shut up 
 in a dungeon at the age of twenty-two. I was imprisoned, 
 though a stranger to crime, or without being even confronted 
 by my accusers. I have now lived in solitude and in darkness 
 for more than fifty years, and am grown familiar with distress. 
 
 7. " As yet, dazzled with the splendor of that sun, to which 
 you have restored me. I have been wandering the streets to 
 find some friend that would assist, or relieve, or remember 
 me ; but my friends, my family, and relations are all dead, 
 and I am forgotten Permit me, then, O Chinvang, to wear 
 out the wretched remains of life in my former prison ; the 
 walls of my dungeon are to me more pleasing than the most 
 splendid palace : I have not long to live, and shall be un- 
 happy except I spend the rest of my days where my youth 
 was passed in that prison from which you were pleased to 
 release me."
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 197 
 
 8. The old man's passion for confinement is similar to that 
 we all have for life. We are habituated to the prison, we 
 look round with discontent, are displeased with the abode, 
 and yet the length of our captivity only increases our fond- 
 ness for the cell. The trees we have planted, the houses we 
 have built, or the posterity we have begotten, all serve to 
 bind us closer to earth, and imbitter our parting. Life sues 
 the young like a new acquaintance ; the companion, as yet 
 unexhausted, is at once instructive and amusing ; its company 
 pleases, yet, for all this, it is but little regarded. 
 
 9. To us, who are declined in years, life appears like an 
 old friend ; its jests have been anticipated in former conversa- 
 tion ; it has no new story to make us smile, no new improve- 
 ment with which to surprise. Yet still we love it ; destitute 
 of every enjoyment, still we love it ; husband the wasting 
 treasure with increased frugality, and feel all the poignancy 
 of anguish in the fatal separation. 
 
 EXERCISE LXIV. 
 ESTIMATE OF LIFE. 
 
 WILLIAM HAZLTTT. 
 
 1. It is little, it is short, it is not worth having if we take 
 the last hour, and leave out all that has gone before, which 
 has been one way of looking at the subject. Such calculators 
 seem to say, that life is nothing when it is over ; and that 
 may, in their sense, be true. If the old rule Respice finem* 
 were to be made absolute, and no one could be pro- 
 nounced fortunate till the day of his death, there are few 
 among us whose existence would, upon such conditions, be 
 much to he envied. 
 
 2. But this is not a fair view of the case. A man's life is 
 his whole life, not to the last glimmering snuff of the candle ; 
 and this, I say, is considerable, and not a little matter, whether 
 
 * Rcspicc finem Regard the end.
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES, 
 
 we regard its pleasures or its pains. To draw a peevish 
 conclusion to the contrary, from our own superannuated de- 
 sires of forgetful indifference, is about as reasonable as to say, 
 a man never was young, because he has grown old, or never 
 lived, because he is now dead. 
 
 3. The length or agreeableness of a journey does not de- 
 pend on the few last steps of it, nor is the size of a building 
 to be judged of from the last stone that is added to it. It is 
 neither the first nor the last hour of our existence, but the 
 space that parts these two not our exit, nor our entrance 
 upon the stage, but what we do feel, and think while 
 there that we are to attend to in pronouncing sentence 
 upon it. 
 
 4. Indeed, it would be easy to show that it is the very ex- 
 tent of human life, the infinite number of things contained in 
 it, its contradictory and fluctuating interests, the transition 
 from one situation to another, the hours, months, years, spent 
 in one fond pursuit after another ; that it is, in a word, the 
 length of our common journey, and the quantity of events 
 crowded into it, that, baffling the grasp of our actual percep- 
 tion, make it slide from our memory, and dwindle into no- 
 thing in its own perspective. 
 
 5. It is too mighty for us, and we say it is nothing ! It is 
 a speck in our fancy, and yet what canvas would be big 
 enough to hold its striking' groups, its endless objects ! It is 
 light as vanity ; and yet, if all its weary moments, if all its 
 head and heart-aches were compressed into one, what fortitude 
 would not be overwhelmed with the blow ! 
 
 6. What a huge heap, a " huge dumb heap," of wishes, 
 thoughts, feelings, anxious cares, soothing hopes, loves, joys, 
 friendships, it is composed of ! How many ideas and trains 
 of sentiment, long, deep, and intense, often pass through the 
 mind in one day's thinking or reading, for instance ! 
 
 7. How many such days are there in a year, how many 
 years in a long life, still occupied with something interesting 
 still recalling some old impression still recurring to some
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 199 
 
 difficult question, and making progress in it, every step ac- 
 companied with a sense of power, and every moment con- 
 scious of " the high endeavor or the glad success ;" for the 
 mind seizes only on that which keeps it employed, and is 
 wound up to a certain pitch of pleasurable excitement by the 
 necessity of its own nature. 
 
 EXERCISE LXV. 
 RAVAGES OF TIME. 
 
 1. Why-sitt'st thou by that ruined hall, 
 
 Thou aged carle so stern and gray ? 
 Dost thou its former pride recall, 
 Or ponder how it passed away ? 
 
 2. " Knowest thou not me 1" the Deep Voice cried, 
 
 " So long enjoyed, so oft misused, 
 Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 
 Desired, neglected, and accused ? 
 
 3. " Before my breath, like blazing flax, 
 
 Man and his marvels pass away ; 
 
 And changing empires wane and wax, 
 
 Are founded, flourish, and decay. 
 
 4. " Redeem mine hours the space is brief, 
 
 While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, 
 And measureless thy joy or grief, 
 
 When Time and thou shall part forever !" 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What rules for the inflections as marked in the first 
 and second stanzas ? 2. Why the rising inflection on flourish, third 
 stanza? See Rule VII., page 31.
 
 200 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE LXVI. 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 MISS JEW8BURY. 
 
 1. I asked the stars in the pomp of night, 
 Gilding its blackness with crowns of light, 
 Bright with beauty, and girt with power, 
 Whether eternity were not their dower ; 
 And dirge-like music stole from their spheres, 
 Bearing this message to mortal ears : 
 
 2. " We have no light that hath not been given ; 
 
 We have no strength but shall soon be riven ; 
 We have no power wherein man may trust ; 
 Like him are we things of time and dust ; 
 And the legend we blazon with beam and ray, 
 And the song of our silence, is ' PASSING AWAY.' 
 
 3. " We shall fade in our beauty, the fair and bright, 
 
 Like lamps that have served for a festal night ; 
 We shall fall from our spheres, the old and strong, 
 Like rose-leaves swept by the breeze along ; 
 Though worshiped as gods in the olden day, 
 We shall be like a vain dream ' PASSING AWAY.' " 
 
 4. From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth, 
 From the pageant of power, and the voice of mirth, 
 From the mists of morn on the mountain's brow, 
 From childhood's song, and affection's vow, 
 From all, save that o'er which soul bears sway, 
 Breathes but one record " PASSING AWAY." 
 
 5. " Passing away," sing the breeze and rill, 
 
 As they sweep in their course by vale and hill ; 
 Through the varying scenes of each earthly clime, 
 'Tis the lesson of nature, the voice of time ; 
 And man at last, like his fathers gray, 
 Writes in his own dust " PASSING AWAY."
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 201 
 
 EXERCISE LXVII. 
 WHEN IS THE TIME TO DIE? 
 
 AMANDA M. EDMOXD. 
 
 1. I asked a glad and happy child, 
 
 Whose hands were filled with flowers, 
 Whose silvery laugh rang free and wild 
 
 Among the vine-wreathed bowers. 
 I cross'd her sunny path, and cried, 
 
 " When is the time to die '?" 
 (") " Not yet ! not yet !" the child replied, 
 
 And swiftly bounded by. 
 
 2. I asked a maiden, back she flung 
 
 The tresses of her hair : 
 A whisper'd name was on her tongue, 
 
 Whose memory hover'd there. 
 A flush pass'd o'er her lily brow, 
 
 I caught her spirit's sigh ; 
 " Not now," she cried, " O no, not now ! 
 
 Youth is no time to die." 
 
 3. I asked a mother, as she pressed 
 
 Her first-born in her arms, 
 As gently, on her tender breast, 
 
 She hush 1 d her babe's alarms. 
 In quiv'ring tones her answer came, 
 
 Her eyes were dim with tears, 
 " My boy his mother's life must claim, 
 
 For many, many years !" 
 
 4. I questioned one in manhood's prime, 
 
 Of proud and fearless air, 
 His brow was furrow'd not by time, 
 
 Or dimmed by woe and care. 
 In angry accents he replied, 
 
 And gleam'd with scorn his eye, 
 9*
 
 
 202 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 . " Talk not to me of death," he cried ; 
 " For only age should die." 
 
 5. I questioned Age ; for him, the tomb 
 
 Had long been all prepared, 
 But death, who withers youth and bloom, 
 
 This man of years had spared. 
 Once more his nature's dying fire 
 
 Flash'd high, as thus he cried, 
 (/) " Life, only life is my desire !" 
 (>) Then gasped, and groaned, and died. 
 
 6. I asked a Christian, " Answer thou 
 
 When is the hour of death ?" 
 A holy calm was on his brow, 
 
 And peaceful was his breath ; 
 And sweetly o'er his features stole 
 
 A smile, a light divine ; 
 He spake the language of his soul, 
 
 " My Master's time is mine /" 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. On what principle are me and age emphatic, 4th 
 stanza ? See Note VII. , page 22. 2. What kind of emphasis on life, 
 6th verse ? 
 
 EXERCISE LXVIII. 
 HISTORICAL READING. 
 
 MACAULAT. 
 
 1. The effect of historial reading is analogous, in many re- 
 spects, to that produced by foreign travel. The student, like 
 the tourist, is transported into a new state of society. He sees 
 new fashions. He hears new modes of expression. His mind 
 is enlarged by contemplating the wide diversities of laws, of 
 morals, and of manners. But men may travel far, and return 
 with minds as contracted, as if they had never stirred from 
 their own market-town.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 203 
 
 2. In the same manner, men may know the dates of many- 
 battles, and the genealogies of many royal houses, and yet be 
 no wiser. Most people look at past times as princes look 
 at foreign countries. More than one illustrious stranger has 
 landed on our island amidst the shouts of a mob, has dined 
 with the king, has hunted with the master of the stag-hounds, 
 has seen the Guards reviewed, and a knight o/ the garter in- 
 stalled ; has ca'ntered along Regent street ; has visited St. 
 Paul's, and noted down its dimensions, and has then depart- 
 ed, thinking that he has seen England. 
 
 3. He has, in fact, seen a few public buildings, public men, 
 and public ceremonies. But of the vast and complex system 
 of society, of the fine shades of national character, of the 
 practical operation of government and laws, he knows no- 
 thing. He who would understand these things rightly, must 
 not confine his observations to palaces and solemn days. 
 
 4. He must see ordinary men as they appear in their or- 
 dinary business, and in their ordinary pleasures. He must 
 mingle in the crowds of the exchange and the coffee-house. 
 He must obtain admittance to the convivial table and the do- 
 mestic hearth. He must bear with vulgar expressions. He 
 must not shrink from exploring even the retreats of misery. 
 
 5. He who wishes to understand the condition of mankind 
 in former ages, must proceed on the same principle. If he 
 attends only to public transactions, to wars, congresses, and 
 debates, his studies will be as unprofitable as the travels of 
 those imperial, royal, and serene sovereigns, who form their 
 judgment of our island from having gone in state to a few 
 fine sights, and from having held formal conferences with a 
 few great officers. 
 
 6. The perfect historian is he, in whose work the character 
 and spirit of an age are exhibited in miniature. He relates no 
 fact, he attributes no expression to his characters, which is 
 not authenticated by sufficient testimony. But, by judicious 
 selection, rejection, and arrangement, he gives to truth those 
 attractions which have been usurped by fiction. In his narra-
 
 204 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 tive, a due subordination is observed j some transactions are 
 prominent, others retire. 
 
 7. But the scale on which "he represents them, is increased 
 or diminished, not according to the dignity of the persons 
 concerned in them, but according to the degree in which they 
 elucidate the condition of society and the nature of man. He 
 shows us the court, the camp, and the senate. But he shows 
 us also the nation. 
 
 8. He considers no anecdote, no peculiarity of manner, no 
 familiar saying, as too insignificant for his notice, which is not 
 too insignificant to illustrate the operation of laws, of religion, 
 and of education, and to mark the progress of the human 
 mind. Men will not merely be described, but will be made 
 intimately known to us. The changes of manners will be in- 
 dicated, not merely by a few general phrases, or a few ex- 
 tracts from statistical documents, but by appropriate images 
 presented in every line. 
 
 EXEKCISE LXIX. 
 ITALIAN SCENERY. 
 
 ALISON. 
 
 1. The Italian lakes partake, in some measure, in the general 
 features which have been mentioned as belonging to the val- 
 leys on the southern side of the Alps ; but they are charac- 
 terized, also, by some circumstances which are peculiar to 
 themselves. Their banks are almost everywhere formed of 
 steep mountains, which sink at once into the lake without any 
 meadows or level ground on the water side. 
 
 2. These mountains are generally of great hight, and of 
 the most rugged forms ; but they are clothed to the summit 
 with luxuriant woods, except in those places where the steep- 
 ness of the precipices precludes the growth of vegetation. 
 The continued appearance of front and precipice which they 
 exhibit, would lead to the belief that the banks of the lake
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 205 
 
 are uninhabited, were it not for the multitude of villages, with 
 which they are everywhere interspersed. 
 
 3. These villages are so numerous and extensive, that it 
 may be doubted whether the population anywhere in Europe 
 is denser than on the shores of the Italian lakes. No spec- 
 tacle in nature can be more beautiful than the aspect of 
 these clusters of human habitations, all built of stone, and 
 whitewashed in the neatest manner, with a simple spire rising 
 in the center of each, to mark the number and devotion of 
 the inhabitants, surrounded by luxuriant forests, and rising 
 one above another to the highest parts of the mountains. 
 
 4. Frequently the village is concealed by the intervention 
 of some rising ground, or the hight of the adjoining woods ; 
 but the church is always visible, and conveys the liveliest 
 idea of the peace and happiness of the inhabitants. These 
 rural temples are uniformly white, and their spires are of the 
 simplest form ; but it is difficult to convey to those who have 
 not seen them, an idea of the exquisite addition which they 
 form to the beauty of the scenery. 
 
 5. On a nearer approach, the situation of these villages, so 
 profusely scattered over the mountains which surround the 
 Italian lakes, is often interesting in the extreme. Placed on 
 the summit of projecting rocks, or sheltered in the defile of 
 secluded valleys, they exhibit every variety of aspect that 
 can be imagined ; but, wherever situated, they add to the in- 
 terest, or enhance the picturesque effect of the scene. 
 
 6. The woods, by which they are surrounded, and which, 
 from a distance, have the appearance of a continued forest, 
 are, in reality, formed, for the most part, of the walnuts and 
 sweet chestnuts which grow on the gardens that belong to the 
 peasantry, and conceal, beneath their shade, vineyards, corn- 
 fields, and orchards. Each cottager has his little domain, 
 which is cultivated by his own family ; a single chestnut, and 
 a few mulberry trees, with a small vineyard, constitute often 
 the whole of their humble property. 
 
 7. On this little spot, however, they find wherewithal both
 
 206 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 to satisfy their wants and to occupy their industry ; the chil- 
 dren take care of the mulberries and the silk-worrns, which 
 are here produced in great abundance ; the husband dresses 
 the vineyard, or works in the garden, as the season may re- 
 quire. On an incredibly small piece of ground, a numerous 
 family live in what appears to them, ease and affluence ; and, 
 if they can maintain themselves during the year, and pay 
 their rent at its termination, their desires never go beyond 
 the space of their own employment. 
 
 8. In this simple and unambitious style of life, it may 
 easily be conceived what the general character of the peas- 
 antry must be. Generally speaking, they are a simple, kind- 
 hearted, honest people, grateful to the last degree for the 
 smallest share of kindness, and always willing to share with 
 a stranger the produce of their little domains. The crimes 
 of murder and robbery are almost unknown, at least among 
 the peasantry themselves, although, on the great roads in 
 their vicinity, banditti are sometimes to be found. But, if a 
 stranger lives in the country, and reposes confidence in the 
 people, he will find himself as secure, and more respected, 
 than in most other parts of the world. 
 
 9. There is one delightful circumstance which occurs in 
 spring in the vicinity of these lakes, to which a northern trav- 
 eler is but little accustomed. During the months of April 
 and May, the woods are filled with nightingales, and thou- 
 sands of these little choristers pour forth their strains every 
 night, with a richness and melody, of which it is impossible to 
 form a conception. In England we are accustomed frequent- 
 ly to hear the nightingale, and his song has been celebrated 
 in poetry from the earliest periods of our history. 
 
 10. But it is generally a single song, to which we listen, or 
 at most, a few only, which unite to enliven the stillness of the 
 night. But on the banks of the lake of Co mo, thousands of 
 nightingales are to be found in every wood; they rest in 
 every tree they pour forth their melody on the roof of 
 every cottage. Wherever you walk during the delightful
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 207 
 
 nights of April or May, you hear the unceasing strains of 
 these unseen warblers, swelling on the evening gales, or dying 
 away as you recede from the woods or thickets where they 
 dwell. 
 
 11. The soft cadence and melodious swelling of this heav- 
 enly choir resemble more the enchanting sounds of the Eo- 
 lian harp than any thing produced by mortal organs. To 
 those who have seen the lake of Como, with such accompani- 
 ments, during the serenity of a summer evening, and with 
 the surrounding headlands and mountains reflected on its plac- 
 id waters, there are few scenes in nature, and few moments 
 in life, which can be the source of such delightful recollec- 
 tions. 
 
 EXERCISE LXX. 
 
 LOSS OF THE ARCTIC.* 
 
 HENRY "WARD BEECHER. 
 
 1. It was autumn. , Hundreds had wended their way 
 from pilgrimages ; from Rome and its treasures of dead art, 
 and its glory of living nature ; from the sides of the Switzer's 
 mountains, from the capitals of various nations ; all of them, 
 saying in their hearts, we will wait for the September gales 
 to have done" with their equinoctial fury, and then we will 
 embark ; we will slide across the appeased ocean, and, in the 
 gorgeous month of October, we will greet out longed-for na- 
 tive land, and our heart-loved homes. 
 
 2. And so the throng streamed along from Berlin, from 
 Paris, from the Orient,f converging upon London, still hasten- 
 ing toward the welcome ship, and narrowing every day the 
 circle of engagements and preparations. They crowded 
 
 * The wreck of the American steamer Arctic, occasioned by her 
 collision with the French steamer Vesta, occurred on the 27th day of 
 September, 1854. 
 
 f The East.
 
 208 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 aboard. Never had the Arctic borne such a host of passen- 
 gers, nor passengers so nearly related to so many of us. 
 
 3. The hour was come. The signal ball fell at Greenwich. 
 It was noon, also, at Liverpool. The anchors were weighed ; 
 the great hull swayed to the current ; the national colors 
 streamed abroad, as if themselves instinct with life and na- 
 tional sympathy. The bell strikes, the wheels revolve, the 
 signal-gun beats its echoes in upon every structure along the 
 shore, and the Arctic glides joyfully forth from the Mersey, 
 and turns her prow to the winding channel, and begins her 
 homeward run. 
 
 4. The pilot stood at the wheel, and men saw him. Death 
 sat upon the prow, and no eye beheld him. Whoever stood 
 at the wheel in all the voyage, Death was the pilot that steered 
 the craft, and none knew it. He neither revealed his presence 
 nor whispered his errand. And so hope was effulgent, and 
 lithe gayety disported itself, and joy was with every guest. 
 
 5. Amid all the inconveniences of the voyage, there was 
 still that which hushed every murmur, home is not far away. 
 And, every morning, it was still one night nearer home, and, at 
 evening, one day nearer home ! Eight days had passed. 
 They beheld that distant bank of mist that forever haunts 
 the vast shallows of Newfoundland. Boldly they made it, 
 and, plunging in, its pliant wreaths wrapped them about. 
 They shall never emerge. The last sunlight has flashed from 
 that deck. The last voyage is done to ship and passengers. 
 
 6. At noon there came noiselessly stealing from the north 
 that fated instrument* of destruction. In that mysterious 
 shroud, that vast atmosphere of mist, both steamers were 
 holding their way with rushing prow and roaring wheels, but 
 invisible. At a league's distance, unconscious, and, at nearer 
 approach, unwarned ; within hail, and bearing right toward 
 each other, unseen, unfelt, till, in a moment more, emerging 
 from the gray mists, the ill-omened Vesta dealt her deadly 
 stroke to the Arctic. 
 
 * The French ste*mer Vesta.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 209 
 
 7. The death-blow was scarcely felt along the mighty hull. 
 She neither reeled nor shivered. Neither commander nor 
 officers deemed that they had suffered harm. Prompt upon 
 humanity, the brave Luce (Let his name be ever spoken with 
 admiration and respect !) ordered away his boat with the first 
 officer, to inquire if the stranger had suffered harm. As 
 Gourley* went over the ship's side, Oh ! that some good angel 
 had called to the brave commander in the words of Paul on 
 a like occasion : '' Except these abide in the ship, ye can not be 
 saved." 
 
 8. They departed, and with them the hope of the ship, for 
 now the waters, gaining upon the hold, and rising up upon the 
 fires, revealed the mortal blow. Oh ! had now that stern, 
 brave mate, Gourley, been on deck, whom the sailors were 
 wont to mind had he stood to execute efficiently the com- 
 mander's will we may believe that we should not have to 
 blush for the cowardice and recreancy of the crew, nor weep 
 for the untimely dead. But apparently each subordinate offi- 
 cer lost all presence of mind, then courage, and so honor. In 
 a wild scramble, that ignoble mob of firemen, engineers, 
 waiters and crew rushed for the boats, and abandoned the 
 helpless women, children and men to the mercy of the deep ! 
 Four hours there were from the catastrophe of the collision 
 to the catastrophe of the sinking ! 
 
 9. (pi.) Oh, what a burial 'was here ! Not as when one is 
 borne from his home, among weeping throngs, and gently 
 carried to the green fields, and laid peacefully beneath the 
 turf and the flowers. No priest stood to pronounce a burial 
 service. It was an ocean grave. The mists alone shrouded 
 the burial-place. No spade prepared the grave, nor sexton 
 filled up the hollowed earth. Down, down they sank, and the 
 quick returning waters smoothed out every ripple, and left 
 the sea as if it had not been. 
 
 * The first mate of the Arctic.
 
 210 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXI. 
 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 
 
 J. SHERIDAX KNOWLE3. 
 
 A Garden before a Country House. Enter JULIA and HELEX. 
 
 Hel. I like not, Julia, this your country life ; 
 I 'm weary on 't. 
 
 Jul. Indeed 1 So am not 77 
 I know no other ; would no other know. 
 
 HeL You would no other know ! Would you not know 
 Another relative, another friend, 
 Another house, another any thing, 
 Because the ones you have already please you ? 
 That's poor content ! Would you not be more rich, 
 More wise, more fair ? The song that last you learned, 
 You fancy well ; and, therefore, shall you learn 
 No other song ? Your virginal,* 'tis true, 
 Hath a sweet tone ; but does it follow thence, 
 You shall not have another virginal ? 
 You may, Love, and a sweeter one ; and so 
 A sweeter life may find than this you lead ! 
 
 Jul. I seek it not. Helen, I 'm constancy ! 
 
 HeL So is a cat, a dog, a silly hen, 
 An owl, a bat, where they are wont to lodge, 
 That still sojourn, nor care to shift their quarters. 
 Thou 'rt constancy ? I 'm glad I know thy name ! 
 The spider comes of the same family, 
 That in his meshy fortress spends his life, 
 Unless you pull it down, and scare him from it. 
 And so, thou 'rt constancy ? Art proud of that ? 
 I '11 warrant thee I '11 match thee with a snail, 
 From year to year that never leaves his house ! 
 Such constancy, forsooth ! A constant grub 
 That houses ever in the self-same nut, 
 
 * A keyed instrument of music.
 
 YOUNG LADIES'EEADER. 211 
 
 Where he was born, till hunger drives him out, 
 Or plunder breaketh through his castle wall ! 
 And so, in very deed, thou 'rt constancy ! 
 
 Jul. Helen, you know the adage of the tree ; 
 I 've ta'en the bend. This rural life of mine, 
 Enjoined me by an unknown father's will, 
 I 've led from infancy. Debarred from hope 
 Of change, I ne'er have sighed for change. The town 
 To me, was like the moon, for any thought 
 I e'er should visit it nor was I schooled 
 To think it half so fair ! 
 
 Hel Not half so fair ! 
 
 The town 's the sun, and thou hast dwelt in night 
 E'er since thy birth, not to have seen the town ! 
 Their women there are queens, and kings their men ; 
 Their houses palaces ! 
 
 Jul. And what of that ? 
 Have your town palaces a hall like this ? 
 Couches so fragrant? walls so high adorned? 
 Casements with such festoons, such prospects, Helen, 
 As these fair vistas have 1 Your kings and queens ! 
 See me a May -day queen, and talk of them ! 
 
 Hel. Extremes are ever neighbors. 'Tis a step 
 From one to the other ! Were thy constancy 
 A reasonable thing a little less 
 Of constancy a woman's constancy 
 I should not wonder, wert thou ten years hence 
 The maid I know thee now ; but, as it is, 
 The odds are ten to one, that this day year 
 Will see our May -day queen a city one. 
 
 Jul. Never ! I 'm wedded to a country life. 
 O, did you hear what Master Walter says ! 
 Nine times in ten, the town 's a hollow thing, 
 Where what things are, is naught to what they show : 
 Where merit's name laughs merit's self to scorn ! 
 Where friendship and esteem, that ought to be
 
 212 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 The tenants of men's hearts, lodge in their looks 
 And tongues alone. Where little virtue, with 
 ' A costly keeper, passes for a heap ; 
 A heap for none that has a homely one ! 
 Where Fashion makes the law your umpire which 
 You bow to, whether it has brains or not ; 
 Where Folly taketh off his cap and bells, 
 To clap on Wisdom, which must bear the jest ! 
 Where, to pass current, you must seem the thing, 
 The passive thing that others think, and not 
 Your simple, honest, independent self! 
 
 Hel. Aye : so says Master Walter. See I not 
 What you can find in Master Walter, Julia, 
 To be so fond of him ! 
 
 Jul. He 's fond of me. 
 
 I Ve known him since I was a child. E'en then 
 The week I thought a weary, heavy one, 
 That brought not Master Walter. I had those 
 About me then, that made a fool of me, 
 As children oft are fooled ; but more I loved 
 Good Master Walter's lesson, than the play 
 With which they 'd surfeit me. As I grew up, 
 More frequent Master Walter came, and more 
 I loved to see him. I had tutors then, 
 Men of great skill and learning, but not one 
 That taught like Master Walter. What they 'd show me, 
 And I, dull as I was, but doubtful saw, 
 A word from Master Walter made as clear 
 As daylight ! When my schooling days were o'er, 
 That 's now good three years past three years I vow 
 I 'm twenty, Helen ! well, as I was saying, 
 When I had done with school, and all were gone, 
 Still Master Walter came ; and still he comes, 
 Summer or winter frost or rain. I Ve seen 
 The snow upon a level with the hedge, 
 Yet there was Master Walter !
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 213 
 
 HeL Who comes here ? 
 A carriage, and a gay one, who alights 1 
 Pshaw ! Only Master Walter ! What see you, 
 Which thus repairs the arch of the fair brow, 
 A frown was like to spoil 1 A gentleman ! 
 One of our town kings ! Mark how say you now ? 
 Would'st be a town queen, Julia ? Which of us, 
 I wonder, conies he for ? 
 
 Jul. For neither of us ; 
 He's Master Walter's clerk, most like. 
 
 HeL Most like ! 
 
 Mark him as he comes up the avenue ; 
 So looks a clerk ! A clerk has such a gait ! 
 So does a clerk dress, Julia, mind his hose 
 They 're very like a clerk's ! A diamond loop 
 And button, note you, for his clerkship's hat 
 O, certainly a cleric ! A velvet cloak, 
 Jerkin of silk, and doublet of the same ; 
 For all the world a clerk ! See, Julia, see 
 How Master Walter bows, and yields him place, 
 That he may first go in, a very clerk ! 
 I '11 learn of thee, love, when I 'd know a clerk ! 
 
 Jul. I wonder who he is. 
 
 Hel Would'st like to know 1 
 Would'st, for a fancy, ride to town with him 1 
 I prophesy he comes to take thee thither. 
 
 Jul. He ne'er takes me to town. N6 Helen, n6 ; 
 To town who will a country life for me ! 
 
 Hel. We '11 see ! 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What rules for the inflections as marked in the 3d 
 paragraph ? 2. Why is the circumflex employed in the 5th para- 
 graph from the last? See Rule I., page 32. What adage does Julia 
 refer to, on page 211, fourth line from top ? Ans. 
 " ' Tis Education forms the human mind ; 
 Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined."
 
 214 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXII.' 
 SONG OF THE SHIRT. 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 1. With fingers weary and worn, 
 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
 A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
 
 Plying her needle and thread, 
 
 Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 
 And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, 
 She sang the " Song of the Shirt." 
 
 2. " Work ! work ! work ! 
 While the cock is crowing aloof! 
 
 And work work work, 
 Till the stars shine through the roof! 
 It 's oh ! to be a slave 
 
 Along with the barbarous Turk, 
 Where woman has never a soul to save, 
 
 If this is Christian work ! 
 
 3. " Work work work 
 Till the brain begins to swim, 
 
 Work work work, 
 Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
 Seam, and gusset, and band, 
 Band, and gusset, and seam. 
 
 Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 
 And sew them on in a dream ! 
 
 4. " Oh ! men, with sisters dear ! 
 
 Oh ! men, with mothers and wives ! 
 It is not linen you 're wearing out, 
 
 But human creatures' lives ! 
 Stitch stitch stitch, 
 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 Sewing at once, with a double thread, 
 
 A shroud as well as a shirt. 

 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEK. 215 
 
 5. " But why do I talk of Death, 
 
 That Phantom of grisly bone, 
 I hardly fear his terrible shape, 
 
 It seems so like my own 
 
 It seems so like my own, 
 
 Because of the fasts I keep, 
 Oh God ! that bread should be so dear, 
 
 And flesh and blood so cheap ! 
 
 6. " Work work work ! 
 My labor never flags ; 
 
 And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 
 
 A crust of bread, and rags, 
 That shatter'd roof and this naked floor 
 
 A table a broken chair 
 And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 
 
 For sometimes falling there ! 
 
 7. " Work work work ! 
 
 From weary chime to chime! 
 
 Work work work, 
 As prisoners work for crime ! 
 
 Band, and gusset, and seam, 
 
 Seam, and gusset, and band, 
 Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd, 
 
 As well as the weary hand. 
 
 8. " Work work work ! 
 In the dull December light, 
 
 And work work work, 
 When the weather is warm and bright 
 While underneath the eaves 
 
 The brooding swallows cling, 
 As if to show me their sunny backs. 
 
 And twit me with the Spring.
 
 * 
 
 216 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 9. " Oh ! but to breathe the breath 
 
 Of the cowslip and primrose sweet 
 With the sky above my head 
 
 And the grass beneath my feet , 
 For only one short hour 
 
 To feel as 1 used to feel, 
 Before I knew the woes of want, 
 
 And the walk that costs a meal ! 
 
 10. " Oh ! but for one short hour ! 
 
 A respite, however brief! 
 No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, 
 
 But only time for Grief! 
 A little weeping would ease my heart, 
 
 But in their briny bed 
 My tears must stop, for every drop 
 
 Hinders needle and thread !" 
 
 11. With fingers weary and worn, 
 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
 A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
 . Plying her needle and thread 
 
 Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
 Would that its tone could reach the rich ! 
 She sang this " Song of the Shirt." 
 
 EXERCISE LXXIII. 
 
 1. OR'-PHE-rs was one of the eldost. of the Grecian bards. He was cele- 
 brated for the melody of his voice, and his skill in playing on a lyre 
 with seven strings. By the s\veet music of his voice and of his lyre, 
 he is fabled to have drawn after him rocks and trees, to have tamed 
 the beasts of the field, and even to have calmed the violence of storms 
 and whirlwinds.
 
 .YOUNG LADIES' READER. 217 
 
 2. AM-PHI'-ON, like Orpheus, was among the eldest of Grecian mu- 
 sicians. He reigned over ancient Thebes ; and, when he undertook 
 to surround the city with a wall, the very stones are said to have 
 leaped into place at the sound of his lyre, and formed themselves 
 into walls. 
 
 AN ADDRESS TO AN ARM-CHAIR, NEWLY CLAD. 
 
 W. 8OMEKVILLE. 
 
 1. My dear companion, and my faithful friend ! 
 If Orpheus' taught the listening oaks to bend ; 
 If stones and rubbish, at AmphionV call, 
 Danc'd into form, and built the Theban wall ; 
 Why should'st not thou attend my humble lays 
 And hear my grateful harp resound thy praise 1 
 
 2. True, thou art spruce and fine, a very beau ; 
 But what are trappings, and external show ? 
 To real worth alone I make my court ; 
 
 Knaves are my scorn, and coxcombs are my sport. 
 
 3. Once I beheld thee far less trim and gay ; 
 Ragged, disjointed, and to worms a prey ; 
 The safe retreat of every lurking mouse ; 
 Derided, shunned the lumber of my house ! 
 Thy robe, how changed from what it was before ! 
 Thy velvet robe, which pleas'd my sires of yore ! 
 'Tis thus capricious Fortune wheels us round ; 
 Aloft we mount then tumble to the ground. 
 Yet grateful then, my constancy I prov'd ; 
 
 I know thy worth ; my friend in rag^ I lov'd ! 
 I lov'd thee more ; nor, like a courtier, spurn'd 
 My benefactor, when the tide was turn'd. 
 
 4. With conscious shame, yet frankly, I confess, 
 That in my youthful days I lov'd thee less. 
 Where vanity, where pleasure call'd, I Btray'd ; 
 And every wayward appetite obey'd. 
 
 10
 
 218 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 But sage experience taught me how to prize 
 Myself; and how, this world. She bade me rise 
 To nobler flights, regardless of a race 
 Of factious emmets ; pointed where to place 
 My bliss, and lodg'd me in thy soft embrace. 
 
 5. Here, on thy yielding down, I sit secure ; 
 And, patiently, what Heaven has sent, endure ; 
 From all the futile cares of business free ! 
 Not fond of life, but yet content to be : 
 
 Here mark the fleeting hours ; regret the past ; 
 And seriously prepare to meet the last. 
 
 6. So, safe on shore, the pensioned sailor lies, 
 And all the malice of the storm defies : 
 With ease of body blest, and peace of mind, 
 Pities the restless crew he left behind ; 
 While, in his cell, he meditates alone 
 
 On his great voyage, to the world unknown. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXIV. 
 
 1. AN-THRO-POPH'-A-GI, (ANTHROPO, man and FHAGI, eat,) man-eatera, 
 or cannibals. 
 
 2. DI-AN'-A was the goddess of hunting. She is usually represented 
 as a maiden, active, vigorous, and handsome, but -without gentleness 
 of expression. She had a celebrated temple at Ephesus. See Acts of 
 the Apostles, Chap, xix., verses 27 and 28. 
 
 3. SPAR'-TAN, pertaining to Sparta or Lacedsemon, a city of ancient 
 Greece, celebrated for the martial and hardy spirit of its inhabitants. 
 
 4. DER'-VISE, (that is, poor,) is a Persian word, denoting, among the 
 Mohammedans, a sort of Monk. Being strict in the observance of 
 forms, fastings, and various acts of piety, they are held in great 
 respect. 
 
 5. BONZES, the name given to the priests of the religion of Fo, in 
 Eastern Asia. They correspond, in character and customs, to monks 
 and dervises. 
 
 6. CAB-THB'-SI-AN is the name of a religious order founded in 1086.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 219 
 
 They practiced the greatest abstinence, wore coarse garments, and 
 lived upon vegetables and the coarsest bread. 
 
 7. BAC-CHA-NA'-LI-AN, pertaining to the festivals of Bacchus, the 
 god of wine, which were celebrated by a triumphal procession, 
 wherein men and women went about rioting, dancing, and indulging 
 in all sorts of licentious extravagance. 
 
 FASHION. 
 
 MRS. BAKBAULD. 
 
 1. To break the shackles of oppression, and assert the na- 
 tive rights of man, is esteemed by many among the noblest 
 efforts of heroic virtue. But vain is the possession of politi- 
 cal liberty, if there exists a tyrant of our own creation, who, 
 without law or reason, or even external force, exercises over 
 us the most despotic authority ; whose jurisdiction is extended 
 over every part of private and domestic life, controls our 
 pleasures, fashions our garb, cramps our motions, fills our 
 lives with vain cares and restless anxiety. The worst slavery 
 is that which we voluntarily impose upon ourselves; and no 
 chains are so cumbrous and galling as those which we are 
 pleased to wear by way of grace or ornament. 
 
 2. Musing upon this idea gave rise to the following dream, 
 or vision : Methought I was in a country of the strangest and 
 most singular appearance I had ever beheld ; the rivers were 
 forced into jets d'eau* and wasted in artificial water-works; 
 the lakes were fashioned by the hand of art ; the roads were 
 sanded with spar and gold dust ; the trees all bore the marks 
 of the shears they were bent and twisted into the most 
 whimsical forms, and connected together by festoons of rib- 
 bon and silk fringe ; the wild flowers were transplanted into 
 vases of fine china, and painted with artificial white and red. 
 
 3. The disposition of the ground was full of fancy, but 
 grotesque and unnatural in the highest degree ; it was all 
 highly cultivated, and bore the marks of wonderful industry. 
 But among its various productions, I could hardly discern one 
 that was of any use. 
 
 * Spout* of water.
 
 220 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 4. My attention, however, was soon called off from the 
 scenes of inanimate life, by the view of the inhabitants, whose 
 form and appearance were so very preposterous, and, indeed, 
 so unlike any thing human, that I fancied myself transported 
 to the country of 
 
 "The anthropophagi, 1 and men "whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders;" 
 
 for the heads of many of these people were swelled to an as- 
 tonishing size, and seemed to be placed in the middle of their 
 bodies. 
 
 5. Of some, the ears were distended till they hung upon 
 the shoulders ; and of others, the shoulders were raised till 
 they met the ears. There was not one free from some de- 
 formity ; or monstrous swelling, in one part or other. Some 
 had no necks; others had necks that reached almost to their 
 waists ; the bodies of some were bloated up to such a size 
 that they could scarcely enter a pair of folding doors ; and 
 others had suddenly sprouted up to such a disproportionate 
 hight, that they could not sit upright in their loftiest carriages. 
 
 6. Many shocked me with the appearance of being nearly 
 cut in two, like a wasp ; and I was alarmed at the sight of a 
 few, in whose faces, otherwise very fair and healthy, I dis- 
 covered an eruption of black spots, which I feared was the 
 fatal sign of some pestilential disorder. 
 
 7. The sight of these various and uncouth deformities in- 
 spired me with much pity, which, however, was soon changed 
 into disgust, when I perceived, with great surprise, that every 
 one of these unfortunate men and women was exceedingly 
 proud of his or her own peculiar deformity, and endeavored 
 to attract my notice to it as much as possible. A lady, in 
 particular, who had a huge swelling under her throat, and 
 which, I am sure, by its enormous projection, prevented her 
 from seeing the path she walked in, brushed by me with an 
 air of the greatest self-complacency, and asked me, if she was 
 not a charming creature*
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 221 
 
 8. But, by this time, I found myself surrounded by an im- 
 mense crowd, who were all pressing along in one direction, 
 and I perceived, that I was drawn along with them by an irre- 
 sistible impulse, which grew stronger every moment. I asked 
 whither we were hurrying with so eager steps, and was told, 
 that we were going to the court of Queen Fashion, the great 
 Diana 2 whom all the world worshipeth. I would have re- 
 tired, but felt myself impelled to go on, though without being 
 sensible of any outward force. 
 
 9. When I came to the royal presence, I was astonished at 
 the magnificence which I saw around me. The queen was 
 sitting on a throne elegantly fashioned in the form of a shell, 
 and inlaid with gems and mother-of-pearl. It was supported 
 by a chameleon, formed of a single emerald. 
 
 10. She was dressed in a light robe of changeable silk, 
 which fluttered about her in a profusion of fantastic folds, that 
 imitated the form of clouds, and, like them, were continually 
 changing their appearance. In one hand she held a rouge- 
 box, and in the other, one of those optical glasses which dis- 
 tort figures in length or in breadth, according to the position, 
 in which they are held. 
 
 11. At the foot of the throne was displayed a profusion 
 of the richest productions of every quarter of the globe, 
 tributes from land and sea, from every animal and plant ; 
 perfumes, sparkling stones, drops of pearl, chains of gold, 
 webs of the finest linen, wreaths of flowers, the produce of 
 art, which vied with the most delicate productions of nature ; 
 forests of feathers, waving their brilliant "colors in the air and 
 canopying the throne ; glossy silks, network of lace, silvery 
 ermine, soft folds of vegetable wool, rustling paper, and shin- 
 ing spangles; the whole intermixed with pendants and 
 streamers of the gayest tinctured ribbon.. 
 
 12. All these together made so brilliant an appearance, 
 that my eyes were at first dazzled ; and it was some time, 
 before I recovered myself enough to observe the ceremonial 
 of the court. Near the throne, and its chief supports, stood
 
 222 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 the queen's two prime ministers, Caprice on one side, and 
 Vanity on the other. 
 
 13. Two officers seemed chiefly busy among the attendants. 
 One of them was a man with a pair of shears in his hand, 
 and a goose by his side, a mysterious emblem, of which I 
 could not fathom the meaning ; he sat cross-legged, like the 
 great Lama* of the Tartars. He was busily employed in 
 cutting out coats and garments, not, however, like Dorcas,f 
 for the poor ; nor, indeed, did they seem intended for any 
 mortal whatever, so ill were they adapted to the shape of 
 the human body. 
 
 14. Some of the garments were extravagantly large, others 
 as preposterously small ; of others, it was difficult to guess 
 to what par.t of the person they were meant to be applied. 
 Here were coverings, which did not cover ; ornaments, which 
 disfigured ; and defenses against the weather, more slight and 
 delicate than what they were meant to defend ; but all were 
 eagerly caught up, without distinction, by the crowd of vo- 
 taries who were waiting to receive them. 
 
 15. The other officer was dressed in a white succinct linen 
 garment, like a priest of the lower order. He moved in a 
 cloud of incense more highly scented than the breezes of Ara- 
 bia ; he carried a tuft of the whitest down of the swan in one 
 hand, and, in the other, a small iron instrument, heated red- 
 hot, which he brandished in the air. It was with infinite con- 
 cern, I beheld the graces bound at the foot of the throne, and 
 obliged to officiate as handmaids, under the direction of these 
 two officers. 
 
 16. I now began to inquire by what laws this queen gov- 
 erned her subjects, but soon found her administration was 
 that of the most arbitrary tyrant ever known. Her laws 
 are exactly the reverse of those of the Medes and Persians ; 
 for they are changed every day and every hour ; and, what 
 makes the matter still more perplexing, they are in no written 
 
 * The sovereign pontiff, or rather the god of the Asiatic Tartars. 
 f See Acts, chap, ix, verse 39.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 223 
 
 code, nor ever made public by proclamation ; they are only 
 promulgated by whispers, an obscure sign, or turn of the eye, 
 which those only who have the happiness to stand near the 
 queen, can catch with any degree of precision. Yet the small- 
 est transgression of the laws is severely punished ; not indeed 
 by fines or imprisonment, but by a sort of interdict, which 
 operated in such a manner, that no one would eat, drink, or 
 associate with the forlorn culprit, and he was almost deprived 
 of the use of fire and water. 
 
 17. This difficulty of discovering the will of the goddess 
 occasioned so much crowding to be near the throne, such 
 jostling and elbowing of one another, that I was glad to re- 
 tire and observe what I could among the scattered crowd, 
 and the first thing I took notice of, was various instruments 
 of torture which every where met my eyes. Torture has, in 
 most other governments of Europe, been abolished by the 
 mild spirit of the times, but it reigns here in full force and 
 terror. 
 
 18. I saw officers of this cruel court employed in boring 
 holes, with red-hot wires, in the ears, nose, and various parts 
 of the body, and then distending them with the weight of 
 metal chains, or stones, cut into a variety of shapes : some 
 had invented a conti-ivance for cramping the feet in such a 
 manner, that many are lamed by it for their whole lives. 
 Others, I saw, slender and delicate in their form, and natur- 
 ally nimble as the young antelope, who were obliged to carry 
 constantly about with them a cumbrous, unwieldly machine, 
 of a pyramidal form, several ells in circumference. 
 
 19. But the most common, and one of the worst instru- 
 ments of torture, was a small machine armed with fishbone 
 and ribs of steel, wide at the top, but extremely small at 
 the bottom. In this detestable invention the queen orders 
 the bodies of her female subjects to be inclosed ; it is then, 
 by means of silk cords, drawn closer and closer at intervals, 
 until the unhappy victims can scarcely breathe, and have 
 found the exact point that can be borne without fainting,
 
 224 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 which, however, not unfrequently happens. The flesh is often 
 excoriated, and the very ribs bent, by this cruel process. 
 Yet, what astonished me more than all the rest, these suffer- 
 ings are borne with a degree of fortitude which, in a better 
 cause, would immortalize a hero, or canonize a saint. 
 
 20. The Spartan 3 who suffered the fox to eat into his vitals, 
 did not bear pain with greater resolution ; and, as the Spartan 
 mothers brought their children to be scourged at the altar of 
 Diana, so do the mothers here bring their children, and 
 chiefly those whose tender sex, one would suppose, excused 
 them from such exertions and early inure them to this cruel 
 discipline. But neither Spartan, nor Dervise, 4 nor Bonze,* 
 nor Carthusian 6 monk, ever exercised more unrelenting se- 
 verities over their bodies, than these young zealots ; indeed, 
 the first lesson they are taught, is a surrender of their own 
 inclinations, and an implicit obedience to the commands of 
 the Goddess. 
 
 21. But they have, besides, a more solemn kind of dedica- 
 tion, something similar to the rite of confirmation. When a 
 young woman approaches the marriageable age, she is led to 
 the altar ; her hair, which before fell loosely about her shoul- 
 ders, is tied up in a tress ; sweet oils drawn from roses and 
 spices are poured upon it ; she is involved in a cloud of 
 scented dust, and invested with ornaments, under which she 
 can scarcely move. After this solemn ceremony, which is 
 generally concluded by a dance round the altar, the damsel 
 is obliged to a still stricter conformity than before to the 
 laws and customs of the court, and any deviation from them, 
 is severely punished. 
 
 22. The courtiers of Alexander, it is said, flattered him by 
 carrying their heads on one side, because he had the misfor- 
 tune to have a wry neck ; but all adulation is poor, compared 
 to what is practiced in this court. Sometimes the queen will 
 lisp and stammer ; and then none of her attendants can 
 " speak plain ;" sometimes she chooses to totter as she walks, 
 and then they are seized with sudden lameness. According
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 225 
 
 as she appears half-undressed, or vailed from head to foot, 
 her subjects become a procession of nuns, or a troop of Bac- 
 chanalian' nymphs. I could not help observing, however, that 
 those who stood at the greatest distance from the throne, 
 were the most extravagant in their imitations. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXV. 
 
 1. SOC'-KA-TES, the most eminent of the Grecian philosophers for 
 wisdom and virtue, was born B. C. 470. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN OF MISERIES. 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 1. It is a celebrated thought of Socrates, 1 that, if all the 
 misfortunes of mankind were cast into a public stock, in or- 
 der to be equally distributed among the whole species, those 
 who now think themselves the most unhappy, would prefer 
 the share they are already possessed of, before that which 
 would fall to them by such a division. Horace has carried 
 this thought a great deal further, which implies, that the 
 hardships or misfortunes we lie under, are more easy to us 
 than those of any other person would be, in case we could ex- 
 change conditions with him. 
 
 2. As I was ruminating upon these two remarks, and seat- 
 ed in my elbow-chair, I insensibly fell asleep ; when, on a 
 sudden, methought there was a proclamation made by Jupi- 
 ter, that every mortal should bring in his griefs and calami- 
 ties, and throw them together in a heap. There was a large 
 plain appointed for this purpose. I took my stand in the 
 center of it, and saw, with a great deal of pleasure, the whole 
 human species, marching one after another, and throwing 
 down their several loads, which immediately grew up into a 
 prodigious mountain, that seemed to rise above the clouds. 
 
 3. There was a certain lady, of thin, airy shape, who was 
 very active in this solemnity. She carried a magnifying-glass 
 in ono of her hands, and was clothed in a loose, flowing robe, 
 
 10*
 
 226 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 embroidered with several figures of fiends and specters, that 
 discovered themselves in a thousand chimerical shapes, as her 
 garments hovered in the wind. There was something wild 
 and distracted in her looks. Her name was Fancy. She led 
 up every mortal to the appointed place, after having very offi- 
 ciously assisted him in making up his pack, and laying it upon 
 his shoulders. My heart melted within me, to see my fellow- 
 creatures groaning under their respective burdens, and to con 
 sider that prodigious bulk of human calamities which lay be- 
 fore me. 
 
 4. There were, however, several persons who gave me 
 great diversion upon this occasion. I observed one bringing 
 in a parcel, very carefully concealed under an old embroider- 
 ed cloak, which, upon his throwing it into the heap, I discover- 
 ed to be poverty. Another, after a great deal of puffing, 
 threw down his luggage, which, upon examining, I found to be 
 his wife. 
 
 5. There were multitudes of lovers, saddled with very 
 whimsical burdens, composed of darts and flames ; but, what 
 was very odd, though they sighed as if their hearts would 
 break under these bundles of calamities, they could not per- 
 suade themselves to cast them into the heap, when they came 
 up to it ; but, after a few faint efforts, shook their heads, and 
 marched away as heavy-laden as they came. I saw multitudes 
 of old women throw down their wrinkles, and several young 
 ones who stripped themselves of a tawny skin. There were 
 very great heaps of red noses, large lips, and rusty teeth. 
 
 6. The truth of it is, I was surprised to see the greatest 
 part of the mountain made up of bodily deformities. Ob- 
 serving one advancing toward the heap with a larger cargo 
 than ordinary upon his back, I found, upon his near approach, 
 that it was only a natural hump, which he disposed of, with 
 great joy of heart, among this collection of human miseries. 
 There were likewise distempers of all sorts ; though I could 
 not but observe, that there were many more imaginary than 
 real.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 227 
 
 7. One little packet I could not but take notice of, which 
 was a complication of all the diseases incident to human na- 
 ture, and was in the hand of a great many fine people ; this 
 was called the spleen. But, what most of all surprised me, 
 was a remark I made, that there was not a single vice or folly 
 thrown into the whole heap ; at which I was very much as- 
 tonished, having concluded within myself, that every one 
 would take this opportunity of getting rid of his passions, 
 prejudices, and frailties. 
 
 8. I took notice, in particular, of a very profligate fellow, 
 who, I did not question, came loaded with his crimes'; but, 
 upon searching into his bundle, I found that, instead of throw- 
 ing his guHt from him, he had only laid down his memory. 
 He was followed by another worthless rogue, who flung away 
 his modesty, instead of his ignorance. 
 
 9. When the whole race of mankind had thus cast their 
 burdens, the Phantom which had been so busy on this occa- 
 sion, seeing me an idle spectator of what passed, approached 
 toward me. I grew uneasy at her presence, when, of a sud- 
 den, she held her magnifying-glass full before my eyes. I no 
 sooner saw my face in it, than I was startled at the shortness of 
 it, which now appeared to me in its utmost aggravation. 
 The immoderate breadth of the features made me very much 
 out of humor with my own countenance ; upon which I threw 
 it from me like a mask. It happened, very luckily, that one 
 who stood by me had just before thrown down his visage, 
 which, it seems, was too long for him. It was, indeed, ex- 
 tended to a most shameful length ; I believe the very chin 
 was, modestly speaking, as long as my whole face. 
 
 10. We had both of us an opportunity of mending our- 
 selves ; and all the contributions being now brought in, every 
 man was at liberty to exchange his misfortunes for those of 
 another person. I saw, with unspeakable pleasure, the whole 
 species thus delivered from its sorrows ; though, at the same 
 time, as we stood round the heap and surveyed the several 
 materials of which it was composed, there was scarcely a mor-
 
 228 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 tal in this vast multitude who did not discover what he 
 thought pleasures and blessings of life, and wondered how 
 the owners of them ever came to look upon them as burdens 
 and grievances. 
 
 1 1 . As we were regarding very attentively this confusion 
 of miseries, this chaos of calamity, Jupiter issued out a sec- 
 ond proclamation, that every one was now at liberty to ex- 
 change his affliction, and to return to his habitation with any 
 such bundle as should be allotted to him. Upon this, Fancy 
 began again to bestir herself, and parceling out the whole 
 heap, ivith incredible activity, recommended to every one his 
 particular packet. 
 
 12. The hurry and confusion at this time was not to be ex- 
 pressed. Some observations which I made upon the occa- 
 sion, I shall communicate to the public : A poor galley- 
 slave, who had thrown down his chains, took up the gout in- 
 stead ; but made such wry faces, that one might easily per- 
 ceive he was no great gainer by the bargain. It was pleasant 
 enough to see the several exchanges that were made, for sick- 
 ness against poverty, hunger against want of appetite, and 
 ease against pain. 
 
 13. The female world were busy among themselves, in 
 bartering for features : one was trucking a lock of gray hairs 
 for a carbuncle ; another was making over a short waist for a 
 pair of round shoulders ; and a third cheapening a bad face 
 for a lost reputation ; but, on all these occasions, there was 
 not one of them who did not think the new blemish, as soon 
 as she got it into her possession, much more disagreeable than 
 the old one. I made the same observation on every other 
 misfortune or calamity which every one in the assembly 
 brought upon himself, in lieu of what he had parted with ; 
 whether it be that all the evils which befall us are in some 
 measure suited and proportioned to our strength, or that any 
 evil becomes more supportable by our being accustomed to 
 it, I shall not determine. 
 
 14. I must not omit my own particular adventure. My
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEtt. 229 
 
 friend with a long visage had no sooner taken upon him my 
 short face, but he made such a grotesque figure in it, that, as 
 I looked upon him, I could not forbear laughing at myself, 
 insomuch that I put my own face out of countenance. The 
 poor gentleman was so sensible of the ridicule, that I found 
 he was ashamed of what he had done : on the other side, I 
 found that I myself had no great reason to triumph ; for, as 
 I bent to touch my forehead, I missed the place, and clapped 
 my finger upon my upper lip ! Besides, as my nose was ex- 
 ceedingly prominent, I gave it two or three unlucky knocks, 
 as I was playing my hand about my face, and aiming at some 
 other part of it. I saw two other gentlemen by me, who 
 were in the same ridiculous circumstances. 
 
 15. The heap was at last distributed among the two sexes, 
 who made a most piteous sight, as they wandered up and 
 down under the pressure of their several burdens. The 
 whole plain was filled with murmurs and complaints, groans 
 and lamentations. Jupiter, at length, taking compassion on 
 the poor mortals, ordered them a second time to lay down 
 their loads, with a design to give every one his own again. 
 They discharged themselves with a great deal of pleasure ; 
 after which, the Phantom who had led them into such gross 
 delusions, was commanded to disappear. 
 
 16. There was sent in her stead a goddess of a quite differ- 
 ent figure : her motions were steady and composed, and her 
 aspect serious, but cheerful. She every now and then cast 
 her eyes toward heaven, and fixed them upon Jupiter. Her 
 name was Patience. She had no sooner placed herself by the 
 mount of sorrows, but, what I thought very remarkable, the 
 whole heap sunk to such a degree, that it did not appear a 
 third part as big as it was before. She afterwards returned 
 every man his own proper calamity, and, teaching him how 
 to bear it in the most commodious manner, he marched off 
 with it contentedly, being very well pleased, that he had not 
 been left to his own choice, as to the kind of evils which fell 
 to his lot.
 
 230 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 17. Besides the several pieces of morality to be drawn out 
 of this vision, I learned from it never to repine at my own 
 misfortunes, or to envy the happiness of another, since it is 
 impossible for any man to form a right judgment of his 
 neighbor's sufferings ; for which reason, also, I have deter- 
 mined never to think too lightly of another's complaints, but 
 to regard the sorrows of my fellow-creatures with sentiments 
 of humanity and compassion. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXVI. 
 PRIDE. 
 
 ALEXANDER POPE. 
 
 1. Of all the causes which conspire to blind 
 Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, 
 What the weak head with strongest bias rules, 
 Is Pride, -the never-failing vice of fools. 
 Whatever Nature has in worth denied, 
 
 She gives in large recruits of needful Pride ! 
 
 2. For, as in bodies, thus in souls, we find 
 
 What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind : 
 /Pride, where Wit fails, steps in to our defense, 
 And fills up all the mighty void of sense. 
 If once right reason drives that cloud away, 
 Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. 
 Trust not yourself; but, your defects to know, 
 Make use of every friend, and every foe. 
 
 3. A little learning is a dangerous thing ! 
 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring : 
 There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, 
 And drinking largely sobers us again. 
 
 Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts, 
 In fearless youth we tempt the hights of Arts,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 231 
 
 While, from the bounded level of our mind, 
 Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; 
 But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise 
 New distant scenes of endless science rise ! 
 
 4. So, pleased at first, the towering Alps we try, 
 Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky ; 
 Th' eternal snows appear already past, 
 And the first clouds and mountains seem the last : 
 But, those attained, we tremble to survey 
 The growing labors of the lengthened way ; 
 Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, 
 Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise ! 
 
 EXERCISE LXXVII. 
 JENNY LIND'S GREETING TO AMERICA. 
 
 BAYAIID TAYLOH. 
 
 1. I greet, with a full heart, the Land of the West, 
 
 Whose banner of stars o'er the world is unrolled ; 
 Whose empire o'ershadows Atlantic's wide breast, 
 
 And opes to the sunset its gateway of gold ! 
 The land of the mountain, the land of the lake, 
 
 And rivers that roll in magnificent tide, 
 Where the sons of the mighty from slumber awake, 
 
 And hallow the soil for whose freedom they died ! 
 
 2. Thou cradle of empire ! though wide be the foam 
 
 That severs the land of my fathers and thee, 
 I hear, from thy bosom, the welcome of home, 
 
 For song has a home in the hearts of the free ! 
 And long as thy waters shall gleam in the sun, 
 
 And long as thy heroes remember their scars, 
 Be the hands of thy children united as one, 
 
 And peace shed her light on thy banner of stars.
 
 232 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXVIII. 
 VICTORIA'S TEARS.* 
 
 BROWNIHG, 
 
 1. O maiden ! heir of kings ! 
 
 
 
 A king has left his place ; 
 The majesty of Death has swept 
 
 All other from his face ! 
 And thou, upon thy mother's breast, >* 
 
 No longer lean adown, 
 
 But take the Glory for the Rest, ,-S^ 
 
 And rule the land that loves thee best. 
 
 She heard and wept, 
 
 She wept to wear a crown ! 
 
 A 
 
 2. They decked her courtly halls ; 
 
 They reined her hundred steeds ; 
 They shouted at her palace gate, 
 (/.) " A noble Queen succeeds !" 
 
 Her name has stirred the mountain's sleep, 
 
 Her praise has filled the town, 
 And mourners God had stricken deep, 
 Looked hearkening up, and did not weep. 
 
 Alone she wept, 
 
 Who wept to wear a crown ! 
 
 3. She saw no purples shine, 
 
 For tears had dimmed her eyes ; 
 She only knew her childhood's flowers 
 
 Were happier pageantries ! 
 And while her heralds played their part, 
 
 Those million shouts to drown, 
 
 * When Queen Victoria was informed of her accession to the 
 throne, on the death of her uncle, she was so affected with the con- 
 sciousness of the heavy responsibilities which had in a moment fallen 
 upon her, that she wept
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 233 
 
 " God save the Queen," from hill to mart, 
 She heard through all her beating heart, 
 
 And turned and wept 
 
 She wept to wear a crown ! 
 
 4. God save thee, weeping Queen ! 
 Thou shalt be well beloved ! 
 
 The tyrant's scepter can not move 
 
 As those pure tears have moved ! 
 The nature in thine eyes we see 
 
 That tyrants can not own, 
 The love that guardeth liberties ! 
 Strange blessing on the nation lies, 
 
 Whose sovereign wept 
 
 Yea, wept to wear a crown ! 
 
 5. God bless thee, weeping Queen ! 
 With blessing more divine ! 
 
 And fill with happier love than earth's 
 
 That tender heart of thine ! 
 That when the thrones of earth shall be 
 
 As low as graves brought down, 
 A pierced hand may give to thee 
 The crown which angels shout to see ! 
 
 Thou wilt not weep 
 
 To wear that heavenly crown ! 
 
 EXERCISE LXXIX. 
 FEMALE PATRIOTISM. 
 
 BOOK. 
 
 1. Coriolanus was a distinguished Roman Senator and 
 general, who had rendered eminent services to the Republic. 
 But those services were no security against envy and popular 
 prejudice. He was, at length, treated with great severity
 
 234 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 and ingratitude, by the senate and people of Rome ; and 
 obliged to leave his country to preserve his life. Of a 
 haughty and indignant spirit, he resolved to avenge himself; 
 and, with this view, applied to the Volscians, the enemies of 
 Rome, and tendered them his services against his native 
 country. 
 
 2. The offer was cordially embraced, and Coriolanus was 
 made general of the Volscian army. He recovered from 
 the Romans all the towns they had taken from the Volsci ; 
 carried by assault several cities in Latium ; and led his 
 troops within five miles of the city of Rome. After several 
 unsuccessful embassies from the Senate, all hope of pacifying 
 the injured exile, appeared to be extinguished ; and the sole 
 business of Rome was to prepare, with the utmost diligence, 
 for sustaining a siege. 
 
 3. The young and able-bodied men had instantly the guard 
 of the gates and trenches assigned to them ; while those of 
 the veterans who, though exempt by their age from bearing 
 arms, were yet capable of service, undertook the defense of 
 the ramparts. The women, in the mean while, terrified by 
 these movements, and the impending danger, into a neglect 
 of their wonted decorum, ran tumultuously from their houses 
 to the temples. Every sanctuary, and especially the temple 
 of Jupiter Capitolinus,* resounded with the wailings and 
 loud supplications of women, prostrate before the statues of 
 their divinities. 
 
 4. In this general consternation and distress, Valeria (sister 
 of the famous Valerius Poplicola), as if moved by a divine 
 impulse, suddenly took her stand upon the top of the steps 
 of the temple of Jupiter, assembled the women about her, 
 and, having first exhorted them not to be terrified by the 
 greatness of the present danger, confidently declared, " That 
 there was yet hope for the republic ; that its preservation de- 
 pended upon them, and upon their performance of the duty 
 they owed their country." 
 
 * So called from his temple on Mount Capitolinus.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 235 
 
 5. " Alas !" cried one of the company, " what resource can 
 there be in the weakness of wretched women, when our 
 bravest men, our ablest warriors themselves, despair 1" " It 
 is not by the sword, nor by strength of arms," replied Vale- 
 ria, " that we are to prevail ; these belong not to our sex. 
 Soft moving words must be our weapons and our force. Let 
 us all, in our mourning attire, and accompanied by our chil- 
 dren, go and entreat Veturia, the mother of Coriolanus, to 
 intercede with her son for our common country. Veturia's 
 prayers will bend his soul to pity. Haughty and implacable 
 as he has hitherto appeared, he has not a heart so cruel and 
 obdurate as not to relent, when he shall see his mother, his 
 revered, his beloved mother, a weeping suppliant at his 
 feet." 
 
 6. This motion being universally applauded, the whole 
 train of women took their way to Veturia's house. Her son's 
 wife, Volumnia, who was sitting with her when they arrived, 
 and greatly surprised at their coming, hastily asked them the 
 meaning of so extraordinary an appearance. " What is it," 
 said she, " what can be. the motive that has brought so numer- 
 ous a company of visitors to this house of sorrow ?" 
 
 7. Valeria then addressed herself to the mother : " It is to 
 you, Veturia, that these women have recourse in the extreme 
 peril, with which they and their children are threatened. They 
 entreat, implore, conjure you to compassionate their distress, 
 and the distress of our common country. Suffer not Rome 
 to become a prey to the Volsci, and our enemies to triumph 
 over our liberty. Go to the camp of Coriolanus ; take with 
 you Volumnia and her two sons ; let that excellent wife join 
 her intercession to yours. Permit these women, with their 
 children, to accompany you : they will all cast themselves at 
 his feet. O Veturia, conjure him to grant peace to his fellow- 
 citizens ! 
 
 8. " Cease not to beg till you have obtained. So good a 
 man can never withstand your tears : our only hope is in 
 you. Come, then Veturia ; the danger presses ; you have no
 
 236 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 time for deliberation ; the enterprise is worthy of your vir- 
 tue ; Heaven will crown it with success ; Rome shall once 
 more owe its preservation to our sex. You will justly ac- 
 quire to yourself an immortal fame, and have the pleasure to 
 make every one of us a sharer in your glory." 
 
 9. Veturia, after a short silence, with tears in her eyes, an- 
 swered : " Weak, indeed, is the foundation of your hope, 
 Valeria, when you place it in the aid of two miserable wo- 
 men. We are not wanting in affection to our country, nor 
 need we any remonstrance or entreaties to excite our zeal for 
 its preservation. It is the power only of being serviceable 
 that fails us. Ever since that unfortunate hour, when the 
 people in their madness so unjustly banished Coriolanus, his 
 heart has been no less estranged from his family than from 
 his country. 
 
 10. " You will be convinced of this sad truth by his own 
 words to us at parting. When he returned home from the 
 assembly, where he had been condemned, he found us in the 
 depth of affliction, bewailing the miseries that were sure to 
 follow our being deprived of so dear a son, and so excellent 
 a husband. We had his children upon our knees. He kept 
 himself at a distance from us ; and, when he had awhile stood 
 silent, motionless as a rock, his eyes fixed, and without 
 shedding a tear : ' 'Tis done,' he said. ' O mother, and 
 thou, Volumnia, the best of wives, to you Marcius is no 
 more ! 
 
 11. " 'I am banished hence for my affection to my coun- 
 try, and the services I have done it. I go this instant ; and I 
 leave forever a city where all good men are proscribed. 
 Support this blow of fortune with the magnanimity that be- 
 comes women of your high rank and virtue. I commend my 
 children to your care. Educate them in a manner worthy 
 of you, and of the race from which they come. Heaven 
 grant they may be more fortunate than their father, and 
 never fall short of him in virtue ; and may you in them find 
 your consolation ! Farewell !'
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 237 
 
 12. "We started up at the sound of this word, and, with 
 loud cries of lamentation, ran to him to receive his last em- 
 braces. I led his elder son by the hand ; Volumnia had the 
 younger in her arms. He turned his eyes from us, and, put- 
 ting us back with his hand, ' Mother,' said he, ' from this mo- 
 ment you have no son ; our country has taken from you the 
 stay of your old age. Nor to you, Volumnia, will Marcius 
 be henceforth a husband ; mayst thou be happy with another, 
 more fortunate ! My dear children, you have lost your fa- 
 ther !' 
 
 13. " He said no more, but instantly broke away from us. 
 He departed from Rome without settling his domestic affairs, 
 or leaving any orders about them ; without money, without 
 servants, and even without letting us know to what part of 
 the world he would direct his steps. It is now the fourth 
 year since he went away ; and he has never inquired after his 
 family, nor, by letter or messenger, given us the least account 
 of himself: so that it seems as if his mother and his wife 
 were the chief objects of that general hatred which he shows 
 to his country. 
 
 14. " What success, then, can you expect from our entreat- 
 ies to a man so implacable ? Can two women bend that 
 stubborn heart which even all the ministers of religion were 
 not able to soften 1 ? And, indeed, what shall I say to him? 
 What can I reasonably desire of him ? that he would pardon 
 ungrateful citizens, who have treated him as the vilest crim- 
 inal ? that he would take compassion upon a furious, unjust 
 populace, which had no regard for his innocence ? and that he 
 would betray a nation, which has not only opened him an 
 asylum, but has even preferred him to her most illustrious 
 citizens in the command of her armies ? 
 
 15. " With what face can I ask him to abandon such gen- 
 erous protectors, and deliver himself again into the hands of 
 his most bitter enemies 1 Can a Roman mother, and a Ro- 
 man wife, with decency, exact from a son and a husband, 
 compliances which must dishonor him before both gods and
 
 238 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 men 1 Mournful circumstance, in which we have not power 
 to hate the most formidable enemy of our country ! Leave 
 us, therefore, to our unhappy destiny ; and do not desire us 
 to make it more unhappy by an action that may cast a blem- 
 ish upon our virtue." 
 
 16. The women made no answer, but by their tears and 
 entreaties. Some embraced her knees ; others beseeched 
 Volumnia to join her prayers to theirs ; all conjured Veturia 
 not to refuse her country this last assistance. Overcome, at 
 length, by their urgent solicitations, she promised to do as 
 they desired. The very next day, all the most illustrious of 
 the Roman women repaired to Veturia's house. There they 
 presently mounted a number of chariots, which the consuls 
 had ordered to be made ready for them ; and without any 
 guard, took the way to the enemy's camp. 
 
 17. Coriolanus, perceiving from afar that long train of 
 chariots, sent out some horsemen to learn the design of it. 
 They quickly brought him word that it was his mother, his 
 wife, and a great number of other women, and their children, 
 coming to the camp. He, doubtless, conjectured what views 
 the Romans had in so extraordinary a deputation; that this 
 was the last expedient of the Senate ; and, in his own mind, 
 he determined not to let himself be moved. 
 
 18. But he reckoned upon a savage inflexibility that was 
 not in his nature ; for, going out with a few attendants to re- 
 ceive the women, he no sooner beheld Veturia, attired in 
 mourning, her eyes bathed in tears, and with a countenance 
 and motion that spoke her sinking under a load of sorrow, 
 than he ran hastily to her ; and, not only calling her mother, 
 but adding to that word the most tender epithets, embraced 
 her, wept over her, and held her in his arms to prevent her 
 falling. The like tenderness he presently after expressed to 
 his wife, highly commending her discretion in having con- 
 stantly remained with his mother since his departure from 
 Rome. And then, with the warmest paternal affection, he 
 caressed his children.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 239 
 
 , 
 
 19. When some time had been allowed to those silent tears 
 
 of joy, which often flow plenteously at the sudden and unex- 
 pected meeting of persons dear to each other, Vefuria enter- 
 ed upon the business she had undertaken. After many for- 
 cible appeals to his understanding and patriotism, she exclaim- 
 ed : " What frenzy, what madness of anger transports my 
 son ! Heaven is appeased by supplications, vows, and sacri- 
 fices ; shall mortals be implacable ? Will Marcius set no 
 bounds to his resentment 1 
 
 20. " But, allowing that thy enmity to thy country is too 
 violent to let thee listen to her petition for peace ; yet be not 
 deaf, my son, be not inexorable to the prayers and tears of 
 thy mother. Thou dreadst the very appearance of ingrati- 
 tude toward the Volsci ; and shall thy mother have reason to 
 accuse thee of being ungrateful'? Call to mind the tender 
 care I took of thy infancy and earliest youth ; the alarms, the 
 anxiety I sjiffered on thy account, when, entered into the state 
 of manhood, thy life was almost daily exposed in foreign 
 wars ; the apprehensions, the terrors I underwent, when I saw 
 thee so warmly engaged in our domestic quarrels, and, with 
 heroic courage, opposing the unjust pretensions of the furious 
 plebeians. 
 
 21. "My sad forebodings of the event have been but too 
 well verified. Consider the wretched life I have endured, if 
 it may be called life, during the time that has passed since I was 
 deprived of thee. O Marcius, refuse me not the only request 
 I ever made to thee ; I will never importune thee with any 
 other. Cease thy immoderate anger ; be reconciled to thy 
 country : this is all I ask ; grant me but this, and we shall 
 both be happy. 
 
 22. " Freed from those tempestuous passions which now 
 agitate thy soul, and from all the torments of self-reproach, 
 thy days will flow smoothly on in the sweet serenity of con- 
 scious virtue ; and, as for me, if I carry back to Rome the 
 hopes of an approaching peace, an assurance of thy being 
 reconciled to thy country, with what transports of joy shall I
 
 240 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 be received ! In what honor, in what delightful repose, shall 
 I pass the remainder of my life! What immortal glory shall 
 I have acquired !" 
 
 23. Coriolanus made no attempt to interrupt Veturia, 
 while she was speaking ; and when she had ceased, he still 
 continued in deep silence. Anger, hatred, and desire of re- 
 venge, balanced in his heart those softer passions which the 
 sight and discourse of his mother had awakened in his breast. 
 Veturia, perceiving his irresolution, and fearing the event, 
 thus renewed her expostulation : 
 
 24. " Why dost thou not answer me* my son ? Is there, 
 then, such greatness of mind in giving all to resentment? 
 Art thou ashamed to grant any thing to a mother who thus 
 entreats thee, thus humbles herself to thee ? If it be so, to 
 what purpose should I longer endure a wretched life !" As 
 she uttered these last words, interrupted by sighs, she threw 
 herself prostrate at his feet. His wife and children did the 
 same; and all the other women, with united voices of mourn- 
 ful accent, begged and implored his pity. 
 
 25. The Volscian officers, not able, unmoved, to behold this 
 scene, turned away their eyes ; but Coriolanus, almost beside 
 himself to see Veturia at his feet, passionately cried out : 
 " Ah ! mother, what art thou doing ?" And, tenderly press- 
 ing her hand, in raising her up, he added, in a low voice : 
 " Rome is saved, but thy son is lost !" 
 
 26. Early the next morning, Coriolanus broke up his camp, 
 and peaceably marched his army homeward. Nobody had 
 the boldness to contradict his orders. Many were exceed- 
 ingly dissatisfied with his conduct ; but others excused it, be- 
 ing more affected with his filial respect to his mother than 
 with their own interests. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What rule for the rising inflection on soften, four- 
 teenth paragraph? 2. Why the rising inflection on criminal, and the 
 falling on him, same paragraph ? 3. What rule for the rising inflec- 
 tion on mother, twenty-fifth paragraph?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 241 
 
 EXERCISE LXXX. 
 AUTHORS, THE UNDYING BENEFACTORS OF MANKIND. 
 
 E. P. WHIFFLE. 
 
 1. How shall we fitly estimate the vast inheritance of the 
 world's intellectual treasures, to which all are born heirs ? 
 What words can declare the immeasurable worth of books, 
 what rhetoric set forth the importance of that great invention 
 which diffused them over the whole earth to glad its myriads 
 of minds 1 The invention of printing added a new element 
 of power to the race. From that hour, in a most especial 
 sense, the brain and not the arm, the thinker and not the sol- 
 dier, books and not kings, were to rule the world ; and weapons, 
 forged in the mind, keen-edged and brighter than the sunbeam, 
 were to supplant the sword and the battle-ax. 
 
 2. The conflicts of the world were not to take place alto- 
 gether on the tented field ; but IDEAS, leaping from a world's 
 awakened intellect, and burning all over with indestructible 
 life, were to be marshaled against principalities and powers. 
 The great and the good, whose influence before had been 
 chiefly over individual minds, were now to be possessed of a 
 magic, which, giving wings to their thoughts, would waft them, 
 like so many carrier doves, on messages of hope and deliver- 
 ance to the nations. 
 
 3. Words, springing fresh and bright from the soul of a 
 master-spirit and dropping into congenial hearts, like so many 
 sparks of fire, were no longer to lose this being with the vi- 
 brations of the air they disturbed, or molder with the papyrus 
 on which they were written, but were to be graven in ever- 
 lasting characters, and rouse, strengthen, and illumine the 
 minds of all ages. 
 
 4. There was to be a stern death-grapple between Might 
 and Right, between the heavy arm and the ethereal thought, 
 between that which was and that which ought to be; for 
 there was a great spirit abroad in the world, whom dungeons 
 could not confine, nor oceans check, nor persecutions subdue. 
 
 11
 
 242 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 whose path lay through the great region of ideas, and whose 
 dominion was over the mind. 
 
 5. If such were the tendency of that great invention which 
 leaped or bridged the barriers separating mind from mind, 
 and heart from heart, who shall calculate its effect in promot- 
 ing private happiness ? Books, light-houses erected in the 
 great sea of time, books, the precious depositories of the 
 thoughts and creations of genius ; books by whose sorcery tinu s 
 past become times present, and the whole pageantry of the 
 world's history moves in solemn procession before our eyes ; 
 these were to visit the firesides of the humble, and lavish the 
 treasures of the intellect upon the poor. 
 
 6. Could we have Plato, and Shakspeare, and Milton, in 
 our dwellings, in the full vigor of their imaginations, in the 
 full freshness of their hearts, few scholars would be affluent 
 enough to afford them physical support ; but the living images 
 of their minds are within the eyes of all. From their pages 
 their mighty souls look out upon us in all their grandeur and 
 beauty, undimmed by the faults and follies of earthly exist- 
 ence, consecrated by time. 
 
 7. Precious and priceless are the blessings which books 
 scatter around our daily paths. We walk, in imagination, 
 with the noblest spirits, through the most sublime and en- 
 chanting regions, regions which, to all that is lovely in the 
 forms and colors of earth, 
 
 " Add the gleam, 
 
 The light that never was on sea or land, 
 The consecration and the poet's dream." 
 
 8. A motion of the hand brings all Arcadia* to sight. The 
 war of Troy can, at our bidding, rage in the narrowest cham- 
 ber. Without stirring from our firesides, we may roam to 
 the most remote regions of the earth, or soar into realms 
 where Spenser's shapes of unearthly beauty flock to meet us, 
 where Milton's angels peal in our ears the choral hymns of 
 
 * A country of ancient Greece, in the center of the Peloponnesus,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 243 
 
 Paradise.! Science, art, literature, philosophy, all that man 
 has thought, all that man has done, the experience that has 
 been bought with the sufferings of a hundred generations, 
 all are garnered up for us in the world of books. 
 
 9. There, among realities, in a " substantial world," we 
 move with the crowned kings of thought. There our minds 
 have a free range, our hearts a free utterance. Reason is 
 confined within none of the partitions which trammel it in 
 life. The hard granite of conventionalism melts away as a 
 thin mist. We call things by their right names. Our lips 
 give not the lie to our hearts. We bend the knee only to the 
 great and good. We despise only the despicable ; we honor 
 only the honorable. 
 
 10. In that world, no divinity hedges a king ; no accident 
 of rank or fashion ennobles a dunce, or shields a knave. 
 There, and almost only there, do our affections have free 
 play. We can select our companions from among the most 
 richly gifted of the sons of God, and they are companions 
 who will not desert us in poverty, or sickness, or disgrace. 
 
 11. When every thing else fails, when fortune frowns, and 
 friends cool, and health forsakes us, when this great world 
 of forms and shows appears a " two-edged lie, which seems 
 but is not," when all our earth-clinging hopes and ambitions 
 melt away into nothingness, 
 
 " Like snow-falls on a river, 
 One moment white, then gone forever," 
 
 we are still not without friends to animate and console us, 
 friends, in whose immortal countenances, as they look out 
 upon us from, books, we can discern no change ; who will 
 dignify low fortunes and humble life with their kingly presence ; 
 who will people solitude with shapes more glorious than ever 
 glittered in palaces ; who will consecrate sorrow and take the 
 sting from care ; and who, in the long hours of despondency 
 and weakness, will send healing to the sick heart, and energy 
 to the wasted brain.
 
 244 SAN DEES' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 12. Well might Milton exclaim, in that impassioned speech 
 for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing, where every word 
 leaps with intellectual life : " Who kills a man, kills a reason- 
 able creature, God's image ; but who destroys a good book, 
 kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the 
 eye. Many a man lives a burden upon the earth ; but a good 
 book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed 
 and treasured up on purpose for a life beyond life !" 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXI. 
 ELLEN, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 1. But scarce again his horn he wound, 
 
 When, lo ! forth starting at the sound, 
 
 From underneath an aged oak 
 
 That slanted from the islet rock, 
 
 A damsel, guider of its way, 
 
 A little skiff shot to the bay, 
 
 That round the promontory steep 
 
 Led its deep line in graceful sweep, 
 
 Eddying, in almost viewless wave, 
 
 The weeping willow twig to lave, 
 
 And kiss, with whispering sound and slow, 
 
 The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 
 
 The boat had touched this silver strand, 
 Just as the hunter left his- stand, 
 And stood concealed amid the brake 
 To view this Lady of the Lake. 
 The maiden paused, as if again 
 She thought to catch the distant strain. 
 With head up-raised, and look intent, ' 
 And eye and ear attentive bent, 
 And locks flung back, and lips apart, 
 Like monument of Grecian art,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 245 
 
 In listening mood, she seemed to stand, 
 The guardian Naiad of the strand. 
 
 3. And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
 A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
 Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 
 What though the sun with ardent frown, 
 Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown ? 
 The sportive toil, which, short and light, 
 Had dyed her glowing hues so bright, 
 Served too in hastier swell to show 
 Short glimpses of a breast of snow ; 
 What though no rule of courtly grace 
 To measured mood had train'd her pace ? . 
 A foot more light, a step more true, 
 Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew ; 
 E'en the slight harebell raised its head 
 Elastic from her airy tread : 
 What though upon her speech there Lung""" 
 The accents of the mountain-tongue 
 (p.) Those silvery sounds, so soft, so dear, 
 The list'ner held his breath to hear ! 
 
 4. A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ; 
 Her satin snood, her silken plaid, 
 Her golden brooch such birth betrayed. 
 And seldom was a snood amid 
 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 
 Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
 The plumage of the raven 's wing ; 
 And seldom o'er a breast so fair 
 Mantled a plaid with modest care ; 
 And never brooch the folds combined 
 Above a heart more good and kind. ; 
 Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
 You need but gaze on Ellen 's eye ;
 
 246 SAXDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 5. Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 
 
 Gives back the shaggy banks more true 
 Than every free-born glance confessed 
 The guileless movements of her breast ; 
 Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
 Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 
 Or filial love was glowing there, 
 Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 
 Or tale of injury called forth 
 The indignant spirit of the North. 
 One only passion unrevealed 
 With maiden pride the maid concealed, 
 Yet not less purely felt the flame, 
 O, need I tell that passion's name ? 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXII. 
 THE ITALIAN EXILE. 
 
 1. When the minstrel is sorrowful, sad is the lay, 
 You may smile on his song, but his soul is away ; 
 For no theme can excite this cold fancy of mine, 
 So far from the land of the olive and vine. 
 
 2. There passion breathes out from the lyre and the lute, 
 And the voice of their melody never is mute ; 
 
 Love stamps on the forehead of Beauty its seal, 
 On cheeks that can burn and on hearts that can feel. 
 
 3. Years vanish, their trace on my brow you behold, 
 And my heart has to beauty grown careless and cold ; 
 Yet of all sweet impressions that linger there yet, 
 The daughters of Florence it last will forget. 
 
 4. Ye Pilgrims of Beauty, from barbarous lands, 
 Behold where the model* of loveliness stands ; 
 
 * The Venus de Medici. See Note, page 141. 
 
 -
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 247 
 
 Go, kneel by the marble, if marble it seem, 
 
 And love, with its torch, will illumine your dream. 
 
 5. Lost thoughts of your youth will that statue renew; 
 You will muse on the home of the faithful and true, 
 Where never can come disappointment or care, 
 And the beings are pure as that image is fair. 
 
 6. Italy ! Italy ! never again 
 
 May the minstrel revisit thy mountain and plain, 
 Yet a vision of bliss on his slumber there breaks, 
 IJut to dream of thy shores, though an exile, he wakes. 
 
 7. Thy present is beautiful ; great was thy past ; 
 May thy future restore thee to greatness at last ! 
 The home of my fathers ! the land of the sun ! 
 Honored, though distant, and dear, though undone. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXIII. 
 ADVERSITY, WITH INTERJECTIONS BY THE READER. 
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS. 
 
 1. Adversity ! daughter of Jove relentless power tamer 
 of the human breast companion and nurse of virtue such 
 arc the terms in which a philosophical poet has spoken of it. 
 In similar language have almost all the poets and philosophers 
 of all ages eulogized adversity ; without which, some of them 
 say, it is impossible for any one to know what sterling quali- 
 ties he may possess, or what great things he may accomplish. 
 [A very good thing for all people besides ourselves, I sup- 
 pose.] To see a brave man, says- Seneca, struggling against 
 evil fortune 
 
 "Still buoyant 'midst the waves of adverse fate," 
 is the finest sight the world can show. The gods might be
 
 248 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 expected to look down with satisfaction on such a spectacle. 
 [All very true, perhaps ; but this is apparently a drama 
 which would expire for want of actors, if men had their own 
 choice.] 
 
 2. The corrupting tendency of prosperity has always been 
 fully acknowledged. Men are then apt to be extremely 
 puffed up and forgetful of themselves. They begin to look 
 on their fellow-creatures as beings of an inferior nature, whom 
 they are at liberty to use for their own purposes. Old friends 
 are forgotten ; nay, even those who may have conferred bene- 
 fits upon them in their less fortunate days. Often, in the 
 wantonness of prosperity, men will trample the most sacred 
 principles under foot. 
 
 3. In short, it has ever been regarded as a most dangerous 
 thing for a frail mortal to be exposed to the demoralizing in- 
 fluences which attend a large measure of the good things of 
 this life. [All nonsense. I know many good fellows who 
 have feathered their nests by railway speculations. They 
 never used to give dinners, because they said they could not 
 afford it. Now, they ask you every fortnight. Forget old 
 friends ! They never could remember them till now. And 
 as for trampling sacred principles under foot why, you will 
 see their names opposite good sums in all the charity books 
 that go about, fellows that never gave a half-penny to a beg- 
 gar before. I would like to be exposed to similar danger 
 that I know.] 
 
 4. The enervating effect of prosperity is, perhaps, its most 
 remarkable result. Under this sickly influence all the hardy 
 virtues languish and die. Adversity, on the contrary, devel- 
 ops the native vigor of human character. [Well, I know 
 that Jasper Thoroughpace was a clever, active fellow while 
 things were going well with him ; but now that he is in the 
 background, one would think that he had lost all spirit, and 
 had resolved to allow the world to take its own course with 
 him like a Turk. I called upon him the other morning, and 
 showed him how he might make thirty pounds in a couple of
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEK. 249 
 
 days, if he would only look sharp. But he told me it was 
 of no use he had not heart to try any thing.] 
 
 5. Yield not to evils, said the Sybil, but go the more dar- 
 ingly against them. You vanquish Fortune by bearing her 
 spite with fortitude. How nobly did the ancients practice 
 these admirable maxims of theirs, and what a noble example 
 have they thus left to us ! [A set of ninnies, that fell on their 
 swords whenever any thing went wrong. No, no, my friend ; 
 depend on it, it 's all talk about the invigorating effect of 
 adversity. As well tell me that crocuses thrive because of 
 the snow they grow among, when we know it is only by 
 reason of such sunshine as there is, at that season, that they 
 can get up their heads at all.] 
 
 6. Perhaps, however, the most blessed result of adversity 
 is in its softening effects upon our nature. From my own, I 
 learn to melt at others' woe, saith the poet, not more beauti- 
 fully than truly. Amidst the luxuries and blandishments 
 which prosperity brings us, we unavoidably become selfish 
 and egotistical. The spirit grows upon us, till we become 
 thoroughly hardened. But let us experience the frowns of 
 adversity, and we feel at once that we are men. Our vexa- 
 tions and griefs teach us what human life really is to the great 
 bulk of our fellow-creatures, and we then begin to open our 
 ears to the cry of the poor and the anguish-laden. 
 
 7. Thus, it has happened to many a man to be converted 
 into humanity by adversity, who would otherwise have gone 
 on to the close of life in impenetrable selfishness selfishness 
 all the greater, that he was totally unconscious of there being 
 any such thing about him. [Now, such nonsense is here ! 
 Why, the very contrary is the case. There is Mrs. Craik, the 
 nicest creature in the world as long as her husband was in 
 easy circumstances, felt for every body, and helped all she 
 could, never seemed to have a selfish thought. But now that 
 Craik has fallen back so much, why, she is no longer endurable. 
 
 8. Last time I went to see her, she talked of nothing but 
 the slights she meets with from old acquaintances, and what
 
 250 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 she suffers from her husband's bad temper. She is now bit- 
 ter at every thing. Call you this egotism or not 1 And she 
 really is a good creature, too. It is only that she has so 
 much to annoy her own mind, that she can think of nothing 
 else, much less feel for any other body's troubles. And is 
 this an uncommon case ? Have you never heard of people 
 being soured by misfortune, getting spited at the world, when 
 it goes against them, and so forth ? Men are hardened, my 
 dear friend, not by prosperity, but by adversity.] 
 
 9. While thus serviceable in disciplining the feelings, adver- 
 sity has a scarcely less important power as an instructor of 
 the judgment. In prosperity, we see every thing through a 
 false medium. The world smiles upon us, because fortune 
 does. We never learn the real thoughts of those around us. 
 Men have an interest in deceiving us, and we can hardly miss 
 being deceived accordingly. But, while abiding the storms 
 of adversity, we have all things presented to us in the unflat- 
 tering reality. 
 
 10. We see the selfishness, if not heartlessness, of men, 
 and how little even genuine merit affects them, if they do not 
 think they can make something by it. We learn to avoid 
 taking things at their first fair seeming ; to pause, look nar- 
 rowly, and approve late. We learn to cope with the most 
 astute in all worldly matters. From these considerations it 
 is, that the diplomas of those reared in the school of adversity, 
 have ever borne so much higher a value than those of persons 
 brought up in pleasanter academies. 
 
 11. Indeed, as an English poet has well expressed it : " So 
 many great illustrious spirits have conversed with Woe, and 
 been taught in her school, as are enough to consecrate dis- 
 tress, and make ambition wish for the frown rather than the 
 smile of Fortune." [Stuff, stuff nothing but stuff! Adver- 
 sity only twists people's judgments. In that school they do 
 not see things in their true character, but in a very false 
 one. 
 
 12. Every thing appears harsh and disagreeable to the mail
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 251 
 
 suffering adversity. If a merchant in struggling circumstances, 
 and refused a little credit, he thinks there is no faith in human 
 probity, and goes home as sulky as a bear. If a commander 
 who has failed in an enterprise, he conceives every allusion in 
 his presence to military failures, a symptom of the ungenerous 
 spirit of detraction in his fellow-creatures, and is likely to fall 
 into a dueling business every day of his life. 
 
 13. Who has the justest opinion of critics the author 
 whose works get a fair share of the praise which they de- 
 serve, or he who, writing bad books, is continually cut up 
 in the reviews 1 Oh, my friend, look a little among those 
 who are called the suffering classes, and say, if actual obser- 
 vation makes good these dreams of yours about the stern 
 schoolmistress. 
 
 . 14. Tell us, if you there find juster views of life and its 
 complicated interests, than among the quiet, well-off people 
 of the middle ranks, or even those who have suffered a little 
 too much of prosperity. Tell us whether demagogues find 
 their best subjects among those who have empty, or those 
 who have full stomachs. But I have lost all patience with this 
 twattle about the beauties of adversity, and can listen to no 
 more of it.] Exit reader in a huff, after throwing the book 
 from him with contempt. 
 
 15. Gentle readers of my own, this is a representation of 
 the spirit of ancient writers in contrast with that of modern 
 readers. Adversity is one of the respectabilities of past lit- 
 erature. It was the fashion for twenty centuries to expatiate 
 upon the useful effects it had upon human character, and no 
 one ever thought of challenging this philosophy, although 
 then, perhaps, Adversity's own patients were as uneasy under 
 her surgery as now. 
 
 16. But it is no longer possible to pass off plausible com- 
 monplaces in this way. Men make no allowance for the sol- 
 emnities of authorcraft. They look at things in a practical 
 light only, and, if they find literature attempting to impose 
 any thing upon them contrary to what they may see in the
 
 252 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 next street they pass through, or the next house they enter, 
 they abide it not. 
 
 17. Addressing myself to the immediate question, I would 
 say (were I asked my opinion,) that there is a measure of 
 truth on both sides, though mostly on one. The effects of 
 both prosperity and adversity depend much on the particular 
 character of the person exposed to their influence. Some are 
 naturally liable to be corrupted by prosperity, and to be cor- 
 rected by reverses ; and this gives countenance to that lauda- 
 tion of adversity, which poets and philosophers have good- 
 naturedly proclaimed as a kind of consolation for suffering 
 mortals in all ages. 
 
 18. But it would be belying nearly the whole system of 
 human desires and motives, if we could not say that, in the 
 large majority of cases, prosperity has a softening and a gen- 
 erally improving effect, and adversity the reverse. The lat- 
 ter can only be honestly regarded as mainly, and in most 
 instances, a positive evil. Bear it resignedly and virtuously ; 
 admire all examples of heroism under it ; be unlimited in 
 efforts to relieve its victims. But see it, at the same time, 
 in its true character, and try by all honorable means to be 
 prosperous notwithstanding the poets. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXIV. 
 THE MUSHROOM FAMILY. 
 
 MACKENZIE. 
 
 To the Author of the " Lounger" : 
 
 I. Sir: I troubled you some time ago with a letter from 
 the country ; now that I am come to town, I use the freedom 
 to write to you again. I find the same difficulty in being 
 happy, with every thing to make me so, here as there. When 
 I tell this to my country friends, they won't believe me. 
 Oh, dear ! to see how the Miss Homespuns looked when they 
 came to take leave of me, the morning we set out for Edin-
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 253 
 
 burgh ! I had just put on my new riding-habit, which my 
 brother fetched me from London, and my hat, with two green 
 and three white feathers ; and Miss Jessy Homespun ad- 
 mired it so much, and when I let her put it on, she looked in 
 the glass, and said, with a sigh, how charming it was ! 
 
 2. I had a sad headache with it all morning, but I kept that 
 to myself. " And do, my dear," said she, " write sometimes 
 to us poor moping creatures in the country. But you won't 
 have leisure to think of us, you will be so happy and so much 
 amused." At that moment, my brother's post-coach rattled 
 up to the door, and the poor Homespuns cried so when we 
 parted ! To be sure, they thought that a town life, with my 
 brother's fortune to procure all its amusements, must be 
 quite delightful. Now, sir, to let you know how I have 
 found it. 
 
 3. I was content to be lugged about by my sister, for the 
 first week or two, as I knew that in a large town I should be 
 like a fish out of water, as the saying is. But my sister-in- 
 law was always putting me in mind of my ignorance : " and 
 you country girls and we who have been in London and 
 we who have been abroad." However, between ourselves, I 
 don't find that she knows quite so much as she would make 
 me believe, for it seems they can't learn many things in the 
 Indies ; and when she went out, she knew as little as myself j 
 and as for London, she was only a fortnight there on her way 
 home. 
 
 4. So we have got masters that come in to give us lessons 
 in French, and music, and dancing. The first two I can sub- 
 mit to very well. I could always put my tongue readily 
 enough about any thing, and I could play pretty well on the 
 virginals at home, though my master says, my fingering is 
 not what it should be. But the dancing is a terrible busi- 
 ness. My sister-in-law and I are put into the stocks every 
 morning, to teach us the right position of our feet ; and all 
 the steps I was praised for in the country, are now good for 
 nothing, as the cotillon step is the only thing fit for people of
 
 254 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 fashion ; and so we are twisted and twirled till my joints 
 ache again ; and, after all, we make, I believe, a very bad fig- 
 ure at it. Indeed, I have not yet ventured to try my hand 
 my feet, I mean before any body. 
 
 5. But my sister-in-law, who is always praised for every 
 thing she does, would needs try her cctillon steps at the as- 
 sembly, and her partner, Captain Coupee, a constant visitor 
 at my brother's, told her what an admirable dancer she was ; 
 but, in truth, she was out of time every instant, and I heard 
 the people tittering at her country fling, as they called it. 
 And so, in the same manner, (which I do not think is at all 
 fair, Mr. Lounger,) the captain one day, at our house, declared 
 she sang like an angel (drinking her health in a bumper of 
 my brother's champagne) ; and yet, as I walked behind him 
 next morning in Prince's street, I overheard him saying to 
 one of his companions, that Mushroom's dinners were very 
 good things, if it were not for the bore of the singing, and 
 that the little Nabobina squalled like a pea-hen. 
 
 6. But, no doubt, it is good manners to commend people 
 to their faces, whatever one may say behind their backs. 
 And, I perceive, they have got fashionable words for praising 
 things, which it is one of my sister's lessons and mine to 
 have at our tongues' ends, whether we think so or not. Such 
 a thing, she tells me (as she has been taught by her great 
 companion, Miss Gusto,) must be charming, another ravish- 
 ing (indeed, Mr. Lounger, that is the word,) and a third di- 
 vine. As for me, I have yet got no farther than charming ; 
 I can only say ravishing in a whisper ; and as for divine, I 
 think there is something heathenish in it, though, indeed, I have 
 been told, since I came here, that the Commandments were 
 only meant for the country. 
 
 7. We have, besides, got another phrase, which is perpet- 
 ually dinned into my ears by my sister-in-law, and that is the 
 Ton. Such a person is a very good kind of person, but such 
 another is more the Ton ; such a lady is handsomer, more 
 witty, more polite, and more good-humored than another, but
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 255 
 
 that other is much more the Ton. I have often asked my 
 sister, and even my French master, to explain the meaning 
 of this word Ton ; but they told me there was no translation 
 for it. I think, however, I have found it out to be a very 
 convenient thing for that class of people who are ever ready 
 to assume the shield of fashion or custom to hide the de- 
 formities of their real character, folks who have the Ton 
 may do any thing they like without being in the wrong, and 
 every thing that is the Ton is right, let it be what it will. 
 
 8. Alas ! sir, if the Ton would let poor people alone, who 
 don't wish for distinction, there would be the less to complain 
 of; but the misfortune is, that one must be in the Ton whether 
 one's mind gives them to it or not ; at least, I am told so. 
 We have a French friseur, whom our maitre d^hotel* Sabot, 
 recommended, who makes great use of this phrase. He 
 screwed up my hair till I thought I should have fainted with 
 the pain, and I did not sleep a wink all the night after, be- 
 cause he said that a hundred little curls were now become 
 the Ton. He recommended a shoemaker, who, he said, made 
 for all the people of the Ton, who pinched my toes till I 
 could hardly walk across the room, because little feet were 
 the Ton. 
 
 9. My staymaker, another of the same set, brought me 
 home a pair of stays that were but a few inches round at the 
 waist, and my maid and Sabot broke three laces before they 
 could get them to meet, because small waists were the Ton. 
 I sat at two dinners without being able to eat a morsel, be- 
 cause (I am ashamed to tell it, sir,) my stays would not hold 
 a bit. However, I would submit to the Ton no longer in 
 that article, and when I got home in the evening, I took out 
 my scissors in a passion and cut a great slash in the sides. I 
 was resolved I would not be squeezed to death for all the Ton 
 in the world. 
 
 10. And, moreover, the Ton is not satisfied with tearing 
 the hair out of our heads, with pinching our feet, and squeez- 
 
 * Steward.
 
 256 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 ing the pit of our stomach, but we must have manners which, 
 under favor, sir, I think very odd, and which my grandmother 
 (I was bred up at my grandmother's) would have whipped 
 me for, that she would, if I had ventured to show them 
 when I was with her. I am told that none but a ninny would 
 look down in the sheepish way I do ; but that, when I meet a 
 gentleman in our walks, I must look as full at him as I can, 
 to show my eyes, and laugh, to show my teeth (all our family 
 have white teeth), and flourish my ratteen to show my shapes. 
 
 11. And though in a room I am to speak as low and 
 mumbling as I can, to look as if I did not care whether I was 
 heard or not ; yet in a public place I am to talk as loud and 
 as fast as possible, and call the men by their plain surnames, 
 and tell all about our last night's parties, and a great many 
 other things, Mr. Lounger, which I can't do for the heart of 
 me ; but my sister-in-law comes on amazingly, as Miss Gusto 
 says. But then she has been in India, and she was not brought 
 up with my grandmother. I protest, though I would be 
 ashamed to let Miss Gusto know it, that often, when I am 
 wishing to practice some of her lessons, I think I see my 
 grandmother, with her bunch of keys at her apron-string, her 
 amber-headed stick in the one hand, and her Ladies' Calling 
 in the other, looking at me from under her spectacles with such 
 a frown, Mr. Lounger, it frightens me quite out of my head. 
 
 12. After all, I am apt to believe that the very great trouble 
 and the many inconveniences to which we put ourselves 
 to attain this distinction of the Ton, are, in a great measure, 
 labor in vain ; that our music, our dancing, and our good- 
 breeding will, perhaps, be out of fashion before we have come 
 to any degree of perfection in all or any of these accomplish- 
 ments ; for some of the fine ladies and fine gentlemen who 
 visit us, say that the Ton here is no Ton at all, for that the 
 true and genuine Ton (like the true and genuine Milk of 
 Roses) is only to be found in London. 
 
 13. Nay, some of the finest of those fine ladies and gentle- 
 men go a step further, and inform us that the Ton of London
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 257 
 
 itself is mere twattle, and that the only right Ton is to be 
 found in Paris. I hope in goodness, however, that my sister, 
 if she is determined, as she sometimes hints, to chase the Ton 
 that length, will drop me by the way, or, rather, allow me to 
 return again to the country. Old sparrows (the proverb says, 
 Mr. Lounger,) are ill to tame. Not that I am old, neither ; 
 but I believe I am not quite young enough to learn to be happy 
 in the sort of life we lead here ; and though I try all I can 
 to think it a happy one, and I am sure to say so in every 
 place to which we go, yet I can't help often secretly wishing 
 I were back again at my father's, where I should not be 
 obliged to be happy whether I would or not. 
 
 Your afflicted (if I may venture to say so), humble 
 
 servant, 
 
 MARJORY MUSHROOM. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXV. 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER, BY BULWBR. 
 
 Youth's gay spring-time scarcely knowing, 
 
 Went I forth the world to roam, 
 And the dance of youth, the glowing, 
 
 Left I in my father's home. 
 Of my birth-right glad, believing, 
 
 Of my world-gear took I none, 
 Careless as an infant, cleaving 
 
 To my pilgrim-staff alone. 
 
 For I placed my mighty hope in 
 
 Dim and holy words of faith, 
 " Wander forth the way is open, 
 
 Ever on the upward path 
 Till thou gain the golden portal, 
 
 Till its gate unclose to thee,
 
 258 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 There the earthly and the mortal, 
 Deathless and divine shall be." 
 
 3. Night on morning stole, and stealeth, 
 
 Never, never stand I still, 
 And the future yet concealeth 
 
 What I seek, and what I will ! 
 Mount on mount arose before me, 
 
 Torrents hemmed me every side, 
 But I built a bridge that bore me 
 
 O'er the roaring tempest tide. 
 
 4. Toward the East I reached a river, 
 
 On its shores I did not rest ; 
 Faith from danger can deliver, 
 
 And I trusted to its breast. 
 Drifted in the whirling motion, 
 
 Seas themselves around me roll, 
 Wide and wider spreads the ocean, 
 
 Far and farther flies the goal. 
 While I live is never given 
 
 Bridge or wave the goal to near 
 Earth will never meet the Heaven, 
 
 Never can the There be Here ! 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXYI. 
 ODE TO CONTENTMENT. 
 
 1. Lovely, lasting peace of mind ! 
 
 Sweet delight of human kind ! 
 Heavenly born, and bred on high, 
 To crown the favorites of the sky 
 With more of happiness below, 
 Than victors in a triumph know !
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 259 
 
 Whither, O whither art thou fled, 
 To lay thy meek, contented head ; 
 What happy region dost thou please 
 To make the seat of calms and ease ? 
 
 2. Ambition searches all its sphere 
 
 Of pomp and state, to meet thee there. 
 Increasing avarice would find 
 Thy presence in its gold enshrined. 
 The bold adventurer plows his way, 
 Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, 
 To gain thy love ; and then perceives 
 Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. 
 The silent heart, which grief assails, 
 Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, 
 Sees daisies open, rivers run, 
 And seeks (as I have vainly done) 
 Amusing thought ; but learns to know 
 That Solitude 's the nurse of woe. 
 
 3. No real happiness is found 
 
 In trailing purple o'er the ground ; 
 Or, in a soul exalted high, 
 To range the circuit of the sky, 
 Converse with stars above, and know 
 All nature in its forms below ; 
 The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, 
 And doubts, at last, for knowledge rise. 
 
 4. Lovely, lasting peace, appear ! 
 This world itself, if thou art here, 
 Is once again with Eden blest, 
 And man contains it in his breast. 
 
 5. 'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, 
 I sung my wishes to the wood,
 
 260 SANDERS' N'EW SERIES. 
 
 And, lost in thought, no more perceived 
 The branches whisper as they waved ; 
 It seemed as all the quiet place 
 Confessed the presence of his grace. 
 When thus she spoke " Go rule thy will, 
 Bid thy wild passions all be still ; 
 Know God and bring thy heart to know 
 The joys which from religion flow ; 
 Then every grace shall prove its guest, 
 And I '11 be there to crown the rest." 
 
 6. O ! by yonder mossy seat, 
 In my hours of sweet retreat, 
 Might I thus my soul employ, 
 With sense of gratitude and joy. 
 Eaised as ancient prophets were, 
 
 In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer ; 
 Pleasing all men, hurting none, 
 Pleased and blessed with God alone : 
 Then, while the gardens take my sight, 
 With all the colors of delight, 
 While silver waters glide along, 
 To please my ear and court my song, 
 I '11 lift my voice and tune my string, 
 And Thee, great Source of nature, sing. 
 
 7, The sun that walks his airy way, 
 To light the world, and give the day, 
 
 The moon that shines with borrowed light, 
 The stars, that gild the gloomy night, 
 The seas that roll unnumbered waves, 
 The wood that spreads its shady leaves, 
 The field whose ears conceal the grain, 
 The yellow treasure of the plain, 
 All of these, and all I see, 
 Should be sung, and sung by me :
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 261 
 
 They speak their Maker as they can, 
 But want and ask the tongue of man. 
 Go search among your idle dreams, 
 Your busy or your vain extremes ; 
 And find a life of equal bliss, 
 Or own the next begun in this. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXVII. 
 
 THE LITTLE WORD, NO. 
 
 MERCHANTS' IEDGKE. 
 
 1. A very little word is No. It is composed of but two 
 letters, and only forms a syllable. In meaning it is so definite 
 as to defy misunderstanding. Young lips find its articulation 
 easy. Any child can spell it. Unlike some words of learned 
 length, spoken only on rare occasions, its use is common and 
 familiar. Not an hour passes in company, but we hear it re- 
 peated. It would be a task to carry on conversation for a 
 few minutes without its aid. 
 
 2. Diminutive in size, evident in import, easy of utterance, 
 frequent in use, and necessary in ordinary speech, it seems 
 one of the simplest and most harmless of all words. Yet 
 there are those to whom it is almost a terror. Its sound 
 makes them afraid. Upon their lips, when forced to pro- 
 nounce it, it hangs heavily as lead. They would expurgate it 
 from their vocabulary if they could. An easy and good- 
 natured class of people they are. They like always to agree 
 with their friends. To them the language of contradiction is 
 uncongenial. The ranks of disputants obtain from them few 
 recruits. They can not differ from others without a painful 
 effort, which they seldom make. 
 
 3. It is in their nature to drift down the stream, rather than 
 resist the current. When urged to any thing by companions, 
 they find it all but impossible to say No, The little mono-
 
 262 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 syllable sticks in their throat. Their pliable and easy tem- 
 per inclines them to conformity, and frequently works their 
 bane. Assailed by the solicitations of pleasure, they are 
 sure to yield, for at once and resolutely they will not repeat 
 No. 
 
 4. Plied with the intoxicating cup, they seldom overcome, 
 for their facile nature refuses to express itself in No. En- 
 countering temptation in the hard and duteous path, they are 
 likely to falter and fall, for they have not boldness to speak 
 out the decided negative No. 
 
 5. Amid the mists of time, and involved in the labyrinth- 
 ine mazes of error, they are liable to forget eternal verities, 
 and join the ribald jest, for they have not been accustomed to 
 utter an emphatic No. Their talents may be of a high or- 
 der, their disposition amiable and generous, and their pros- 
 pects flattering ; but this one weakness may, at any time, prove 
 fatal to their hopes. 
 
 6. All the noble souls and heroes of history have held 
 themselves ready, whenever it was demanded, to say No. 
 The warrior said No to the obstacles which threatened the 
 success of his arms, and rose against them in his might, and 
 made them as the dust of his feet. The statesman said No 
 to the imperious and insulting demands of an excited popu- 
 lace or a foreign foe, and devised the plans by which the lan- 
 guage of demand was exchanged for the language of entreaty 
 and supplication. 
 
 7. The poet said No to the sloth and indolence which 
 consumed his precious hours, and wove for himself, in heaven- 
 ly song, a garland of immortality. The martyred hosts said 
 No to the Pagan powers that demanded a recantation of 
 their faith, and swift from the fire and the torture their souls 
 uprose to the rewards and beatitude of heaven. The greatest 
 and best of all that ever trod our earth, the Holy One him- 
 self, was incessant in his labors of self-denial, and even there- 
 by he won the honors of his cross. Great men have grown 
 great by repeating No at every step of their progress. To
 
 YOUtfG LADIES' READER. 263 
 
 ease, to inglorious joyance, to pleasure, to hardship, they said 
 No. 
 
 8. In the slow advancement of mankind No has ever 
 proved a word of power. Before it, Error consecrated by an- 
 tiquity, has fallen, and Truth has risen in her splendor. Every 
 falsehood refuted and denied is a step to truth ; every impedi- 
 ment vanquished, an advance to greatness. It is but fair to 
 observe, however, that even in the use of this word there 
 may be an abuse. 
 
 9. As there are minds too pliable and gentle, so there are 
 others too dogmatic and contradictory. On little occasions, 
 and for trifling reasons, one may acquire a vile and disagree- 
 able habit of dispute and denial. In things of no moral or 
 practical "account, it is wise to be conciliatory and compliant. 
 The most decided of men need not be impolite, or unpleasing 
 in society, But, when duty or propriety demands it, no one 
 should be ashamed to speak No. 
 
 10. " Few have learned to speak this word 
 
 When it should be spoken ; 
 Resolution is deferred, 
 Vows to virtue broken. 
 
 11. " More 'true courage is required 
 
 This one word to say, 
 Than to stand where shots are fired 
 In the battle fray. 
 
 12. " Use it fitly, and ye '11 see 
 
 Many a lot below 
 May be schooled, and nobly ruled, 
 By power to utter ' No." 1 " 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What pause before the word No, in the above piece I 
 See page 43. 2. What kind of emphasis on should, tenth stanza ,' 
 See Note VI., page 21.
 
 264 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXVIII. 
 THE GRAVE. 
 
 LITERARY MAGNET. 
 
 1. There is a mournful pleasure in stealing from the noisy 
 haunts of life, at that soul-soothing hour when the twilight 
 sheds its softening influence over each distant prospect, and 
 the last faint vestiges of the declining day are vanishing from 
 the heavens. It is sweet at such a time to stray into the 
 church-yard of some neighboring village, and pass an hour in 
 meditation over the last narrow dwelling-place of those who 
 are reclining beneath us. 
 
 2. There shall we be impressed with the sad truth, that 
 our brightest joys must pass away, and that a time will come, 
 when the cold grave will receive us, and others will pass over 
 our lowly bed, and bestow not a thought on the moldering 
 relics of the mortal who lies beneath them. But we shall 
 rest calmly and peacefully. Sorrows will not molest us ; 
 but the breeze will moan a gentle dirge as it passes over our 
 resting-place ; and the summer daisy will disclose its simple 
 beauties among the waving grass that springs in freshness 
 above our last quiet home. 
 
 3. (pi.} Go, child of sorrow, to the grave, where the gen- 
 tle form is sleeping that was wont to be thy companion ; who, 
 when the storm of affliction was darkly gathering around 
 thee, soothed thy anguish, and, with the blandishments of 
 faithful affection, cheered thy hours of sadness. Go to the 
 turf that flourishes above her, and recall, as in a dream, past 
 hours of happiness. Think of those eyes, beautiful as violets, 
 where Love had made his habitation. Think of that voice, 
 which, like the lute's soft music, thrilled thy inmost soul 
 with its melody muse on every fond endearment, every 
 blissful hour, that once with her was thy portion ; then wake 
 from the enchanting illusion, to know that, mixed with her 
 kindred dust, she can return to thee no more. 
 
 4. And thou, who hast wept over a parent's lifeless form,
 
 YOUNG LADIES READER. 265 
 
 thou, who hast partaken of the devotedness of parental 
 lov?, and hast seen those parents, whose hopes were on thee, 
 snatched by the hand of death suddenly from thy side ; do 
 thou go to the church-yard in which they repose, and shed thy 
 bitter, tears of sorrow over their grave. Then, if thou hast 
 ever given a pang to the bosom whereon thou wert nourished, 
 then will each unkindness, which thou mayst, for a time, 
 have forgotten, rush into thy mind, and thou wilt weep more 
 sadly, because the conviction will be in thy heart, that it is 
 vain. 
 
 5. Thy tears can not recall one moment of undutiful be- 
 havior ; nor shed a balm over the sorrows of that heart 
 which thy unkindness has wounded. Thou mayst pluck from 
 their turf the wild weeds, and 
 
 "Strew with flowers the dismal spot ;" 
 
 but it will be of no avail ; they have passed from thee forever, 
 and the voice of thy sorrow penetrates not into the grave, 
 but is lost in the night-wind which sighs around it. 
 
 " There is a calm for those that weep," 
 
 and within the sHent tomb all will rest alike ; the man who 
 has wandered through the world deserted and forlorn, with 
 none to soothe the anguish of his heart, no hand to shield 
 him from the blast of affliction, no voice to whisper in his 
 car the gentle words of friendship, beneath the grassy turf 
 will rest as sweetly as he on whom Fortune has lavished her 
 proudest gifts; and the poor beggar who has endured the 
 scoffings of the rich, will repose as calmly as that unfeeling 
 mortal who, with a callous heart, spurned, him from his 
 presence. 
 
 7. The maiden blooming in all the loveliness of youth, 
 the aged man whose head is silvered with the frosts of many 
 winters,- the heart whose owner enjoyed all the blessings of 
 life, and they who have drank deeply of the Cup of affliction, 
 
 12
 
 266 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 all must alike share the quiet of the tomb. Neither youth 
 nor beauty can stay the hand of death, and often the lovely, 
 like the sweet flower of spring blighted by the destroying 
 blast, are the soonest to fade. 
 
 8. And then, too, many a link of affection's chain will lie 
 scattered. There will repose the babe on whom a parent's 
 eyes have gazed in fondness, over whose gentle form a mother 
 has bent, and formed, in the dreaming of her maternal love, 
 many a scene of happiness ; but 
 
 "All that 's bright must fade," 
 
 and, like the rose-bud on which the canker-worm has fed, be- 
 neath the blighting hand of death, the object of a mother's 
 hopes will exchange the warm resting-place of affection for 
 the dark, cold chambers of the grave. 
 
 9. It is then that the widow muses upon the hours of de- 
 parted happiness, which, contrasted with her present mourn- 
 ful state, appear with increased charms. It is then she in- 
 dulges in those dreams which recall days long since departed, 
 till, to use the words of the poet, 
 
 " She thinks 
 
 She sees him, and, indulging the fond thought,, 
 Clings still more closely to the senseless clay !" 
 
 10. We may gaze on the beautiful scenes which the lavish 
 hand of nature has formed around us, and our thoughts may 
 be raised to heaven, and the prayer of thanksgiving and grati- 
 tude flow from our tongues ; but it is only above the resting- 
 place of the silent dead that the musings of the heart will 
 turn to that moment when the ray of life will be extinguished, 
 and we shall depart from this vale of tears, " even as a sum 
 mer cloud which passeth away, and returneth not." 

 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 267 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXIX. 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 
 
 GRAY. 
 
 1. The curfew tolls the, knell of parting day ; 
 
 The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea ; 
 The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds ; 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : 
 
 3. Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
 Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 
 
 4. Beneath those rugged elms that yew-tree's shade, 
 
 Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 5. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 
 
 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 
 
 6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
 Nor children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 
 
 7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 
 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke j
 
 268 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! 
 
 How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 
 
 8. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 
 Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 
 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 Await, alike, the inevitable hour 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
 
 If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
 Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
 11. Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
 Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 
 
 Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 
 
 12. Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 
 
 13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 
 Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 14. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 
 
 The dark, unfuthomed caves of ocean bear ; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waete its sweetness on the desert air,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 269 
 
 15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
 Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest ; 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 16. Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 
 
 17. Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 
 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 
 
 18. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame ; 
 Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride, 
 With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 
 
 19. Far from the madd'ning crowd's ignoble strife, 
 
 Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 
 Along the cool, sequestered vale of life, 
 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 
 
 20. Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 
 
 Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
 With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
 
 21. Their name, their years, spelled by the unlettered Muse, 
 
 The place of fhme and elegy supply ; 
 
 And many a holy text around she strews, 
 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 
 22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
 
 This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned ;
 
 270 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind ? 
 
 23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies ; 
 
 Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 
 Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
 Even in our ashes live thsir wonted fires. 
 
 24. F.or thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, 
 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
 If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate , 
 
 25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, . 
 
 " Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 
 Brushing with hasty step the dews away, 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 
 
 26. " There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
 
 That wreathes its old fantastic' roots so high, 
 His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
 And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. 
 
 27. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn, 
 
 Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove : 
 Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 
 
 28. " One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, 
 
 Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree ; 
 Another cr.me ; nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he. 
 
 29. " The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 
 
 Slow through the churchyard-path we saw him borne ; 
 Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 271 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 30. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
 
 A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown; 
 Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
 And Melancholy marked him for her own. 
 
 31. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere : 
 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
 He gave to misery all he had a tear, 
 
 He gained from Heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend. 
 
 32. No further seek his merits to disclose, 
 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode ; 
 (There they, alike, in trembling hope repose,) 
 The bosom of his Father and his God. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. "What pause after leaf!, ninth stanza f See page 43. 
 2. Are the questions in the eleventh stanza direct or indirect f 
 
 EXERCISE XC. 
 
 1. A-CEOP'-O-LIS, the highest part of a city ; the citadel ; especially, 
 that of ancient Athens. 
 
 2. MAU'-A-THON, a village of Attica, in ancient Greece, celebrated 
 as the spot whereon a great victory was gained by Miltiades over 
 the Persians, B. C. 490. 
 
 3. PLA'-T,E-A, a town of Bosotia, in ancient Greece, rendered famous 
 by a victory gained there by the Greeks over the Persians under 
 Mardonius, B. C. 479. 
 
 4. MOR-GAR'-TEN, a mountain on the eastern border of the lake 
 ^Egeri, in Switzerland, is celebrated for a victory gained there in 
 1815, over Leopold, the Arch-duke of Austria. 
 
 5. LAU'-PE.V, the name of a place in Switzerland, famous for a vic- 
 tory achieved there in 1339, by the citizens of Bern, over the nobles 
 who had undertaken to destroy their city. 
 
 6. MAN'-LI-US, and (7) SCIP'-I-O AF-EI-JJA'-NI'S, two noble Romans, the 
 former celebrated for preserving the 'raHfc|L when nearly taken by
 
 272 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 the Gauls ; the latter, for conquering the Carthaginians under their 
 great leader, Hannibal, who had once well-nigh reduced Rome itself 
 to subjection. 
 
 NATIONAL MONUMENTS. 
 
 ALISON. 
 
 1. It is in vain, that a nation may be encircled with for- 
 tresses, or defended by mountains, or begirt by the ocean ; 
 its real security is to be found in the spirit and the valor of its 
 people. The army which enters the field in the conviction, 
 that it is to conquer, has already gained the day. The people 
 who recollect with pride the achievements of their forefathers, 
 will not prove unworthy of them in the field of battle. - 
 
 2. The remembrance of their heroic actions preserved the 
 independence of the Swiss republics, amidst the powerful em- 
 pires by which they were surrounded ; and the glory of her 
 armies, joined to the terror of her name, upheld the Roman 
 empire for centuries after the warlike spirit of the people was 
 extinct. It is this which constitutes the strength and multi- 
 plies the triumphs of veteran soldiers, and it is this which 
 renders the qualities of military valor and prowess hereditary 
 in a nation. 
 
 3. Every people, accordingly, whose achievements are 
 memorable in past history, have felt the influence of these 
 national recollections, and received them as the most valuable 
 inheritance from their forefathers. The statesmen of Athens, 
 when they wished to rouse that fickle people to any great or 
 heroic action, reminded them of the national glory of their 
 ancestors, and pointed to the Acropolis, 1 crowned with the 
 monuments of their valor. Demosthenes, in the most heart- 
 stirring apostrophe of antiquity, invoked the shades of those 
 who died at Marathon 2 and Piataia 3 to sanctify the cause in 
 which they were to be engaged. 
 
 4. The Swiss peasants, for five hundred years after the es- 
 tablishment of their independence, assembled on the fields of 
 Morgarten 4 and Laupen 5 , and spread garlands over the graves 
 of the fallen warriors, and prayed for the souls of those who
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 273 
 
 had died for their coiFhtry's freedom. The Romans attached 
 a superstitious reverence to the rock of the Capitol, and 
 loaded its temples with the spoils of the world, and looked 
 back, with a mixture of veneration and pride, to the strug- 
 gles which it had witnessed, and the triumphs which it had 
 won. 
 
 5. So long as Manlius" remained in sight of the Capitol, 
 his enemies found it impossible to obtain a conviction of the 
 charges against him. When Scipio Africanus 7 was accused 
 by a faction in the forum, in place of answering the charge, 
 he turned to the Capitol, and invited the people to accompany 
 him to the temple of Jupiter, and return thanks for the defeat 
 of the Carthaginians. Such was the influence of local asso- 
 ciations on that severe people ; and so natural is it for the 
 human mind to embody its recollections in some external 
 object, and so important an effect are these recollections fitted 
 to have, when they are perpetually brought back to the public 
 mind by the sight of the objects to which they have been 
 attached. 
 
 6. The erection of a national monument, on a scale suited 
 to the greatness of the events it is intended to commemorate, 
 seems better calculated than any other measure to perpetuate 
 the spirit which the events of our times have awakened in 
 this country. It will force itself on the observation of the 
 most thoughtless, and recall the recollection of danger and 
 glory, during the slumber of peaceful life. 
 
 7. Thousands who never would otherwise have cast a 
 thought upon the glory of their country, will by it be awak- 
 ened to a sense of what befits the descendants of those great 
 men who have died in the cause of national freedom. While 
 it will testify the gratitude of the nation to departed worth, 
 it will serve at the same time to mark the distinction which 
 similar victories may win. Like the Roman Capitol, it will 
 stand at once the monument of former greatness, and the 
 pledge of future glory. 
 
 12*
 
 274 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 r 
 
 EXEECISE XCI. 
 WHERE SHOULD THE SCHOLAR LIVE? 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 1. Where should the scholar live ? In solitude or in society ? 
 In the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the 
 heart of nature beat, or in the dark, gray city, where he can 
 hear and feel the throbbing heart of man ? I will make an- 
 swer for him, and say in the dark, gray city. Oh, they do 
 greatly err who think, that the stars are all the poetry which 
 cities have ; and, therefore, that the poet's only dwelling 
 should be in sylvan solitudes, under the green roof of 
 trees. 
 
 2. Beautiful, no doubt, are all the forms of nature, when 
 transfigured by the miraculous power of poetry ; hamlets and 
 harvest-fields, and nut-brown waters, flowing ever under the 
 forest, vast and shadowy, with all the sights and sounds of 
 rural life. But, after all, what are these but the decorations 
 and painted scenery in the great theater of human life? 
 What are they but the coarse materials of the poet's song ? 
 Glorious, indeed, is the world of God around us, but 
 more glorious the world of God within us. There lies the 
 land of song ; there lies the poet's native land. 
 
 3. The river of life that flows through streets tumultuous, 
 bearing along so many gallant hearts, so many wrecks of hu- 
 manity ; the many homes and households, each a little world 
 in itself, revolving round its fireside, as a central sun ; all 
 forms of human joy and suffering, brought into that narrow 
 compass ; and to be in this and be a part of this ; acting, 
 thinking, rejoicing, sorrowing with his fellow-men ; such, such 
 should be the poet's life. If he would describe the world, he 
 should live in the world. The mind of the scholar, also, if 
 you would have it large and liberal, should come in contact 
 with other minds. It is better that his armor should be 
 somewhat bruised even by rude encounters, than hung forever 
 resting on the wall.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 275 
 
 4. Nor will his themes be few or trivial, because apparent- 
 ly shut in between the walls of houses, and having merely 
 the decorations of street scenery. A ruined character is as 
 picturesque as a ruined castle. There are dark abysses and 
 yawning gulfs in the human heart, which can be rendered 
 passable only by bridging them over with iron nerves and 
 sinews, as Challey bridged the Sarine in Switzerland, and 
 Telford the sea between Anglesea and England, with chain 
 bridges. These are the great themes of human thought ; not 
 green grass, and flowers, and moonlight. Besides, the mere 
 external forms of nature we make our own, and carry with 
 us into the city, by the power of memory. 
 
 EXERCISE XCII. 
 THE BELFRY PIGEON. 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 1. On the cross-beam under the Old South bell, 
 The nest of a pigeon is builded well. 
 In summer and winter that bird is there, 
 Out and in with the morning air ; 
 I love to see him track the street, 
 With his wary eye and active feet ; 
 And I often watch, him as he springs, 
 Circling the steeple with easy wings, 
 Till across the dial his shade has pass'd, 
 And the belfry edge is gain'd at last. 
 'T is a bird I love, with its brooding note, 
 And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; 
 There 's a human look in its swelling breast, 
 And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; 
 And I often stop with the fear I feel, 
 He runs so close to the rapid wheel.
 
 276 SANDERS' NEW SEKIES. 
 
 2. Whatever is rung on that noisy bell 
 Chime of the hour, or funeral knell 
 The dove in the belfry must hear it well. 
 
 When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon, 
 When the sexton cheerily rings for noon, 
 When the clock strikes clear at morning light, 
 When the child is waked with " nine at night," 
 When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air, 
 Filling the spirit with tones of prayer, 
 Whatever tale in the bell is heard, 
 He broods on his folded feet unstirred ; 
 Or, rising half in his rounded nest, 
 He takes the time to smooth his breast, 
 Then drops again, with filmed eyes, 
 And sleeps as the last vibration dies. 
 
 3. Sweet bird ! I would that I could be 
 A hermit in the crowd like thee ! 
 With wings to fly to wood and glen ! 
 Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; 
 And daily, with unwilling feet, 
 
 I tread, like thee, the crowded street ; 
 But, unlike me, when day is o'er, 
 Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar, 
 Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, 
 Canst smooth thy feathers on thy breast, 
 And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. 
 
 4. I would that, in such wings of gold, 
 I could my weary heart upfold ; 
 
 I would I could look down unmoved, 
 (Unloving as I am unloved,) 
 And, while the world throngs on beneath, 
 Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 277 
 
 And never sad with others' sadness, 
 And never glad with others' gladness, 
 Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime, 
 And, lapped in quiet, bide my time. 
 
 EXERCISE XCIII. 
 THE STORMY PETREL. 
 
 PARK BENJAMIN. 
 
 1. This is the bird that sweeps o'er the sea 
 Fearless and rapid and strong is he ; 
 
 He never forsakes the billowy roar 
 To dwell in calm on the tranquil shore, 
 Save when his mate from the tempest 's shocks 
 Protects her young in the splintered rocks. 
 
 2. Birds of the sea, they rejoice in storms ; 
 
 On the top of the wave you may see their forms ; 
 They run and dive, and they whirl and fly, 
 Where the glittering foam-spray breaks on high ; 
 And against the force of the strongest gale, 
 Like phantom ships, they soar and sail. 
 
 3. All over the ocean, far from land, 
 
 When the storm-king rises dark and grand, 
 The mariner sees the petrel meet 
 The fathomless waves with steady feet, 
 And a tireless wing and a dauntless breast, 
 Without a home or a hope of rest. 
 
 4. So, mid the contest and toil of life, 
 
 My soul ! when the billows of rage and strife 
 Are tossing high, and the heavenly blue 
 Is shrouded by vapors of somber hue 
 Like the petrel, wheeling o'er foam and spray, 
 Onward and upward pursue thy way !
 
 278 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE XCIV. 
 COMMUNINGS OF NATURE. 
 
 POLLOK. 
 
 1. Pleasant were many scenes, but most to me 
 The solitude of vast extent, untouched 
 
 By hand of art, where Nature showed herself, 
 
 And reaped her crops \ whose garments were the clouds ; 
 
 Whose minstrels, brooks ; whose lamps, the moon and stars ; 
 
 Whose organ-choir, the voice o/ many waters ; 
 
 Whose banquets, morning dews ; whose heroes, storms ; 
 
 Whose warriors, mighty winds ; whose lovers, flowers ; 
 
 Whose orators, the thunderbolts of God ; 
 
 Whose palaces, the everlasting hills ; 
 
 Whose ceiling, heaven's unfathomable blue ; 
 
 And from whose rocky turrets, battled high, 
 
 Prospect immense spread out on all sides round, 
 
 Lost now between the welkin and the main, 
 
 Now walled with hills that slept above the storm. 
 
 2. Most fit was such a place for musing men, 
 Happiest sometimes when musing without aim. 
 It was, indeed, a wondrous sort of bliss 
 
 The lonely bard enjoyed when forth he walked, 
 
 Unpurposed ; stood, and knew not why ; sat down, 
 
 And knew not where ; arose, and knew not when ; 
 
 Had eyes, and saw not ; ears, and nothing heard ; 
 
 And sought sought neither heaven nor earth sought 
 
 naught, 
 
 Nor meant to think ; but ran mean time through vast 
 Of visionary things, fairer than aught 
 That was ; and saw the distant tops of thoughts, 
 Which men of common stature never saw, 
 Greater than aught that largest worlds could hold, 
 Or give idea of to those who read.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 279 
 
 3. He entered into Nature's holy place, 
 Her inner chamber, and beheld her face 
 Unvailed ; and heard unutterable things, 
 And incommunicable visions saw; 
 Tilings then unutterable, and visions then 
 Of incommunicable glory bright ; 
 But by the lips of after ages formed 
 To words, or by their pencil pictured forth ; 
 Who, entering further in, beheld again, 
 And heard unspeakable and marvelous things, 
 Which other ages, in their turn, revealed, 
 And left to others greater wonders still. 
 
 EXERCISE XCV. 
 
 1. BA'-RON CU'-TIER, the most eminent naturalist of modern times, 
 was born at Montbeliard, in the duchy of Wirtemberg, in 1769. 
 
 2. BI'-MANE, (BI, two, and MANE, hand,) having two hands. 
 
 MAN. 
 
 KIRBY. 
 
 1. After traversing the whole Animal Kingdom, from its 
 very lowest grades, and having arrived at MAN, who confess- 
 edly stands at the head, and is the only visible king and lord 
 of all the rest, it will be expected that I should devote a few 
 pages to the world's master. 
 
 2. Baron Cuvier/ with great propriety, places him by him- 
 self in a separate order, distinguished from that which suc- 
 ceeds it, in his system, by the significant appellation ofimane* 
 indicating that his two hands are the instruments, by which he 
 subdues and governs the planet that he inhabits ; by which, 
 also, he is enabled to embody his conceptions, and, as it were, 
 to convert his thoughts into material substances. 
 
 3. I shall consider him both physically and metaphysically ; 
 physically as to his actual position, and as to his action upon
 
 280 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 his subjects and property, whether vegetable or animal ; and 
 metaphysically as to his connection with that world, to which 
 his mind or spirit belongs. When I say that man stands at 
 the head of the creation, I do not mean to affirm, that he com- 
 bines in himself every physical attribute in perfection, that is 
 found in all the animals below him ; for it is manifest to every 
 one, that many of them far exceed him in the perfection of 
 many of their organs, and in their qualities of various kinds. 
 
 4. For sight, he can not compete with the eagle ; for scent, 
 with the hound, or the shark ; for swiftness, with the roebuck ; 
 for strength and bulk, with the elephant ; but it is in his 
 MIND that his superiority lies. There is in him a SPIRIT, an 
 immaterial substance, which constitutes him the sole represent- 
 ative here on earth of the Spirit of Spirits. 
 
 5. He is the only member of the animal kingdom that par- 
 takes both of a heavenly and of an earthly nature, that be- 
 longs both to a material and an immaterial world ; and, on 
 this account, it was, that God, when he had created man, con- 
 stituted him king over the whole sphere of animals, with which 
 he had peopled this globe that we inhabit. When his un- 
 happy fall took place, the Divine Image was impaired, and, 
 consequently, the dominion over those creatures, which formed 
 a part of it, was proportionably weakened, and reduced to its 
 present standard. 
 
 6. But still, though weakened, it is not abrogated ; his sub- 
 jects have not universally broken the yoke and burst the 
 bonds of his dominion, a large portion of them still ac- 
 knowledge him as their king and master, and those that he 
 has not subdued so as to make them do his bidding, still fear 
 him and flee him ; and even of these, there is none so fierce 
 and intractable, that he has not found means to tame and 
 subdue. And this is the position, in which he now stands with 
 respect to the animal kingdom ; he has that within him, that 
 enables him to master them, and apply such of them as are 
 of a convertible nature, if I may so speak, to work his will 
 and answer his purpose.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 281 
 
 7. The functions of man, with regard to the world in which 
 he is now placed, are all included in his action upon the sphere 
 of animals and vegetables, and in their re-action upon him. 
 If we survey all nature, wherever we turn our eyes, or wher- 
 ever we direct our thoughts, we see the action of antagonist 
 powers, a flux and reflux, by which the Great Builder of the 
 universe supports the vast machine, and maintains all the mo- 
 tions that he has generated in it. The same principle is at 
 work in every description of beings in our own planet ; every 
 action of man upon any object of the world without him, 
 produces a re-action from that object, attended often by im- 
 portant results. 
 
 8. The action of man upon the world without him, is three- 
 fold. His first action upon them is, that of the mind to con- 
 template them, so as to gain a knowledge of their forms and 
 structure of their habits and instincts of their meaning and 
 uses. His second action upon them, having studied their na- 
 tures, and discovered how they may be made profitable to 
 him, is to collect and multiply such species as he finds will, 
 in any way, answer his purpose. His third action upon them 
 is to diminish, and keep within due limits those species that 
 experience teaches him, are noxious and prejudicial, either to 
 himself or those animals that he has taken into alliance with 
 him, which are principal sources of wealth to him, and minis- 
 ter to his daily use, comfort and enjoyment, 
 
 9. The highest view that we can take of man, is that which 
 looks upon him as belonging to a spiritual as well as a mate- 
 rial world. The end of the creation of the earth, says the 
 father and founder* of natural history, is the glory of God, 
 from the works of nature, by man only. And, as the same 
 pious author observes : " How contemptible is man, if he does 
 not aim at this end of his creation if he does not' strive to raise 
 himself above the low pursuits that usually occupy his mind!" 
 
 10. The heavens, indeed, declare the glory of God, and 
 the firmament showeth the work of his hands. Day unto 
 
 * Linnaeus.
 
 282 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. 
 The beasts of the field honor him, and all creatures that he 
 hath made glorify him. But man must study the book open 
 before him ; and the more he studies it, the more audible to 
 him will be the general voice to his spiritual ear, and he will 
 clearly perceive, that every created thing glorifies God in its 
 place, by fulfilling his will, and the great purpose of his provi- 
 dence; but that he himself alone can give a tongue to every 
 creature, and pronounce for all a general doxology. 
 
 EXERCISE XCVI. 
 THE MODERN" NAVIGATOR. 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT. 
 
 1. You behold a majestic vessel, bounding over the bil- 
 lows, from the other side of the globe ; easily fashioned to 
 float, in safety, over the boundless sea; to spread out her 
 broad wings, and catch the midnight breeze, guided by a 
 single drowsy sailor at the helm, with two or three compan- 
 ions reclining listlessly on the deck, gazing into the depths of 
 the starry heavens. The commander of this vessel, not sur- 
 passing thousands of his brethren in intelligence and skill, 
 knows how, by pointing his glass at the heavens, and taking 
 an observation of the stars, and turning over the leaves of 
 his " Practical Navigator," and making a few figures on his 
 slate, to tell the spot which his vessel has reached on the 
 trackless sea ; and he can, also, tell by means of a steel 
 spring and a few brass wheels, put together in the shape of a 
 chronometer. 
 
 2. The glass, with which he brings the heavens down to the 
 earth, and by which he measures the twenty-one thousand six 
 hundredth part of their circuit, is made of a quantity of flint, 
 sand, and alkali, coarse opaque substances, which he has 
 melted together into the beautiful medium which excludes 
 the air and the rain, and admits the light ; by means of which
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 283 
 
 he can count the orders of animated nature in a dew-drop, 
 and measure the depth of the valleys in the moon. He has, 
 running up and down his main-mast, an iron chain, fabricated 
 at home, by a wonderful succession of mechanical contriv- 
 ances, out of a rock brought from the deep caverns of the 
 earth, and which has the power of conducting the lightning 
 harmlessly down the sides of the vessel into the deep. 
 
 3. He does not creep timidly along, from headland to 
 headland, nor guide his course across a narrow sea by the 
 north star ; but he launches bravely on the pathless and bot- 
 tomless deep, and carries about with him, in a box, a faithful 
 little pilot, who wtitches when the eye of man droops with 
 fatigue, a small and patient steersman, whom darkness does 
 not blind, nor the storm drive from his post, and who points 
 from the other side of the globe through the convex earth 
 to the steady pole. 
 
 4. If he falls in with a pirate, he does not wait to repel 
 him hand to hand ; but he puts into a mighty engine a hand- 
 ful of dark powder, into which he has condensed an immense 
 quantity of elastic air, and which, when touched by a spark 
 of fire, will instantly expand into its original volume, and 
 drive an artificial thunderbolt before it against the distant 
 enemy. 
 
 5. When he meets another similar vessel on the sea, home- 
 ward-bound from a like excursion to his own, he makes a few 
 black marks on a piece of paper, and sends it home, a dis- 
 tance of ten thousand miles, and thereby speaks to his em- 
 ployer, to his family, and his friends, as distinctly and signifi- 
 cantly, as if they were seated by his side. 
 
 6. At the cost of half the labor, with which the savage 
 procures himself the skin of a wild beast to cover his naked- 
 ness, this child of civilized life has provided himself with the 
 most substantial, curious, and convenient clothing, textures 
 and tissues of wool, cotton, linen, and silk, the contributions 
 of the four quarters of the globe, and of every kingdom of 
 nature.
 
 284 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 7. To fill a vacant hour, or dispel a gathering cloud from 
 his spirits, he has curious instruments of music, which speak 
 another language of new and strange significance to his heart, 
 which makes his veins thrill and his eyes overflow with 
 tears, without the utterance of a word, and, with one sweet 
 succession of harmonious sounds, sends his heart back, over 
 the waste of waters, to the distant home, where his wife and 
 his children are gathered around the fireside, trembling at the 
 thought, that the storm which beats upon the windows may, 
 perhaps, overtake their beloved voyager on the distant seas. 
 
 8. And in his cabin he has a library of volumes, the 
 strange production of a machine of almost 'magical powers, 
 which, as he turns over their leaves, enable him to converse 
 with the great and good of every clime and age, and which 
 even repeat to him, in audible notes, the laws of his God and 
 the promises of his Savior, and point out to him that happy 
 land which he hopes to reach when his flag is struck, and his 
 sails are furled, and the voyage of life is over. 
 
 EXERCISE XCVII. 
 XIMENA AND ELMINA. 
 
 MRS. HEMAKS. 
 
 Ximena. For me, my part is done ! 
 The flame which dimly might have lingered yet 
 A little while, hath gathered all its rays 
 Brightly to sink at once ; and it is well ! 
 The shadows are around me ; to thy heart 
 Fold me, that I may die. 
 
 Elmina. My child ! what dream 
 Is on thy soul ? Even now thine aspect wears 
 Life's brightest inspiration ! 
 
 Ximena. Death's ! 
 
 Elmina. Away ! 
 Thine eye hath starry clearness, and thy cheek
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 285 
 
 Doth glow beneath it with a richer hue 
 Than tinged its earliest flower ! 
 
 Ximena. It well may be ! 
 There are far deeper and far warmer hues 
 Than those which draw their coloring from the founts 
 Of youth, or health, or hope. 
 
 Why should not He, whose touch dissolves our chain, 
 Put on His robes of beauty, when He conies 
 As a Deliverer ? He hath many forms ; 
 They should not all be fearful ! If His call 
 Be but our gathering to that distant land, 
 For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst, 
 Why should not its prophetic sense be borne 
 Into the heart's deep stillness, with a breath 
 Of summer winds, a voice of melody, 
 
 Solemn, yet lovely ? Mother, I depart ! 
 
 Be it thy comfort, in thy after days, 
 That thou hast seen me thus ! 
 
 Elmina. Can I bear on with life 
 
 When thou art gone ? Thy voice, thy step, thy smile, 
 Passed from my path ! Alas, even now thine eye 
 
 Is changed thy cheek is fading ! 
 
 
 Ximena. Aye, the clouds 
 
 Of the dim hour are gathering o'er my sight. 
 Oh, weep thou not, save with a gentle sorrow ! 
 
 Elmina. Must it be ? Art thou, indeed, to leave me 1 
 
 Ximena (exultingly}. Be thou glad ! 
 I say, rejoice above thy favored child ! 
 Joy, for the soldier when his field isfought, 
 Joy, for the peasant when his vintage task 
 Is closed at eve ! But, most of all, for her 
 Who, when her life changed its glittering robes 
 For the dull garb of sorrow, which doth cling 
 So heavily around the journeyers on, 
 Cast down its weight and slept ! [She dies.
 
 286 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 DIRGE. 
 
 (p.) Calm on the bosom of thy God, 
 
 Fair spirit, rest thee now ! 
 E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod, 
 His seal was on thy brow. 
 
 Dust, to its narrow house beneath ! 
 
 Soul, to its place on high ! 
 They that have seen thy look in death, 
 
 No more may fear to die. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the rising inflection on child, second stanza? 
 See Note I., page 30. 2. Why the falling inflection on away, fourth 
 stanza? See Rule VIII., page 31. 
 
 EXERCISE XCVIII. 
 THE HUNTER OF THE ALPS. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER. 
 
 1. Will not thou thy lambkins heed ? 
 
 Sweet and innocent their look, 
 As they browse upon the mead 
 Or disport beside the brook. 
 (") " Mother, mother, let me go 
 
 Chase o'er mountain hights the roe !" 
 
 2. Wilt thou not, through mead and dell, 
 
 Lure with Cheerful horn the herds ? 
 Sweetly the resounding bell 
 
 Mingles with the song of birds. 
 " Mother, mother, let me hie 
 To the mountain wilds on high !" 
 
 3. Wilt thou not await the flowers 
 
 Sweetly smiling on their bod ?
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 287 
 
 Dark and drear, the mountain lowers, 
 
 There no flowers rear their head. 
 " Let the flowers bloom and blow ! 
 Mother, mother, let me go !" 
 
 4. And the boy went forth to chase, 
 (=) On, on, up the craggy pile, 
 
 With blind daring's reckless pace, 
 
 Through the mountain's dark defile ! 
 On before him, like the wind, 
 Trembling flees the panting hind. 
 
 5. Fleetly climbs she to the verge 
 
 Of the naked craggy steep, 
 O'er the tempest-riven gorge 
 
 Boundeth she with fearless leap ; 
 But behind her speeds the foe, 
 Recklessly, with deadly bow. 
 
 6. O'er the chasm's fearful brink 
 
 Hangs she, on the topmost hight, 
 Where the crags abruptly sink, 
 
 And the path is lost to sight. 
 Fearful the abyss below ! 
 Nearer, nearer comes the foe ! 
 
 7. She, with silent looks of woe, 
 
 Seeks to move his stony heart, 
 Seeks in vain, he bends his bow, 
 
 And prepares to launch the dart. 
 Lo ! from cavern black as night 
 Soars the ancient mountain sprite. 
 
 8. And he raised his godlike hand 
 
 To protect her from the foe,
 
 288 SANDERS' NETV SEBIES. 
 
 " Wherefore, in my airy land 
 
 Bring'st thou with thee death and woe ? 
 Earth for all hath ample space ; 
 Why dost thou my flocks then chase 7" 
 
 EXEECISE XCIX. 
 STORY OF ALCANDER AND SEPTIMIUS. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 1. Athens, even long after the decline of the Roman Em- 
 pire, still continued the seat of learning, politeness, and wis- 
 dom. The emperors and generals, who, in these periods of 
 approaching ignorance, still felt a passion for science, from 
 time to time, added to its buildings, or increased its professor- 
 ships. Theodoric, the Ostrogoth, was of the number ; he re- 
 paired those schools which barbarity was suffering to fall into 
 decay, and continued those pensions to men of learning which 
 avaricious governors had monopolized to themselves. 
 
 2. In this city, and about this period, Alcander and Septim- 
 ius were fellow-students together. The one the most subtle 
 reasoner of all the Lyceum, the other the most eloquent 
 speaker in the academic grove. Mutual admiration soon be- 
 got an acquaintance, and a similitude of disposition made 
 made them perfect friends. Their fortunes were ner.rly equal, 
 their studies the same, and they were natives of the two most 
 celebrated cities in the world ; for Alcander was of Athens, 
 Septimius came from Rome. 
 
 3. In this mutual harmony they lived for some time to- 
 gether, when Alcander, after passing the first part of his 
 youth in the indolence of philosophy, thought, at length, of 
 entering into the busy world ; and, as a step previous to this, 
 placed his affections on Ilypatia, a lady of exquisite beauty. 
 Hypatia showed no dislike to his addresses. The day of their 
 intended nuptials was fixed, the previous ceremonies were
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 289 
 
 performed, and nothing now remained but her being con- 
 ducted in triumph to the apartment of the intended bride- 
 groom. 
 
 4. An exultation in his own happiness, or his being unable 
 to enjoy any satisfaction without making his friend Septimius 
 a partner, prevailed upon him to introduce his mistress to his 
 fellow-student, which he did with all the gayety of a man who 
 found himself equally happy in friendship and love. But this 
 was an interview fatal to the peace of both. Septimius no 
 sooner saw her but he was smit with an involuntary passion. 
 He used every effort, but in vain, to suppress desires at once 
 so imprudent and unjust. He retired to his apartment in in- 
 expressible agony, and the emotions of his mind, in a short 
 time, became so strong, that they brought on a fever, which 
 the physicians judged incurable. 
 
 5. During this illness, Alcander watched him with all the 
 anxiety of fondness, and brought his mistress to join in these 
 amiable offices of friendship. The sagacity of the physicians, 
 by this means, soon discovered the cause of their patient's 
 disorder, and Alcander, being apprised of their discovery, 
 at length, extorted a confession from the reluctant dying lover. 
 
 6. It would but delay the narrative to describe the con- 
 flict between love and friendship in the breast of Alcander 
 on this occasion ; it is enough to say, that the Athenians were 
 at this time arrived to such refinement in morals, that every 
 virtue was carried to excess. In short, forgetful of his own 
 felicity, he gave up his intended bride, in all her charms, to 
 the young Roman. 
 
 7. They were married privately by his connivance ; and 
 this unlooked-for change of fortune wrought as unexpected a 
 change in the constitution of the now happy Septimius. In a 
 few days he was perfectly recovered, and set out with his fair 
 partner for Rome. Here, by an exertion of those talents of 
 which he was so eminently possessed, he, in a few years, ar- 
 rived at the highest dignities of the state, and was constituted 
 the city judge or prtutor. 
 
 18
 
 290 SANDEKS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 8. Meanwhile, Alcander not only felt the pain of being 
 separated from his friend and mistress, but a prosecution was, 
 also, commenced against him by the relations of Hypatia, for 
 his having basely given her up, as was suggested, for money. 
 Neither his innocence of the crime laid to his charge, nor his 
 eloquence in his own defense, was able to withstand the influ- 
 ence of a powerful party. 
 
 9. He was cast, and condemned to pay an enormous fine. 
 Unable to raise so large a sum at the time appointed, his pos- 
 sessions were confiscated, himself stripped of the habit of 
 freedom, exposed in the market-place, and sold as a slave to 
 the highest bidder. A merchant of Thrace becoming his pur- 
 chaser, Alcander, with some other companions of distress, 
 was carried into that region of desolation and sterility. His 
 stated employment was to follow the herds of an imperious 
 master, and his skill in hunting was all that was allowed him 
 to supply a precarious subsistence. 
 
 10. Condemned to hopeless servitude, every morning 
 waked him to a renewal of famine or toil, and every change 
 of season served but to aggravate his unsheltered distress. 
 Nothing but death or flight was left him, and almost certain 
 death was the consequence of his attempting to fly. After 
 some years of bondage, however, an opportunity of escaping 
 offered ; he embraced it with ardor, and, traveling by night 
 and lodging in caverns by day, to shorten a long story, he at 
 last arrived in Rome. 
 
 11. The day of Alcander's arrival, Septimius sat in the 
 forum administering justice, and hither our wanderer came, 
 expecting to be instantly known and publicly acknowledged. 
 Here he stood the whole day among the crowd, watching the 
 eyes of the judge, and expecting to be taken notice of; but so 
 much was he altered by a long succession of hare-ships, that 
 he passed entirely without notice, and in the evening, when 
 he was going up to the pwetor's chair, he was brutall) repulsed 
 by the attending lictors. The attention of the poor is gene- 
 rally driven from one ungrateful object to another.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 291 
 
 12. Night coming on, he now found himself under a neces- 
 sity of seeking a place to lie in, and yet knew not where to 
 apply. All emaciated and in rags as he was, none of the citi- 
 zens would harbor so much wretchedness, and sleeping in the 
 streets might be attended with interruption or danger ; in 
 short, he was obliged to take up his lodging in one of the 
 tombs without the city, the usual retreat of guilt, poverty, or 
 despair. In this mansion of horror, laying his head upon an 
 inverted urn, he forgot his miseries for a while in sleep ; and 
 virtue found on this flinty couch more ease than down can 
 supply to the guilty. 
 
 13. It was midnight, when two robbers came to make this 
 cave their retreat ; but happening to disagree about the di- 
 vision of their plunder, one of them stabbed the other to the 
 heart, and left him weltering in blood at the entrance. In 
 these circumstances he, was found next morning, and this natu- 
 rally induced a further inquiry. The alarm was spread, the 
 cave was examined, Alcander was found sleeping, and imme- 
 diately apprehended and accused of robbery and murder. 
 The circumstances against him were strong, and the wretch- 
 edness of his appearance confirmed suspicion. 
 
 14. Misfortune and he were now so long acquainted, that 
 he, at last, became regardless of life. He detested a world, 
 where he had found only ingratitude, falsehood, and cruelty, 
 and was determined to make no defense. Thus, lowering 
 with resolution, he was dragged, bound with cords, before the 
 tribunal of Septimius. The proofs were positive against him, 
 and he offered nothing in his own vindication ; the judge, 
 therefore, was proceeding to doom him to a most cruel and 
 ignominious death, when, as if illumined by a ray from 
 heaven, he discovered, through all his misery, the features, 
 though dim with sorrow, of his long lost, loved Aleander. 
 
 15. It is impossible to describe his joy and his pain on this 
 strange occasion ; happy in once more seeing the person he 
 most loved on earth ; distressed at finding him in such cir- 
 cumstances. Thus agitated by contending passions, he flew
 
 292 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 from his tribunal, and falling on the neck of his dear benefac- 
 tor, burst into an agony of distress. 
 
 16. The attention of the multitude was soon, however, di- 
 vided by another object. The robber, who had been really 
 guilty, was apprehended selling his plunder, and, struck with 
 a panic, confessed his crime. He was brought bound to the 
 same tribunal, and acquitted every other person of any part- 
 nership in his guilt. Need the sequel be related ? Alcander 
 was acquitted, shared the friendship and the honors of his 
 friend Septimius, lived afterwards in happiness and ease, and 
 left it to be engraved on his tomb, " That no circumstances 
 are so desperate, that Providence may not relieve them" 
 
 EXERCISE C. 
 
 1. SE-SOS'-TRIS, a famous king of Egypt, \vho reigned in the fifteenth 
 century before Christ. He was a great conqueror, and is said to 
 have erected magnificent temples in all the cities of his empire, and 
 to have dug many canals from the river Nile, for the purposes of 
 commerce and navigation. 
 
 THE REAL DURATION OF MEN'S LIVES. 
 
 T. NOOX TALFOURD. 
 
 1. We hear persons complaining of the slow passage of 
 time, when they have spent a single night of unbroken weari- 
 someness, and wondering how speedily hours filled with 
 pleasure or engrossing occupations have flown; and yet we 
 all know how long any period seems which has been crowded 
 with events or feelings leaving a strong impression behind 
 them. 
 
 2. In thinking on seasons of ennui* we have nothing but a 
 sense of length, we merely remember that we felt the tedi- 
 um of existence ; but there is really no space in the imagina- 
 tion filled up by the period. Mere time, unpeopled with di- 
 versified emotions or circumstances, is but one idea, and that 
 
 * Ennui (ang we'), weariness, languor.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 293 
 
 idea is nothing more than the remembrance of a listless sen- 
 sation. A night of dull pain, and months of lingering weak- 
 ness, are, in the retrospect, nearly the same thing. 
 
 3. When our hands or our hearts are busy, we know noth- 
 ing of time it does not exist for us ; but as soon as we 
 pause to meditate on that which is gone, we seem to have 
 lived long because we look back through a long series of 
 events, or feel them at once peering one above the other like 
 ranges of distant hills. Actions or feelings, not hours, mark 
 all the backward course of our being. Our sense of the 
 nearness to us of any circumstance in our life, is determined 
 on the same principles not by the revolution of the seasons, 
 but by the relation which the event bears in importance to all 
 that has happened to us since. 
 
 4. To him who has thought, or done, or suffered much, the 
 level days of his childhood seem at an immeasurable distance, 
 far off as the age of chivalry, or as the line of Sesostris. 1 
 There are some recollections of such overpowering vastness, 
 that their objects seem ever near ; their size reduces all in- 
 termediate events to nothing ; and they peer upon us like " a 
 forked mountain, or blue promontory," which, being far off, 
 is yet nigh. 
 
 5. How different from these appears some inconsiderable 
 occurrence of more recent date, which a flash of thought re- 
 deems in a moment from long oblivion ; which is seen amidst 
 the dim confusion of half-forgotten things, like a little rock 
 lighted up by a chance gleam of sunshine afar in the mighty 
 waters ! 
 
 6. What immense difference is there, then, in the real du- 
 ration of men's lives ! He lives longest of all who looks back 
 oftenest, whose life is most populous of thought or action, 
 and on every retrospect makes the vastest picture. The man 
 who does not meditate, has no real consciousness of being. 
 Such a one goes to death as to a drunken sleep ; he parts 
 with existence wantonly, because he knows nothing of its 
 value.
 
 294 SANDERS' NETV SERIES. 
 
 7. Mere men of pleasure are, therefore, the most careless 
 of duelists, the gayest of soldiers. To know the true value 
 of being, yet to lay it down for a great cause, is a pitch of 
 heroism, which has rarely been attained by men. That mas- 
 tery of the fear of death which is so common among men of 
 spirit, is nothing but a conquest over the apprehension of dy- 
 ing. It is a mere victory of nerve and muscle. 
 
 8. Those whose days have no principle of continuity who 
 never feel time but in the shape of ennui may quit the world 
 for sport or for honor. But he who truly lives, who feels 
 the past and future in the instant, whose days are to him a 
 possession of majestic remembrances and golden hopes, ought 
 not to fancy himself bound by such an example. He may 
 be inspired to lay down his life, when truth or virtue shall 
 demand so great a sacrifice ; but he will be influenced by 
 mere weakness of resolution, not by courage, if he suffer 
 himself to be ashamed, or laughed, or worried out of it ! 
 
 EXERCISE CI. 
 VALUE OF TIME. 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 1. (sl.) Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 
 In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
 
 Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering world. 
 Silence, how dead ! and darkness, how profound ! 
 Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds ; 
 Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
 Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause ; 
 An awful pause ! prophetic of her end. 
 And let her prophecy be soon fulfilled ; 
 Fate ! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more. 
 
 2. The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 
 But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 295 
 
 Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
 
 I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 
 
 It is the knell of my departed hours : 
 
 Where are they 1 With the years beyond the flood. 
 
 It is the signal that demands dispatch ; 
 
 How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears 
 
 Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 
 
 Look down On what ] a fathomless abyss ; 
 
 A dread eternity ! how surely mine ! 
 
 And can eternity belong to me, 
 
 Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? 
 
 3. How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
 How complicate, how wonderful is man ! 
 How passing wonder He who made him such ! 
 Who centered in our make such strange extremes ! 
 From different natures marvelously mixed, 
 Connection exquisite of distant worlds ! 
 Distinguished link in Being's endless chain ! 
 Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 
 
 A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorbed ! 
 Though sullied and dishonored, still divine ! 
 Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! 
 
 4. An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 
 Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
 
 A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself, 
 
 And in myself am lost ! At home a stranger, 
 
 Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, 
 
 And wondering at her own. How reason reels ! 
 
 O what a miracle to man is man, 
 
 Triumphantly distressed ! what joy, what dread : 
 
 Alternately transported, and alarmed ! 
 
 What can preserve my' life ! or what destroy ! 
 
 An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave , 
 
 Legions of angels can't confine me there.
 
 296 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 5. 'Tis past conjecture ; all things rise in proof: 
 While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion spreads, 
 What though my soul fantastic measures trod 
 O'er fairy fields ; or mourned along the gloom 
 Of pathless woods ; . or, down the craggy steep 
 Hurled headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool ; 
 Or scaled the cliff; or danced on hollow winds, 
 With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain 1 
 Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature 
 Of subtler essence than the trodden clod ; 
 Active, aerial, towering, unconfined, 
 Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall. 
 E'en silent night proclaims my soul immortal : 
 E'en silent night proclaims eternal day. 
 For human weal, Heaven husbands all events ; 
 Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. 
 
 6. Why, then, their loss deplore, that are not lost ? 
 Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around 
 In infidel distress ? Are angels there 1 
 Slumbers, raked up in dust, ethereal fire 1 
 
 They live ! they greatly live a life on earth 
 Unkindled, unconceived ; and from an eye 
 Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall 
 On me, more justly numbered with the dead. 
 This is the desert, this the solitude : 
 How populous, how vital, is the grave ! 
 This is Creation's melancholy vault, 
 The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom ; 
 The land of apparitions, empty shades ! 
 All, all, on earth, is Shadow ; all beyond 
 Is Substance ; the reverse is Folly's creed : 
 How solid all, where change shall be no more ! 
 
 7. Yet man, fool man ! here buries all his thoughts ; 
 Inters celestial hopes without one sigh.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 297 
 
 Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, 
 
 Here pinions all his wishes ; winged by Heaven 
 
 To fly at infinite ; and reach it there, 
 
 Where seraphs gather immortality. 
 
 On Life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God, 
 
 What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow 
 
 In His full beam, and ripen for the just, 
 
 Where momentary ages are no more ! 
 
 Where time, and pain, and chance, and death expire ! 
 
 And is it in the flight of threescore years 
 
 To push eternity from human thought, 
 
 And smother souls immortal in the dust ? 
 
 A soul immortal, spending all her fires, 
 
 Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, 
 
 Thrown into tumult, raptured or alarmed, 
 
 At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, 
 
 Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, 
 
 To waft a feather, or to drown a fly. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. With what tone of voice should the first stanza be 
 read ? See Remark, page 24. 
 
 EXERCISE CII. 
 ANGELO AND CLAUDIA. 
 
 HISS MITFORD. 
 
 An apartment in RienzVs house ; a Roman chair, with a skain 
 of red worsted ; a lattice down to the floor, opening into the 
 garden. Enter ANGELO and CLAUDIA through the lattice. 
 Cla. Beseech thee, now, away, Lord Angelo, 
 
 Thou hast been here o'erlong. 
 
 Ang. Scarce whilst the sand 
 
 Ran through the tell-tale glass ; scarce whilst the sun 
 
 Lengthened the shadow of the cedar. 
 Cla. See ! 
 
 The sun is setting see ! 
 
 13*
 
 298 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Ang, Scarce, whilst I said 
 
 A thousand times I love. 
 
 Cla. Look to the sun. 
 
 Ang. I had rather gaze on thee. 
 
 Cla. And think how long 
 
 We sat beneath the myrtle shade, how long 
 Paced the cool trellis walk. When next thou steal'st 
 Hither, from thy proud palace, I must time thee 
 By seconds, as the nice physician counts 
 The boundings of the fevered pulse. Away, 
 Dear Angelo ; think, if my father find thee 
 
 Ang. Oh, talk not of him, sweet ! why was I born 
 The heir of the Colonna ? why art thou 
 Rienzi's daughter ? What a world of foes, 
 Stern scorn, and fiery pride, and cold contempt 
 Are ranged betwixt us twain ; yet love, and time, 
 Be faithful, mine own Claudia time, and love ! 
 
 Cla. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Ang. Thy father loves thee, sweetest, 
 
 With a proud dotage, almost worshiping 
 The idol it hath framed. Thou fear'st not him 1 
 
 Cla. Alas ! I have learned to fear him ; he is changed, 
 Grievously changed ; still good and kind, and full 
 Of fond relentings crossed by sudden gusts 
 Of wild and stormy passion. I have learned 
 A daughter's trembling love. Then he 's so silent 
 He, once so eloquent. Of old, each show, 
 Bridal, or joust, or pious pilgrimage, 
 Lived in his vivid speech. Oh ! 't was my joy, 
 In that bright glow of rapid words, to see 
 Clear pictures, as the slow procession coiled 
 Its glittering length, or stately tournament 
 Grew statelier in his voice. Now he sits mute 
 His serious eyes bent on the ground each sense 
 Turned inward. 
 
 Ang. Somewhat chafes his ardent spirit.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 299 
 
 Cla. And should I grieve him, too ? Lord Angelo, 
 The love deserves no blessing, that deceives 
 A father. 
 
 Aug. Mine own Claudia ! 
 
 Cla. We must part. 
 
 Aug. O, never talk of parting ! "T was Rienzi 
 That brought me hither first. Rememberest thou 
 A boy, scarce more than boy thy lovely self 
 Scarce woman. Then was thy raj*e beauty stamped, 
 At once, within my heart, then, and forever ; 
 Thou canst not bid me leave thee, love and time, 
 And constancy oh, be as faithful, Claudia, 
 As thou art fair ! 
 
 Rie. (without.) Camillo! 
 
 Cla. Hence, begone ! 
 
 Rie. (without.) Camillo ! 
 
 Cla. 'T is his voice, away, away ! 
 
 Here, through the lattice by the garden gate. 
 
 [Exit Angelo. 
 
 Now Heaven forgive me, if it be a sin 
 
 To love thee, Angelo. (Looking after him.) My foolish heart 
 Beats an' it were. He 's gone he 's hidden now 
 Behind the myrtle hedge : thank Heaven ! thank Heaven ! 
 He 's opening now the gate I hear the key 
 But my sense is fear- quickened ; now 't is closed, 
 And all is safe. (Sinks down into the chair.) Oh, simple 
 
 heart, be still ! 
 Be still ! 
 
 EXERCISE CIII. 
 
 NIMROUD IN SPRING. 
 
 FROM "NINEVEH AND ITS REMAINS," BY A. H. LA YARD. 
 1. The middle of March in Mesopotamia is the brightest 
 epoch of spring. A new change had come over the face of
 
 300 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 the plain of Nimroud ; as far as the eye could reach, it was 
 studded with the white pavilions of the Hytas and the black 
 tents of the Arabs. Picketed around them were innumerable 
 horses in gay trappings, struggling to release themselves from 
 the bonds which restrained them from ranging over the green 
 pastures. 
 
 2. Flowers of every hue enameled the meadows ; not thin- 
 ly scattered over the grass, as in northern climes, but in 
 such thick and gathering clusters, that the whole plain seem- 
 ed a patchwork of many colors. The dogs, as they returned 
 from hunting, issued from the long grass dyed red, yellow, 
 or blue, according to the flowers through which they had last 
 forced their way. 
 
 3. When I returned in the evening, after the labor of the 
 day, I often sat at the door of my tent, and, giving myself up 
 to the full enjoyment of that calm and repose which are im- 
 parted to the senses by such scenes as these, I gazed listlessly 
 on the varied groups before me. As the sun went down be- 
 hind the low hills which separate the river from the desert 
 even their rocky sides had struggled to emulate the verdant 
 clothing of the plain its receding rays were gradually with- 
 drawn, like a transparent vail of light, from the landscape. 
 
 4. Over the pure, cloudless sky was the glow of the last 
 light. The great mound threw its dark shadow far across the 
 plain. In the distance, and beyond the Zab, another venera- 
 ble ruin rose indistinctly into the evening mist. Still more 
 distant, and still more indistinct, was a solitary hill overlook- 
 
 .ing the ancient city of Arbela.* The Kurdish mountains, 
 whose snowy summits cherished the dying sunbeams, yet 
 struggled with the twilight. 
 
 5. It was one of those calm and pleasant evenings which, 
 in spring, make a paradise of the desert. The breeze, bland 
 and perfumed by the odor of the flowers, came calmly over 
 
 * A small place in Eastern Assyria, renowned for a decisive battle 
 fought in its neighborhood, by Alexander the Great, against Darius, 
 the king of Persia.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 301 
 
 the plain. Countless camels and sheep wandered to the tents, 
 and the melancholy call of the herdsmen rose above the 
 bleating of the flocks. Girls hurried over the green sward to 
 seek their fathers' cattle, or crouched down to milk those 
 which had returned alone to their well-remembered folds. 
 
 6. Some were coming from the river, bearing the replen- 
 ished pitcher on their heads or shoulders ; others, no less 
 graceful in their form, and erect in their carriage, were carry- 
 ing the heavy load of long grass, which they had cut in the 
 meadows. Sometimes a party of horsemen might have been 
 seen in the distance crossing the plain, the tufts of ostrich 
 feathers which topped their long spears, showing darkly 
 against the evening sky. They would ride up to my tent, 
 and give me the usual salutations : " Peace be with you, O 
 Bey," or " Allah Aienak, God help you !" 
 
 EXERCISE CIV. 
 LA FAYETTE. 
 
 CHARLES SPRAGUE. 
 
 1. While we bring our offerings to the mighty of our own 
 land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirits of other 
 shores, who shared with them the hour of weakness and woe ? 
 Pile to the clouds the majestic column of glory ; let the lips 
 of those who can speak well hallow each spot, where the bones 
 of your bold repose ; but forget not those who with your 
 bold, went out to battle. 
 
 2. Among these men of noble daring, there was ONE, a 
 young and gallant stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of 
 his delightful France. The people whom he came to succor 
 were not his people ; he knew them only in the melancholy 
 story of their wrongs. He was no mercenary adventurer, 
 striving for the spoil of the vanquished ; the palace acknowl- 
 edged him for its lord, and the valley yielded him its
 
 302 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 increase. He was no nameless man, staking life for repu- 
 tation ; he ranked among nobles, and looked unawed upon 
 kings. 
 
 3. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide 
 a broken heart; he was girdled by the companions of his child- 
 hood ; his kinsmen were about him ; his wife was before 
 him. Yet from all these loved ones he turned away. Like a 
 lofty tree that shakes down its green glories, to battle with 
 the winter's storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and 
 pride to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He 
 came ; but not in the day of successful rebellion ; not when 
 the new-risen sun of independence had burst the cloud of time, 
 and careered to its place in the heavens. 
 
 4. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the 
 tempest was abroad in its anger ; when the plow stood still 
 in the field of promise, and briers cumbered the garden of 
 beauty ; when fathers were dying, and mothers were weep- 
 ing over them ; when the wife was binding up the gashed 
 bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death- 
 damp from the brow of her lover. He came when the brave 
 began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the 
 favor of God. It was then that this ONE joined the ranks of a 
 revolted people. 
 
 5. Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. 
 With them he courted the battle's rage ; with theirs, his arm 
 was lifted ; with theirs, his blood was shed. Long and doubt- 
 ful was the conflict. At length, kind Heaven smiled on the 
 good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The profane were 
 driven from the temple of Liberty, and at her pure shrine the 
 pilgrim warrior, with his adored Commander, knelt and 
 worshiped. Leaving there his offering, the incense of an 
 uncorrupted spirit, he, at length, rose, and crowned, with 
 benedictions, turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted 
 home. 
 
 6. After nearly fifty years, that ONE has come again. Can 
 mortal tongue tell, can mortal heart feel the sublimity of that
 
 YOUNG- LADIES' READER. 303 
 
 coming ? Exulting millions rejoice in it ; (/) and their loud, 
 long, transporting shout, like the mingling of many winds, 
 rolls on, undying, to freedom's farthest mountains. A con- 
 gregated nation comes around him. Old men bless him, and 
 children reverence him. The lovely come out to look upon 
 him ; the learned deck their halls to greet him ; the rulers of 
 the land rise up to do him homage. 
 
 7. How his full heart labors ! He views the rusting tro- 
 phies of departed days ; he treads the high places where 
 his brethren molder ; he bends before the tomb of his FATHER ;* 
 his words are tears, the speech of sad remembrance. But 
 he looks round upon a ransomed land and a joyous race ; 
 he beholds the blessings those trophies secured, for which 
 those brethren died, for which that FATHER lived ; and 
 again his words are tears, the eloquence of gratitude and 
 
 jy- 
 
 8. Spread forth creation like a map ; bid earth's dead mul- 
 titude revive ; and of all the pageant splendors that ever glit- 
 tered to the sun, when looked his burning eye on a sight like 
 this ? Of all the myriads that have come and gone, what 
 cherished minion ever ruled an hour like this ? Many have 
 struck the redeeming blow for their own freedom ; but who, 
 like this man, has bared Ijis bosom in the cause of strangers ? 
 Others have lived in the love of their own people ; but who, 
 like this man, has drank his sweetest cup of welcome with 
 another? Matchless Chief! of glory's immortal tablets, 
 there is one for him, for him alone ! Oblivion shall never 
 shroud its splendor ; the everlasting flame of liberty shall 
 guard it, that the generations of men may repeat the name 
 recorded there, the beloved name of LA FAYETTE. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. On what principle are wan and other, emphatic, first 
 paragraph ? See Note VII., page 22. Why the rising inflection on 
 rebellion and heaven, third paragraph ? See Note I., page 29. 
 
 * Washington.
 
 304 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CV. 
 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 
 
 MRS. NORTON. 
 t 
 
 A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
 
 There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears ; 
 But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, 
 And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. 
 The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, 
 And he said: "I never more shall see my own, my native land; 
 Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, 
 For I was born at-Bingen, at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 n. 
 
 " Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around, 
 To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, 
 That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, 
 Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. 
 And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, 
 The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars ; 
 But some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline, 
 And one had come from Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 m. 
 
 " Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, 
 And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage : 
 For my father was a soldier, and, even ac a child, 
 My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; 
 And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 
 I let them take whate'er they would but kept my father's sword ; 
 And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, 
 On the cottage-wall at Bingen, calm Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 " Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
 When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread ; 
 But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, 
 For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die. 
 And, if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 
 To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; 
 And to hang the old sword in its place, (my father's sword and mine,) 
 For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine I
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 305 
 
 " There 'B another not a sister ; in the happy days gone by, 
 
 You M have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; 
 
 Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning ; 
 
 Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourn- 
 
 Tell her the last night of my life (for ere this moon be risen [ing 1 
 
 lly body will be out of pain my soul be out of prison,) 
 
 I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine, 
 
 On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine I 
 
 " I saw the blue Rhine sweep along I heard, or seemed to hear, 
 
 The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; 
 
 And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 
 
 That echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; 
 
 And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk, 
 
 Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk ; 
 
 And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine, 
 
 But we : 11 meet no more at Bingen, loved Bingen on the Rhine I" 
 
 His voice grew faint and hoarser, his grasp was childish weak, 
 His eyes put on a dying look, he sighed and ceased to speak : 
 His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled, 
 The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land was dead 1 
 And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down, 
 On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strewn ; 
 Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, 
 As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 EXERCISE CVI. 
 
 PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 
 
 POPE'S HOMKR'S ILIAD. 
 
 1. Too daring prince ! ah, whither dost thou run 1 , 
 Ah ! too forgetful of thy wife and son ! 
 And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be, 
 A widow I, a helpless orphan he '
 
 306 SANDEKS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 For sure such courage length of life denies, 
 And thou must fall, thy virtue 's sacrifice. 
 Greece in her single heroes strove in vain ; 
 Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain ! 
 O, grant me, gods ! ere Hector meets his doom, 
 All I can ask of Heaven, an early tomb ! 
 So shall my days in one sad tenor run, 
 And end with sorrows as they first begun. 
 
 2. No parent now remains my grief to share, 
 No father's aid, no mother's tender care. 
 The fierce Achilles wrapped our walls in fire, 
 Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire ! 
 His fate compassion in the victor bred ; 
 Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead. 
 His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil, 
 And laid him decent on the funeral pile : 
 
 Then raised a mountain where his bones were burned: 
 The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorned : 
 Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow 
 A barren shade, and in his honor grow. 
 
 3. By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell ; 
 In one sad day beheld the gates of hell ; 
 
 While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed, 
 Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled ! 
 My mother lived to bear the victor's bands, 
 The queen of Hippoplacia's silver lands ; 
 Redeemed too late, she scarce beheld again 
 Her pleasing empire and her native plain, 
 When, ah ! oppressed by life-consuming woe 
 She fell a victim to Diana's bow. 
 
 4. Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see 
 My father, mother, breth'ren, all in thee ; 
 Alas ! my parents, brothers, kindred, all 
 Once more will perish, if my Hector fall.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 307 
 
 Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share ; 
 O, prove a husband's and a father's care ! 
 That quarter most the skillful Greeks annoy, 
 Where yon wild fig-trees join the walls of Troy ; 
 Thou from this tower defend the important post ; 
 There Agamemnon points his dreadful host ; 
 That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, 
 And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 
 Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given, 
 Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heaven. 
 Let others in the field their arms employ, 
 But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy. 
 
 5. The chief replied : That post shall be my care, 
 Not that alone, but all the works of war. 
 
 How would the sons of Troy, in arms renowned, 
 
 And Troy's proud dames whose garments sweep the 
 
 Attaint the luster of my former name, [ground, 
 
 Should Hector basely quit the field of fame 1 
 
 My early youth was bred to martial pains, 
 
 My soul impels me to the embattled plains ; 
 
 Let me be foremost to defend the throne, 
 
 And guard my father's glories and my own. 
 
 6. Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates ; 
 (How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!) 
 The day when thou, imperial Troy ! must bend, 
 And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 
 
 And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, 
 My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, 
 Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore, 
 Not all my brothers gasping on the shore, 
 As thine, Andromache ! thy griefs I dread. 
 
 7. I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led ! 
 In Argive looms our battles to design, 
 
 And woes, of which so large a part was thine !
 
 308 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring 
 The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring. 
 There, while you groan beneath the load of life, 
 They cry : ' ; Behold the mighty Hector's wife !" 
 Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, 
 Embitters all thy woes by naming me. 
 The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, 
 A thousand griefs shall waken at the name ! 
 May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 
 Pressed with a load of monumental clay ! 
 Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, 
 Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep. 
 
 8. Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy 
 Stretched his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 
 The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, 
 Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest. 
 With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled, 
 And Hector hasted to relieve his child ; 
 
 The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, 
 And placed the beaming helmet on the ground. 
 Then kissed the child, and, lifting high in air, 
 Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer : 
 
 9. O thou ! whose glory fills the ethereal throne, 
 And all ye deathless powers ! protect my son ! 
 Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, 
 To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown, 
 Against his country's foes the war to wage, 
 And rise the Hector of the future age ! 
 
 So when triumphant from successful toils, 
 Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils, 
 Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim, 
 And say : " This chief transcends his father's fame ;" 
 While pleased, amidst the general shouts of Troy 
 His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 309 
 
 10. He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, 
 Restored the pleasing burden to her arms ; 
 Soft on her fragrant breast the babe he laid, 
 Hushed to repose, and with a smile surveyed. 
 The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 
 She mingled with the smile a tender tear. 
 
 The softened chief with kind compassion viewed, 
 And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued : 
 
 11. Andromache ! my soul's far better part ! 
 Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart ? 
 No hostile hand can antedate my doom, 
 
 Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. 
 Fixed is the term to all the race of earth ; 
 And, such the hard condition of our birth, 
 No force can then resist, no flight can save ; 
 All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. 
 No more but hasten to thy tasks at home, 
 There guide the spindle, and direct the loom ; 
 Me glory summons to the martial scene ; 
 The field of combat is the sphere for men ; 
 Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, 
 The first in danger, as the first in fame. 
 
 EXERCISE CVII. 
 THE DESERT AND THE GARDEN. 
 
 REV. HOLLIS REED. 
 
 1. Imagine yourself in the interior of India, on one of 
 those boundless plains which characterize the country called 
 the Deccan. Here the eye stretches in vain for a limit, un- 
 less some rising hillock breaks the prospect. Neither'fence, 
 nor hedge, nor forest, interrupt the monotony of the scene. 
 Not a tree relieves the eye, except it be near a well, or reser- 
 voir of water.
 
 310 SAN DEES' NEW SERIES. 
 
 2. It was in the early part of June. Eight months had 
 already elapsed since the fall of a single shower of rain. Not 
 a shrub, not a blade of grass, not a relic of former vegetation 
 was to be seen, except where the soil had been artificially 
 irrigated. Here and there a shade-tree, or a fruit-tree, whose 
 roots penetrate far beneath the surface, can survive the dearth 
 of the hot season. Dreariness and desolation cover the land 
 on every side. 
 
 3. At an early hour, we left our resting-place, a kind of 
 caravansary. The atmosphere was slightly refreshing, though 
 not cool. But no sooner had the sun appeared above the ho- 
 rizon, than we began to wither beneath the intensity of his 
 rays. It was scarcely nine, when the hot wind, a kind of 
 sirocco, commenced, which, added to the scorching of the 
 heated earth, rendered traveling almost intolerable. We 
 sought a place for shelter. 
 
 4. Casting our eyes to the left, we explored an immense 
 waste plain, which apparently extended to the shore of an in- 
 terminable ocean. Knowing well that we were in the interior 
 of a great country, and far from sea, lake, or river, we recog- 
 nized, for the first time, in this appearance, the mirage, or ex- 
 traordinary optical illusion, formed by the refraction of a 
 vertical sun from the heated earth. So perfect is the decep- 
 tion, that deer, and other animals, have died from exhaustion 
 while pursuing the retiring phantom. 
 
 5. But, from the opposite side, we saw a reality, nearer at 
 hand, and scarcely less wonderful, a verdant spot, fresh and 
 blooming. Fragrance in the midst of desolation. A fertile 
 island in the bosom of an ocean of sand. Spring amid the 
 deadness of autumn. Wearied by travel, and almost suffo- 
 cated by dust and heat, we drew near as to the " shadow of a 
 great rock in a weary land." 
 
 6. How cheering amidst such desolation, how refreshing to 
 the pilgrim beneath the rays of a tropical sun, to behold a 
 green field, a cool, fair garden, whose trees bend with fruit, 
 whose flowers diffuse perfume, whose atmosphere breathes
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 311 
 
 the sublimity of a temperate clime ! Hasting to this enchant- 
 ed spot, we pitched our tent beneath the thick foliage and 
 wide-spreading branches of a tamarind tree. 
 
 7. How changed the scene ! It was a garden of several 
 acres in extent. Every plant and flower, every shrub and 
 tree, was clad in the richest verdure. Here was a compart- 
 ment filled with healthful vegetables. Near it was ripening 
 grain, corn in " the blade, or in the ear ;" then a tuft of trees, 
 loaded with blossoms, or enriched with perfected fruit. The 
 tamarind, the mango, and the orange, the lemon and pome- 
 granate, the citron and banana, were here in their glory. 
 Here, also, were the rose, the lily, the jasmine, and countless 
 other flowers peculiar to the tropics, and the luxuriant vine- 
 yard, maturing its rich clusters. And, among the embower- 
 ing verdure, the warbling songsters found a pleasant retreat 
 from the tyrant rage of an Indian sun. 
 
 8. What a contrast with the surrounding country I What 
 a fulfillment of the sublime promise of the Hebrew prophet : 
 " The Avilderness and the solitary place shall be glad, and the 
 desert rejoice and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom 
 abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing ; the glory of 
 Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and 
 Sharon." 
 
 9. But what caused this sudden springing forth of beauty ? 
 A. fountain was there, deep and broad, sending forth copious 
 streams to fructify the surrounding region. Fertility in the 
 East depends much on an artificial supply of water. If this 
 can be freely commanded, vegetation is rapid and abundant. 
 The intense heat, and plentiful moisture, make even barren- 
 ness prolific. Seed-time and harvest meet. A succession 
 of crops, thrice, or even four times, in a year, are realized. 
 Spring, summer, and autumn blend in one continued harvest- 
 hymn of praise. 
 
 10. The garden, or field, is usually divided into compart- 
 ments of fifteen or twenty square feet. In the center is a 
 fountain or well, and near it a small reservoir. From thence,
 
 312 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 the main watercourse extends to some convenient direction, 
 and smaller channels are led from it, in branches, to every 
 separate compartment. The water is raised by oxen, at- 
 tached to a long rope, which passes over a windlass, and is 
 made fast to an enormous leathern bucket. When a great 
 quantity is thus thrown into the reservoir, it spontaneously 
 flows into the principal channel, from whence the gardener 
 conducts it at his pleasure. " The rivers of waters are in 
 his hand ; he turneth them whithersoever he will." 
 
 11. When the stream begins to flow from the reservoir, he 
 stations himself at the channel which conveys it to the first 
 compartment, and, removing with his foot a slight mound of 
 earth, directs thither as much water as is requisite for its irri- 
 gation. Closing that avenue, he proceeds to the second, 
 thence to the third, and thus onward till all have been visit- 
 ed. This is repeated every morning and evening, and it mat- 
 ters little how large the field is, if the fountain contains a suf- 
 ficient supply. 
 
 12. But, if the space to be irrigated is out of proportion, 
 or the fountain diminished by drouth, vegetation withers, 
 or becomes extinct. The further you recede from the cen- 
 ter, the more blighted does every thing appear. The water 
 is too low, the impetus too feeble, to reach the remoter 
 bounds. This constant and laborious process of cultivation 
 explains the inspired description of a tropical region ; where 
 " thou sowedst thy seed, and wateredst it with thy foot, as a 
 garden of herbs." 
 
 13. We know that Lebanon was renowned for its sublime 
 scenery ; that its lofty cedars, its plantations of olive, its vine- 
 yards, producing the choicest wines, its crystal streams, its 
 fertile vales, and odoriferous shrubberies, combined to form 
 what, in the poetic style of prophecy, is called " its glory." 
 Mount Carmel is proverbial, in the sacred volume, for its un- 
 fading verdure and surpassing fertility. Sharon, an extensive 
 plain, to the south of Carmel, celebrated for its vines, flow- 
 ers, and green pastures, and adorned in early spring with the
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 
 
 white and red rose, the narcissus, the white and the orange 
 lily, the carnation, and a countless variety of other flowers, 
 with its groves of olive and sycamore, is but another name 
 " for excellency" and beauty. 
 
 14. But what did the prophet intend to illustrate by these 
 forcible and significant emblems "? Doubtless a vision burst 
 upon his mind, no less magnificent than the boundless dis- 
 persion of the waters of life, the reclaiming of a desert world, 
 the clothing it with the golden fruits of immortality. Be- 
 hold, in the heart of the wilderness, a fountain breaks forth. 
 Sterility blossoms, desolation lifts np its head, with "joy and 
 singing." 
 
 15. Is not our earth as a great moral desert, whence the 
 "glory and excellency" of Eden have departed? The fruits 
 of righteousness shrank from its forbidden soil. Sin, by its 
 fearful monoply, sought to cover its whole face with tares. 
 How shall this barren waste be redeemed from its desola- 
 tion ? The wise landholder of the East, when he would re- 
 claim a barren jungle to fertility, provides a fountain of wa- 
 ter, lets out his ground to husbandmen, and makes them ac- 
 countable for its improvement. Thus hath the Almighty 
 provided, in our moral desert, a FOUNTAIN of the waters of 
 life, fathomless, boundless, inexhaustible. " O, the depth of 
 the riches, both of the wisdom and knowledge of God." 
 
 EXERCISE CVIII. 
 JEFFREY'S CHARGE AGAINST LORD BYRON. 
 
 JKFFEET. 
 
 1. The charge we bring against Lord Byron, in short, is, 
 that his writings have a tendency to destroy all belief in the 
 reality of virtue and to make all enthusiasm and constancy 
 of affection ridiculous ; and this, not so much by direct max- 
 ima and examples, of an imposing or seducing kind) a<* by 
 
 14
 
 314 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 the constant exhibition of the most profligate heartlessness in 
 the persons who had been transiently represented as actuated 
 by the purest and most exalted emotions and in the lessons 
 of that very teacher who had been, but a moment before, so 
 beautifully pathetic in the expression of the loftiest conceptions. 
 
 2. When a gay voluptuary descants, somewhat too freely, 
 on the intoxications of love and wine, we ascribe his excesses 
 to the effervescence of youthful spirits, and do not consider 
 him as seriously impeaching either the value or the reality of 
 the severer virtues ; and, in the same way, when the satirist 
 deals out his sarcasms against the sincerity of human pro- 
 fessions, and unmasks the secret infirmities of our bosoms, we 
 consider this as aimed at hypocrisy, and not at mankind : or, 
 at all events, and in either case, we consider the sensualist and 
 the misanthrope as wandering, each in his own delusion and 
 are contented to pity those who have never known the charms 
 of a tender or generous affection. 
 
 3. The true antidote to such seductive or revolting views 
 of human nature, is to turn to the scenes of its nobleness and 
 attraction ; and to reconcile ourselves again to our kind, by 
 listening to the accents of pure affection and incorruptible 
 honor. But, if those accents have flowed in all their sweet- 
 ness from the very lips that instantly open again to mock and 
 blaspheme them, the antidote is mingled with the poison, and 
 the draught is the more deadly for the mixture ! 
 
 4. The reveler may pursue his orgies, and the wanton dis- 
 play her enchantments, with comparative safety to those 
 around them, as long as they know or believe, that there are 
 purer and higher enjoyments, and teachers and followers of a 
 happier way. But, if the priest pass from the altar, with per- 
 suasive exhortations to peace and purity still trembling on his 
 tongue, to join familiarly in the grossest and most profane de- 
 bauchery if the matron, who has charmed all hearts by the 
 lovely sanctimonies of her conjugal and maternal endearments, 
 glides out from the circle of her children, and gives bold and 
 shameless way to the most abandoned and degrading vices
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 315 
 
 our notions of right and wrong are at once confounded our 
 confidence in virtue shaken to the foundation and our reli- 
 ance on truth and fidelity at an end forever. 
 
 5. This is the charge which we bring against Lord Byron. 
 We say that under some strange misapprehension as to the 
 truth, and the duty of proclaiming it, he has exerted all the 
 powers of his powerful mind to convince his readers, both di- 
 rectly and indirectly, that all ennobling pursuits, and disinter- 
 ested virtues, are mere deceits or illusions hollow and des- 
 picable mockeries, for the most part, and, at best, but laborious 
 follies. Religion, love, patriotism, valor, devotion, constancy, 
 ambition all are to be laughed at, disbelieved in, and de- 
 spised ! and nothing is really good, so far as we can gather, 
 but a succession of dangers to stir the blood, and of banquets 
 and intrigues to soothe it again ! 
 
 6. If this doctrine stood alone with its examples, it would 
 revolt, we believe, more than it would seduce. But the author 
 has the unlucky gift of personating all those sweet and lofty 
 illusions, and that with such grace and force, and truth to na- 
 ture, that it is impossible not to suppose, for the time, that he 
 is among the most devoted of their votaries till he casts off 
 the character with a jerk and, the moment after he has 
 moved and exalted us to the very hight of our conception, 
 resumes his mockery at all things serious or sublime, and 
 lets us down at once on some coarse joke, hard-hearted sar- 
 casm, or fierce and relentless personality, as if on purpose to 
 show 
 
 " Whoe'er was edified, himself was not," 
 
 or to demonstrate practically as it were, and, by example, 
 how possible it is to have all fine and noble feelings, or their 
 appearance, for a moment, and yet retain no particle of re- 
 spect for them, or of belief in their intrinsic worth or perma- 
 nent reality.
 
 316 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CIX. 
 LORD BYRON 
 
 ROBERT POLLOK. 
 
 1. Take one example, to our purpose quite, 
 A man of rank, and of capacious soul, 
 Who riches had, and fame, beyond desire ; 
 An heir of flattery, to titles born, 
 
 And reputation, and luxurious life : 
 Yet, not content with ancestorial name, 
 Or to be known, because his fathers were, 
 He on this hight hereditary stood, 
 And, gazing higher, purposed in his heart 
 To take another step. 
 
 2. Above him seemed, 
 Alone, the mount of song, the lofty seat 
 Of canonized bards, and thitherward, 
 By Nature taught, and inward melody, 
 In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye. 
 
 No cost was spared. What books he wished, he read ; 
 W'hat sage to hear, he heard ; what scenes to see, 
 He saw. And first in rambling school-boy days, 
 Britannia's mountain-walks, and heath-girt lakes, 
 And story-telling glens, and founts, and brooks, 
 And maids, as dew-drops, pure and fair, his soul 
 With grandeur filled, and melody, and love. 
 
 3. Then travel came, and took him where he wished. 
 Pie cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp ; 
 And mused alone on ancient mountain-brows ; 
 And mused on battle-fields, where valor fought 
 
 In other days ; and mused on ruins gray 
 
 With years ; and drank from old and fabulous wells, 
 
 And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 317 
 
 And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave 
 Of ocean mused, and on the desert waste ; 
 The heavens and earth of every country saw. 
 Where'er the old inspiring Genii dwelt, 
 Aught that could rouse, expand, refine the soul, 
 Thither he went, and meditated there. 
 
 4. He touched his harp, and nations heard entranced. 
 As some vast river of unfailing source, 
 
 Rapid, exhaustless,^eep, his numbers flowed, 
 
 And opened new fountains in the human heart. 
 
 Where fancy halted, weary in her flight, 
 
 In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose, 
 
 And soared untrodden hights, and seemed at home, 
 
 Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great, 
 
 Beneath their argument seemed struggling ; whiles 
 
 He from above descending, stooped to touch 
 
 The loftiest thought ; and proudly stooped, as though 
 
 It scarce deserved his verse. 
 
 5. With Nature's self 
 He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest 
 At will with all her glorious majesty. 
 
 He laid his hand upon " the Ocean's mane," 
 And played familiar with his hoary locks. 
 Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines, 
 And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend ; 
 And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 
 In sportive twist, the lightning's fiery wing, 
 Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 
 Marching upon the storm in vengeance seemed : 
 Then turned, and with the grasshopper, that sung 
 His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. 
 
 6. Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were ; 
 Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms,
 
 318 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce 
 As equals deemed. All passions of all men, 
 The wild and tame, the gentle and severe ; 
 All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane ; 
 All creeds ; all seasons, Time, Eternity ;' 
 All that was hated, and all that was dear ; 
 All that was hoped, and all that was feared by man, 
 He tossed about, as tempest, withered leaves, 
 Then smiling looked upon the wreck he made. 
 
 % 
 
 7. With terror now he froze the cowering blood ; 
 And now dissolved the heart in tenderness : 
 
 Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself; 
 
 But back into his soul retired, alone, 
 
 Dark, sullen, proud : gazing contemptuously 
 
 On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet. 
 
 So Ocean from the plains his waves had late 
 
 To desolation swept, retired in pride, 
 
 Exulting in the glory of his might, 
 
 And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought. 
 
 8. As some fierce comet of tremendous size, 
 
 To which the stars did reverence, as it passed ; 
 
 So he through learning, and through fancy took 
 
 His flight sublime ; and on the loftiest top 
 
 Of Fame's dread mountain sat : not soiled, and worn, 
 
 As if he from the earth had labored up ; 
 
 But, as some bird of heavenly plumage fair, 
 
 He looked, which down from higher regions came, 
 
 And perched it there, to see what lay beneath. 
 
 9. The nations gazed, and wondered much, and praised ; 
 Critics before him fell in humble plight ; 
 Confounded fell ; and made debasing signs 
 
 To catch his eye ; and stretched, and swelled themselves,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADEK. 319 
 
 To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words 
 Of admiration vast : and many, too, 
 Many that aimed to imitate his flight, 
 With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made, 
 And gave abundant sport to after days. 
 
 10. Great man ! the nations gazed, and wondered much, 
 And praised ; and many called his evil good. 
 Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness; 
 
 And kings to do him honor took delight. 
 
 Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame ; 
 
 Beyond desire, beyond ambition full, 
 
 He died he died of what ? Of wretchedness. 
 
 Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump 
 
 Of fame ; drank early, deeply drank ; drank draughts 
 
 That common millions might have quenched, then died 
 
 Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. 
 
 His goddess, Nature, wooed, embraced, enjoyed, 
 
 Fell from his arms, abhorred ; his passions died, 
 
 Died, all but dreary, solitary pride ; 
 
 And all his sympathies in being died. 
 
 11. As some ill-guided bark, well built, and tall, 
 Which angry tides cast out on desert shore, 
 And then, retiring, left it there to rot 
 
 And molder in the winds and rains of heaven ; 
 
 So he, cut from the sympathies of life, 
 
 And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge, 
 
 A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing, 
 
 Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul, 
 
 A gloomy wilderness of dying thought, 
 
 Repined, and groaned, and withered from the earth. 
 
 His groanings filled the land, his numbers filled ; 
 
 And yet he seem'd ashamed to groan : Poor man ! 
 
 Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help.
 
 320 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 12. Proof this, beyond all lingering of doubt, 
 That not with natural or mental wealth 
 Was God delighted, or His peace secured ; 
 That not in natural or mental wealth 
 Was human happiness or grandeur found. 
 Attempt how monstrous, and how surely vain ! 
 With things of earthly sort, with aught but God, 
 With aught but moral excellence, truth, and love, 
 To satisfy and fill the immortal soul ! 
 Attempt, vain inconceivably ! attempt 
 To satisfy the Ocean with a drop, 
 To marry Immortality to Death, 
 And with the unsubstantial Shade of Time 
 To fill the embrace of all Eternity ! 
 
 EXERCISE CX. 
 
 THE RAVEN, 
 
 EDGAK A. FOB. 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 
 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door 
 " 'T is some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my chamber-door 
 Only this, and nothing more." 
 
 n. 
 
 Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, 
 And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
 Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow 
 From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore, 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, 
 Nameless here for evermore. 
 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, 
 Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 321 
 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 
 "T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door, 
 Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door ; 
 That it is, and nothing more." 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer, 
 " Sir," said I, "or Madam," truly your forgiveness 1 implore ; 
 But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
 And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, 
 That I scarce was sure I heard you," here I opened wide the door ; 
 Darkness there, and nothing more. 
 
 v. 
 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, 
 
 fearing, 
 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
 And the only word there spoken, was the whispered word, " Lenorel" 
 This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, " Lenore I" 
 Merely this, and nothing more. 
 
 Back into the chamber turning, nil my soul within me burning, 
 Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. 
 "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window-lattice; 
 Let me see then vhat thereat is, and this mystery explore, 
 Let my heart be still a moment, r.:iJ this my.^oi-y explore; 
 "Tis the wind, and nothing more." 
 
 Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
 In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
 Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or staid he ; 
 But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber-door,- 
 Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door 
 Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 
 
 Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
 
 14*
 
 322 SANDEES' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no 
 
 craven, 
 
 Ghastly, grim and ancient Raven, "wandering from the nightly shore, 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore ?" 
 Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 ex. 
 
 Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
 Though its answer little meaning little relevancy bore ; 
 For we can not help agreeing, that no living human being 
 Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber-door 
 Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door, 
 With such name as " Nevermore." 
 
 Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
 " Doubtless," said I, " what it utters, is its only stock and store, 
 Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster 
 Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore, 
 Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, 
 Of '* Never nevermore 1" 
 
 But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 
 Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door, 
 Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore, 
 Meant in croaking " Nevermore !" 
 
 This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
 To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ; 
 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
 But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'er, 
 She shall press, ah! nevermore 1 
 
 xm. 
 Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 
 
 censer, 
 Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 323 
 
 " Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee by these angels he hath 
 
 sent thee, 
 
 Respite respite and nepenthe* from thy memories of Lenore 1 
 Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore 1 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore I"' 
 
 " Prophet !" said I, " thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
 Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
 Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted 
 On this home by Horror haunted tell me truly I implore 
 Is there is there balm in Gilead ? tell me tell me, I implore 1" 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore I" 
 
 "Prophet !" said I, thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
 By that heaven that bends above us by that God \ve both adore, - 
 Tell this soul -with sorrow laden, if within the distant Aidenn, 
 It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ; 
 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore 1" 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore I" 
 
 "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, up- 
 starting 
 
 " Get thee back into the tempest, and the night's Plutonian shore ! 
 Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door ! 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door 1" 
 Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door ; 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 
 And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the, floor; 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
 Shall be lifted nevermore ! 
 
 * NK PEN' THE, a drug or medicine having power to relieve pain and 
 exhilarate the spirits.
 
 824 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CXI. 
 
 THE VISION OF CARAZAN. 
 
 HAWKE SWORTH. 
 
 1. Carazan, the merchant of Bagdat, was eminent through- 
 out all the East for his avarice and his wealth ; his origin is 
 obscure, as that of the spark which, by the collision of steel 
 and adamant, is struck out of darkness ; and the patient la- 
 bor of persevering diligence alone had made him rich. It 
 was remembered, that, when he was indigent, he was thought 
 to be generous ; and he was still acknowledged to be inflexi- 
 bly just. 
 
 2. But whether, in his dealings with men, he discovered a 
 perfidy which tempted him to put his trust in gold, or wheth- 
 er, in proportion as he accumulated wealth, he discovered his 
 own importance to increase, Carazan prized it more as he used 
 it less ; he gradually lost the inclination to do good, as he 
 acquired the power ; and, as the hand of Time scattered 
 snow upon his head, the freezing influence extended to his 
 bosom. 
 
 3. But, though the door of Carazan was never opened by 
 hospitality, nor his hand by compassion, yet fear led him con- 
 stantly to the mosque at the stated hours of prayer ; he per- 
 formed all the rites of devotion with the most scrupulous 
 punctuality, and had thrice paid his vows at the temple of the 
 Prophet. That devotion which arises from the love of God, 
 and necessarily includes the love of man, as it connects grati- 
 tude with beneficence, and exalts that which was moral to di- 
 vine, confers new dignity upon goodness, and is the object, 
 not only of affection, but reverence. On the contrary, the 
 devotion of the selfish, whether it be thought to avert the 
 punishment which every one wishes to be inflicted, or to in- 
 sure it by the complication of hypocrisy with guilt, never 
 fails to excite indignation and abhorrence. 
 
 4. Casazan, therefore, when he had locked his door, and, 
 turning round with a look of circumspective suspicion, pro-
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 325 
 
 ceeded to the mosque, was followed by every eye with silent 
 malignity ; the poor suspended their supplication when he 
 passed by ; though he was known by every man, yet no man 
 saluted him. Such had long been the life of Carazan, and 
 such was the character which he had acquired, when notice was 
 given by proclamation, that he was removed to a magnificent 
 building in the center of the city, that his table should be 
 spread for the public, and that the stranger should be welcome 
 to his bed. 
 
 5. The multitude soon rushed like a torrent to his door, 
 where they beheld him distributing bread to the hungry, and 
 apparel to the naked, his eye softened with compassion, and 
 his cheek glowing with delight. Every one gazed with aston- 
 ishment at the prodigy ; and, the murmur of innumerable 
 voices increasing like the sound of approaching thunder, Cara- 
 zan beckoned with his hand : attention suspended the tumult 
 in a moment ; and he thus gratified the curiosity which pro- 
 cured him audience : 
 
 6. " To Him who touches the mountains and they smoke, 
 the Almighty and the Most Merciful, be everlasting honor ! 
 He has ordained sleep to be the minister of instruction, and 
 His visions have reproved me in the night. As I was sitting 
 alone in my harem, with my lamp burning before me, com- 
 puting the product of my merchandise, and exulting in the 
 increase of my wealth, I fell into a deep sleep, and the hand 
 of Him who dwells in the third heaven, was upon me. 
 
 7. " I beheld the angel of death coming forward like a 
 whirlwind, and he smote me before I could deprecate the 
 blow. At the same moment, I felt myself lifted from the 
 ground and transported, with astonishing rapidity, through 
 the regions of the air. The earth was contracted to an atom 
 beneath ; and the stars glowed round me with a luster that 
 obscured the sun. The gate of paradise was now in sight ; 
 and I was intercepted by a sudden brightness which no human 
 eye could behold. 
 
 8. " The irrevocable sentence was now to be pronounced ;
 
 326 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 my day of probation was past ; and, from the evil of my life 
 nothing could be taken away, nor could any thing be added 
 to the good. When I reflected that my lot for eternity was 
 cast, which not all the powers of nature could reverse, my 
 confidence totally forsook me; and, while I stood trembling 
 and silent, covered with confusion and chilled with horror, I 
 was thus addressed by the radiance that flamed before me : 
 
 9. " ' Carazan, thy worship has not been accepted, because 
 it was not prompted by love of God ; neither can thy right- 
 eousness be rewarded, because it was not produced by love 
 of man ; for thy own sake only, hast thou rendered to every 
 man his due ; and thou hast approached the Almighty only 
 for thyself. Thou hast not looked up with gratitude, nor 
 around thee with kindness. Around thee thou hast, indeed, 
 beheld vice and folly ; but, if vice and folly could justify 
 thy parsimony, would they not condemn the bounty of 
 Heaven ? 
 
 10. "'If not upon the foolish and the vicious, where shall 
 the sun diffuse his light, or the clouds distill their dew ? 
 Where shall the lips of the Spring breathe fragrance, or the 
 hand of Autumn diffuse plenty ? Remember, Carazan, that 
 thou hast shut compassion from thy heart, and grasped thy 
 treasures with a hand of iron : thou hast lived for thyself; 
 and, therefore, henceforth forever thou shalt subsist alone. 
 From the light of heaven, and from the society of all beings, 
 shalt thou be driven; solitude shall protract the lingering hours 
 of eternity, and darkness aggravate the horrors of despair.' 
 
 11. " At this moment I was driven by some secret and ir- 
 resistible power, through the glowing system of creation, and 
 passed innumerable worlds in a moment. As I approached 
 the verge of nature, I perceived the shadows of total and 
 boundless vacuity deepen before me, a dreadful region of 
 eternal silence, solitude, and darkness ! Unutterable horror 
 seized me at the prospect, and this exclamation burst from 
 me with all the vehemence of desire : ' O ! that I had been 
 doomed forever to the common receptacle of impenitence and
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 327 
 
 guilt ! There society would have alleviated the torment of 
 despair, and the rage of fire could not have excluded the com- 
 fort of light. Or, if I had been condemned to reside in a 
 comet, that would return but once in a thousand years to the 
 regions of light and life, the hope of these periods, however 
 distant, would cheer me in the dread interval of cold and 
 darkness, and the vicissitudes would divide eternity into 
 time.' 
 
 12. " While this thought passed over my mind, I lost sight 
 of the remotest star, and the last glimmering of light was 
 quenched in utter darkness. The agonies of despair every 
 moment increased, as every moment augmented my distance 
 from the last habitable world. I reflected with intolerable 
 anguish, that, when ten thousand thousand years had carried 
 me beyond the reach of all but that Power who fills infini- 
 tude, I should still look forward into an immense abyss of 
 darkness, through which I should still drive without succor 
 and without society, farther and farther still, forever and 
 forever. 
 
 13. "I then stretched out my hands toward the regions of 
 existence, with an emotion that awakened me. Thus have I 
 been taught to estimate society, like every other blessing, by 
 its loss. My heart is warmed to liberality ; and I am zealous 
 to communicate the happiness which I feel to those, from 
 whom it is derived ; for the society of one wretch, whom, in 
 the pride of prosperity, I would have spurned from my door, 
 would, in the dreadful solitude to which I was condemned, 
 have been more highly prized than the gold of Africa, or the 
 gems of Golconda." 
 
 14. At this reflection upon his dream, Carazan became 
 suddenly silent, and looked upward in ecstasy of gratitude 
 and devotion. The multitude were struck at once with the 
 precept and example ; and the caliph, to whom the event was 
 related, that he might be liberal beyond the power of gold, 
 commanded it to be recorded for the benefit of posterity.
 
 328 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CXII. 
 GEHAZFS PUNISHMENT. 
 
 BIBLE, (2 KINGS, CHAP. V.) 
 
 1. Now Naaman, captain of the host of the king of Syria, 
 was a great man with his master, and honorable, because by 
 him the Lord had given deliverance unto Syria : he was, also, 
 a mighty man in valor, but he was a leper. 
 
 2. And the Syrians had gone out by companies, and had 
 brought away captive out of the land of Israel a little maid ; 
 and she waited on Naaman's wife. And she said unto her 
 mistress : Would God my lord were with the prophet that is 
 in Samaria ! for he would recover him of his leprosy. And 
 one went in, and told his lord, saying : Thus and thus said the 
 maid that is of the land of Israel. 
 
 3. And the king of Syria said : Go to, go, and I will send a 
 letter unto the king of Israel. And he departed, and took 
 with him ten talents of silver, and six thousand pieces of gold, 
 and ten changes of raiment. And he brought the letter to 
 the king of Israel, saying : Now when this letter is come unto 
 thee, behold I have therewith sent Naaman, my servant to 
 thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy. 
 
 4. And it came to pass, when the king of Israel had read 
 the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said : Am I God, to kill, 
 and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover 
 a man of his leprosy ? Wherefore consider, I pray you, and 
 see how he seeketh a quarrel against me. 
 
 5. And it was so, when Elisha the man of God had heard, 
 that the king of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to the 
 king", saying : Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes 1 let him come 
 now to me, and he shall know that there is a prophet in Israel. 
 
 6. So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, 
 and stood at the door of the house of Elisha. And Elisha 
 sent a messenger unto him, saying : Go and wash in Jordan 
 seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou 
 shalt be clean.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 329 
 
 7. But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said : Be- 
 hold, I thought, he will surely come out to me, and stand, 
 and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his 
 hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are not Abana 
 and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters 
 of Israel ? may I not wash in them, and be clean 7 So he 
 turned and went away in a rage. 
 
 8. And his servants came near and spake unto him, and 
 said : My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great 
 thing, wouldst thou not have done it ? how much rather then, 
 when he saith to thee, Wash and be clean ? Then went he 
 down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, according to 
 the saj'ing of the man of God ; and his flesh came again like 
 unto the flesh of a little child, and he was clean. 
 
 9. And he returned to the man of God, he and all his 
 company, and came and stood before him ; and he said : Be- 
 hold, now I know that there is no God in all the earth, but in 
 Israel ; now, therefore, I pray thee take a blessing of thy ser- 
 vant. But he said : As the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, 
 I will receive none. And he urged him to take it ; but he 
 refused. 
 
 10. And Naaman said : Shall there not then, I pray thee, be 
 given to thy servant two mules' burden of earth ? for thy ser- 
 vant will henceforth offer neither burnt offering nor sacrifice 
 unto other gods, but unto the Lord. In this thing the Lord 
 pardon thy servant, that, when my master goeth into the house 
 of Rirnmon to worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, and 
 I bow myself in the house of Rimmon ; when I bow down 
 
 lyself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant 
 i this thing. And he said unto him : Go in peace. So he 
 3partcd from him a little way. 
 
 11. But Gehazi, the servant of Elisha, the man of God, 
 id : Behold, my master hath spared Naaman, this Syrian, in 
 >t receiving at his hands that which he brought : but as the 
 )rd liveth, I will run after him, and take somewhat of him. 
 
 Gehazi followed after Naaman.
 
 330 SANDEKS' NEW SEKIES. 
 
 12. And, when Naaman saw him running after him, he 
 lighted down from his chariot to meet him, and said : Is all 
 well? And he said : All is well. My master hath sent me, 
 saying : Behold, even now, there be come to me from Mount 
 Ephraim, two young men of the sons of the prophets ; give 
 them, I pray thee, a talent of silver, and two changes of 
 garments. 
 
 13. And Naaman said : Be content, take two talents. And 
 he urged him, and bound two talents of silver in two 
 bags, with two changes of garments, and laid them upon 
 two of his servants ; and they bare them before him. And, 
 when he came to the tower, he took them from their hand, and 
 bestowed them in the house : and he let the men go, and they 
 departed. But he went in, and stood before his master. 
 
 14. And Elisha said unto him : Whence comest thou, Ge- 
 hazi ? And he said : Thy servant went no whither. And he 
 said unto him : Went not my heart with thee, when the man 
 turned again from his chariot to meet thee ? Is it a time to 
 receive money, and to receive garments, and olive-yards and 
 vineyards, and sheep and oxen, and men-servants and maid- 
 servants? The leprosy, therefore, of Naaman shall cleave 
 unto thee, and unto thy seed forever. And he went out from 
 his presence a leper, as white as snow. 
 
 EXERCISE CXIII. 
 THANATOPSIS.* 
 
 "WILLIAM 0. BRYANT. 
 
 1. To him who in the love of Nature holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
 
 * THAN AT OP' sis (from THANAT, death, and OPSIS, a view), or a view 
 of death.
 
 I 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 331 
 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And healing sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. 
 
 2. When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come, like a blight, 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; 
 
 Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all around 
 
 Earth and her waters, and the depths of air 
 
 Comes a still voice Yet a few days, and thee 
 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 
 In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
 
 Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 
 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 
 Thy image. 
 
 3. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
 Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 
 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 
 To mix forever with the elements, 
 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
 
 And to the* sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
 
 Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. 
 
 4. Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world with kings, 
 The powerful of the earth the wise, the good, 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers, of ages past,
 
 332 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills, 
 
 Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, the vales 
 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 
 The venerable woods rivers that move 
 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 
 That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
 
 Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, 
 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 
 Of the great tomb of man. 
 
 5. The golden sun, 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
 Save his own dashings yet the dead are there ; 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 In their last sleep the dead there reign alone. 
 
 6. So shalt thou rest, and what, if thou withdraw 
 Unheeded by the living and no friend 
 
 Take note of thy departure ? All that fcreathe 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
 His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
 In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 333 
 
 And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, 
 Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, 
 By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. 
 
 7. So live, that, when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, that moves 
 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go not, like the quarry-slave, at night, 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 EXERCISE CXIV. 
 HYMN OF THE SEASONS. 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 1. These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
 Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
 
 Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
 Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 
 Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm : 
 Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
 And every sense and every heart is joy. 
 
 2. Then comes thy glory in the Summer months, 
 With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun -^ 
 Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; 
 And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks, 
 And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
 
 By brooks and groves in hollow-whispering gales. 
 
 3. Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
 And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
 In Winter awful thou ! with clouds and storms 
 Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tcmpcbt rolled,
 
 334 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 Majestic darkness ! On the whirlwind's wing 
 Riding sublime, thou bid'st the world adore, 
 And humblest Nature with thy northern blast. 
 
 4. Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, 
 Deep-felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
 
 Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art, 
 Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
 Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 
 And all so forming an harmonious whole, 
 That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
 
 5. But wandering oft, with rude unconscious gaze, 
 Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand 
 That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 
 Works in the secret deep ; shoots steaming thence 
 The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring ; 
 Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
 Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth, 
 And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
 With transport touches all the springs of life. 
 
 6. Nature attend ! join, every living soul 
 Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
 In adoration join ; and ardent, raise 
 
 One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 
 Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes : 
 O, talk of Him in solitary glooms ! 
 Where o'er the rock the scarcely waving pine 
 Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
 And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 
 Who shake th' astonished world, lift high to heaven 
 Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
 
 7. His praise, ye brooks attune, ye trembling rills ; 
 And let me catch it as I muse along.
 
 - 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 335 
 
 Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; 
 
 Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
 
 Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
 
 A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
 
 Sound His stupendous praise, whose greater voice 
 
 Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring fall. 
 
 Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
 
 In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, 
 
 Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
 
 8. Ye forests, bend ; ye harvests, wave to Him ; 
 Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 
 As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 
 Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 
 Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, 
 Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 
 Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 
 Great Source of day ! best image here below 
 Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, 
 
 From world to world, the vital ocean round, 
 On Nature write with every beam His praise. 
 
 9. The thunder rolls ; (p.] be hushed the prostrate world ; 
 While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
 
 Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks 
 
 Retain the sound ; the broad responsive low, 
 
 Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns, 
 
 And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 
 
 Ye woodlands, all awake ; a boundless song 
 
 Burst from the groves ; and, when the restless day, 
 
 Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
 
 Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 
 
 The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. 
 
 10. Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles ; 
 At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
 
 336 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities vast, 
 
 Assembled men to the deep organ join 
 
 The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 
 
 At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ; 
 
 And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
 
 In one united ardor rise to heaven. 
 
 Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, 
 
 And find a fane in every sacred grove, 
 
 There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, 
 
 The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, x 
 
 Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. 
 
 11. For me, when I forget the darling theme, 
 Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray 
 Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, 
 Or Winter rises in the blackening east 
 
 Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, 
 And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat. 
 
 12. Should fate command me to the farthest verge 
 Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, 
 Rivers unknown to song, -where first the sun 
 Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
 Flames on the Atlantic isles, 't is naught to me ; 
 Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
 
 In the void waste as in the city full ; 
 
 And where He vital breathes, there must be joy. 
 
 13. When e'en at last the solemn hour shall come, 
 And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 
 
 I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, 
 Will rising wonders sing. I can not go 
 Where Universal Love not smiles around, 
 Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 
 From seeming evil still educing good, 
 And better thence again and belter still,
 
 YOUNG- LADIES' READER. 337 
 
 In infinite progression. But I lose 
 Myself in Him, in Light ineffable ! 
 Come, then, expressive silence, muse his praise. 
 
 EXERCISE CXV. 
 
 A REMARKABLE INCIDENT. 
 
 DB QUINCET. 
 
 1. During a residence upon Ulleswater (winter of 1800,) 
 it was, that a very remarkable incident befell Miss Smith. I 
 have heard it often mentioned, and sometimes with a slight 
 variety of circumstances ; but I here repeat it from an ac- 
 count drawn up by Miss Smith herself, who was most liter- 
 ally exact and faithful to the truth in all reports of her own 
 personal experience. 
 
 2. There is, on the western side of Ulleswater, a fine cata- 
 ract, (or, in the language of the country, a force,) known by 
 the name of Airey Force, and it is of importance enough, 
 especially in rainy seasons, to attract numerous visitors from 
 among " the Lakers." Thither, with some purpose of sketch- 
 ing, not the whole scene, but some picturesque features of it, 
 Miss Smith had gone, quite unaccompanied. 
 
 3. The road to it lies through Gobarrow Park, and it was 
 usual, at that time, to take a guide from the family of the 
 Duke of Norfolk's keeper, who lived in Lyulph's Tower, a 
 solitary hunting lodge, built by his Grace for the purposes of 
 an annual visit which he used to pay his estates in that part of 
 England. She, however, thinking herself sufficiently familiar 
 with the localities, had declined to encumber her motions with 
 such an attendant ; consequently she was alone. 
 
 4. For half an hour, or more, she continued to ascend ; 
 and, being a good " cragswoman," from the experience she had 
 won in Wales, as well as in northern England, she had 
 reached an altitude much beyond what would generally be 
 thought corresponding to the time. The path had vanished 
 
 15
 
 338 SANDEES' NEW SERIES. 
 
 altogether, but she continued to pick out one for herself 
 among the stones, sometimes receding from the force, some- 
 times approaching it, according to the openings allowed by 
 the scattered masses of rock. 
 
 5. Pressing forward in this hurried way, and never looking 
 back, all at once she found herself in a little stony chamber, 
 from which there was no egress possible in advance. She 
 stopped and looked up. There was a frightful silence in the 
 air. She felt a sudden palpitation at her heart, and a panic 
 from she knew not what. Turning, however, hastily, she 
 soon wound herself out of this aerial dungeon ; but by steps 
 so rapid and agitated, that at length, on looking round, she 
 found herself standing at the brink of a chasm, frightful to 
 look down. 
 
 6. That way, it was clear enough, all retreat was impos- 
 sible ; but, on turning round, retreat seemed, in every di- 
 rection alike, even more impossible. Down the chasm, at 
 least, she might have leaped, though with little or no chance 
 of escaping with life ; but, on all other quarters, it seemed to 
 her eye, that, at no price, could she effect an exit, since the 
 rocks stood round her in a semicircus, all lofty, all perpen- 
 dicular, all glazed with trickling water, or smooth as polished 
 porphyry. 
 
 7. Yet how, then, had she reached the point ? The same 
 track, if she could hit that track, would surely secure her es- 
 cape. Bound and round she walked ; gazed with almost de- 
 spairing eyes ; her breath came thicker and thicker ; for path 
 she could not trace by which it was possible for her to have 
 entered. Finding herself grow more and more confused, and 
 every instant nearer to sinking into some fainting fit or con- 
 vulsion, she resolved to sit down, and turn her thoughts quietly 
 into some less exciting channel. 
 
 8. This she did ; gradually recovered some self-possession ; 
 and then suddenly a thought rose up to her, that she was in 
 the hands of God, and that he would not forsake her. But 
 immediately came a second and reproving thought, that this
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 339 
 
 confidence in God's protection might have been justified, had 
 she been ascending the rocks upon any mission of duty ; but 
 what right could she have to any providential deliverance, 
 who had been led thither in a spirit of levity and carelessness ? 
 I am here giving her view of the case ; for, as to myself, I 
 fear greatly, that, if her steps were erring ones, it is but seldom 
 indeed, that the rest of us can pretend to be treading upon 
 right paths. 
 
 9. Once again she rose, and, supporting herself upon a little 
 sketching-stool that folded up into a stick, she looked upward, 
 in the hope that some shepherd might, by chance, be wander- 
 ing in those aerial regions ; but nothing could she see, except 
 the tall birches growing at the brink of the highest summits, 
 and the clouds slowly sailing overhead. Suddenly, however, 
 as she swept the whole circuit of her station with her alarmed 
 eye, she saw clearly, about two hundred yards beyond her 
 own position, a lady, in a white muslin morning robe, such 
 as were then universally worn by young ladies until dinner- 
 time. 
 
 10. The lady beckoned with a gesture and in a manner 
 that, in a moment, gave her confidence to advance, how, she 
 could not guess, but, in some way that baffled all power to re- 
 trace it, she found instantaneously the outlet which previously 
 had escaped her. She continued to advance toward the lady, 
 whom now, in the same moment, she found to be standing 
 upon the other side of the force, and, also, to be her own 
 sister. 
 
 11. How, or why that young lady, whom she had left at 
 home, earnestly occupied with her own studies, should have 
 followed and overtaken her, filled her with perplexity. But 
 this was no situation for putting questions ; for the guiding 
 sister began to descend, and, by a few simple gestures, just 
 serving to indicate when Miss Elizabeth was to approach, and 
 when to leave the brink of the torrent, she gradually led her 
 down to a platform of rock, from which the further descent 
 was safe and conspicuous.
 
 340 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 12. There Miss Smith paused, in order to take breath 
 from her panic, as well as to exchange greetings and questions 
 with her sister. But sister there was none. All trace of her 
 had vanished ; and when, in two hours after, she reached her 
 home, Miss Smith found her sister in the same situation and 
 employment, in which she had left her ; and the whole family 
 assured her, that she had never stirred from the house. 
 
 EXERCISE CXVI. 
 
 
 
 THE TALKING LADY. 
 
 MISS MITFORB. 
 
 1. The manner of her speech has little remarkable. It is 
 rather old-fashioned and provincial, but perfectly lady-like, 
 low and gentle, and not seeming so fast as it is ; like the 
 great pedestrians, she clears her ground easily, and never 
 seems to use any exertion ; yet, " I would my horse had the 
 speed of her tongue, and so good a continuer." She will talk 
 you sixteen hours a day, for twenty days together, and not de- 
 duct one poor five minutes for halts and baiting time. Talk- 
 ing, sheer talking, is meat, and drink, and sleep to her. She 
 likes nothing else. Eating is a sad interruption. 
 
 2. For the tea-table she has some toleration ; but dinner, 
 with its clatter of plates and jingle of knives and forks, din- 
 ner is her abhorrence. Nor are the other common pursuits 
 of life more in her favor. Walking exhausts the breath that 
 might be better employed. Dancing is a noisy diversion, 
 and singing is worse ; she can not endure any music, except 
 the long, grand, dull concerto, which nobody thinks of listen- 
 ing to. Reading and chess she classes together, as silent bar- 
 barisms, unworthy of a social and civilized people. 
 
 3. Cards, too, have their faults ; there is a rivalry, a mute 
 eloquence, in those four aces, that leads away the attention ; 
 besides, partners will sometimes scold ; so she never plays 
 at cards ; and, upon the strength of this abstinence, had very
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 341 
 
 nearly passed for serious, till it was discovered, that she could 
 not abide a long sermon. She 'always looks out for the short- 
 est preacher, and never went to above one Bible-meeting in 
 her life. " Such speeches !" quoth she ; " I thought the men 
 never meant to have done. People have great need of pa- 
 tience." 
 
 4. Plays, of course, she abhors ; and operas, and mobs, and 
 all things that will be heard, especially children ; though, for 
 babies, particularly when asleep, for dogs, and pictures, and 
 such silent intelligences as serve to talk of and talk to, she 
 has a considerable partiality ; and an agreeable and gracious 
 flattery to the mammas, and other owners of these pretty 
 dumb things, is a very usual introduction to her miscellane- 
 ous harangues. The matter of these orations is inconceiv- 
 ably various. Perhaps the local and genealogical anecdotes, 
 the sort of supplement to the history of *****shire, may be 
 her strongest point ; but she shines almost as much in medi- 
 cine and housewifery. Her medical dissertations savor a 
 little of that particular branch of the science called quack- 
 ery. 
 
 5. She has a specific against almost every disease, to which 
 the human frame is liable ; and is terribly prosy and unmer- 
 ciful in her symptoms. Her cures kill. In house-keeping, 
 her notions resemble those of other verbal managers ; full of 
 economy and retrenchment, with a leaning toward reform, 
 though she loves so well to declaim on the abuses in the 
 cook's department, that I am not sure, that she would very 
 heartily thank any radical who should sweep them quite 
 away. For the rest, her system sounds very finely in theory, 
 but rather fails in practice. 
 
 6. Her recipes would be capital, only that, some way or 
 other, they do not eat well ; her preserves seldom keep ; and 
 her sweet wines are sure to turn sour. These are certain- 
 ly her favorite topics ; b'ut any one will do. Allude to 
 some anecdote of the neighborhood, and she forthwith treats 
 you with as many parallel passages as are to be found in an
 
 342 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 air with variations. Take up a new publication, and she is 
 equally at home there ; for, though she knows little of books, 
 she has, in the course of an up-and-down life, met with a good 
 many authors, and teases and provokes you by telling of them 
 precisely what you do not care to hear, the maiden names of 
 their wives, and the Christian names of their daughters, and 
 into what families their sisters and cousins married, and in 
 what towns they have lived, what streets, and what numbers. 
 Boswell himself never drew up the table of Dr. Johnson's 
 Fleet-street courts with greater care, than she made out to 
 me the successive residences of P. P. Esq., author of a tract 
 on the French Revolution, and a pamphlet on the Poor Laws. 
 7. The very weather is not a safe subject. Her memory 
 is a perpetual register of hard frosts, and long drouths, and 
 high winds, and terrible storms, with all the evils that follow- 
 ed in their train, and all the personal events connected with 
 them, so that, if you happen to remark that clouds are come 
 up, and you fear it may rain, she replies : " Aye, it is just such 
 a morning as three-and-thirty years ago, when my poor cousin 
 was married, you remember my cousin Barbara ; she 
 married so and so, the son of so and so ;" and then comes 
 the whole pedigree of the bridegroom ; the amount of the 
 settlements, and the reading and signing them over night ; a 
 description of the wedding-dresses, in the style of Sir Charles 
 Grandison, and how much the bride's gown cost per yard ; 
 the names, residences, and a short subsequent history of the 
 bridemaids and men, the gentleman who gave the bride 
 away, and the clergyman who performed the ceremony, with 
 a learned antiquarian digression relative to the church ; then 
 the setting out in procession ; the marriage ; the kissing ; the 
 crying ; the breakfasting ; the drawing the cake through the 
 ring ; and, finally, the bridal excursion, which brings us back 
 again, at an hour's end, to the starting-post, the weather, and 
 the whole story of the sopping, the drying, the clothes-spoil- 
 ing, the cold-catching, and all the small evils of a summer 
 shower.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 843 
 
 8. By this time it rains, and she sits down to a pathetic 
 see-saw of conjectures on the chance of Mrs. Smith's having 
 set out for her daily walk, or the possibility, that Dr. Brown 
 may have ventured to visit his patients in his gig, and the 
 certainty that Lady Green's new housemaid would come from 
 London on the outside of the coach. 
 
 9. With all this intolerable prosing, she is- actually reck- 
 oned a pleasant woman ! Her acquaintance in the great man- 
 ufacturing town where she usually resides, is very large, 
 which may partly account for the misnomer. Her conversa- 
 tion is of a sort to bear dividing. Besides, there is, in all 
 large societies, an instinctive sympathy which directs each in- 
 dividual to the companion most congenial to his humor. 
 Doubtless, her associates deserve the old French compliment, 
 " Ils ont tons un grand talent pour le silence"* Parceled out 
 among some seventy or eighty, there may even be some savor 
 in her talk. 
 
 10. She has the eye of a hawk, and detects a wandering 
 glance, an incipient yawn, the slightest movement of impa- 
 tience. The very needle must be quiet. If a pair of scissors 
 do but wag, she is affronted, draws herself up, breaks off in 
 the middle of a story, of a sentence, of a word, and the un- 
 lucky culprit must, for civility's sake, summon a more than 
 Spartan fortitude, and beg the torturer to resume her tor- 
 ments "That, that is the unkindest cut of all !" 
 
 11. I wonder, if she had happened to have married, how 
 many husbands she would have talked to death. It is certain, 
 that none of her relations are long-lived after she comes to re- 
 side with them. Father, mother, uncle, sister, brother, two 
 nephews, and one niece, all these have successively passed 
 away, though a healthy race, and with no visible disorder, 
 except but we must not be uncharitable. They might have 
 died, though she had been born dumb : " It is an accident 
 that happens every day." Since the decease of her last 
 nephew, she attempted to form an establishment with a widow 
 
 * They all have a great talent for silence.
 
 344 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 lady, for the sake, as they both said, of the comfort of society. 
 But strange miscalculation ! she was a talker, too ! They 
 parted in a week. 
 
 EXERCISE CXVII. 
 THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 
 
 1UELLA J. CASE. 
 
 1. I come ! Ye have lighted your festal hall, 
 And music is sounding its joyous call, 
 
 And the guests are gathering the young, the fair, 
 With the flower-wreathed brow, and the braided hair. 
 I come, but so noiseless shall be my way 
 Through the smiling crowds of the young and gay, 
 Not a thought shall rise in a careless breast 
 Of me, the Unseen, the Unbidden Guest ; 
 Not an under-tone on the ear shall swell, 
 Smiting your hearts like a funeral knell. 
 
 2. I come ! Let the music's echoing note 
 Still through the air of your ball-room float; 
 Let the starry lamps soft radiance throw 
 
 On the rose-touched cheek, and the brow of snow, 
 
 Not a freezing pulse, not a thrill of fear, 
 
 Shall tell that the King of the Grave is near ; 
 
 Not a pallid face, not a rayless eye, 
 
 Shall whisper of me as I hurry by, 
 
 Marking the doomed I shall summon away 
 
 To their low, dark cells, in the house of clay. 
 
 3. We have met before ! Aye, I have wandered here 
 In the festal hours of the parted year. 
 
 And many a beautiful form has bowed 
 To the sleep that dwells in the damp white shroud ! 
 They died when the first spring blossom was seen, 
 They faded away when the groves were green,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 345 
 
 When the suns of autumn were faint and brief, 
 On the withered grass, and the changing leaf; 
 And here there is many a pulse shall fail, 
 Ere the suns of the passing year grow pale. 
 
 4. Then swell the proud strains of your music high, 
 As the measured hours of your life flit by ; 
 
 Let the foot of the thoughtless dancer be 
 As fleet as it will, it eludes not me ! 
 I shall come when life's morning ray is bright, 
 I shall come in the hush of its waning light, 
 I shall come when the ties of earth cling fast, 
 When love's sweet voice is a voice of the Past ! 
 To your homes, and pray ; for ye wait your doom, 
 The shroud, the coffin, the lonely tomb ! 
 
 5. Ye would quail, ye tremblers, to see me here ; 
 Yet the mission I hold is of love, not fear. 
 
 A healing I bear to the couch of pain, 
 I fling from the spirit its cumbering chain, 
 And weary old age to my rest shall hie 
 With a smiling lip, and a grateful eye. 
 When life, like a sorrowful mourner, weeps 
 O'er the grave where its early promise sleeps, 
 Oh, earth has no balm like the cup I bring ! 
 Why say ye I come with the dart and sting ? 
 
 6. My voice shall be sweet in the maiden's ear, 
 As the voice of her lover whispering near ; 
 And my footstep so soft by the infant's bed, 
 He will deem it his mother's anxious tread, 
 And his innocent eyes will gently close, 
 
 As I kiss from his bright young lips the rose. 
 Oh, the good and the pure have naught to fear, 
 When my voice in the gathering gloom they hear ! 
 Away from the dance, ye revelers gay, 
 Fling off the wreath, to your homes, and pray ! 
 15*
 
 346 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CXVIII. 
 
 ASPIRE ! 
 
 M. F. TUPPEE. 
 
 1. (<) Higher, higher, ever higher, 
 
 Let the watchword be, " Aspire !" 
 
 Noble Christian youth ; 
 Whatsoe'er be God's behest, 
 Try to do that duty best, 
 
 In the strength of Truth. 
 
 2. Let a just Ambition fire 
 Every motive and desire 
 
 God and Man to serve ; 
 Man, with zeal and honor due, 
 God, with gratitude most true, 
 
 And all the spirit's nerve ! 
 
 3. Let not Doubt thine efforts tire, 
 God will give what all require, 
 
 Raiment, home, and food ; 
 And with these, contented well, 
 Bid thine aspirations swell 
 
 To the Highest Good ! 
 
 4. From the perils, deep and dire, 
 Of Temptation's sensual mire, 
 
 Keep thy chastened feet ; 
 Dread, and hate, and turn away 
 From the lure that leads astray, 
 
 Satan's pleasure-cheat ! 
 
 5. And, while thus a self-denier, 
 Stand the stalworth self-relier, 
 
 Bravely battling on, 
 Though alone, no soul alive 
 Ever stoutly dared to strive, 
 
 But saw the battle won'.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 347 
 
 6. (<) Higher, then, and always higher, 
 Let Man's motto be, " ASPIRE !" 
 
 Whoso' er he be ; 
 Holy liver ! happy dier ! 
 Earth's poor best, and Heaven's choir, 
 Are reserved for thee ! 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the rising inflection on home, third stanza? 
 See Rule VIL, page 31. 2. How, according to the notation marks, 
 should the first lines of the first and sixth stanzas be read? See 
 page 40. 
 
 EXERCISE CXIX. 
 THE AGED. 
 
 MRS. ST. LEON LOUD. 
 
 1. I love the aged ; every silver hair 
 
 On their time-honored brows, speaks to my heart 
 In language of the past ; each furrow there, 
 
 In all my best affections, claims a part ; 
 Next to our God, and Scripture's holy page, 
 Is deepest rev'rence due to virtuous age. 
 
 2. The aged Christian stands upon the shore 
 
 Of Time, a storehouse of experience, 
 Filled with the treasures of rich, heav'nly lore ; 
 
 I love to sit and hear him draw from thence 
 Sweet recollections of his journey past, 
 A journey crowned with blessings to the last. 
 
 3. Lovely the aged ! when, like shocks of corn, 
 
 Full ripe and ready for the reaper's hand, 
 Which garners for the resurrection morn 
 
 The bodies of the just, in hope they stand. 
 And dead must be the heart, the bosom cold, 
 Which warms not with affection for the old.
 
 348 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE 
 STUDY FAVORABLE TO ORIGINALITY. 
 
 CHARLES BUTLER. 
 
 1. A romantic girl, with a pretension to sentiment, which 
 her still more ignorant friends mistake for genius, and pos- 
 sessing something of a natural ear, has, perhaps, in her child- 
 hood, exhausted all the images of grief, and love, and fancy, 
 picked up in her desultory poetical reading, in an elegy on a 
 sick linnet, or a sonnet on a dead lap-dog ; she begins thence- 
 forward to be considered as a prodigy in her little circle ; sur- 
 rounded with fond and flattering friends, every avenue to truth 
 is shut out ; she has no opportunity of learning that her fame 
 is derived, not from her powers, but her position ; and that, 
 when an impartial critic shall have made all the necessary de- 
 ductions, such as that she is a neighbor, that she is a rela- 
 tion, that she is a female, that she is young, that she has had 
 no advantages, that she is pretty, perhaps when her verses 
 come to be stripped of all their extraneous appendages, and 
 the fair author is driven off her " vantage ground" of partial- 
 ity, sex, and favor, she will commonly sink to the level of 
 ordinary capacities. 
 
 2. But those more quiet women, who have meekly sat 
 down in the humble shades of prose and prudence, by a pa- 
 tient perseverance in rational studies, rise afterward much 
 higher in the scale of intellect, and acquire a much larger 
 stock of sound knowledge, for far better purposes than mere 
 display. And though it may seem a contradiction, yet it will 
 generally be found true, that girls who take to scribble, are 
 the least studious, the least reflecting, and the least rational. 
 
 3. They early acquire a false confidence in their own unas- 
 sisted powers ; it becomes more gratifying to their natural 
 vanity to be always pouring out their minds on paper, than 
 to be drawing into them fresh ideas from richer sources. The 
 original stock, small, perhaps, at first, is soon spent. The 
 subsequent efforts grow more and more feeble, if the mind,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 349 
 
 which is continually exhausting itself, be not, also, continually 
 replenished ; till the latter compositions become little more 
 than reproductions of the same ideas, and fainter copies of 
 the same images, a little varied and modified, perhaps, and 
 not a little diluted and enfeebled. 
 
 4. It will be necessary to combat vigilantly that favorite 
 idea of lively ignorance, that study is an enemy to original- 
 ity. Correct the judgment, while you humble the vanity of 
 the young untaught pretender, by convincing her, that those 
 half-formed thoughts and undigested ideas, which she considers 
 as proofs of her invention, prove only, that she wants taste 
 and knowledge ; that, while conversation must polish, and re- 
 flection invigorate, her ideas, she must improve and enlarge 
 them by the accession of various kinds of virtue and elegant 
 literature ; and that the cultivated mind will repay with large 
 interest the seeds sown in it by judicious study. Let it be 
 observed, I am by no means encouraging young ladies to turn 
 authors ; I am only reminding them, that 
 
 "Authors, before they write, should read." 
 
 I am only putting them in mind, that to be ignorant is not to 
 be original. 
 
 5. These self-taught and self-dependent scribblers pant for 
 the unmerited and unattainable praise of fancy and of genius, 
 while they disdain the commendation of judgment, knowl- 
 edge, and perseverance, which would probably be within their 
 reach. To extort admiration they are accustomed to boast 
 of an impossible rapidity in composing ; and, while they in- 
 sinuate how little time their performances cost them, they 
 intend you should infer how perfect they might have made 
 them, had they condescended to the drudgery of application ; 
 but application, with them, implies defect of genius. 
 
 6. They take superfluous pains to convince you, that there 
 was neither learning nor labor in the work for which they 
 solicit your praise. Alas ! the judicious eye too soon per- 
 ceives it ! though it does not perceive, that native strength
 
 350 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 and mother-wit, which, hi works of real genius, make some 
 amends for the negligence, which yet they do not justify. 
 
 7. But, instead of extolling these effusions for their facility, 
 it would be kind in friends rather to blame them for their 
 crudeness ; and, when the young candidates for fame are 
 eager to prove in how short a time such a poem has been 
 struck off, it would be well to regret, that they had not either 
 taken a longer time, or refrained from writing at all ; as, in 
 the former case, the work would have been less defective, 
 and, in the latter, the writer would have discovered more hu- 
 mility and self-distrust. 
 
 EXEKCISE CXXI. 
 GENIUS. 
 
 E. P. WHUPPLE. 
 
 1. There is one law inwoven into the constitution of things, 
 which declares, that force of mind and character must rule the 
 world. This truth glares out upon us from daily life, from 
 history, from science, art, letters, from all the agencies which 
 influence conduct and opinion. The whole existing order of 
 things is one vast monument to the supremacy of mind. The 
 exterior appearance of human life is but the material embodi- 
 ment, the substantial expression of thought, the hieroglyphic 
 writing of the soul. 
 
 2. The fixed facts of society, laws, institutions, positive 
 knowledge, were once ideas in a projector's brain, thoughts 
 which have been forced into facts. The scouted hypothesis 
 of the fifteenth century is the time-honored institution of the 
 nineteenth ; the heresy of yesterday is the common-place of 
 to-day. We perceive in every stage of this great movement, a 
 certain vital force, a spiritual power, to which we give the 
 name of genius. 
 
 3. From the period when our present civilized races ran
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 351 
 
 wild and naked in the woods, and dined and supped on each 
 other, to the present time, the generality of mankind have 
 been contented with things as they were. A small number 
 have conceived of something better or something new. From 
 these come the motion and ferment of life ; to them we owe 
 it, that existence is not a bog, but a stream. These are men 
 of genius. 
 
 4. There are, therefore, two fields for human thought and 
 action, the actual and the possible, the realized and the real. 
 In the actual,' the tangible, the realized, the vast proportion 
 of mankind abide. The great region of the possible, whence 
 all discovery, invention, creation, proceed, and which is to the 
 actual as a universe to a planet, is the chosen region of genius. 
 
 5. As almost every thing which is now actual, was once 
 only possible, as our present facts and axioms were originally 
 inventions or discoveries, it is, under God, to genius that we 
 owe our present blessings. In the past, it created the present ; 
 in the present, it is creating the future. It builds habitations 
 for us, but its own place is on the vanishing points of human 
 intelligence, 
 
 " A motion toiling in the gloom, 
 The spirit of the years to come, 
 Yearning to mix itself with life." 
 
 6. The sphere and the influence of genius it is easier to as- 
 certain than to define its nature. What is genius ? It has 
 been often defined, but each definition has included but a por- 
 tion of its phenomena. According to Dr. Johnson, it is gen- 
 eral force of mind accidentally directed to a particular pur- 
 suit ; but this does not cover the comprehensive genius of 
 Shakspeare, Leibnitz, and Goethe; and, besides, accident, cir- 
 cumstance, do not determine the direction of narrower minds, 
 but simply furnish the occasion, on which an inward tendency 
 is manifested. 
 
 7. The most popular definition is that of Coleridge, who 
 calls genius the power of carrying the feelings of childhood
 
 352 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 into the powers of manhood. Such a power may indicate the 
 genius of Coleridge and Wordsworth, but did Napoleon con- 
 quer at Austerlitz, Newton discover the law of gravitation, 
 Shakspeare create Macbeth, by carrying the feelings of child- 
 hood into the powers of manhood ? This mode of defining 
 by individual instances, is like drawing a map of Massachu- 
 setts, and calling it the globe a thing we are very apt to do. 
 
 8. Indeed, genius has commonly been incompletely defined, 
 because each definition has been but a description of some order 
 of genius. A true definition would be a generalization, made 
 up from many minds, and broad enough to include all the re- 
 sults of genius in action and thought. Genius is not a single 
 power, but a combination of great powers. It reasons, but 
 it is not reasoning ; it judges, but it is not judgment , it im- 
 agines, but it is not imagination ; it feels deeply and fiercely, 
 but it is not passion. It is neither, because it is all. It is an- 
 other name for the perfection of human nature, for genius is 
 not a fact, but an ideal. 
 
 9. It is nothing less than the possession of all the powers 
 and impulses of humanity, in their greatest possible strength 
 and most harmonious combination ; and the genius of any 
 particular man is great, in proportion as he approaches this 
 ideal of universal genius. Conceive of a mind, in which the 
 powers of Napoleon and Howard, Dante and Newton, Luther 
 and Shakspeare, Kant and Fulton, were so combined as to 
 act in perfect harmony ; a mind, vital in every part, conceiv- 
 ing every thing with intensity, and yet conceiving every thing 
 under its due relations, as swift in its volitions as in its thoughts 
 conceive of a mind like this, and you will have a definition 
 of genius. 
 
 10. As it is, it requires the energies of all men of genius 
 to produce the results of genius. It exists somewhat in frag- 
 ments. No one human mind comprehends all its elements. 
 The nearest approach to universality of genius in intellect is 
 Shakspeare ; in will, Napoleon ; in harmony of combination, 
 Washington. It is singular that Washington is not generally
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 353 
 
 classed among men of genius. Lord Brougham declares him 
 to be the greatest man that ever lived, but of moderate talents, 
 as if being the soul of a revolution and the creator of a 
 country, did not suppose energies equal to those employed in 
 the creation of a poem, as if there were any other certain 
 test of genius but its influence, any other measure of the 
 power of a cause but the magnitude of its effects ! 
 
 11. But to return. Genius, in its highest meaning, being 
 thus an ideal, which the most powerful natures have but ap- 
 proached, which, while it comprehends all men of genius, is 
 itself comprehended by none, the question still arises, what 
 common quality distinguishes men of genius from other men, 
 in practical life, in science, in letters, in every department of 
 human thought and action 1 This common quality is vital 
 energy of mind, inherent, original force of thought and vi- 
 tality of conception ; a quality equally distinguishing the ge- 
 nius of action and meditation, making the mind, in which it 
 abides alive, and capable of communicating intellectual and 
 moral life to others. 
 
 12. Men, in whom this energy glows, seem to spurn the 
 limitations of matter ; to dive beneath the forms and appear- 
 ances to the spirit of things ; to leap the gulf which separates 
 positive knowledge from discovery, the actual from the pos- 
 sible ; and, in their grasp of spiritual realities, in their intense 
 life, theyeeem to demonstrate the immortality of the soul 
 that burns within them. They give palpable evidence of in- 
 finite capacity, of indefinite power of growth. 
 
 13. It seems a mockery to limit their life by years, to sup- 
 pose that fiery essence can ever burn out or be extinguished. 
 This life, this energy, this uprising, aspiring flame of thought, 
 
 " This mind, this spirit, this Promethean spark, 
 This lightning of their being," 
 
 has been variously called power of combination, invention, 
 creation, insight ; but, in the last analysis, it is resolved into 
 vital energy of soul, to think and to do.
 
 354 SANDERS' NEW &ERIES. 
 
 14. This quality of genius is sometimes difficult to be dis- 
 tinguished from talent, because high geni-us includes talent. 
 It is talent and something more. The usual distinction be- 
 tween genius and talent is, that one represents creative thought, 
 the other practical skill ; one invents, the other applies. But 
 the truth is, that high genius applies its own inventions better 
 than talent alone can do. 
 
 15. A man who has mastered the higher mathematics, does 
 not, on that account, lose his knowledge of arithmetic. Han- 
 nibal, Napoleon, Shakspeare, Newton, Scott, Burke, Ark- 
 wright, were they not men of talent as well as men of ge- 
 nius 1 Because a great man does not always do what many 
 smaller men can often do as well, smaller men must not, there- 
 fore, affect to pity him as a visionary, and pretend to lick into 
 shape his formless theories. 
 
 16. But still there doubtless is a marked distinction between 
 men of genius and men simply of talent. Talent repeats, 
 genius creates. Talent is a cistern ; genius, a fountain ; 
 Talent deals with the actual, with discovered and realized 
 truths, analyzing, arranging, combining, applying positive 
 knowledge, and in action looking to precedents. Genius deals 
 with the possible, creates new combinations, discovers new 
 laws, and acts from an insight into principles. Talent jogs to 
 conclusions to which genius takes giant leaps. 
 
 17. Talent accumulates knowledge, and has it packed up in 
 the memory ; genius assimilates it with its own substance, 
 grows with every new accession, and converts knowledge into 
 power. Talent gives out what it has taken in ; genius what 
 has rteen from its unsounded wells of living thought. Talent, 
 in difficult situations, strives to untie knots, which genius in- 
 stantly cuts with one swift decision. Talent is full of thoughts ; 
 genius, of thought : one has definite acquisitions ; the other, 
 indefinite power. 
 
 18. But the most important distinction between the two 
 qualities, is this : one, in conception, follows mechanical pro- 
 cesses ; the other, vital. Talent feebly conceives objects with
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 355 
 
 
 
 the senses and understanding ; genius, fusing all its powers 
 together in the alembic of an impassioned imagination, clutches 
 every thing in the concrete, conceives objects as living reali- 
 ties, gives body to spiritual abstractions and spirit to bodily 
 appearances, and, like 
 
 "A gate of steel 
 
 Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
 His figure and his heat." 
 
 19. It is thus the glorious prerogative of genius to conceive 
 and to present every thing as alive ; and here is the secret of 
 its power. It leads and sways, because it communicates living 
 energy, and strikes directly at the soul, searching out the 
 very sources of our volitions, bowing our weak wills before 
 its strong arm, awakening, animating, forcing us along its 
 path of thought, or over its waves of passion. It commands 
 us, because it knows better than we what is within us. Soul 
 itself, it knows that, in spite of our contemptible disguises, 
 we too have souls which must leap up at its voice, and follow 
 whithersoever it leads. 
 
 20. It claims its rightful mastery over our spirits, by 
 awakening us to a sense of our spiritual existence. It speaks 
 to us, in our captivity, in the long-forgotten language of our 
 native-land. It sees us wrapped up in the dead cerements of 
 custom, rusting away in the sepulcher of being, and it cries 
 to us : " Come forth !" It speaks to us, and we hear it ; it 
 touches us, and we spring to our feet. 
 
 21. A crowd of spirits from the realms of the deathless come 
 thronging around us ; from the battle-field, where liberty 
 went down under the brutal hoofs of power, its immortal 
 image trampled in the dust, from the legislative hall, where, 
 amid the collision of adverse intellects, the orator poured his 
 torrent of fire, from the rack and the stake, where the spirit 
 of man chanted rapturous hymns in its fierce agonies, and met 
 death smiling, from the cell of the thinker, where mind 
 grappled with the mysterious unknown, piercing with its
 
 356 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 thought of light the dark vail of unrealized knowledge and 
 possible combinations ; from every scene where the soul has 
 been really alive, and impatiently tossed aside the material 
 conditions which would stifle or limit its energies, come the 
 genii of thought or action, to rouse us from our sleep of death, 
 to tear aside the thin delusions of our conceit, and to pour 
 into the shrunken veins of our discrowned spirits, the fresh 
 tides of mental life. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXII. 
 
 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 DEWET. 
 
 1. I have seen one die, the delight of his friends, the pride 
 of his kindred, the hope of his country ; but he died ! How 
 beautiful was that offering upon the altar of Death ! The 
 fire of genius kindled in his eye ; the generous affections of 
 youth mantled in his cheek ; his foot was upon the threshold 
 of life ; his studies, his preparations for honored and useful 
 life, were completed ; his breast was filled with a thousand 
 glowing, and noble, and never yet expressed aspirations ; 
 but he died ! 
 
 2. He died ; while another, of a nature dull, coarse, and 
 unrefined ; of habits low, base, and brutish ; of a promise 
 that had nothing in it but shame and misery, such a one, I 
 say, was suffered to encumber the earth. Could this be, if 
 there were no other sphere for the gifted, the aspiring, and 
 the approved to act in 1 Can we believe that the energy just 
 trained for action, the embryo thought just bursting into ex- 
 pression, the deep and earnest passion of a noble nature just 
 swelling into every beautiful virtue, should never manifest its 
 power, should never speak, should never unfold itself? 
 
 3. Can we believe that all this should die, while meanness, 
 corruption, sensuality, and every deformed and dishonored 
 power, should live ? No ; ye goodly and glorious ones ; ye
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 357 
 
 godlike in youthful virtue ! ye die not in vain ; ye teach, ye 
 assure us, that ye are gone to some world of nobler life and 
 action. 
 
 4. I have seen one die. She was beautiful, and beautiful 
 were the ministries of life that were given her to fulfill. 
 Angelic loveliness enrobed her ; and a grace, as if it were 
 caught from heaven, breathed in every tone, hallowed every 
 affection, shone in every action, invested, as a halo, her 
 whole existence, and made it a light and blessing, a charm 
 and vision of gladness, to all around her'; but she died ! 
 
 5. Friendship, and love, and parental fondness, and infant 
 weakness, stretched out their hand to save her ; but they 
 could not save her ; and she died ! What ! did all that love- 
 liness die ? Is there no land of the blessed and the lovely 
 ones, for such to live in ! Forbid it, Reason, Religion ! 
 bereaved affection and undying love, forbid the thought ! It 
 can not be that such die in God's counsel, who live even in 
 frail memory forever ! 
 
 6. I have seen one die in the maturity of every power, in 
 the earthly perfection of every faculty ; when many tempta- 
 tions had been overcome, and many hard lessons had been 
 learned ; when many experiments had made virtue easy, and 
 had given a facility to action, and a success to endeavor ; 
 when wisdom had been learned from many mistakes, and 
 a skill had been laboriously acquired in the use of many 
 powers ; and the being I looked upon had just compassed 
 that most useful, most practical of all knowledge, how to 
 live, and to act well and wisely ; yet I have seen such a one 
 die! 
 
 7. Was all this treasure gained only to be lost 1 Were all 
 these faculties trained only to be thrown into utter disuse ? 
 Was this instrument, the intelligent soul, the noblest in the 
 universe, was it so laboriously fashioned, and, by the most 
 varied and expensive apparatus, that, on the very moment 
 of being furnished, it should be cast away forever ? No ; 
 the dead, as we call them, do not so die. They carry our
 
 358 SANDEKS' NEW SEKIES. 
 
 thoughts to another and a nobler existence. They teach us, 
 and, especially, by all the strange and seemingly untoward 
 circumstances of their departure from this life, that they, and 
 we, shall live forever. They open the future world, then, to 
 our faith. 
 
 8. They open it, also, to our affection. No person of re- 
 flection and piety can have lived long, without beginning to 
 find, in regard to the earthly objects that most interest him, 
 his friends, that the balance is gradually inclining in favor 
 of another world. How many, after the middle period of 
 life, and, especially, in declining years, must feel, (if the ex- 
 perience of life has any just effect upon them,) that the ob- 
 jects of their strongest attachment are not here ! 
 
 9. One by one, the ties of earthly affection are cut asunder ; 
 one by one, friends, companions, children, parents, are taken 
 from us ; for a time, perhaps, we are " in a strait betwixt 
 two," as was the Apostle, not deciding altogether whether it 
 is better to depart ; but shall we not, at length, say with the 
 disciples, when some dearer friend is taken : " Let us go and 
 die with him" 1 
 
 10. The dead have not ceased their communication with us, 
 though the visible chain is broken. If they are still the 
 same, they must still think of us. As two friends on earth 
 may know, that they love each other ; as they may know, 
 though dwelling in different and distant countries, without 
 any visible chain of communication, that their thoughts meet 
 and mingle together, so may it be with two friends, of 
 whom the one is on earth, the other in heaven. Especially, 
 where there is such a union of pure minds, that it is scarcely 
 possible to conceive of separation, that union seems to be a 
 part of their very being ; we may believe, that their friend- 
 ship, their mutual sympathy, is beyond the power of the 
 grave to break up. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Are the questions in the seventh paragraph direct 
 or indirect? 2. With what inflection, then, should they be read? 
 3. With what inflection should the answer be read ? See Rule I. p. 26.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADEK. 359 
 
 EXERCISE CXXIII. 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 HENRY W. IX)NGFELLOW. 
 
 1. There is no flock, however watched and tended, 
 
 But one dead lamb is there ! 
 There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 
 But has one vacant chair ! 
 
 2. The air is full of farewells to the dying, 
 (jpl.) And mournings for the dead ; 
 
 The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 
 Will not be comforted ! 
 
 3. Let us be patient ! these severe afflictions 
 
 Not from the ground arise ; 
 But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
 Assume this dark disguise. 
 
 4. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; 
 
 Amid these earthly damps, 
 What seems to us but sad, funereal tapers, 
 May be heaven's distant lamps. 
 
 5. There is no death ! What seems so, is transition ; 
 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 
 Whose portal we call Death. 
 
 6. She is not dead, the child of our affection, 
 
 But gone unto that school, 
 Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 
 And Christ himself doth rule. 
 
 7. In thr.c great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 
 
 By guardian angels led,
 
 360 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 
 She lives, whom we call dead. 
 
 8. Day after day we think what she is doing, 
 
 In those bright realms of air ; 
 Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 
 Behold her grown more fair. 
 
 9. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 
 
 The bond which nature gives, 
 Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, 
 May reach her where she lives. 
 
 10. Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 
 
 For when, with raptures wild, 
 In our embraces we again enfold her, 
 She will not be a child ; 
 
 11. But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 
 
 Clothed with celestial grace ; 
 And beautiful with all the soul's expansion, 
 Shall we behold her face. 
 
 12. And though, at times, impetuous with emotion, 
 
 And anguish long suppressed, 
 
 The swelling heart heaves, moaning like the ocean, v*$ 
 That can not be at rest, ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 13. We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 
 
 We may not wholly stay ; 
 By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 
 The grief that must have way. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Why the rhetorical pause before the word, Death, 
 fifth stanza, last line ? See page 43. 2. To what circumstance has 
 the poet reference in the second stanza ? See Matt ii. 18.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 361 
 
 EXERCISE CXXIV. 
 
 A very pleasing effect will be produced by reading the first, fifth, 
 and tenth stanzas of the following piece, in CONCERT. 
 
 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 MRS. HEMAN8. 
 
 1. (pl.) Leaves have their time to fall, 
 
 And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set, but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh, Death ! 
 
 2. Day is for mortal care, 
 
 Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, 
 
 Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer, 
 But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. 
 
 3. The banquet hath its hour, 
 
 Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ; 
 
 There comes a day for griefs o'erwhelming power, 
 A time for softer tears, but all are thine. 
 
 4. Youth and the opening rose 
 
 May look like things too glorious for decay, 
 
 And smile at thee, but thou art not of those 
 That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. 
 
 5. Leaves have their time to fall, 
 
 And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set, but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh, Death ! 
 
 6. We know when moons shall wane, 
 
 When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, 
 
 When Autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain ; 
 But who shall teach us when to look for thee ? 
 16
 
 362 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 7. Is it when Spring's first gale 
 
 Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ? 
 
 Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ? 
 They have one season all are ours to die ! 
 
 8. Thou art where billows foam, 
 
 Thou art where music melts upon the air ; 
 
 Thou art around us in our peaceful home, 
 And the world calls us forth, and thou art there. 
 
 9. Thou art where friend meets friend, 
 Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest 
 
 Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend 
 The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. 
 
 10. Leaves have their time to fall, 
 
 And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set, but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh, Death ! 
 
 EXERCISE CXXV. 
 MORAL BEAUTY. 
 
 VICTOB COUSIN. 
 
 1. Moral beauty comprises two distinct elements, equally, 
 but diversely beautiful, justice and charity, respect and love 
 of men. He who expresses in his conduct justice and charity, 
 accomplishes the most beautiful of all works ; the good man 
 is, in his way, the greatest of all artists. But what shall we 
 say of Him who is the very substance of justice and the ex- 
 haustless source of love? 
 
 2. If our moral nature is beautiful, what must be the 
 beauty of its Author ! His justice and goodness are every- 
 where both in us and out of us. His justice is the moral order 
 that no human law makes, that all human laws are forced to ex-
 
 YOUNG- LADIES' READER. 363 
 
 press, that is preserved and perpetuated in the world by its 
 own force. Let us descend into ourselves, and consciousness 
 will attest the Divine justice in the peace and contentment 
 that accompany virtue, in the troubles and tortures that are 
 the invariable punishments of vice and crime. 
 
 3. How many times, and with what eloquence, have men 
 celebrated the indefatigable solicitude of Providence, its bene- 
 
 /-fits^everywhere manifest in the smallest as well as in the 
 greatest phenomena of nature, which we forget so easily, be- 
 cause they have become so familiar to us, but which, on re- 
 flection, call forth our mingled admiration and gratitude, and 
 proclaim a good God, full of love for his creatures ! 
 
 4. God is the principle of the three* orders of beauty, 
 physical beauty, intellectual beauty, moral beauty. In Him, 
 also, are re-united the two great forms of the beautiful, dis- 
 tributed in each of these three orders, to wit, the beautiful 
 and the sublime. God is, par excellence^ the Beautiful, for 
 what object satisfies more all our faculties, our reason, our 
 imagination, our heart ? He offers to reason the highest idea, 
 beyond whic'.i it has nothing more to seek ; to imagination the 
 most ravishing contemplation ; to the heart a sovereign object 
 of love. 
 
 5. He is, then, perfectly beautiful ; but is He not sublime, 
 also, in other ways 1 If He extends the horizon of thought, it 
 is to confound it in the abyss of His greatness. If the soul 
 blooms at the spectacle of His goodness, has it not, also, rea- 
 son to be affrighted at the idea of His justice, which is not less 
 present to it ? God is at once mild and terrible ! 
 
 6. At the same time that He is the life, the light, the move- 
 ment, the ineffable grace of visible and finite nature, He is, also, 
 called the Eternal, the Invisible, the Infinite, the Absolute 
 Unity, and the Being of beings. Do not these awful attri- 
 butes, as certain as the first, produce, in the highest degree, in 
 the imagination and the soul, that melancholy emotion excited 
 by the sublime? 
 
 7. Yes ; God is for us the type and source of the two
 
 364 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 great forms of beauty, because He is to us at once an impene- 
 trable enigma, and still the clearest word that we are able to 
 find for all enigmas. Limited beings as we are, we compre- 
 hend nothing in comparison with that which is without limits, 
 and we are able to explain nothing without that same thing 
 which is without limits. 
 
 8. By the being that we possess, we have some idea of the 
 infinite being of God ; by the nothingness that is in us, we 
 lose ourselves in the being of God ; and thus always forced 
 to recur to Him, in order to explain any thing, and always 
 thrown back within ourselves under the weight of His infini- 
 tude, we experience by turns, or rather at the same time, for 
 this God who raises and casts us down, a sentiment of irresist- 
 ible attraction and astonishment, not to say insurmountable 
 terror, which He alone can cause and allay, because He alone 
 is the unity of the sublime and the beautiful. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXVI. 
 HUMAN ACTIVITY WITHOUT LIMIT. 
 
 VICTOR COUSIN. 
 
 1. Every thing has its end. This principle is as absolute 
 as that which refers every event to a cause. Man has, there- 
 fore, an end. This end is revealed in all his thoughts, in all 
 his ways, in all his sentiments, in all his life. Whatever he 
 does, whatever he feels, whatever he thinks, he thinks upon 
 the infinite, loves the infinite, tends to the infinite. 
 
 2. This need of the infinite is the mainspring of scientific 
 curiosity, the principle of all discoveries. Love, also, stops 
 and rests only there. On the route, it may experience lively 
 joys ; but a secret bitterness that is mingled with them, soon 
 makes it feel their insufficiency and emptiness. Often, while 
 ignorant of its true object, it asks whence comes that fatal 
 disenchantment, by which all its successes, all its pleasures, 
 are successively extinguished. If it knew how to read itself,
 
 Touisra LADIES' READER. 365 
 
 it would recognize, that, if nothing here below satisfies it, it is 
 because its object is more elevated, because the true bourn 
 after which it aspires, is infinite perfection. 
 
 3. Finally, like thought and love, human activity is with- 
 out limits. Who can say where it shall stop ? Behold this 
 earth almost known. Soon another world will be necessary 
 for us. Man is journeying toward the infinite, which is al- 
 ways receding before him, which he always pursues. He 
 conceives it, he feels it, he bears it, thus to speak, in himself, 
 how should his end be elsewhere ? Hence that unconquer- 
 able instinct of immortality, that universal hope of another 
 life, to which all worships, all poesies, all traditions, bear wit- 
 ness. 
 
 4. We tend to the infinite with all our powers ; death 
 comes to interrupt the destiny that seeks its goal, and over- 
 takes it unfinished. It is, therefore, likely that there is some- 
 thing after death, since, at death, nothing in us is terminated. 
 Look at the flower that to-morrow will not be. To-day, at 
 least, it is entirely developed ; we can conceive nothing more 
 beautiful of its kind ; it has attained its perfection. My per- 
 fection, my moral perfection, that of which I have the clearest 
 idea and the most invincible need, for which I feel that I am 
 born, in vain I call for it, in vain I labor for it ; it escapes 
 me, and leaves me only hope. Shall this hope be deceived ? 
 
 5. All beings attain their end ; should man alone not at- 
 tain his ? Should the greatest of creatures be the most ill- 
 treated? But a being that should remain incomplete and 
 unfinished, that should not attain the end which all his in- 
 stincts proclaim for him, would be a monster in the eternal 
 order, a problem much more difficult to solve, than the dif- 
 culties which have been raised against the immortality of the 
 soul. In our opinion, this tendency of all the desires and all 
 the powers of the soul toward the infinite, elucidated by the 
 principle of final causes, is a serious and important confirma- 
 tion of the moral proof and the metaphysical proof of an- 
 other life.
 
 366 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXVII. 
 HYMN TO THE SETTING SUN. 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 1. (sl.) Slow, slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 
 Thy course of beneficence done ; 
 As glorious go down to the ocean's warm breast, 
 As when thy bright race was begun ; 
 For all thou hast done, 
 Since thy rising, O sun ! 
 May thou and thy Maker be blest. 
 
 Thou hast scattered the night from thy broad golden way, 
 Thou hast given us thy light through a long happy day, 
 Thou hast roused up the birds, thou hast wakened the flowers, 
 To chant on thy path, and to perfume the hours. 
 
 Then slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 And rise again, beautiful, blessing and blest. 
 
 2. Slow, slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 
 Yet pause but a moment, to shed 
 One warm look of love on the earth's dewy breast, 
 Ere the starred curtain fall round thy bed, 
 And to promise the time, 
 When, awaking sublime, 
 Thou shalt rush all refreshed from thy rest. 
 Warm hopes drop, like dews, from thy life-giving hand, 
 Teaching hearts, closed in darkness, like flowers, to expand ; 
 Dreams wake into joys when first touched by thy light, 
 As glow the dim waves of the sea at thy sight. 
 
 Then slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 And rise again, beautiful, blessing and blest. 
 
 3. Slow, slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 
 Prolonging the sweet evening hour ; 
 Then robe again soon in the morn's golden vest, 
 To go forth in thy beauty and power ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 367 
 
 Yet pause on thy way, 
 To the full hight of day, 
 For thy rising and setting are blest. 
 When thou com'st after darkness to gladden our eyes, 
 Or departest in glory, in glory to rise, 
 May hope and may prayer still be woke by thy rays, 
 And thy going be marked with thanksgiving and praise. 
 Then slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 And rise again, beautiful, blessing, and blest. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXVIII. 
 INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF GOD. 
 
 MIS8 ELIZABETH TOWN8END. 
 
 "I go forward, but He is not there ; and backward, but I can 
 not perceive Him." 
 
 1. Where art Thou 1 Thou ! Source and support of all 
 That is, or seen, or felt ; Thyself unseen, 
 
 Unfelt, unknown, alas ! unknowable ! 
 
 I look abroad among Thy works : the sky, 
 
 Vast, distant, glorious, with its world of suns, 
 
 Life-giving earth, and ever-moving main, 
 
 And speaking winds, and ask, if these are Thee ! 
 
 2. The stars that twinkle on, the eternal hills, 
 The restless tide's outgoing and return, 
 The omnipresent and deep-breathing air, 
 Though hailed as gods of old, and only less, 
 Are not the Power I seek ; are Thine, not Thee ! 
 I ask Thee from the Past ; if, in the years 
 Since first intelligence could reach its source, 
 
 Or in some former, unremembered being, 
 
 (If such, perchance, were mine,) did they behold Thee ?
 
 368 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 3. And next interrogate Futurity, 
 So fondly tenanted with better things 
 
 Than e'er Experience owned, but both are mute ; 
 And Past and Future, vocal on all else, 
 So full of memories and phantasies, 
 Are deaf and speechless here ! 
 
 4. Fatigued, I turn 
 From all vain parley with the elements, 
 
 And close mine eyes, and bid the thought turn inward 
 
 From each material thing its anxious quest, 
 
 If, in the stillness of the waiting soul, 
 
 He may vouchsafe himself, Spirit to spirit ! 
 
 O Thou, at once most dreaded and desired, 
 
 Pavilioned still in darkness, wilt Thou hide Thee ? 
 
 What though the rash request be fraught with fate, 
 
 Nor human eye may look on Thine and live ! 
 
 Welcome the penalty ! let that come now, 
 
 Which soon or late must come. For light, like this, 
 
 Who would not dare to die 1 
 
 5. Peace, my proud aim, 
 And hush the wish that knows not what it asks j 
 
 . Await His will, who hath appointed this, 
 With every other trial. Be that will 
 Done now, as ever. For thy curious search, 
 And unprepared solicitude, to gaze 
 On Him the Unrevealed learn hence, instead, 
 To temper highest hope with humbleness. . 
 
 6. Pass thy novitiate in these outer courts, 
 Till rent the vail, no longer separating 
 The holiest of all ; as erst, disclosing 
 A brighter dispensation ; whose results 
 Ineffable, interminable, tend 
 
 E'en to the perfecting thyself, thy kind, 
 Till meet for that sublime beatitude, 
 By the firm promise of a voice from heaven, 
 Pledged to the pure in heart !
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 369 
 
 EXERCISE CXXIX. 
 
 1. AB'-B DE FLEU'-KY, a French historian and divine, born 1640. 
 He was associated with Fenelon, in the task of educating the young 
 Dukes of Burgundy, Anjou and Berri. He died in 1723. 
 
 2. FEN'-E-LON, the amiable and virtous archbishop of Cambray, was 
 born in 1651. He was intrusted by Louis XIV. with the education 
 of his grandsons, the Dukes of Burgundy, Anjou, and Berri. He 
 wrote many excellent works, among which, the most celebrated, is 
 the " Adventures of Telemachus." Died in January, 1715. 
 
 3. ROUS-SEAU', a most eloquent writer, though eccentric in the 
 highest degree, was born at Geneva in 1712. He was the author of 
 various works. He died 1778. 
 
 WOMAN, HER POWER, AND HER PROGRESS. 
 
 L. AIM MARTIN. 
 
 1. Whatever may be the customs and laws of a country, 
 the women of it decide the morals. Free or subjugated, they 
 reign, because they hold possession of our passions. But this 
 influence is more or less salutary, according to the degree of 
 esteem which is granted to them. Whether they are our 
 idols, or companions, relatives, slaves, or beasts of burden, 
 the reaction is complete, and they make us such as they are 
 themselves. It seems as if jiature connected our intelligence 
 with their dignity, as we connect our happiness with their 
 
 virtue. 
 
 
 
 2. This, therefore, is a law of eternal justice, man can not 
 degrade women without himself falling into degradation ; he 
 can not raise them without becoming better. Let us cast our 
 eyes over the globe, and observe those two great divisions 
 of the human race, the East and the West. One half of th 
 ancient world remains without progress, without thought, and 
 under the load of a barbarous civilization ; women there are 
 slaves. The other half advances toward freedom and light ; 
 the women there are loved and honored. 
 
 3. That which has been done to lower women, and that 
 which they have done toward our civilization, offer, perhaps, 
 the most moral and dramatic part of our history. There was 
 
 16*
 
 370 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 a time when their beauty alone wrestled against barbarism. 
 Shut up in castles like prisoners, they there civilized the war- 
 riors who despised their weakness, but who adored their 
 charms. Accused of ignorance, and deprived of instruction, 
 disgraced by prejudice, and deified by love, feeble, timid, 
 seeing around them nothing but soldiers and the sword, they 
 adopted the passions of their tyrants, but, in adopting, they 
 ameliorated them. 
 
 4. They directed combatants toward the defense of the 
 helpless. Chivalry became a protecting power; it repaired 
 injuries, and paved the way for laws ; and, at last, after 
 having fought in order to conquer kingdoms, it was softened 
 into fighting for the beauty of women, and civilization began 
 by gallantry. A great revolution was accomplished in France, 
 on the day, when a noble knight drew off his men, in conse- 
 quence of hearing that the castle, of which he was just about 
 to commence the siege, had become the asylum of the wife 
 of his enemy, and that this wife was about to become a mother. 
 
 5. At a later period, some glimpses of science began to 
 pierce through the shades which covered the world ; all eyes 
 were dazzled by it, and it was then, that the destiny of women 
 was pitiable. While men only believed themselves to be su- 
 perior from the strength of their bodies, and the force of their 
 courage, they had ceded to the po^wer of feebleness and beau- 
 ty ; but scarcely had they acquired a smattering of science, 
 when pride seized them, and women nearly lost their empire. 
 
 6. But the worst period for them was the age of scribes 
 and doctors ; for, at that time, all the impertinent questions 
 concerning the pre-eminence of men, and the inferiority of 
 women, were brought forward. Even the existence of their 
 souls became a matter of doubt, and theologians themselves, 
 amidst these agitating discussions, forgot, for a moment, that 
 our Savior was made human by his mother. These disputes 
 led to this deplorable result, that the ignorance of women 
 became a moral system, as the ignorance of the lower classes 
 had become a system of policy.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 371 
 
 7. Our forefathers long confounded ignorance with inno- 
 cence, and thence came all their troubles ; they wished women 
 to be silly for the sake of their husbands, and the people to 
 be ignorant for the sake of power. Women, thus assimilated 
 to the people, like them, did not receive any species of instruc- 
 tion. Every thing was against them ; science, legislature, 
 and theology, that theology, indeed, which was mistaken for 
 religion. It was by depriving them of their souls, by sub- 
 jecting them to mean and vulgar habits, which stupefy the 
 mind, that they hoped to preserve them in spotless purity. 
 
 8. In the time of Louis XIV., when women busied them- 
 selves with affairs of state, the Abbe de Fleury 1 declared, 
 that girls ought to be taught something beside their catechism, 
 sewing, singing, dancing, how to dress, to speak civilly, and 
 to make a good courtesy. But the progress he wished them 
 to attain, consisted in knowing how to read, write, and cipher, 
 to know when to ask advice in matters of business, and 
 enough of medicine to take care of the sick. 
 
 9. Then came Fenelon, 2 who wished them to read ancient 
 and modern history, to understand Latin, to peruse works of 
 eloquence, literature, and poesy ; and yet such was the preju- 
 dice belonging to a period when women exercised an almost 
 romantic power, and gave grace and politeness to society, 
 that the archbishop was obliged to add certain restrictions, and 
 to justify himself on theological principles. " Women," said 
 the venerable ecclesiastic, " are half of the human race, re- 
 deemed by the blood of Christ, and, like us, destined to eter- 
 nal life." Since the time of Eousseau 3 and Fenelon, great 
 progress has taken place among men, and consequently the 
 education of women has, in some measure, profited. 
 
 10. The question is no longer asked whether it be advisable 
 to instruct them ; we consent to the development of their un- 
 derstanding, and lessons are given to them by artists and 
 masters of languages ; they skim, as it were, a general course 
 of study, but, in this study, nothing leads them to think with 
 their own thoughts ; it is chiefly the school routine which gives
 
 372 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 occupation to their brains, and thus, at an age when the pas- 
 sions are awakened, those passions, to which the habits of vir- 
 tue and the principles of religion ought be opposed, they find 
 in themselves skill for the piano, a memory for words, and a 
 soul which sleeps. Such is, with some rare exceptions, the 
 woman of the present day, with her forms of devotion, her 
 school morality, her mechanical talents, her love of pleasure, 
 her ignorance of the world, and her desire to love and be 
 loved. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXX. 
 DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. 
 
 CHAELES DICKENS. 
 
 1. (pl.) She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so 
 free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a 
 creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the 
 breath of life ; not one who had lived and suffered death. 
 Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter-ber- 
 ries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used 
 to favor. " When I die, put near me something that has 
 loved the light, and had the sky above it always." Those 
 were her words. 
 
 2. She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was 
 dead. Her little bird, a poor, slight thing the pressure of 
 a finger would have crushed, was stirring nimbly in its 
 cage, and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and 
 motionless forever ! Where were the traces of her early 
 cares, her sufferings, and fatigues ? All gone. Sorrow was 
 dead, indeed, in her ; but peace and perfect happiness were 
 born imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose. 
 
 3. And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this 
 change. Yes ! the old fireside had smiled upon that same 
 sweet face ; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of 
 misery and care ; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEE. 373 
 
 the summer evening, before the furnace-fire upon the cold 
 wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had 
 been the same mild and lovely look. So shall we know the 
 angels, in their majesty, after death. 
 
 4. The old man held one languid arm in his, and that the 
 small tight hand folded to his breast for warmth. It was the 
 hand she had stretched out to him with her last smile, the 
 hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever 
 and anon he pressed it to his lips ; then hugged it to his 
 breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now ; and, as 
 he said it, he looked in agony to those who stood around, 
 as if imploring them to help her. 
 
 5. She was dead, and past all help, or need of help. The 
 ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her 
 own was waning fast, the garden she had tended, the eyes she 
 had gladdened, the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless 
 hour, the paths she had trodden, as it were, but yesterday, 
 could know her no more. 
 
 6. " It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to 
 kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, " it is not 
 in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is, 
 compared with the world to which her young spirit has 
 winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish, ex- 
 pressed in solemn tones above this bed, could call her back 
 to life, which of us would utter it !" 
 
 7. She had been dead two days. They were all about her 
 at the time, knowing that the end was drawing on. She died 
 soon after daybreak. They had read and talked to her in 
 the earlier portion of the night ; but, as the hours crept on, 
 she sank to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly ut- 
 tered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings with 
 the old man ; they were of no painful scenes, but of those 
 who had helped them, and used them kindly ; for she often 
 said " God bless you !" with great fervor. 
 
 8. Waking, she never wandered in her mind but once, and 
 that was at beautiful music, which, she said, was in the air.
 
 374 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 God knows. It may have been. Opening her eyes, at last, 
 from a very quiet sleep, she begged that they would kiss her 
 once again. That done, she turned to the old -man, with a 
 lovely smile upon her face, such, they said, as they had 
 never seen, and never could forget, and clung, with both her 
 arms, about his neck. She had never murmured or com- 
 plained ; but, with a quiet mind, and manner quite unaltered, 
 save that she every day became more earnest and more 
 grateful to them, faded like the light upon the summer's 
 evening. 
 
 9. The child who had been her little friend, came there, al- 
 most as soon as it was day, with an offering of dried flowers, 
 which he begged them to lay upon her breast. He told them 
 of his dream again, and that it was of her being restored to . 
 them, just as she used to be. He begged hard to see her : 
 saying, that he would be very quiet, and that they need not 
 fear his being alarmed, for he had sat alone by his younger 
 brother all day long when he was dead, and had felt glad to 
 be so near him. They let him have his wish ; and, indeed, 
 he kept his word, and was, in his childish way, a lesson to 
 them all. 
 
 10. Up to that time, the old man had not spoken once, 
 except to her, or stirred from the bedside. But, when he 
 saw her little favorite, he was moved as they had not seen 
 him yet, and made as though he would have him come nearer. 
 Then, pointing to the bed, he burst into tears for the first 
 time, and they who stood by, knowing that the sight of this 
 child had done him good, left them alone together. 
 
 11. Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the child 
 persuaded him to take some rest, to walk abroad, to do almost 
 as he desired him. And, when the day came, on which they 
 must remove her, in her earthly shape, from earthly eyes for- 
 ever, he led him away, that he might not know when she was 
 taken from him. They were to gather fresh leaves and ber- 
 ries for her bed. 
 
 12. And now the bell the bell she had so often heard by
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 375 
 
 night and day, and listened to with solemn pleasure, almost 
 as a living voice, rung its remorseless toll for her, so young, 
 so beautiful, so good. Decrepit age, and vigorous life, and 
 blooming youth, and helpless infancy, poured forth on 
 crutches, in the pride of health and strength, in the full blush 
 of promise, in the mere dawn of life to gather round her 
 tomb. Old men were there, whose eyes were dim and senses 
 failing, grandmothers, who might have died ten years ago, 
 and still been old, the deaf, the blind, the lame, the palsied, 
 the living dead, in many shapes and forms, to see the clos- 
 ing of that early grave. 
 
 13. Along the crowded path they bore her now, pure as 
 the newly-fallen snow that covered it, whose day on earth 
 had been as fleeting. Under that porch where she had sat, 
 when Heaven, in its mercy, brought her to that peaceful spot, 
 she passed again, and the old church received her in its quiet 
 shade. 
 
 14. They carried her to one old nook, where she had, many 
 and many a time, sat musing, and laid their burden softly on 
 the pavement. The light streamed on it through the colored 
 window a window where the boughs of trees were ever 
 rustling in the summer, and where the birds sang sweetly all 
 day long. With every breath of air that stirred among 
 those branches in the sunshine, some trembling, changing 
 light would fall upon her grave. 
 
 15. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Many a 
 young hand dropped in its little wreath, many a stifled sob 
 was heard. Some, and they were not a few, knelt down. 
 All were sincere and truthful in their sorrow. The service 
 done, the mourners stood apart, and the villagers closed 
 round to look into the grave, before the stone should be re- 
 placed. 
 
 16. One called to mind how he had seen her sitting on 
 that very spot, and how her book had fallen on her lap, and 
 she was gazing, with a pensive face, upon the sky. Another 
 told how he had wondered much, that one so delicate as she
 
 376 SANDEBS' NEW SEKIES. 
 
 should be so bold ; how she had never feared to enter the 
 church alone, at night, but had loved to linger there when 
 all was quiet ; and even to climb the tower-stair, with no 
 more light than that of the moon-rays stealing through the 
 loop-holes in the thick old walls. A whisper went about 
 among the oldest there, that she had seen and talked with 
 angels ; and, when they called to mind how she had looked 
 and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might be 
 so, indeed. 
 
 17. Thus, coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing 
 down, and giving place to others, and falling off in whispering 
 groups of three or four, the church was cleared, in time, of 
 all but the sexton and the mourning friends. . Then, when the 
 dusk of evening had come on, and not a sound disturbed the 
 sacred stillness of the place, when the bright moon poured 
 in her light on tomb and monument, on* pillar, wall, and arch, 
 and, most of all, it seemed to them, upon her quiet grave, 
 in that calm time, when all outward things and inward 
 thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, and worldly 
 hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them, then, 
 with tranquil and submissive hearts, they turned away, and 
 left the child with God. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXI. 
 
 It is sometimes desirable to have each member of a class read a 
 piece complete in itself. To answer this end, the following collection 
 of brief, though beautiful productions, have been brought together 
 all under one head. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE SCULPTOR-BOY'S VISION. 
 
 1. Chisel in hand stood a sculptor -boy, 
 With his marble block before him,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 377 
 
 And his face lit up with a smile of joy, 
 
 As an angel-dream passed o'er him ; 
 He carved the dream on that shapeless stone, 
 
 With many a sharp incision ; * 
 With heaven's own light the sculpture shone, 
 
 He had caught that angel vision. 
 
 2. Sculptures of Life are we, as we stand 
 
 With our souls uncarved before us ; 
 Waiting the hour when at God's command, 
 
 Our life-dream passes o'er us. 
 If we carve it then, on the yielding stone, 
 
 With many a sharp incision, 
 Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, 
 
 OUK LIVES, THAT ANGEL VISION. 
 
 
 
 n. 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 GEORGE P. MORRIS. 
 
 1. Near the banks of that lone river, 
 
 Where the water-lilies grow, 
 Breathed the fairest flower that ever 
 
 Bloomed and faded years ago. 
 How we met and loved and parted, 
 
 None on earth can ever know 
 Nor how pure and gentle-hearted 
 
 Beamed the mourned one years ago. 
 
 2. Like the stream with lilies laden, 
 
 Will life's future current flow, 
 Till in Heaven I meet the maiden, 
 
 Fondly cherished years ago. 
 Hearts that love, like mine, forget not ; 
 
 They 're the same in weal or woe, t 
 And the star of memory sets not 
 
 In the grave of years ago.
 
 378 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 HI. 
 FREEDOM OF THE MIND. 
 
 WILLIAM LLOYD GAERISON. 
 
 High walls and huge the body may confine, 
 
 And iron grates obstruct the prisoner's gaze, 
 And massive bolts may baffle his design, 
 
 And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways : 
 Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control ! 
 
 No chains can bind it, and no cell inclose : 
 (=) Swifter than light, it flies from pole to pole, 
 
 And in a flash from earth to heaven it goes ! 
 It leaps from mount to mount ; from vale to vale 
 
 It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers ; 
 It visits home, to hear the fireside tale, 
 
 Or, in sweet converse, pass the joyous hours. 
 'T is up .before the sun, roaming afar, 
 And in its watches wearies every star. 
 
 IV. 
 
 INVOCATION. * 
 
 ANN! 0. LYNCH. 
 
 1. On the swift-flying hours 
 
 Another bright day, 
 With its tears and its smiles, 
 
 Has vanished away. 
 Thou who dost number 
 
 Our days as they flee, 
 May each that departs 
 
 Bear us nearer to Thee ! 
 
 2. On the wide sea of life, 
 
 Soon our barks will be tost, 
 And the sweet ties that bind us 
 Be broken and lost.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 379 
 
 Father in Heaven, 
 
 Be our guide to that shore, 
 Where night never cometh, 
 
 Where partings are o'er. 
 
 V. 
 TRUE WIT. 
 
 True wit is like the brilliant stone, 
 
 Dug from the Indian mine, 
 Which boasts two different powers in one, 
 
 To cut as well as shine. 
 Genius, like that, if polished right, 
 
 With self-same gifts abounds ; 
 Appears at once both keen and bright, 
 
 And sparkles, while it wounds. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."- 
 Matthe-w, vi. 21. 
 
 BERNARD BARTON. 
 
 1. Thy path, like most by mortal trod, 
 
 Will have its thorns and flowers, 
 Its stony steps, its velvet sod, 
 Its sunshine and its showers. 
 
 2. Through smooth and rough, o'er flower and thorn, 
 
 Beneath whatever sky, 
 Still bear thee as a being born 
 For immortality. 
 
 3. And be thy choicest treasures stored 
 
 Where Faith may hold the key ; 
 For " where our treasure is," our Lord 
 Hath said " the heart will be."
 
 380 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 VII. 
 LINES BY A YOUNG LADY BORN BLIND. 
 
 1. If this delicious, grateful flower, 
 Which blows but for a little hour, 
 Should to the sight so lovely be, 
 As from its fragrance seems to me, 
 A sigh must then its color show, 
 For that 's the softest joy I know ; 
 And sure the rose is like a sigh, 
 Born just to soothe, and then to die. 
 
 2. My father, when our fortune smiled, 
 With jewels decked his eyeless child ; 
 Their glittering worth the world might see, 
 But, ah ! they had no charms for me ; 
 
 A trickling tear bedewed my arm, 
 I felt it, and my heart was warm ; 
 And sure the gem to me most dear, 
 Was a kind father's pitying tear. 
 
 VIII. 
 ODE TO THE LARK. 
 
 JAMES HOGG. 
 
 1. Bird of the wilderness, 
 
 Blithesome and cumberless, 
 Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place, 
 O, to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 Wild is thy lay and loud, 
 
 Far in the downy cloud, 
 Love gives it energy, love gave it birth, 
 
 Where on thy dewy wing 
 
 Where art thou journeying ? 
 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
 
 2. O'er fell and fountain sheen, 
 
 O'er moor and mountain green, 
 O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 
 
 Over the cloudlet dim, 
 
 Over the rainbow's rim, 
 Musical cherub, soar, singing away ! 
 
 Then, when the gloaming comes, 
 
 Low in the heather blooms, 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place, 
 O, to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 J. G. 0. BRAIXARD. 
 
 1. I saw two clouds at morning, 
 
 Tinged with the rising sun ; 
 And in the dawn they floated on, 
 
 And mingled into one ; 
 I thought that morning cloud was blest, 
 It moved so sweetly to the west. 
 
 2. I saw two Summer currents, 
 
 Flow smoothly to their meeting, 
 And join their course with silent force, 
 
 In peace each other greeting ; 
 Calm was their course through banks of green, 
 While dimpling eddies played between. 
 
 3. Such be your gentle motion, 
 
 Till life's last pulse shall beat, 
 Like Summer's beam, and Summer's stream, 
 
 Float on, in joy, to meet 
 A calmer sea, where storms shall cease 
 A purer sky, where all is peace. 
 
 * EP-I-TUA-LA'-MI-UM, a nuptial song or poem.
 
 382 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 X, 
 
 STRENGTH OF AFFECTION. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Heaven and yourself 
 
 Had part in this fair maid, now Heaven hath all ; 
 And all the better is it for the maid ; 
 Your part in her you could not keep from death, 
 But Heaven keeps His part in eternal life. 
 The most you sought was her promotion, 
 For 't was your Heaven, she should be advanced ; 
 And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced 
 Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
 O ! in this love, you love your child so ill, 
 That you run mad, seeing that she is well. 
 
 XI. 
 
 MEMORY OF THE DEPARTED. 
 
 \V. D. GALLAGHER. 
 
 1. When last the April bloom was flinging 
 
 Sweet odors on the air of Spring, 
 In forest aisles thy voice was ringing, 
 
 Where thou didst with the red-bird sing : 
 Again the April bloom is flinging 
 
 Sweet odors on the air of Spring, 
 But now in Heaven thy voice is ringing, 
 
 Where thou dost with the angels sing. 
 
 2. When last the maple-bud was swelling, 
 
 When last the crocus bloomed below, 
 My heart to thine its love was telling ; 
 
 Thy soul with mine kept ebb and flow. 
 Again the maple-bud is swelling, 
 
 Again the crocus blooms below ; 
 In Heaven thy heart its love is telling, 
 
 But still our souls keep ebb and flow.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 383 
 
 XII. 
 MIND. 
 
 AKENSIDK. 
 
 The immortal MIND, superior to his fate 
 
 Amid the outrage of external things, 
 
 Firm as the solid base of this great world, 
 
 Rests on its own foundation. Blow, ye winds ! 
 
 Ye waves ! ye thunders ! roll your tempests on ! 
 
 Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky ! 
 
 Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire 
 
 Be loosened from their seats ; yet still serene, 
 
 The unconquered mind looks down upon the wreck ; 
 
 And ever stronger as the storms advance, 
 
 Firm through the closing ruin holds his way, 
 
 Where Nature calls him to the destined goal. 
 
 Xffl. 
 THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 
 
 J. G. PBROTVALi 
 
 1. Faintly flow, thou falling river, 
 
 Like a dream that dies away ; 
 Down to ocean gliding ever 
 
 Keep thy calm unruffled way ; 
 Time, with such a silent motion, 
 
 Floats along on wings of air, 
 To Eternity's dark ocean, 
 
 Burying all its treasures there. 
 
 2. Roses bloom, and then they wither, 
 
 Cheeks are bright, then fade and die, 
 Shapes of light are wafted hither, 
 
 Then, like visions, hurry by : 
 Quick as clouds at evening driven, 
 
 O'er the many-colored west, 
 Years are bearing us to Heaven, 
 
 Home of happiness and rest.
 
 384 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 XIV. 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 A few days may, a few years must 
 Repose us in the silent dust. 
 The voice of nature loudly cries, 
 And many a message from the skies, 
 That something in us never dies ; 
 That on this frail, uncertain state, 
 Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
 That future life in worlds unknown 
 Must take its hue from this alone ; 
 Whether as heavenly glory bright, 
 Or dark as misery's woeful night. 
 
 XV. 
 
 DIFFERENCE BETWEEN KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 
 Have oft times no connection. Knowledge dwells 
 In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 
 Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
 Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, 
 The mere materials, with which Wisdom builds, 
 Till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, 
 Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 
 Knowledge is proud, that he has learned so much, 
 Wisdom is humble, that he knows no more. 
 
 XVI. 
 FALSEHOOD. 
 
 HAVARD. 
 
 Let falsehood be a stranger to thy lips ; 
 Shame on the policy that first began 
 To tamper with the heart to hide its thoughts ; 
 And doubly shame on that inglorious tongue 
 That sold its honesty, and told a lie.
 
 ous 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 385 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXII. 
 TELE TEMPEST. 
 
 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
 
 1. I never was a man of feeble courage. There are few 
 scenes of either human or elemental strife, upon which I have 
 not looked with a brow of daring. I have stood in the front 
 of the battle when the swords were gleaming and circling 
 around me like fiery serpents in the air. I have seen these 
 things with a swelling soul, that knew not, that recked no 
 danger. 
 
 2. But there is something in the thunder's voice, that makes 
 me tremble like a child. I have tried to overcome this un- 
 manly weakness. I have called pride to my aid ; I have 
 sought for moral courage in the lessons of philosophy, but it 
 avails me nothing. At the first low moaning of the distant 
 cloud, my heart shrinks and dies within me. 
 
 3. My involuntary dread of thunder had its origin* in an 
 incident that occurred when I was a boy of ten years. I had 
 a little cousin, a girl of the same age as myself, who had been 
 the constant companion of my youth. Strange, that, after the 
 lapse of many years, that occurrence should be so familiar to 
 me ! I can see the bright young creature, her eyes flashing 
 like a beautiful gem, her free locks streaming as in joy upon 
 the rising gale, and her cheeks glowing, like a ruby, through a 
 wreath of transparent snow. 
 
 4. Her voice had the melody and joyousness of a bird's, 
 and when she bounded over the wooded hill, or fresh green 
 valley, shouting a glad answer to every voice of nature, and 
 clapping her little hands in the ecstasy of young existence, 
 she looked as if breaking away, like a free nightingale, from 
 the earth, and going off where all things are beautiful like 
 her. 
 
 5. It was a morning in the middle of August. The little 
 girl had been passing some days at my father's house, and 
 
 17
 
 386 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 she was now to return home. Her path lay across the fields, 
 and gladly I became the companion of her walk. I never 
 knew a summer morning more beautiful and still. Only one 
 little cloud was visible, and that seemed as pure, and white, 
 and peaceful, as if it had been the incense-smoke of some 
 burning censer of the skies. 
 
 6. The leaves hung silent in the woods, the waters in the 
 bay had forgotten their undulations, the flowers were bending 
 their heads, as if dreaming of the rainbow and dew, and the 
 whole atmosphere was of such a soft and luxurious sweetness, 
 that it seemed a cloud of roses scattered down by the hands 
 of a Peri,* from the afar-off garden of Paradise. The green 
 earth and the blue sea lay around, in their boundlessness, and 
 the peaceful sky bent over and blessed them. 
 
 7. The little creature at my side was in a delirium of hap- 
 piness, and her clear, sweet voice came ringing upon the air as 
 often as she heard the tones of a favorite bird, or found some 
 strange and lovely flower in her frolic wanderings. The un- 
 broken and almost supernatural stillness of the day continued 
 until near noon. Then, for the first time, the indications of 
 an approaching tempest were manifest. 
 
 8. On the summit of a mountain, at the distance of about 
 a mile, the folds of a dark cloud became suddenly visible, 
 and, at the same instant, a hollow roar came down upon the 
 winds, as if it had been the sound of waves in a rocky cavern. 
 The cloud rolled out like a banner unfolded upon the air, but 
 still the atmosphere was as calm, and the leaves as motion- 
 less as before ; and there was not even a quiver among the 
 sleeping waters to tell of the coming hurricane. 
 
 9. To escape the tempest was impossible. As the only re- 
 sort, we fled to an oak that stood at the foot of a tall and rag- 
 ged precipice. Here we stood, and gazed almost breathlessly 
 upon the clouds, marshaling themselves like bloody giants in 
 the sky. The thunder was not frequent, but every burst was 
 so fearful, that the young creature who stood by me, shut her 
 
 * See page 81.
 
 LADIES' READER. 387 
 
 eyes convulsively, and clung with desperate strength to my 
 arm, and shrieked as if her heart would break. 
 
 10. A few minutes, and the storm was upon us. During 
 the hight of its fury, the little girl lifted her finger toward the 
 precipice that towered over us. I looked, and saw an ame- 
 thystine peak. And the next moment the clouds opened, the 
 rocks tottered to their foundations, a roar like the groan of 
 the universe filled the air, and I felt myself blinded, and thrown 
 I know not whither. How long I remained insensible, I can 
 not tell ; but when consciousness returned, the violence of the 
 tempest was abating, (>) the roar of the winds was dying in 
 the tree-tops, and the deep tones of thunder-clouds came in 
 fainting murmurs from the eastern hills. 
 
 11. I rose, and looked tremblingly and almost deliriously 
 around. She was there, the dear idol of my infant love, 
 stretched out upon the green earth. After a moment of irres- 
 olution, I went up and looked upon her. The handkerchief 
 upon her neck was slightly rent, and a single dark spot upon 
 her bosom told where the pathway of death had been. At 
 first, I clasped her to my breast with a cry of agony, and then 
 laid her down, and gazed upon her face almost with feelings 
 of calmness. 
 
 12. Her bright, disheveled hair clustered sweetly around 
 her brow ; the look of terror had faded from her lips, and 
 infant smiles were pictured there ; the rose tinge upon her 
 cheeks was lovely as in life ; and, as I pressed them to my 
 own, the fountains of tears were opened, and I wept as if my 
 heart were waters. I have but a dim recollection of what 
 followed. I only know, that I remained weeping and motion- 
 less till the coming twilight, and I was taken tenderly by the 
 hand, and led away where I saw the countenances of parents 
 and sister. 
 
 13. Many years have gone by on the wings of light and 
 shadow, but the scenes I have portrayed still come over me, 
 at times, with terrible distinctness. The oak yet stands at 
 the base of the precipice, but its limbs are black and dead,
 
 388 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 and the hollow trunk looking upward to the sky, as if " call- 
 ing to the clouds for drink," is an emblem of rapid and noise- 
 less decay. 
 
 14. A year ago, I visited the spot, and the thought of by- 
 gone years came mournfully back to me. I thought of the 
 little innocent being who fell by my side, like some beautiful 
 tree of Spring, rent up by the whirlwind in the midst of blos- 
 soming. But I remembered, and O, there was joy in the 
 memory ! that she had gone where no lightnings slumber in 
 the folds of the rainbow-cloud, and where the sunlit waters 
 are broken only by the storm-breath of Omnipotence. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXIII. 
 THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 
 
 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
 
 1. About two years ago, I took up my residence for a few 
 weeks in a country village in the eastern part of New Eng- 
 land. Soon after my arrival, I became acquainted with a 
 young lady, apparently about seventeen years of age. She 
 had lost the idol of her 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 admired ; her brow was gar- 
 landed by the young year's sweetest flowers, and her sunny 
 tresses were hanging beautifully and low upon her bosom ; 
 and she moved through the crowd with such floating, unearthly 
 grace, that the bewildered gazer looked almost to see her fade 
 away into the air, like the creation of a pleasant dream. 
 
 3. She seemed cheerful, and even gay ; yet I saw that her 
 gayety was but the mockery of her feelings. She smiled, but 
 there was something in her smile, which told me that its mourn- 
 ful beauty was but the bright reflection of a tear ; and her
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 389 
 
 eyelids, at times, pressed heavily down, as if struggling to re- 
 press 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 beneath 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 purity and life. 
 
 4. I have lately heard, that the young lady of whom I have 
 spoken, is dead. The close of her life was as 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 for very sweetness. 
 
 5. It can not be, that earth is man's only abiding place. It 
 can not be that our life is a bubble, cast up by the ocean of 
 eternity, to float another moment upon its surface, and then 
 sink into nothingness and darkness forever. Else, why is it 
 that the high and glorious aspirations 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 ' on their faded loveliness ? Why is it that the 
 stars, which hold their festival around the midnight throne, 
 are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, and forever 
 mocking us with their unapproachable glory ? And, finally, 
 why is it that bright forms of human beauty are presented to 
 the view, and then taken from us, leaving the thousand streams 
 of the affections, to flow back in an Alpine torrent 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 slum- 
 ber on the ocean ; and where the beautiful beings, that here 
 pass before us like visions, will stay in our presence forever.
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXIV. 
 THE STARS OF NIGHT. 
 
 FRANCES BROWN. 
 
 1. Whence are your glorious goings forth, 
 
 Ye children of the sky, 
 In whose bright silence seems the power 
 
 Of all eternity ? 
 For time hath let his shadow fall 
 
 O'er many an ancient light ; 
 But ye walk above in the brightness still 
 O, glorious Stars of Night ! 
 
 2. The vestal lamp in Grecian fane 
 
 Hath faded long ago ; 
 On Persia's hills the worshiped flame 
 
 Hath lost its ancient glow : 
 And long the heaven-sent fire is gone, 
 
 With Salem's temple bright ; 
 But ye watch o'er wandering Israel yet 
 
 O, changeless Stars of Night ! 
 
 3. Long have ye looked upon the Earth, 
 
 O'er vale and mountain-brow : 
 Ye saw the ancient cities rise, 
 
 And gild their ruins now ; 
 Ye beam upon the cottage home, 
 
 The conqueror's path of might, 
 And shed your light alike on all 
 
 O, priceless Stars of Night ! 
 
 4. But where are they who learned from you 
 
 The fates of coming time, 
 Ere yet the pyramids arose 
 
 Amid their desert clime ? 
 Yet still in wilds and deserts far, 
 
 Ye bless the watcher's sight,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 391 
 
 And shine where bark hath never been 
 O, lonely Stars of Night ! 
 
 5. Much have ye seen of human tears, 
 
 Of human hope and love : 
 And fearful deeds of darkness, too, 
 
 Ye witnesses above ! 
 Say, will that blackening record live 
 
 Forever in your sight, 
 Watching for judgment on the earth, 
 . O, sleepless Stars of Night ? 
 
 6. How glorious was your song that rose 
 
 With the fresh morning's dawn ! 
 And still, amid our summer sky, 
 
 Its echo lingers on ; 
 Though ye have shone on many a grave, 
 
 Since Eden's early blight ; 
 Ye tell of hope and glory Still 
 
 O, deathless Stars of Night ! 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXV. 
 A MOTHER'S LOVE, 
 
 EHILT TAY10B. 
 
 1. Hast thou sounded the depths of yonder sea, 
 And counted the sands that under it be 1 
 
 Hast thou measured the hight of heaven above ? 
 Then mayst thou measure a mother's love. 
 
 2. Hast thou talked with the blessed, of leading on 
 To the throne of God some wandering son ? 
 Hast thou witnessed the angels' bright employ ? 
 Then mayst thou speak of a mother's joy.
 
 392 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 3. Evening and morn, hast thou watched the bee 
 Go forth on her errands of industry ? 
 
 The bee, for herself, hath gathered and toiled, 
 But the mother's cares are all for her child. 
 
 4. Hast thou gone with the traveler, Thought, afar, 
 From pole to pole, and from star to star ? 
 
 Thou hast, but on ocean, earth, or sea, 
 The heart of a mother has gone with thee. 
 
 5. There is not a grand, inspiring thought, 
 There is not a truth by wisdom taught, 
 There is not a feeling, pure and high, 
 That may not be read in a mother's eye. 
 
 6. And, ever since earth began, that look 
 Has been to the wise an open book, 
 
 To win them back from the love they prize, 
 To the holier love that edifies. 
 
 7. There are teachings on earth, and sky, and air, 
 The heavens the glory of God declare, 
 
 But more loud than the voice beneath, above, 
 He is heard to speak through a mother's love. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. Are the questions in the above piece direct or indi- 
 rect ? 2. What pause after the word hast, fourth stanza, third line ? 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXVI. 
 INFANCY AND MATURE AGE. AN APOLOGUE. 
 
 CRABBE. 
 
 [Men are but children of a larger growth.] 
 1. 'Twas eight o'clock, and near the fire 
 
 My ruddy little boy was seated, 
 And with the titles of a sire 
 
 My ears expected to be greeted,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 393 
 
 But vain the thought ! by sleep oppressed, 
 No father there the child descried ! 
 
 His head reclined upon his breast, 
 Or nodding rolled from side to side. 
 
 2. " Let this young rogue be sent to bed ;" 
 
 More I had not time to say, 
 When the poor urchin raised his head 
 
 To beg that he might longer stay. 
 Refused ; toward rest his steps he bent 
 
 With tearful eye and aching heart ; 
 But claimed his playthings ere he went, 
 
 And took up stairs his horse and cart. 
 
 3. For new delay, though oft denied, 
 
 He. pleaded ; wildly craved the boon ; 
 Though past his usual hour, he cried 
 
 At being sent away so soon. 
 If stern to him, his grief I shared ; 
 
 (Unmoved, who hears his offspring weep ?) 
 Of soothing him I half despaired, 
 
 When all his cares were lost in sleep ! 
 
 4. " Alas ! poor infant !" I exclaimed, 
 
 " Thy father blushes now to scan, 
 In all which he so lately blamed, 
 
 The follies and the fears of man. 
 The vain regret, the anguish brief, 
 
 Which thou hast known, sent up to bed, 
 Portrays of man the idle grief, 
 
 When doomed to slumber with the dead." 
 
 5. And more I thought ; when up the stairs 
 
 With " longing, ling'ring looks" he crept, 
 To mark of man the childish cares, 
 His playthings carefully he kept. 
 17*
 
 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 Thus mortals on life's later stage, 
 
 When nature claims their forfeit breath, 
 
 Still grasp at wealth, in pain and age, 
 And cling to golden toys in death. 
 
 6. 'Tis morn ! and see my smiling- boy 
 
 Awakes to hail returning light ; 
 To fearless laughter ! boundless joy ! 
 
 Forgot the tears of yesternight ! 
 Thus shall not man forget his woe ? 
 
 Survive of age and death the gloom 1 
 Smile at the cares he knew below ? 
 
 And, renovated, burst the tomb ? 
 
 7. O, my Creator ! when thy will 
 
 Shall stretch this frame on earth's cold bed, 
 Let that blest hope sustain me still, 
 
 Till thought, sense, mem'ry, all are fled. 
 And, grateful for what thou may'st give, 
 
 No tear shall dim my fading eye, 
 That 't was thy pleasure I should live 
 
 That 't is thy mandate bids me die. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXVII. 
 SOCIAL ENJOYMENT, WHERE FOUND. 
 
 N. Y. MIRROR. 
 
 1. "How have you enjoyed yourself this evening ?" Mr. 
 Westbury inquired, as soon as the carriage-door was closed, 
 and the coachman had mounted his box. 
 
 2. " Quite as well as I do all scenes of similar character," 
 Julia answered. 
 
 3. " Do you not then relish society ?" 
 
 4. " Not very well, in such large masses," said Julia. " To 
 my apprehension, very large parties counteract the purposes, 
 for which social feelings were implanted within us."
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 395 
 
 5. " Then you disapprove, as well as disrelish them ?" said 
 Mr. Westbury. 
 
 6. " I fear they are not quite innocent," said Julia. " So 
 far as my observation has extended, they have little tendency 
 to increase benevolence, or any of the finer feelings of the 
 heart. I have often feared, that vanity and thirst for admira- 
 tion were the causes that draw together one half of the crowd, 
 and a vulgar love of luxuries the other." 
 
 7. " Those causes -surely d<> not influence all those who at- 
 tend large assemblies," said Mr. Westbury. " Such persons 
 as Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth, for instance, are entirely above 
 them." 
 
 8. " Undoubtedly," said Julia. " Still I believe the rule as 
 general as any other." 
 
 9. " Does not the elegant and instructive conversation of 
 such a man as Mr. Eveleth, reconcile you to the crowd ?" Mr. 
 Westbury inquired. 
 
 10. " Certainly not," said Julia. " How much more highly 
 such conversation would be enjoyed, how much greater ben- 
 efit derived from it, in a small circle. Artificial delicacy and 
 refinement, artificial feeling, artificial good-nature, arti- 
 ficial friendship, are the usual elements that make up large com- 
 panies. Had Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth spent this evening with 
 us in our quiet parlor, how much greater would have been 
 the enjoyment ! how much more profitably the time might 
 have been occupied !" 
 
 11. "It might," said Mr. Westbury. "Mr. Eveleth has 
 great colloquial powers. His conversation is at once brilliant 
 and instructive. I know no gentleman who equals him in this 
 particular." 
 
 12. "I can not say quite as much as that," said Julia, 
 " though he certainly converses uncommonly well." 
 
 13. " Who can you name that is his equal ?" asked Mr. 
 Westbury. 
 
 14. Julia hesitated a little, and blushed a great deal, though 
 her blushes were unseen, as she said :
 
 396 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 "In conversational powers, I think my present compan- 
 ion is very rarely, if ever excelled. And why," she added, 
 " such gentlemen mingle in crowds, where their talents are in 
 a great measure lost, instead of meeting in select circles, 
 where they could find congenial minds, at least, in some de- 
 gree, capable of appreciating them, I can not, indeed, conceive. 
 
 15. " But I suppose my ideas of rational enjoyment, of ele- 
 gant society, are very singular." She stopped short, fearing 
 she was saying too much, but Mr. Westbury requested her to 
 proceed. After a minute's hesitation she said, " I think the 
 crowded drawing-room should be abandoned to those who are 
 capable of no higher enjoyment than gossip, nonsense, flirta- 
 tions, and eating oysters, confections, and creams ; and that 
 people of talent and education, principle and refinement, 
 should associate freely in small circles, and with little cere- 
 mony. 
 
 16. " In such kind of intercourse, new friendships would be 
 formed, and old ones cemented, the mind and the heart would 
 be improved, and envy and detraction excluded. After an 
 evening spent in such a circle, the monitor within would be 
 at peace, and the blessing and protection of Heaven could be 
 sought without a feeling of shame and self-condemnation." 
 
 17. " Then your conscience is really at war with large par- 
 ties ?" said Mr. Westbury. 
 
 18. "I can not deny that it is," Julia answered. " Im- 
 pelled by circumstances, I have striven to think they might 
 sometimes be innocently attended, and perhaps they may ; 
 but I confess that the reproaches of my own conscience are 
 more and more severe every time I repeat the indulgence. 
 Whatever they be to others, I am constrained to believe they 
 are not innocent for me." 
 
 19. Mr. Westbury made no reply, for at that moment the 
 carriage stopped at their own door, and the subject was not 
 again resumed. 
 
 20. Every party was sure to procure for Mrs. Westbury 
 the favor of a call from Mrs. Cunningham. On the following
 
 YOUNG LADIES' KEADER. 397 
 
 morning, at as early an hour as etiquette would allow, she 
 made her appearance. 
 
 21. "I could not stay away this morning," she said the 
 moment she entered. " I am so vexed and so hurt, I must 
 have the sympathy of some friendly heart ; and you are a 
 friend to every one, especially when in trouble." 
 
 22. " What troubles you, Mrs. Cunningham ?" Mrs. West- 
 bury inquired. 
 
 23. " You recollect," said Mrs. Cunningham, " what I said 
 to you about Mr. Cunningham's indisposition. Well, as soon 
 as I got home, I ran up stairs, of course, you know, to see how 
 he was, expecting to find him in bed and asleep. Judge how 
 I felt, when I found the bed as I left it, and no husband in the 
 chamber. I flew down stairs, and searched every room for 
 him, but in vain. I then rung for the servant, and asked ' if 
 she knew where Mr. Cunningham was V ' La, ma'am,' said 
 she, ' I 'm sure I don't know. He went out just after you 
 did. He called me to give charge about the fires, and said 
 he was going out. I thought he had altered his mind, and 
 was going to Mrs. T 's.' 
 
 24. " I dismissed the girl, and went to my chamber in 
 agony, as you may suppose. I declare I hardly know what I 
 did or thought for three long hours ; for it was so long before 
 Mr. Cunningham came home ! I don't know what I said to 
 him when he came, but he was not the kind, affectionate crea- 
 ture that he had ever been ; for he almost harshly told me to 
 ' cease my upbraidings,' (upbraidings ! think what a word !) 
 ' for, if I sought pleasure where I liked, I must not quarrel 
 with him for doing the same !' My dear Mrs. Westbury, I 
 could not make him tell me where he had been, do all I could 
 and I have horrible surmises. What shall I do ? I am 
 sick at heart and almost distracted." 
 
 25. " Will you follow my advice, my dear Mrs. Cunning- 
 ham ?" said Mrs. Westbury, who truly pitied her distress, 
 much as she blamed her. 
 
 26. " O yes, I will do any thing to feel happier than I now
 
 898 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 do. Really my heart is broken," and she burst into a pas- 
 sion of tears. Mrs. Westbury attempted to soothe her, and 
 then said : " Forgive me, if I wound, when I would only heal. 
 You have been a little imprudent, and must retrace your steps 
 by conforming to the taste of your husband. He does not 
 like crowds, and you must, in part, relinquish them for his 
 sake." 
 
 27. " And is not that hard ?" said Mrs. Cunningham. 
 " -Why should he not conform to my taste, as well as / to his ? 
 Why must men always have their own way ?" 
 
 28. "That point it is not worth while to discuss," said Mrs. 
 Westbury. " Your happiness, my friend, is at stake. Can 
 you hesitate an instant which to relinquish, these pleasures, 
 which, after all, are so unsatisfying, or the approbation, the 
 happiness, perhaps, the heart even of your husband ?" 
 
 29. " But why," persisted Mrs. Cunningham, " need he be 
 so obstinate ? You see he could go out and stay till two in 
 the morning ! It seems as if be did it on purpose to torment 
 me ;" and she again burst into tears. 
 
 30. " I have not the least doubt," said Mrs. Westbury, 
 " that would you yield to Mr. Cunningham's wishes, would 
 you let him see, that you care more about pleasing him than 
 yourself, he would cheerfully, and frequently, perhaps, accom- 
 modate himself to your taste. Few men will bear being 
 driven, and they would be objects of our contempt if they 
 would ; for authority is divinely delegated to them ; but almost 
 any man would have generosity enough to take pleasure in 
 gratifying the wife who evidently strives to meet his wishes, 
 and is willing to sacrifice her own pleasures, that she may 
 promote his happiness." 
 
 31. " But I can't see," said Mrs. Cunningham, "why my 
 happiness is not of as much consequence as my husband's ; 
 I can't see why all the sacrifice should be on my side." 
 
 32. " Do you not perceive," said Mrs. Westbury, " that the 
 sacrifices you make, are made to secure your happiness, and 
 not to destro}' it?"
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 399 
 
 33. " I don't know," said Mrs. Cunningham. " I can't bear 
 to have Edward think to manage me as he would a little child, 
 and then punish me as he did last night, if I don't do just as 
 he says. I don't think it fair. And I don't know as it would 
 be of any avail, should I follow your advice. Some men 
 will be ugly, do what you will ! and why should you under- 
 stand managing the men better than I do ? You are two or 
 three years younger ! 
 
 34. "I never studied how to manage them," said Mrs. 
 Westbury, " but I have thought a good deal on the best way 
 of securing domestic happiness ; and reason, observation, and 
 the word of God teach me, that would the wife be happy and 
 beloved, she must be in subjection to her own husband. He 
 may not always be reasonable, but she can not 'usurp au- 
 thority,' without at once warring against Heaven and her own 
 peace and respectability. 
 
 35. " Think of it, my dear Mrs. Cunningham ; ruminate 
 upon it ; and in your decision be careful not to let will influ- 
 ence you to sacrifice a greater good for a less. It is not de- 
 grading for a wife to submit to her husband. On the con- 
 trary, she never appears more lovely than, when cheerfully and 
 gracefully yielding up her own wishes, that she may comply 
 with his. Women were not made to rule ; and, in my view, 
 the wife who attempts to govern, and the husband who sub- 
 mits to be governed, are equally contemptible." 
 
 36. " What an admirable wife you would be for a tyrant !" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham. " I never heard the doctrine 
 of passive obedience more strenuously inculcated. Indeed, 
 you would make a tyrant of any man !" 
 
 37. " If any thing would disarm the tyrant," said Mrs. 
 Westbury, " I think this passive obedience would do it, if at 
 the same time, it were a cheerful obedience. But happily, 
 you have no tyrant to disarm. Your husband, I am satis- 
 fied, would be easily pleased. Try, my friend, for a little 
 while, to yield to him, and see, if you do not meet a rich 
 reward."
 
 400 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 38. "Well, I will think of it," said Mrs. Cunningham, " and, 
 perhaps, shall do as you advise ; for really I am wretched 
 now. O dear, I do wish the men were not so obstinate ! so 
 overbearing ! so selfish !" 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. On what principle are he, I, my, and his, emphatic, 
 twenty-seventh paragraph ? See Note VII, page 22. 2. What kind 
 of emphasis on will, thirty-fifth paragraph ? See Note VI., page 21. 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXVIII. 
 FOREST TREES. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 1. I am fond of listening to the conversation of English 
 gentlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste 
 and discrimination, and what strong, unaffected interest, they 
 will discuss topics, which, in other countries, are abandoned to 
 mere woodmen, or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble 
 earl descant on park and forest scenery, with the science and 
 feeling of a painter. 
 
 2. He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on 
 his estate, with as much pride and technical precision, as 
 though he had been discussing the merits of statues in his col- 
 lection. I found that he had gone considerable distances to 
 examine trees which were celebrated among rural amateurs ; 
 for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established 
 points of excellence, and that there are some in England, 
 which enjoy very extensive celebrity from being perfect in 
 their kind. 
 
 3. There is something nobly simple and pure in such a 
 taste. It argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to have 
 this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this 
 friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. 
 There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of 
 rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 401 
 
 heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and free- 
 born, and aspiring men. 
 
 4. He who plants an oak, looks forward to future ages, and 
 plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. 
 He can not expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; 
 but he exults in the idea, that the acorn which he has buried 
 in the earth, will grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on 
 flourishing, and increasing, and benefiting mankind, long after 
 he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields. 
 
 5. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations, to lift the 
 thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are 
 said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and breathe 
 forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew 
 from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth 
 peace and philanthropy. 
 
 6. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland 
 scenery, that enters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, 
 and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and heredi- 
 tary groves, too, that embower this island, are most of them 
 full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of the 
 great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation 
 among them, from the tumult of arms, or the toils of state, 
 or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. 
 
 7. It is becoming, then, for the high and generous spirits 
 of an ancient nation, to cherish these sacred groves that sur- 
 round their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to 
 their descendants. Brought up, as I have been, in republican 
 habits and principles, I can feel nothing of the servile rever- 
 ence for titled rank, merely because it is titled. But I trust I 
 am neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I do see and feel 
 how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of a gener- 
 ous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. 
 
 8. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls 
 thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, ex- 
 tends the existence of the possessor. He does not feel him- 
 self a mere individual link in creation, responsible only for
 
 402 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 his own brief term of being. He carries back his existence 
 in proud recollection, and he extends it forward in honorable 
 anticipation. He lives with his ancestry, and he lives with 
 his posterity. To both does he consider himself involved in 
 deep responsibilities. As he has received much from those 
 that have gone before, so he feels bound to transmit much to 
 those who are to come after him. 
 
 9. His domestic undertakings seem to imply a longer ex- 
 istence than those of ordinary men. None are so apt to build 
 and plant for future centuries, as noble-spirited men who have 
 received their heritages from foregoing ages. I can easily 
 imagine, therefore, the fondness and pride with which I have 
 noticed English gentlemen, of generous temperaments, and 
 high aristocratic feelings, contemplating those magnificent 
 trees, which rise like towers and pyramids from the midst of 
 their paternal lands. There is an affinity between all natures, 
 animate and inanimate. The oak, in the pride and lustihood 
 of its growth, seems to me to take its range with the lion and 
 the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, 
 to heroic and intellectual man. 
 
 10. With its mighty pillar rising straight and direct toward 
 heaven ; bearing up its leafy honors from the impurities of ' 
 earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sun- 
 shine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should be ;*a 
 refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a defense 
 for the defenseless; warding off from them the peltings of the 
 storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is 
 this, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He 
 who is otherwise, abuses his eminent advantages, abuses the 
 grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn from the bosom 
 of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid pros- 
 trate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should 
 he be borne down by the oppressive hand of power, who 
 would murmur at his fate ? " Why cumbereth he the 
 ground ?"
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 403 
 
 EXERCISE CXXXIX. 
 
 ENJOYMENT OF THE PRESENT HOUR RECOMMENDED. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 1. Enjoy the present smiling hour, 
 And put it out of Fortune's power : 
 
 The tide of business, like the running stream, 
 Is sometimes high and sometimes low, 
 
 And always in extreme. 
 Now with a noiseless, gentle course, 
 It keeps within the middle bed ; 
 Anon it lifts aloft the head, 
 
 And bears down all before it with impetuous force ; 
 And trunks of trees come rolling down ; 
 Sheep and their folds together drown ; 
 Both house and homestead into seas are borne ; 
 And rocks are from their old foundations torn ; 
 And woods, made thin with winds, their scattered honors 
 mourn. 
 
 2. Happy the man, and happy he alone, 
 
 He who can call to-day his own : 
 He who, secure within, can say, 
 To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to day. 
 
 Be fair or foul, or rain, or shine, 
 The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. 
 
 Not Heaven itself upon the past has power ; 
 But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour. 
 Fortune, that with malicious joy 
 Does man, her slave, oppress, 
 Proud of her office to destroy, 
 Is seldom pleased to bless : 
 Still various, and inconstant still, 
 But with an inclination to be ill, 
 
 Promotes, degrades, delights in strife, 
 And makes a lottery of life.
 
 404 SANDEBS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 I can enjoy her while she 's kind ; 
 But when she dances in the wind, 
 
 And shakes her wings, and will not stay, 
 
 I puff the prostitute away : 
 The little or the much she gave is quietly resigned : 
 
 Content with poverty, my soul I arm ; 
 
 And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. 
 
 3. What is 't to me, 
 
 Who never sail in her unfaithful sea, 
 If storms arise, and clouds grow black ; 
 If the mast split, and threaten wreck ? 
 Then let the greedy merchant fear 
 
 For his ill-gotten gain ; 
 And pray to gods that will not hear, 
 While the debating winds and billows bear 
 
 His wealth into the main. 
 For me, secure from Fortune's blows, 
 Secure of what I can not lose, 
 In my small pinnace I can sail, 
 Contemning all the blustering roar : 
 
 And running with a merry gale, 
 With friendly stars my safety seek, 
 Within some little winding creek, 
 
 And see the storm ashore. 
 
 EXERCISE CXL. 
 THE EAINBOW. 
 
 AMELIA B. WELBY. 
 
 1. I sometimes have thought, in my loneliest hours, 
 That lie on my heart like the dew on the flowers, 
 Of a ramble I took, one bright afternoon, 
 When my heart was as light as a blossom in June.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 405 
 
 The green earth was moist with the late-fallen showers, 
 The breeze fluttered down and blew open the flowers ; 
 While a single white cloud floated off in the west, 
 On the white wing of peace, to its haven of rest. 
 
 2. As I threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze, 
 That scattered the rain-drops and dimpled the seas, 
 Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unrolled 
 
 Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold. 
 
 'Twas born in a moment ; yet, quick as its birth, 
 
 It was stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth ; 
 
 And, fair as an angel, it floated as free, 
 
 With a wing on the earth, and a wing on the sea. 
 
 3. How calm was the ocean ! how gentle its swell ! 
 Like a woman's soft bosom, 1 it rose and it fell ; 
 
 While its light sparkling wa>es, stealing laughingly o'er, 
 When they saw the fair rainbow knelt down on the shore. 
 No sweet hymn ascended, no murmur of prayer, 
 Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was there ; 
 And I bent my young head in devotion and love, 
 'Neath the form of the angel that floated above. 
 
 4. How wide was the sweep of its beautiful wings ! 
 How boundless its circle ! how radiant its rings ! 
 If I looked on the sky, 'twas suspended in air, 
 If I looked on the ocean, the rainbow was there ; 
 Thus forming a girdle, as brilliant and whole, 
 
 As the thoughts of the rainbow that circled my soul. 
 Like the wmgs of the Deity, calmly unfurled, 
 It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. 
 
 5. There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives 
 Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves; 
 When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose, 
 Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose ;
 
 406 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 And thus, when the rainbow had passed in the sky, 
 The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by ; 
 It left my full heart, like the wing of a dove, 
 All fluttering with pleasure, and fluttering with love. 
 
 6. 1 know that each moment of rapture or pain, 
 But shortens the links of life's mystical chain : 
 I know that my form, like that bow from the wave, 
 Must pass from the earth, and lie cold in the grave : 
 Yet O ! when Death's shadows my bosom encloud, 
 When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud, 
 May hope, like the rainbow, my spirit enfold 
 In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold ! 
 
 EXERCISE CXLI. 
 
 [The following piece is well adapted for reading in concert.] 
 THE LIGHT-HOUSE. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 1. The scene was more beautiful far to my eye 
 
 Than if day in its pride had arrayed it ; 
 The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arched sky 
 
 Looked pure as the spirit that made 'it. 
 The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed 
 
 On the shadowy wave's playful motion, 
 From the dim distant hill, till the Light-house fire blazed, 
 
 Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 
 
 2. No longer the joy in the sailor-boy's breast, 
 
 Was heard in his wildly-breathed numbers ; 
 The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girded nest, 
 
 The fisherman sunk to his slumbers : 
 One moment I looked from the hill's gentle slope, 
 
 All hushed was the billows' commotion ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 407 
 
 And thought that the Light-house looked lovely as Hope, 
 That star of life's tremulous ocean. 
 
 3. The time is long past, and the scene is afar, 
 
 Yet, when my head rests on its pillow, 
 Will memory sometimes rekindle the star 
 
 That blazed on the breast of the billow. 
 In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, 
 
 And Death stills the heart's last emotion ; 
 O, then may the seraph of mercy arise, 
 
 Like a star on eternity's ocean. 
 
 EXERCISE CXLII. 
 
 SOLED IMPROVEMENT, THE TRUE END OF FEMALE 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 SYDNEY SMITH. 
 
 1. If the objections against the better education of women 
 could be overruled, one of the great advantages that would 
 ensue, would be the extinction of innumerable follies. A 
 decided and prevailing taste for one or another mode of edu- 
 cation there must be. A century past, it was for housewife- 
 ry, now it is for accomplishments. The object now is, to 
 make women artists, to give them an excellence in drawing, 
 music, painting, and dancing, of which, persons who make 
 these pursuits the occupation of their lives, and derive from 
 them their subsistence, need not be ashamed. 
 
 2. Now, one great evil of this is, that it does not last. If 
 the whole of life were an Olympic game, if we could go on 
 feasting and dancing to the end, this might do ; but it is in 
 truth merely a provision for the little interval between coming 
 into life, and settling in it ; while it leaves a long and dreary 
 expanse behind; devoid both of dignity and cheerfulness. No 
 mother, no woman who has passed over the few first years of 
 life, sings, or dances, or draws, or plays upon musical instru- 
 ments. These are merely means for displaying the grace and
 
 408 SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 vivacity of youth, which every woman gives up, as she gives 
 up the dress and manners of eighteen; she has no wish to 
 retain them, or if she has, she is driven out of them by di- 
 ameter and derision. 
 
 3. The system of female education, as it now stands, aims 
 only at embellishing a few years of life, which are in them- 
 selves so full of grace and happiness, that they hardly want 
 it ; and then leaves the rest of existence a miserable prey to 
 idle insignificance. No woman of understanding and reflec- 
 tion can possibly conceive she is doing justice to her children 
 by such kind of education. The object is, to give to children 
 resources that will endure as long as life endures, habits that 
 time will ameliorate, not destroy, occupations that will ren- 
 der sickness tolerable, solitude pleasant, age venerable, life 
 more dignified and useful, and, therefore, death less terrible : 
 and the compensation which is offered for the omission of all 
 this, is a short-lived blaze, a little temporary effect, which 
 has no other consequence than to deprive the remainder of 
 life of all taste and relish. 
 
 4. There may be women who have a taste for the fine arts, 
 and who evince a decided talent for drawing, or for music. In 
 that case, there can be no objection to the cultivation of these 
 arts. But the error is, to make such things the grand and uni- 
 versal object, to insist upon it that every woman is to sing, 
 and draw and dance, with nature or against nature, to bind 
 her apprentice to some accomplishment, and, if she can not 
 succeed in oil or water-colors, to prefer gilding, varnishing, 
 burnishing, box-making, to real solid improvement in taste, 
 knowledge, and understanding. 
 
 5. A great deal is said in favor of the social nature of the 
 fine arts. Music gives pleasure to others. Drawing is an 
 art, the amusement of which does not center in him who ex- 
 ercises it, but is diffused among the rest of the world. This 
 is true ; but there is nothing, after all, so social as a cultivated 
 mind. We do not mean to speak slightingly of the fine arts, 
 or to depreciate the good-humor with which they are some-
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 409 
 
 times exhibited ; but we appeal to any man, whether a little 
 spirited and sensible conversation displaying, modestly, use- 
 ful acquirements, and evincing rational curiosity is not well 
 worth the highest exertions of musical or graphical skill. 
 
 6. A woman of accomplishments may entertain those who 
 have the pleasure of knowing her for half an hour with great 
 brilliancy ; but a mind full of ideas, and with that elastic 
 spring which the love of knowledge only can convey, is a per- 
 petual source of exhilaration and amusement to all that come 
 within its reach ; not collecting its force into single and in- 
 sulated achievements, like the effort made in the fine arts, 
 but diffusing equally over the whole of existence, a calm 
 pleasure, better loved as it is longer felt, and suitable to every 
 variety and every period of life. Therefore, instead of hang- 
 ing the understanding of a woman upon walls, or hearing it 
 vibrate upon strings, instead of seeing it in clouds, or hearing 
 it in the wind, we would make it the first spring and orna- 
 ment of society, by enriching it with attainments, upon which 
 alone such power depends. 
 
 7. If the education of women were improved, the educa- 
 tion of men would be improved also. Let any one consider, 
 (in order to bring the matter more home by an individual in 
 stance,) of what immense importance to society it is, whether 
 a nobleman of first-rate fortune and distinction is well or ill 
 brought up ; what a taste and passion he may inspire for private 
 and for political vice ? and what misery and mischief he may 
 produce to the thousand human beings who are dependent on 
 him ! A -country contains no such curse within its bosom. 
 Youth, wealth, high rank, and vice, form a combination which 
 baffles all remonstrance and beats down all opposition. A 
 man of high rank, who combines these qualifications for cor- 
 ruption, is almost the master of the manners of the age, and 
 has the public happiness within his grasp. 
 
 8. But the most beautiful possession which a country can 
 have, is a noble and rich man, who loves virtue- and knowl- 
 edge : who, without being feeble or fanatical , is pious, and 
 
 18
 
 410 SANDEES' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 who, without being factious, is firm and independent ; who, in 
 his political life, is an equitable mediator between king and 
 people ; and, in his civil life, a firm promoter of all which can 
 shed a luster upon his country, or promote the peace and 
 order of the world. But, if these objects are of the importance 
 which we attribute to them, the education of women must be 
 important, as the formation of character, for the first seven or 
 eight years of life, seems to depend almost entirely upon them. 
 9. It is certainly in the power of a sensible and well-edu- 
 cated mother to inspire, within that period, such tastes and 
 propensities as shall nearly decide the destiny of the future 
 man ; and this is done, not only by the intentional exertions 
 of the mother, but by the gradual and insensible imitation of 
 the child; for there is something extremely contagious in 
 greatness and rectitude of thinking, even at that age ; and 
 the character of the mother with whom he passes his early 
 infancy, is always an event of the utmost importance to the 
 child. A merely accomplished woman can not infuse her 
 tastes into the minds of her sons ; and, if she could, nothing 
 could be more unfortunate than her success. 
 
 10. Besides, when her accomplishments are given up, she 
 has nothing left for it but to amuse herself in the best way 
 she can ; and, becoming entirely frivolous, either declines al- 
 together the fatigue of attending to her children, or, attending 
 to them, has neither talents nor knowledge to succeed; and, 
 therefore, here is a plain and fair answer to those who ask so 
 triumphantly, why should a woman dedicate herself to this 
 branch of knowledge, or why she should be attached to such 
 science? Because, by having gained information on these 
 points, she may inspire her son with valuable tastes, which 
 may abide by him through life, and carry him up to all the 
 sublimities of knowledge ; because she can not lay the foun- 
 dation of a great character, if she is absorbed in frivolous 
 amusements, nor inspire her child with noble desires, when a 
 long course 'of trifling has destroyed the little talents which 
 ^vere left by a bad education.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 411 
 
 EXERCISE CXLIII. 
 
 RANK AND RICHES NOT ESSENTIAL TO TASTE AND 
 GENIUS. 
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 1. Taste, if it mean any thing but a paltry connoisseurship, 
 must mean a general susceptibility to truth and nobleness ; a 
 sense to discern, and a heart to love and reverence all 
 beauty, order, goodness, wheresoever," or in whatsoever forms 
 and accompaniments, they are to be seen. This surely im- 
 plies, as its chief condition, not any given external rank or sit- 
 uation, but a finely-gifted mind, purified into harmony with 
 itself, into keenness and justness of vision; above all, kindled 
 into love and generous admiration. 
 
 2. Is culture of this sort found exclusively among the high- 
 er ranks 1 We believe it proceeds less from without than 
 within, in every rank. The charms of Nature, the majesty 
 of Man, the infinite loveliness of Truth and Virtue, are not 
 hidden from the eye of the poor ; but from the eye of the 
 vain, the corrupted, and self-seeking, be he poor, or rich. In 
 all ages, the humble minstrel, a mendicant, and lord of no- 
 thing but his harp and his own free soul, had intimations of 
 those glories, while to the proud baron in his barbaric halls 
 they were unknown. 
 
 3. Such is our hypothesis of the case. But how stands it 
 with the facts ? Are the fineness and truth of sense manifest- 
 ed by the artist, found, in most instances, to be proportionate 
 to his wealth and elevation of acquaintance ? Are they found 
 to have any perceptible relation either with the one or the 
 other 1 We imagine not. Whose taste in painting, for in- 
 stance, is truer or finer than Claude Lorraine's 1 And was 
 not he a poor color-grinder ; outwardly, the meanest of me- 
 nials ] 
 
 4. Where, again, we might ask, lay Shakspeare's rent-roll ; 
 and what generous peer took him by the hand, and unfolded 
 to him the " open secret" of the Universe ; teaching him, that
 
 412 SANDEBS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 this was beautiful, and that not so ? Was he not a peasant 
 by birth, and by fortune something lower ; and was it not 
 thought much, even in the hight of his reputation, that South- 
 ampton allowed him equal patronage with the zanies, jugglers, 
 and bearwards of the time ? 
 
 5. Yet compare his taste, even as it respects the negative 
 side of things ; for, in regard to the positive and far higher 
 side, it admits no comparison with any other mortal's com- 
 pare it, for instance, with the taste of Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 his cotemporaries, men of rank and education, and of fine 
 genius like himself. Tried even by the nice, fastidious, and, 
 in great part, false and artificial delicacy of modern times, 
 how stands it with the two parties ; with the gay, triumphant 
 men of fashion, and the poor vagrant link-boy ? Does the 
 latter sin against, we shall not say taste, but etiquette, as the 
 former do ? 
 
 6. For one line, for one word, which some Chesterfield 
 might wish blotted from the first, are there not, in the others, 
 whole pages and scenes which, with palpitating heart, he 
 would hurry into deepest night ? This, too, observe, respects 
 not their genius, but their culture ; not their appropriation 
 of beauties, but their rejection of deformities, by suppo- 
 sition, the grand and peculiar result of high breeding ! 
 Surely, in such instances, even that humble supposition is ill 
 borne out. 
 
 7. The truth of the matter seems to be, that, with the cul- 
 ture of a genuine poet, thinker, or other aspirant to fame, the 
 influence of rank has no exclusive, or even special concern. 
 For men of action, for senators, public speakers, political 
 writers, the case may be different ; but of such we speak not 
 at present. Neither do we speak of imitators, and the crowd 
 of mediocre men, to whom fashionable life sometimes gives 
 an external inoffensiveness, often compensated by a frigid ma- 
 lignity of character. 
 
 8. We speak of men who, from amid the perplexed and 
 conflicting elements of their every-day existence, are to form
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADEE. 413 
 
 themselves into harmony and wisdom, and show forth the 
 same wisdom to others that exist along with them. To such 
 a man, high life, as it is called, will be a province of human 
 life certainly, but nothing more. He will study to deal with 
 it as he deals with all forms of mortal being ; to do it justice, 
 and to draw instruction from it, but the light will come from 
 a loftier region, or he wanders forever in darkness. 
 
 9. Is he p6or ? So also were Homer and Socrates ; so was 
 Samuel Johnson ; so was John Milton. Shall we reproach 
 him with his poverty, and infer that, because he is poor, he 
 must likewise be worthless 1 God forbid that the time 
 should ever come, when he, too, shall esteem riches the 
 synonym of good ! The spirit of Mammon has a wide em- 
 pire ; but it can not, and must not, be worshiped in the Holy 
 of Holies. 
 
 10. Nay, does not the heart of every genuine disciple of 
 literature, however mean his sphere, instinctively deny this 
 principle, as applicable either to himself or another ? Is it 
 not rather true, as D'Alembert has said, that for every man 
 of letters, who deserves that name, the motto and the watch- 
 word will be FREEDOM, TRUTH, and even this same POVERTY ? 
 and that, if he fear the last, the two first can never be made 
 sure to him ? 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. What rule for the inflections, as marked in the 
 third paragraph ? 2. Why the rising inflections in the last para- 
 graph ? 
 
 EXERCISE CXLIV. 
 THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 1. In her ear he whispers gayly, 
 
 " If my heart by signs can tell, 
 Maiden, I have watched thee daily, 
 And I think thou lov'st me well."
 
 414 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 She replies, in accents fainter, 
 
 " There is none I love like thee !" 
 He is but a landscape-painter, 
 
 And a village-maiden she. 
 He to lips that fondly falter, 
 
 Presses his without reproof; 
 Leads her to the village altar, 
 
 And they leave her father's roof. 
 " I can make no marriage-present ; 
 
 Little can I give my wife ; 
 Love will make our cottage pleasant, 
 
 And I love thee more than life." 
 
 2. They by parks and lodges going, 
 
 See the lordly castles stand ; 
 Summer woods, about them blowing, 
 
 Made a murmur in the land. 
 From deep thought himself he rouses, 
 
 Says to her that loves him well : 
 " Let us see these handsome houses 
 
 Where the wealthy nobles dwell." 
 So she goes, by him attended, 
 
 Hears him lovingly converse, 
 Sees whatever fair and splendid 
 
 Lay betwixt his home and hers ; 
 
 3. Parks with oak and chestnut shady, 
 
 Parks and ordered gardens great, 
 Ancient homes of lord and lady, 
 
 Built for pleasure and for state. 
 All he shows her makes him dearer : 
 
 Evermore she seems to gaze 
 On that cottage drawing nearer, 
 
 Where they twain will spend their days. 
 O. but she will love him truly ! 
 
 He shall have a cheerful home ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 415 
 
 She will order all things duly, 
 
 When beneath his roof they come. 
 
 4. Thus her heart rejoices greatly, 
 
 Till a gateway she discerns, 
 With armorial bearings stately, 
 
 And beneath the gate she turns ; 
 Sees a mansion more majestic 
 
 Than all those she saw before ; 
 Many a gallant gay domestic 
 
 Bows before him at the door, 
 And they speak in gentle murmur, 
 
 When they answer to his call, 
 While he treads with footsteps firmer, 
 
 Leading on from hall to hall : 
 And, while now she wanders blindly, 
 
 Nor the meaning can divine, 
 Proudly turns he round and kindly : 
 
 " All of this is mine and thine !" 
 
 5. Here he lives in state and bounty, 
 
 Lord of Burleigh, fair and free ; 
 Not a lord in all the county 
 
 Is so great a lord as he. 
 All at once the color flushes 
 
 Her sweet face from brow to chin : 
 As it were with shame she blushes, 
 
 And her spirit changed within. 
 Then her countenance all over 
 
 Pale again as death did prove ; 
 But he clasped her like a lover, 
 
 And he cheered her soul with love. 
 
 6. So she strove against her weakness, 
 
 Though at times her spirit sank ; 
 Shaped her heart with woman's meekness 
 To all duties of her rank ;
 
 416 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 And a gentle consort made he, 
 And her gentle mind was such, 
 
 That she grew a NOBLE LADY, 
 And the people loved her much. 
 
 7. But a trouble weighed upon her, 
 
 And perplexed her night and morn, 
 With the burden of an honor 
 
 Unto which she was not born. 
 (p.) Faint she grew, and ever fainter, 
 
 As she murmured : " Oh, that he 
 Were once more that landscape-painter, 
 Which did win my heart from me I" 
 
 EXERCISE CXLV. 
 
 THE MATT) OF THE INN. 
 
 SOUTHKT. 
 
 1. Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly -fixed eyes 
 
 Seem a heart overcharged to express 1 ? 
 She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs ; 
 She never complains, but her silence implies 
 
 The composure of settled distress. 
 
 2. No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek ; 
 
 Cold and hunger awake not her care ; 
 Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak 
 On her poor withered bosom, half-bare ; and her cheek 
 
 Has the deadly pale hue of despair. 
 
 3. Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, 
 
 Poor Mary, the maniac, has been ; 
 The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way, 
 No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay, 
 
 As Mary, the maid of the inn.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 417 
 
 4. Her cheerful address filled the guests with delight, 
 
 As she welcomed them in with a smile ; 
 Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, 
 And Mary would walk by the abbey at night, 
 
 When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. 
 
 5. She loved ; and young Richard had settled the day, 
 
 And she hoped to be happy for life ; 
 But Richard was idle and worthless, and they 
 Who knew her, would pity poor Mary, and say 
 
 That she was too good for his wife. 
 
 6. T was in Autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, 
 
 And fast were the windows and door ; 
 Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burned bright, 
 And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, 
 
 They listened to hear the wind roar. 
 
 7. " 'Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fireside, 
 
 To hear the wind whistle without." 
 " A fine night for the abbey," his comrade replied. 
 " Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, 
 
 Who should wander the ruins about. 
 
 8. " I, myself, like a schoolboy, should tremble to hear 
 
 The hoarse ivy shake over my head ; 
 And could fancy I saw, half-persuaded by fear, 
 Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear; 
 
 For this wind might awaken the dead." 
 
 9. " I '11 wager a dinner," the other one cried, 
 
 " That Mary would venture there now." 
 " Then wager and lose," with a sneer he replied ; 
 " I '11 warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, 
 
 And faint, if she saw a white cow." 
 18*
 
 418 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 10. " Will Mary this charge on her courage allow 1" 
 
 His companion exclaimed with a smile ; 
 " I shall win ; for I know she will venture there now, 
 And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough 
 
 From the alder that grows in the aisle." 
 
 11. With fearless good humor did Mary comply, 
 
 And her way to the abbey she bent ; 
 The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, 
 And, as hollowly howling, it swept through the sky, 
 
 She shivered with cold as she went. 
 
 12. O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, 
 
 Where the abbey rose dim on the sight ; 
 Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid, 
 Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade 
 
 Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night. 
 
 13. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast 
 
 Howled dismally round the old pile ; 
 Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed, 
 And arrived at the innermost ruin at last, 
 
 Where the alder-tree grows in the aisle. 
 
 14. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, 
 
 And hastily gathered the bough, 
 When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear 
 She paused, and she listened, all eager to hear, 
 
 And her heart panted fearfully now. 
 
 15. The wind blew ; the hoarse ivy shook over her head ; 
 
 She listened ; naught else could she hear. 
 The wind ceased ; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, 
 For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread 
 
 Of footsteps approaching her near.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 419 
 
 16. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, 
 
 She crept to conceal herself there ; 
 That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, 
 And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, 
 
 And between them a corpse did they bear ! 
 
 17. Then Mary could feel her heart's blood curdle cold ! 
 
 Again the rough wind hurried by, 
 It blew off the hat of the one, and, behold ! 
 Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd ! 
 
 She fell and expected to die ! 
 
 18. " Curse the hat !" he exclaims ; " Nay, come, on and first 
 
 The dead body," his comrade replies ; [hide 
 
 She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, 
 She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, 
 
 And fast through the abbey she flies. 
 
 19. She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door, 
 
 She gazed horribly eager around ; 
 
 Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, 
 And exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor, 
 
 Unable to utter a sound. 
 
 20. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, 
 
 For a moment the hat met her view ; 
 Her eyes from that object convulsively start, 
 For, O God ! what cold horror thrilled through her heart, 
 
 When the name of her Richard she knew. 
 
 21. Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by, 
 
 His gibbet is now to be seen ; 
 Not far from the inn it engages the eye, 
 The traveler beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, 
 
 Of poor Mary, the maid of the inn.
 
 420 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CXLVI. 
 THE FEMALE CONVICT TO HER INFANT. 
 
 DALE. 
 
 1. Oh,- sleep not, my babe, for the morn of to-morrow 
 
 Shall soothe me to slumber more tranquil than thine ; 
 The dark grave shall shield me from shame and from sorrow, 
 
 Though the deeds and the gloom of the guilty are mine. 
 Not long shall the arm of affection enfold thee ; 
 
 Not long shalt thou hang on thy mother's fond breast ; 
 And who with the eye of delight shall behold thee, 
 
 And watch thee, and guard thee, when I am at rest ? 
 
 2. And yet it doth grieve me to wake thee, my dearest, 
 
 The pangs of thy desolate mother to see ; 
 Thou wilt weep when the clank of my cold chain thouhearest, 
 
 And none but the guilty shall mourn over me. 
 And yet I must wake thee for while thou art weeping, 
 
 To calm thee, I stifle my tears for awhile ; 
 But thou smil'st in thy dreams, while thus placidly sleeping, 
 
 And, Oh, how it wounds me to gaze on thy smile ! 
 
 3. Alas ! my sweet babe, with what pride had I pressed thee 
 
 To the bosom that now throbs with terror and shame, 
 If the pure tie of virtuous affection had blessed thee, 
 
 And hailed thee the heir of thy father's high name ! 
 But now, with remorse that avails not, I mourn thee, 
 
 Forsaken and friendless, as soon thou wilt be, 
 In a world, if it can not betray, that will scorn thee 
 
 Avenging the guilt of thy mother on thee I 
 
 4. And, when the dark thought of my fate shall awaken 
 
 The deep blush of shame on thy innocent cheek ; 
 When by all but the God of the orphan forsaken, 
 A home and a father in vain thou shalt seek ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 421 
 
 I know the base world will seek to deceive thee, 
 
 With falsehood like that which thy mother beguiled ; 
 
 Yet, lost and degraded to whom can I leave thee ? 
 O God of the fatherless ! pity my child ! 
 
 EXEECISE CXLVII. 
 THE BRAHMIN AND THE ROGUES. 
 
 MACAtJLAY. 
 
 1. A pious Brahmin, it is written, made a vow that, on a 
 certain day, he would sacrifice a sheep; and, on the appointed 
 morning, he went forth to buy one. There lived in his neigh- 
 borhood three rogues, who knew of his vow, and laid a scheme 
 for profiting by it. The first met him and said : " Oh, Brah- 
 min, wilt thou buy a sheep? I have one fit for sacrifice." 
 " It is for that very purpose," said the holy man, " that I came 
 forth this day." 
 
 2. Then the impostor opened a bag, and brought out of it 
 an unclean beast, an ugly dog, lame and blind. Thereon the 
 Brahmin cried out : " Wretch, who touchest things impure, 
 and utterest things untrue : callest thou that cur a sheep ?" 
 " Truly," answered the other, " it is a sheep of the finest 
 fleece, and of the sweetest flesh. Oh, Brahmin, it will be an 
 offering most acceptable to the gods." " Friend," said the 
 Brahmin, " either thou or I must he blind." 
 
 3. Just then one of the accomplices came up. " Praised 
 be the gods," said this second rogue, " that I have been saved 
 the trouble of going to the market for a sheep ! This is such 
 a sheep as I wanted. For how much wilt thou sell it ?" 
 When the Brahmin heard this, his mind waved to and fro, 
 like one swinging in the air at a holy festival. " Sir," said he 
 to the new comer, " take heed what thou dost ; this is no 
 sheep, but an unclean cur." " Oh, Brahmin," said the new 
 comer, " thou art drunk or mad !"
 
 422 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 4. At this time the third confederate drew near. " Let us 
 ask this man," said the Brahmin, " what the creature is, and 
 I will stand by what he shall say." To this the others 
 agreed ; and the Brahmin called out : " Oh, stranger, what 
 dost thou call this beast 7" " Surely, Oh, Brahmin," said the 
 knave, " it is a fine sheep." Then said the Brahmin : " Surely 
 the gods have taken away my senses," and he asked pardon 
 of him who carried the dog, and bought it for a measure of 
 rice and a pot of ghee, and offered it up to the gods, who, be- 
 ing wroth at this unclean sacrifice, smote him with a sore dis- 
 ease in all his joints. 
 
 5. Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember rightly, runs the 
 story of the Sanscrit ^Esop. The moral, like the moral of 
 every fable that is worth the telling, lies on the surface. The 
 writer evidently means to caution us against the practices of 
 puffers, a class of people who have more than once talked 
 the public into the most absurd errors. 
 
 EXERCISE CXLVIII. 
 
 NOTE. Desdemona, the daughter of Brabantio, a Venetian senator, 
 having become enamored of Othello, a noble Moor, in the service 
 of the States of Venice, leaves her father's house, and is secretly 
 married to him. 
 
 OTHELLO'S DEFENSE. 
 
 8HAKSPEAEE. 
 
 SCENE A Council Chamber. The DUKE of Venice and SEN- 
 ATORS sitting at a table : OFFICERS in attendance. Enter 
 BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, (his Ancient,*) and OFFICERS. 
 
 Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
 
 I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior, [To BRABANTIO. 
 We lacked your counsel and your help to-night. 
 
 Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me ; 
 * Ensign, or bearer of a flag.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 423 
 
 Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
 
 Hath raised me from my bed ; nor doth the general care 
 
 Take hold on me ; for my particular grief 
 
 Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature, 
 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
 
 And it is still itself. 
 
 Duke. Why, what 's the matter ? 
 
 Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
 
 Sen. Dead ? 
 
 Bra. Aye, to me ; 
 
 She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
 By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : 
 For nature so preposterously to err, 
 Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
 Sans* witchcraft could not 
 
 Duke. Who'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding, 
 Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself, 
 And you of her, the bloody book of law 
 You shall yourself read in the bitter letter, 
 After your own sense ; yea, though our proper son 
 Stood in your action. 
 
 Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 
 
 Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it seems, 
 Your special mandate, for the State affairs, 
 Hath hither brought. 
 
 Duke & Sen. We are very sorry for it. 
 
 Duke. What, on your own part, can you say to this ? 
 
 [To OTHELLO. 
 
 Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 
 
 Oth, Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,f 
 My very noble and approved good masters, 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 
 * Sans, without. 
 
 f Signior (also written seiynior), is a title of honor, and means lord. 
 It is pronounced teen yur.
 
 424 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, 
 
 And little blessed with the set phrase of peace ; 
 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used 
 
 Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
 
 And, therefore, little shall I grace my cause 
 
 In speaking for myself: yet, by your gracious patience, 
 
 I will a round unvarnished tale deliver, 
 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, 
 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 
 (For such proceeding I am charged withal,) 
 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
 Bra. A maiden never bold ; 
 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blushed at herself: and she, in spite of nature, 
 Of years, of country, credit, every thing, 
 To fall in love with what she feared to look on 1 
 It is a judgment maimed, and most imperfect, 
 That will confess, perfection so could err 
 Against all rules of nature. 
 I, therefore, vouch again, 
 
 That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
 Or with some dram conjured to this effect, 
 He wrought upon her. 
 
 Duke. To vouch this is no proof ; Othello, speak ; 
 Did you by indirect and forced courses 
 Subdue and poison this young maid's affections ; 
 Or came it by request, and such fair question 
 As soul to soul affordeth ? 
 
 Oth. I do beseech you, 
 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
 And let her speak of me before her father : 
 If you do find me foul in her report, 
 The trust, the office I do hold of you,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 425 
 
 Not only take away, but let your sentence 
 Even fall upon my life. 
 
 Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 
 
 Oth. Ancient, conduct them : you best know the place. 
 
 [Exeunt IAGO, and Attendants. 
 And, till she come, as truly as to Heaven 
 I do confess the vices of my blood, 
 So justly to your grave ears I '11 present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
 And she in mine. 
 
 Duke. Say it, Othello. 
 
 Oth. Her father loved me ; oft invited me ; 
 Still questioned me the story of my life, 
 From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have passed. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
 Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach ; 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 
 And portance in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres* vast, and deserts wild, 
 Eough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 
 It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
 And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
 The Anthropophagi,f and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. These to hear, 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline ; 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 
 Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, 
 She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse. Which I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
 
 * Antres (ariturs) caverns. f An-thro-pop'h-a-gi, men-eaters.
 
 426 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
 
 But not intentively : I did consent, 
 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 
 
 That my youth suffered. My story being done, 
 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 
 She swore, In faith, 't was strange, 't was passing strange, 
 
 T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful : 
 
 She wished, she had not heard it ; yet she wished 
 
 That Heaven had made her such a man ; she thanked me ; 
 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake : 
 
 She loved me for the dangers I had passed ; 
 
 And I loved her, that she did pity them. 
 
 This only is the witchcraft I have used ; 
 
 Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 
 
 ' Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. I think, this tale wouH win my daughter, too. 
 Good Brabantio, 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
 Men do their broken weapons rather use, 
 Than their bare hands. 
 
 Bra. I pray you, hear her speak : 
 
 If she confess that she was half the wooer, 
 Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
 Light on the man ! Come hither, gentle mistress ; 
 Do you perceive, in all this noble company, 
 Where most you owe obedience ? 
 
 Des. My noble father, 
 
 I do perceive here a divided duty : 
 To you, I am bound for life, and education ; 
 My life, and education, both do learn me 
 How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 427 
 
 I am hitherto your daughter. But here 's my husband ; 
 And so much duty as my mother showed 
 To you, preferring you before her father, 
 So much I challenge that I may profess 
 Due to the Moor, my lord. 
 
 Bra. Heaven be with you ! I have done : 
 Come hither, Moor : 
 
 I here do give thee that with all my heart, 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 I would keep from thee. I have done, my lord ; 
 Proceed to the affairs of State. 
 
 EXERCISE CXLIX. 
 
 HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 1. The morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds 
 With a strange beauty. Earth received again 
 
 Its garment of a thousand dyes ; and leaves, 
 And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, 
 And every thing that bendeth to the dew, 
 And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up 
 Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. 
 
 2. All things are dark to sorrow ; and the light, 
 And loveliness, and fragrant air, were sad 
 
 To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth 
 
 Was pouring odors from its spicy pores, 
 
 And the young birds were caroling as life 
 
 Were a new thing to them ; but O ! it came 
 
 Upon her heart like discord, and she felt 
 
 How cruelly it tries a broken heart, 
 
 To see a mirth in any thing it loves. 
 
 She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed 
 
 Till the blood left them ; and the wandering veins 
 
 Of her transparent forehead were swelled out, 
 
 As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye
 
 423 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven, 
 Which made its language legible, shot back 
 From her long lashes, as it had been flame. 
 
 3. Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand 
 Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet, 
 Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor, 
 Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up 
 Into his mother's face until he caught 
 
 The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling 
 Beneath his snowy bosom, and his form 
 Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath, 
 As if his light proportions would have swelled, 
 Had they but matched his spirit, to the man. 
 
 4. Why bends the patriarch, as he cometh now 
 Upon his staff so wearily ? His beard 
 
 Is low upon his breast, and his high brow, 
 So written with the converse of his God, 
 Beareth the swollen vein of agony. 
 His lip is quivering, and his wonted step 
 Of vigor is not there ; and, though the morn 
 Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes 
 Its freshness as it were a pestilence. 
 O ! man may bear with suffering ; his heart 
 Is a strong thing, and godlike in the grasp 
 Of pain that wrings mortality ; but tear 
 One chord affection clings to, part one tie 
 That binds him to a woman's delicate love, 
 And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed. 
 
 5. He gave to her the water and the bread, 
 But spoke no word, and trusted not himself 
 To look upon her face, but laid his hand, 
 
 In silent blessing on the fair-haired boy, 
 And left her to her lot of loneliness.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 429 
 
 6. Should Hagar weep ? May slighted woman turn, 
 And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off, 
 
 Bend lightly to her leaning trust again ? 
 O no ! by all her loveliness, by all 
 That makes life poetry and beauty, no ! 
 Make her a slave ; steal from her rosy cheek 
 By needless jealousies ; let the last star 
 Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain ; 
 "Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all 
 That makes her cup a bitterness, yet give 
 One evidence of love, and earth has not 
 An emblem of devotedness like hers. 
 But O ! estrange her once, it boots not how, 
 By wrong or silence, any thing that tells 
 A change has come upon your tenderness, 
 And there is not a high thing out of heaven, 
 Her pride o'ermastereth not. 
 
 7. She went her way with a strong step and slow ; 
 Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed, 
 As it had been a diamond, and her form 
 
 Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. 
 Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed 
 His hand till it was pained ; for he had caught, 
 As I have said, her spirit, and the seed 
 Of a stern nation had been breathed upon. 
 
 8. The morning passed, and Asia's sun rose up 
 In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat. 
 The cattle of the hills were in the shade, 
 And the bright plumage of the Orient lay 
 
 On beating bosoms in her spicy trees. 
 
 It was an hour of rest ; but Hagar found 
 
 No shelter in the wilderness, and on 
 
 She kept her weary way, until the boy 
 
 Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips
 
 430 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 For water ; but she could not give it him. 
 She laid him down beneath the sultry sky, 
 For it was better than the close, hot breath 
 Of the thick pines, and tried to comfort him ; 
 But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes 
 Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know 
 Why God denied him water in the wild. 
 
 9. She sat a little longer, and he grew 
 
 Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died. 
 
 It was too much for her. She lifted him, 
 
 And bore him further on, and laid his head 
 
 Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub ; 
 
 And, shrouding up her face, she went away, 
 
 And sat to watch, where he could see her not, 
 
 Till he should die ; and, watching him, she mourned 
 
 10. " God stay thee in thine agony, my boy ; 
 I can not see thee die ; I can not brook 
 
 Upon thy brow to look, 
 And see death settle on my cradle joy. 
 How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye ! 
 
 And could I see thee die 1 
 
 11. "I did not dream of this, when thou wast straying, 
 Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers ; 
 
 Or wearing rosy hours, 
 By the rich gush of water-sources playing, 
 Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, 
 
 So beautiful and deep. 
 
 12. " O no ! and when I watched by thee the while, 
 And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, 
 
 And thought of the dark stream 
 In my own land of Egypt, the far Nile, 
 How prayed I that my father's land might be 
 
 A heritage for thee !
 
 YOUNG- LADIES' KEADEK. 431 
 
 13. " And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, 
 And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press ; 
 
 And O ! my last caress 
 
 Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. 
 How can I leave my boy so pillowed there 
 
 Upon his clustering hair !" 
 
 14. She stood beside the well her God had given 
 To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed 
 The forehead of her child until he laughed 
 In his reviving happiness, and lisped 
 His infant thought of gladness at the sight 
 Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand. 
 
 EXERCISE CL. 
 THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 
 
 J. FENIMORE COOPER. 
 
 1. The sleep of the fugitives lasted for several hours. The 
 trapper was the first to shake off its influence, as he had been 
 the last to court its refreshment. Rising, just as the gray 
 light of day began to brighten that portion of the studded 
 vault which rested on the eastern margin of the plain, he 
 summoned his companions from their warm lairs, and point- 
 ed out the necessity of their being once more on the alert. 
 
 2. " See, Middleton !" exclaimed Inez, in a sudden burst of 
 youthful pleasure, that caused her for a moment to forget her 
 situation ; " how lovely is that sky ; surely it contains a 
 promise of happier times !" 
 
 3. " It is glorious !" returned her husband. " Glorious and 
 heavenly is that streak of vivid red, and here is a still, 
 brighter crimson ; rarely have I seen a richer rising of the 
 sun." 
 
 4. " Rising of the sun !" slowly repeated the old man, lift-
 
 432 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 ing his tall person from its seat, with a deliberate and ab- 
 stracted air, while he kept his eye riveted on the changing 
 and certainly beautiful tints that were garnishing the vault of 
 heaven. " Rising of the sun ! I like not such risings of the 
 sun. Ah 's me ! the imps have circumvented us with a ven- 
 geance. The prairie is on fire !" 
 
 5. " God in Heaven protect us !" cried Middleton, catching 
 Inez to his bosom, under the instant impression of the immi- 
 nence of their danger. " There is no. time to lose, old man ; 
 each instant is a day ; let us fly !" 
 
 6. " Whither ?" demanded the trapper, motioning him, with 
 calmness and dignity, to arrest his steps. " In this wilder- 
 ness of grass and reeds, you are like a vessel in the broad 
 lakes without a compass. A single step on the wrong course 
 might prove the destruction of us all. It is seldom danger is 
 so pressing, that there is not time enough for reason to do its 
 work, young officer ; therefore, let us await its biddings." 
 
 7. " For my part," said Paul Hover, looking about him 
 with no unequivocal expression of concern, " I acknowledge, 
 that should this dry bed of weeds get fairly in a flame, a bee 
 would have to make a flight higher than common to prevent 
 his wings from scorching. Therefore, old trapper, I agree 
 with the captain, and say, mount and run !" 
 
 8. " Ye are wrong, ye are wrong, man is not a beast, to 
 follow the gift of instinct, and to snuff up his knowledge by a 
 taint in the air, or a rumbling in the sound ; but he must see, 
 and reason, and then conclude. So, follow me a little to the 
 left, where there is a rising in the ground, whence we may 
 make our reconnoiterings.'' 
 
 9. The old man waved his hand with authority, and led the 
 way, without further parlance, to the spot he had indicated, 
 followed by the whole of his alarmed companions. An eye 
 less practiced than that of the trapper, might have failed in 
 discovering the gentle elevation to which he alluded, and 
 which looked on the surface of the meadow like a growth a 
 little taller than common.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 433 
 
 10. When they reached the place, however, the stinted 
 grass itself announced the absence of that moisture which had 
 fed the rank weeds of most of the plain, and furnished a clue 
 to the evidence, by which he had judged of the formation of 
 the ground hidden beneath. Here a few minutes were lost in 
 breaking down the tops of the surrounding herbage, which, 
 notwithstanding the advantage of their position, rose even 
 above the heads of Middleton and Paul, and in obtaining a 
 look-out that might command a view of the surrounding sea 
 of fire. 
 
 11. The examination which his companions so instantly 
 and so intently made, rather served to assure them of their 
 desperate situation than to appease their fears. Huge col- 
 umns of smoke were rolling up from the plain, and thicken- 
 ing in gloomy masses around the horizon. The red glow 
 which gleamed upon their enormous folds, now lighting their 
 volumes with the glare of the conflagration, now flashed to 
 another point, as the flame beneath glided ahead, leaving all 
 behind enveloped in awful darkness, and proclaiming louder 
 than words the character of the imminent and rapidly-ap- 
 proaching danger. 
 
 12. " This is terrible !" exclaimed Middleton, folding the 
 trembling Inez to his heart. " At such a time as this, and in 
 such a manner !" 
 
 13. "The gates of Heaven are open to'all who truly be- 
 lieve," murmured the pious devotee in his bosom. 
 
 14. " This resignation is maddening ! But we are men, 
 and will make a struggle for our lives ! How now, my 
 brave and spirited friend, shall we yet mount and push across 
 the flames, or shall we stand here, and see those we most love 
 perish in this frightful manner without an effort ?" 
 
 15. "I am for a swarming time, and a flight, before the 
 hive is too hot to hold us," said the bee-hunter, to whom it 
 will be at once seen that the half-distracted Middleton ad- 
 dressed himself. " Come, old trapper, you must acknowledge 
 this is but a slow way of getting out of danger. If we tarry 
 
 19
 
 434 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 here much longer, it will be in the fashion that the bees lie 
 around the straw, after the hive has been smoked for its 
 honey. You may hear the fire begin to roar already ; and I 
 know by experience, that when the flame once gets fairly into 
 the prairie grass, it is no sloth that can outrun it." 
 
 16. " Think you," returned the old man, pointing scornfully 
 at the mazes of the dry and matted grass which environed them, 
 " that mortal feet can outstrip the speed of fire on such a path ?" 
 
 17. " What say you, friend doctor ?" cried the bewildered 
 Paul, turning to the naturalist, with that sort of helplessness 
 with which the strong are often apt to seek aid of the weak, 
 when human power is baffled by the hand of a mightier Be- 
 ing ; " what say you ; have you no advice to give away, in a 
 case of life and death ?" 
 
 18. The naturalist stood, tablets in hands, looking at the 
 awful spectacle with as much composure as though the confla- 
 gration had been lighted in order to solve the difficulties of 
 some scientific problem. Aroused by the question of his 
 companion, he turned to his equally calm, though differently 
 occupied associate, the trapper, demanding, with the most 
 provoking insensibility to the urgent nature of their situation, 
 " Venerable hunter, you have often witnessed similar pris- 
 matic experiments " 
 
 19. He was rudely interrupted by Paul, who struck the 
 tablets from his hands with a violence that betrayed the ut- 
 ter intellectual confusion which had overset the equanimity 
 of his mind. Before time was allowed for remonstrance, the 
 old man, who had continued during the whole scene like one 
 much at a loss how to proceed, though, also, like one who was 
 rather perplexed than alarmed, suddenly assumed a decided 
 air, as if he no longer doubted on the course it was most ad- 
 visable to pursue. 
 
 20. " It is time to be doing," he said, interrupting the con- 
 troversy that was about to ensue between the naturalist and 
 the bee-hunter ; " it is time to leave off books and meanings, 
 and to be doing."
 
 , 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 4.35 
 
 21. " You have come to your recollections too late, miser- 
 able old man !" cried Middleton ; " the flames are within a 
 quarter of a mile of us, and the wind is bringing them down 
 in this quarter with dreadful rapidity." 
 
 22. " Anan ! the flames ! I care but little for the flames ! 
 If I only knew how to circumvent the cunning of the Tetons 
 as I know how to cheat the fire of its prey, there would be 
 nothing needed but thanks to the Lord for our deliverance. 
 Do you call this a fire ? If you had seen what I have wit- 
 nessed in the eastern hills, when mighty mountains were like 
 the furnace of a smith, you would have known what it was to 
 fear the flames, and to be thankful that you were spared ! 
 Come, lads, come ; 't is time to be doing now, and to cease 
 talking ; for yonder curling flame is truly coming on like a 
 trotting moose. Put hands upon this short and withered 
 grass where we stand, and lay bare the 'arth." 
 
 23. " Would you think to deprive the fire of its victims in 
 this childish manner ?" exclaimed Middleton. 
 
 24. A faint but solemn smile passed over the features of 
 the old man, as he answered " Your gran'ther would have 
 said, that when the enemy was nigh, a soldier could do no 
 better than to obey." 
 
 25. The captain felt the reproof, and instantly began to im- 
 itate the industry of Paul, who was tearing the decayed herb- 
 age from the ground in a sort of desperate compliance with 
 the trapper's direction. Even Ellen lent her hands to the la- 
 bor, nor was it long before Inez was seen similarly employed, 
 though none among them knew why or wherefore. When 
 life is thought to be the reward of labor, men are wont to be 
 industrious. A very few moments sufficed to lay bare a spot 
 of some twenty feet in diameter. 
 
 26. Into one edge of this little area the trapper brought the 
 females, directing Middleton and Paul to cover their light and 
 inflammable dresses with the blankets of the party. So soon 
 as this precaution was observed, the old man approached the 
 opposite side of the grass, which still environed them in a tall
 
 
 436 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 and dangerous circle, and selecting a handful of the driest of 
 the herbage, he placed it over the pan of his rifle. The light 
 combustible kindled at the flash. Then he placed the little 
 flame into a bed of the standing fog, and, withdrawing from the 
 spot to the center of the ring, he patiently awaited the result. 
 
 27. The subtle element seized with avidity upon its new 
 fuel, and in a moment forked flames were gliding among the 
 grass, as the tongues of ruminating animals are seen rolling 
 among their food, apparently in quest of its sweetest portions. 
 
 28. " Now," said the old man, holding up a finger, and 
 laughing in his peculiarly silent manner, " you shall see fire 
 fight fire ! Ah 's me ! many is the time I have burnt a 
 smootly path from wanton laziness to pick my way across a 
 tangled bottom." 
 
 29. " But is this not fatal ?" cried the amazed Middleton ; 
 " are you not bringing the enemy nigher to us instead of 
 avoiding it "?" 
 
 30. " Do you scorch so easily ? your gran'ther had a 
 tougher skin. But we shall live to see ; we shall all live to 
 see." 
 
 31. The experience of the trapper was in the right. As 
 the fire gained strength and heat, it began to spread on three 
 sides, dying of itself on the fourth for want of aliment. As 
 it increased, and the sullen roaring announced its power, it 
 cleared every thing before it, leaving the black and smok- 
 ing soil far more naked than if the scythe had swept the 
 place. The situation of the fugitives would have still been 
 hazardous, had not the area enlarged as the flame encircled 
 them. But, by advancing to the spot where the trapper had 
 kindled the grass, they avoided the heat, and, in a very few 
 moments, the flames began to recede in every quarter, leav- 
 ing them enveloped in a cloud of smoke, but perfectly safe 
 from the torrent of fire that was still furiously rolling onward. 
 
 32. The spectators regarded the simple expedient of the 
 trapper with that species of wonder, with which the courtiers 
 of Ferdinand are said to have viewed the manner in which
 
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER 
 
 Columbus made his egg to stand on its end, though with 
 feelings that were filled with gratitude instead of envy. 
 
 33. " Most wonderful !" said Middleton, when he saw the 
 complete success of the means, by which they had been res- 
 cued from a danger that he had conceived to be unavoida- 
 ble. " The thought was a gift from Heaven, and the hand 
 that executed it, should be immortal." 
 
 34. " Old trapper," cried Paul, thrusting his fingers through 
 his shaggy locks, " I have lined many a loaded bee into his 
 hole, and know something of the nature of the woods, but this 
 is robbing a hornet of his sting without touching the insect !" 
 
 35. " It will do it will do," returned the old man, who, 
 after the first moment of his success, seemed to think no 
 more of the exploit. " Let the flames do their work for a 
 short half hour, and then we will mount. That time is need- 
 ed to cool the meadow, for these unshod beasts are tender 
 on the hoof as a barefooted girl." 
 
 36. The veteran, on whose experience they all so implicit- 
 ly relied for protection, employed himsejf in reconnoitering 
 objects in the distance, through the openings which the air oc- 
 casionally made in the immense bodies of smoke, that, by 
 this time, lay in enormous piles on every part of the plain. 
 
 EXERCISE CLI. 
 THE ACORN. 
 
 E. OAKES SMITH. 
 
 1. An acorn fell from an old oak tree, 
 
 And lay on the frosty ground 
 " O, what shall the fate of the acorn be 1" 
 
 Was whispered all around, 
 By low-toned voices, chiming sweet. 
 
 Like a floweret's bell when swung, 
 And grasshopper steeds were gathering fleet, 
 
 And the beetle's hoofs up-rung
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 2. For the woodland Fays came sweeping past 
 
 , In the pale autumnal ray, 
 Where the forest leaves were falling fast, 
 
 And the acorn quivering lay ; 
 They came to tell what its fate should be, 
 
 Though life was unrevealed ; 
 For life is holy mystery, 
 
 Where 'er it is concealed. 
 
 3. They came with gifts that should life bestow ; 
 
 The dew and the living air, 
 The bane that should work its deadly woe, 
 
 Was found with the fairies there. 
 In the gray moss-cup was the mildew brought, 
 
 And the worm, in the rose-leaf rolled, 
 And many things with destruction fraught, 
 
 That its fate were quickly told. 
 
 4. But it needed not ; for a blessed fate 
 
 Was the acorn's meant to be, 
 The spirits of earth should its birth-time wait, 
 
 And watch o'er its destiny. 
 To a little sprite was the task assigned 
 
 To bury the acorn deep, 
 Away from the frost and searching wind, 
 
 When they through the forest sweep. 
 
 5. I laughed outright at the small thing's toil, 
 
 As bowed beneath the spade, 
 He balanced his gossamer wings the while 
 
 To look in the pit he made. 
 A thimble's depth it was scarcely deep, 
 
 When the spade aside he threw, 
 And rolled the acorn away to sleep 
 
 In the hush of dropping
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 
 
 6. The Spring-time came with its fresh, warm air, 
 
 And its gush of woodland song ; 
 The dew came down, and the rain was there, 
 
 And the sunshine rested long ; 
 Then softly the black earth turned aside, 
 
 The old leaf arching o'er, 
 Arid up, where the last year's leaf was dried, 
 
 Came the acorn-shell once more. 
 
 7. With coiled stem, and pale green hue, 
 
 It looked but a feeble thing ; 
 Then deeply its roots abroad it threw, 
 
 Its strength from the earth to bring. 
 The woodland sprites are gathering round, 
 
 Rejoiced that the task is done 
 That another life from the noisome ground 
 
 Is up to the pleasant sun. 
 
 8. The young child passed with a careless tread, 
 
 And the germ had well-nigh crushed, 
 But a spider, launched on her airy thread, 
 
 The cheek of the stripling brushed. 
 He little knew, as he started back, 
 
 How the acorn's fate was hung 
 On the very point in the spider's track, 
 
 Where the web on his cheek was flung. 
 
 9. The Autumn came, and it stood alone, 
 
 And bowed as the wind passed by 
 The wind that uttered its dirge-like moan 
 
 In the old oak sere and dry ; 
 The hollow branches creaked and swayed, 
 
 But they bent not to the blast, 
 For the stout oak tree, where centuries played, 
 
 Was sturdy to the last. 
 
 439
 
 440 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 10. A school-boy beheld the lithe young shoot, 
 
 And his knife was instant out, 
 To sever the stalk from the spreading root, 
 
 And scatter the buds about ; 
 To peel the bark in curious rings, 
 
 And many a notch and ray, 
 To beat the air till it whizzing sings, 
 
 Then idly cast away. 
 
 11. His hand was stayed ; he knew not why : 
 
 'T was a presence breathed around 
 A pleading from the deep blue sky, 
 
 And up from the teeming ground. 
 It told of the care that had lavished been 
 
 In sunshine and in dew 
 Of the many things that had wrought a screen 
 
 When peril around it grew. 
 * - 
 
 12. It told of the oak that once had bowed, 
 
 As feeble a thing to see ; 
 But now, when the storm was raging loud, 
 
 It wrestled mightily. 
 There 's a deeper thought on the school-boy's brow, 
 
 A new love at his heart, 
 And he ponders much, as with footsteps slow 
 
 He turns him to depart. 
 
 13. Up grew the twig, with a vigor bold, 
 
 In the shape of the parent tree, 
 And the old oak knew that his doom was told, 
 
 When the sapling sprang so free. 
 Then the fierce winds came, and they raging tore 
 
 The hollow limbs away ; 
 And the damp moss crept from the earthy floor 
 
 Round the trunk, time-worn and gray.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 441 
 
 J[4. The young oak grew, and proudly grew, 
 
 For its roots were deep and strong; 
 And a shadow broad on the earth it threw, 
 
 And the sunlight lingered long 
 On its glossy leaf, where the flickering light 
 
 Was flung to the evening sky ; 
 And the wild-bird came to its airy hight, 
 
 And taught her young to fly. 
 
 15. In acorn time came the truant boy, 
 
 With a wild and eager look, 
 And he marked the tree with a wondering joy, 
 
 As the wind the great limbs shook. 
 He looked where the moss on the north side grew, 
 
 The gnarled arms outspread, 
 The solemn shadow the huge tree threw, 
 
 As it towered above his head. 
 
 16. And vague-like fears the boy surround, 
 
 In the shadow of that tree, 
 So growing up from the darksome ground, 
 
 Like a giant mystery. 
 His heart beats quick to the squirrel's tread 
 
 On the withered leaf and dry, 
 And he lifts not up his awe-struck head, 
 
 As the eddying wind sweeps by. 
 
 17. And regally the stout oak stood, 
 
 In its vigor and its pride ; 
 A monarch owned in the solemn wood, 
 
 With a scepter spreading wide. 
 No more in- the wintry blast to bow, 
 
 Or rock in the summer breeze ; 
 But, draped in green, or star-like snow, 
 
 Reign king of the forest trees.
 
 442 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 18. And a thousand years it firmly grew, 
 
 And a thousand blasts defied ; 
 And, mighty in strength, its broad arms threw 
 
 A shadow dense and wide. 
 It grew where the rocks were bursting out 
 
 From the thin and heaving soil 
 Where the ocean's roar, and the sailor's shout, 
 
 Were mingled in wild turmeil. 
 
 19. Where the far-off sound of the restless deep 
 
 Came up with a booming swell, 
 And the white foam dashed to the rocky steep ; 
 
 But it loved the tumult well. 
 Then its huge limbs creaked in the midnight air, 
 
 And joined in the rude uproar ; 
 For it loved the storm, and the lightning's glare, 
 
 And the sound of the breakers' roar. 
 
 20. The bleaching bones of the sea-bird's prey 
 
 Were heaped on the rocks below ; 
 And the bald-head eagle, fierce and gray, 
 
 Looked off from its topmost bough. 
 Where its shadow lay on the quiet wave 
 
 The light boat often swung, 
 And the stout ship, saved from the ocean-grave, 
 
 Her cable round it flung. 
 
 21. Change came to the mighty things of earth, 
 
 Old empires passed away ; 
 Of the generations that had birth, 
 
 O Death ! where, where were they ? 
 Yet fresh and green the brave oak stood, 
 
 Nor dreamed it of decay, 
 Though a thousand times in the autumn wood, 
 
 Its leaves on the pale earth lay.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 443 
 
 22. A sound comes down in the forest trees, 
 
 An echoing from the hill ; 
 It floats far off on the summer breeze, 
 
 And the shore resounds it shrill : 
 Lo ! the monarch tree no more shall stand 
 
 Like a watch-tower of the main, 
 The strokes fall thick from the woodman's hand, 
 
 And its falling shakes the plain. 
 
 23. The stout old oak ! 'T was a worthy tree, 
 
 And the builder marked it out ; 
 And he smiled its angled limbs to see, 
 
 As he measured the trunk about. 
 Already to him was a gallant bark 
 
 Careering the rolling deep, 
 And, in sunshine, calm, or tempest dark, 
 
 Her way she will proudly keep. 
 
 24. The chisel clicks, and the hammer rings, 
 
 And the merry jest goes round ; 
 While he who longest and loudest sings, 
 
 Is the stoutest workman found. 
 With jointed rib, and treenailed plank 
 
 The work goes gayly on, 
 And light -spoke oaths, when the glass they drank, 
 
 Are heard till the task is done. 
 
 25. She sits on the stocks, the skeleton ship, 
 
 With her oaken ribs all bare, 
 And the child looks up with parted lip, 
 
 As it gathers fuel there ; 
 With brimless hat, the bare-foot boy 
 
 Looks round with strange amaze, 
 And dreams of a sailor's life of joy 
 
 Are mingling in that gaze.
 
 444 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 26. With graceful waist and carvings brave 
 
 The trim hull waits the sea ; 
 And she proudly stoops to the crested wave, 
 
 While round go the cheerings three. 
 Her prow swells up from the yeasty deep, 
 
 Where it plunged in foam and spray ; 
 And the glad waves gathering round her sweep, 
 
 And buoy her in their play. 
 
 27. Thou wert nobly reared, O heart of oak ! 
 
 In the sound of the ocean roar, 
 Where the surging wave o'er the rough rock broke, 
 
 And bellowed along the shore. 
 And how wilt thou in the storm rejoice, 
 
 With the wind through spar and shroud, 
 To hear a sound like the forest voice, 
 
 When the blast was raging loud ! 
 
 28. With snow-white sail, and streamer gay, 
 
 She sits like an ocean-sprite, 
 Careering on in her trackless way, 
 
 In sunshine or dark midnight : 
 Her course is laid with fearless skill, 
 
 For brave hearts man the helm ; 
 And the joyous winds her canvas fill, 
 
 Shall the wave the stout ship whelm ? 
 
 29. On, on she goes, where icebergs roll ' 
 
 Like floating cities by ; 
 Where meteors flash by the northern pole, 
 
 And the merry dancers fly ; 
 Where the glittering light is backward flung 
 
 From icy tower and dome, 
 And the frozen shrouds are gayly hung 
 
 With gems from the ocean foam,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 445 
 
 30. On the Indian sea was her shadow cast, 
 
 As it lay like molten gold, 
 And her pendant shroud and towering mast 
 
 Seemed twice on the waters told. 
 The idle canvas slowly swung, 
 
 As the spicy breeze went by, 
 And strange, rare music around her rung 
 
 From the palm-tree growing nigh. 
 
 31. O gallant ship ! thou didst bear with thee 
 
 The gay and the breaking heart, 
 And weeping eyes looked out to see 
 
 Thy white-spread sails depart. 
 And, when the rattling casement told 
 
 Of many a periled ship, 
 The anxious wife her babes would fold, 
 
 And pray with trembling lip. 
 
 32. The petrel wheeled in her stormy flight ; 
 
 The wind piped shrill and high ; 
 On the topmast sat a pale blue light, 
 
 That flickered not to the eye : 
 The black cloud came like a banner down, 
 
 And down came the shrieking blast ; 
 The quivering ship on her beams is thrown, 
 
 And gone are helm and mast. 
 
 33. Helmless, but on before the gale 
 
 She plows the deep-troughed wave : 
 A gurgling sound a frenzied wail 
 
 And the ship hath found a grave. 
 And thus is the fate of the acorn told, 
 
 That fell from the old oak tree, 
 And the woodland Fays in the frosty mold 
 
 Preserved for its destiny.
 
 446 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLII. 
 FALLS OF NIAGARA. 
 
 L. H. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 1. Every good Mussulman considers it a duty to perform, 
 once in his life, a pilgrimage to the shrine of his Prophet at 
 Mecca ; and every American endeavors to make at least one 
 visit to the Falls of Niagara. But the most devout Osmanlee 
 that prostrates himself before the tomb of Mohammed, can 
 feel no excess of fervor, that will compare with the sensations 
 inspired, even in a mind and heart of ordinary sensibility, by 
 the sight of this sublime cataract, the wonder of the Atlan- 
 tic world, the glorious temple not made with hands, where 
 the incense of nature rises forever toward Nature's God, as 
 the compressed waters of one vast inland sea pour down into 
 another. 
 
 2. On arriving at Niagara, my young companion and my- 
 self, notwithstanding our impatience, had sufficient self-com- 
 mand to resolve on economizing our enjoyment, or, rather, 
 lengthening it out, in seeing Niagara by degrees: reserving, 
 for the last, the grand view that comprises the whole of the 
 Falls at once. We found that we were right, and that the 
 sum of our delight was greater in consequence. 
 
 3. They commence very gradually, where the bottom of 
 the river first becomes slightly rocky. A few bells of white 
 foam are scattered far apart on the surface of the dark green 
 water, the current seeming to increase in velocity. As it 
 proceeds, the foam-specks become larger and closer, till they 
 run into long wreaths. Then these wreaths unite, and become 
 ridges ; and the ridges follow each other so closely, that they 
 blend together into high wide crests of foam, that stretch from 
 shore to shore : crowding one upon another, hurrying wildly 
 on into those before them, and overtaken by those behind. 
 By the time the Rapids have passed the Cataract Hotel, scarcely 
 a streak of green can be discovered among them, so covered 
 is the whole channel with spreading masses of snowy white.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 447 
 
 4. Our next and best view of the Rapids was from the 
 bridge thrown across them to Bath Island, from whence there 
 is another and much smaller one to Ship Island, a picturesque 
 little spot covered with trees, most of them pines, the tallest 
 of which slant backward, something like the masts of a ves- 
 sel ; and there is one with the stem inclining forward, in the 
 manner of a bowsprit, its lower branches almost dipping into 
 the foam. We sat here awhile on a rustic bench beneath the 
 shade, and looked up and down and all around, scarcely know- 
 ing where to fix our eyes. 
 
 5. Our islet lay trembling amidst the turmoil of the white 
 and maddening waters that seemed ready every moment, as 
 they hurried past, to tear it from its foundation, and sweep it 
 away over the Falls. Looking up the stream we saw an ocean 
 of froth, whirling and tumbling amid the sunken reefs ; while 
 innumerable torrents leaped over the ledges, or, like the jet 
 of a vast fountain, rebounded from the rocks, and danced up, 
 high and sparkling, in the bright summer air. But the rocks, 
 though they enraged the waters to fury, could not arrest their 
 force. On they came, terrific in all their velocity ; roaring, 
 rushing, surging, flying along as if madly eager to hasten their 
 headlong plunge down the tremendous precipice. 
 
 6. It was here I first experienced those indescribable sensa- 
 tions of delight, overpowered by feelings of awe and rever- 
 ence, without which few have looked on Niagara. My eyes 
 were filled with tears. I could not speak. I felt as if the 
 spirit of the Creator was before me, and, almost in His own 
 divine form, I seemed to hear His holy voice, and feared to 
 interrupt it. 
 
 7. Retracing our steps, we again crossed the bridges, and 
 then descended a high, steep bank, which, when half-way down, 
 brought us in view of the whole of the American Falls : the 
 flood, on arriving near the pitch of the precipitous ledge, 
 branching off to supply a whole crescent of cataracts. Roll- 
 ing over the summits of these cliffs, and pouring down in 
 vast white sheets tinted with the liveliest green, we saw the
 
 448 SANDERS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 highest and most beautiful of the Falls descending from the 
 main branch of the Rapids : light, feathery flakes of foam 
 springing off from the sides of the torrent, and trickling in 
 silver rills over the dark and broken masses of stone, from 
 whose crevices, forever wet, grew out such shrubs and plants 
 as love to climb about the rocks, and delight in perpetual 
 moisture. 
 
 8. When my thoughts and feelings began to take a definite 
 form, my only regret was, that every being that I loved, 
 every one, indeed, that I knew, was not there, at that moment, 
 to look at Niagara. It seemed like something too grand, too 
 beautiful, to last ; like a magnificent scene that would pass 
 away while we were yet gazing on it. I could imagine no- 
 thing more charming than to live in its immediate neighbor- 
 hood for at least a year ; seeing it under all its different as- 
 pects ; in sunshine and in tempest ; glittering beneath the 
 bright sky of summer, and darkening beneath a canopy of 
 heavy storm-clouds ; the lightning flashing across its ever- 
 rolling torrents, and the thunder of upper air uniting with that 
 whose deep tones ascend forever from the caverned recesses 
 at its feet. 
 
 9. I thought how it must look, tinted with the crimson and 
 purple clouds that curtain the close of an autumnal day, 
 "when the clear cold evening's declining," and the fantastic 
 trees of these islands and these rocks come out in the varied 
 and glowing colors of that gorgeous season, colors scarcely 
 less splendid than those of the sunset sky. And in winter, 
 when it has all its beauties to itself, when the trees are de- 
 nuded, the rock-plants withered, masses of ice lying along the 
 shores, and the country round presenting one vast desert of 
 snow ; even in winter Niagara must still be beautiful in the 
 crystal pendants hung on the rocks and trees by its freezing 
 spray ; and sublime in the overpowering force, with which it 
 struggles against the ice that vainly essays to block up its 
 progress. 
 
 10. Nature is always true to herself, and the land scenery
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 449 
 
 about Niagara is in unison with that of the water. The rocks, 
 chiefly of brown sandstone and blue limestone, are lofty, wild, 
 and rugged. Some are nearly perpendicular, some slope 
 back, and others project forward, impending over the raging 
 waters. In some places they are deeply honeycombed by 
 the incessant action of the spray. The trees and wild vines 
 that grow from the fissures of these rifted walls, appear to 
 give as well as to receive support, clasping their tangled and 
 dripping roots and their twining branches against the masses 
 of cracked, disjointed stone, which seemed already loosened 
 in their sockets. Even a lonely cluster of wild-flowers some- 
 times glows beneath the shadow of an overhanging block of 
 stone. 
 
 11. The solemn coloring of these gigantic rocks, compris- 
 ing all the darkest shades of brown and gray, forms a fine 
 contrast to the flowing masses of dazzling white and lovely 
 green, to which no pencil has ever yet done justice. The green 
 of the Niagara Falls is, indeed, like nothing that can be seen 
 elsewhere. It is not the green of the sea ?n fathom water, 
 nor the deep blue green of the lakes ; neither is it the reflec- 
 tion of the trees on the banks. It is " something more ex- 
 quisite still," a color so beautiful, so peculiar, that no art can 
 successfully imitate it. Imagine vast and ever-falling torrents 
 of dissolved alabaster, shaded "with liquid emerald slightly 
 blended with molten turquoise, and you may form some 
 faint idea of the tinting of those transcendent waters. 
 
 12. Amid the numerous beauties of the Falls, the spray is 
 not the least. It rises in light misty clouds from the turmoil 
 of conflicting eddies, and the vast bed of foam that rolls 
 around their feet, and dances upward in a thousand jets, the 
 liquid dust of the cataract, the white smoke of this volcano 
 of raging waters. It is said that in a clear day the smoke of 
 Niagara may be seen at Buffalo. We were not so fortunate 
 as to witness the rainbow that, in a certain position of the 
 sunlight, is so frequently beheld upon the mist-clouds that as- 
 cend from the Horse-shoe Fall. But we looked down upon
 
 450 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 several small horizontal rainbows lying flat upon the surface 
 of the froth beneath the rock on which we stood. . 
 
 13. The depth, to which the Falls descend, can not be as- 
 certained, as the rocks and caverns at their feet are only indi- 
 cated by the vast body of surging water that whirls and roars 
 among them, and that after raging, seething, smoking, flying 
 upward and downward, and tumbling into a thousand varied 
 forms, gradually resolves itself into long white reefs and 
 ripples, diminishing in magnitude and contiguity, till they 
 scatter into snowy bells and float off upon the dark green 
 surface of the river below. 
 
 14. We gazed with unwearied and increasing interest, con- 
 tinually discovering new beauties. In consequence, perhaps, 
 of the state of the atmosphere, or the direction of the wind, 
 the sound of the Falls was less loud than we had anticipated. 
 There were, in fact, two sounds perpetually accompanying 
 each other, and seeming like the tenor and bass in music. One 
 sound was that of an everlasting pouring and splashing ; the 
 other was a low and awful thunder-tone that forever mur- 
 mured far down beneath us, coming up from the caverned 
 recesses of the sunken rocks, and shaking the ground on which 
 we stood. I think there is some exaggeration in most re- 
 ports of the great distance, at which the Falls of Niagara can 
 be heard. 
 
 15. Though prepared for the grandeur of Niagara, I had 
 not anticipated its surpassing beauty. It was, indeed, a divine 
 picture painted by an Omnipotent Artist. All that had been 
 done by His hand was perfect ; the design, the coloring, the 
 accessories, not a touch could be added to improve it. The 
 water, the rocks, the trees, all harmonized, all combined to 
 produce a scene unequaled in the universe, graceful in its 
 wildness, lovely in its strength, beautiful in its terrific and 
 resistless power.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 451 
 
 EXERCISE CLIII. 
 ORIGIN OF THE WHITE, THE RED, AND THE BLACK MEN. 
 
 A SEMINOLE TRADITION. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 1. When the Floridas were erected into a territory of the 
 United States, one of the earliest cares of the governor,' Wil- 
 liam P. Duval, was directed to the instruction and civilization of 
 the natives. - For this purpose he called a meeting of the chiefs, 
 in which he informed them of the wish of their Great Father at 
 Washington, that they should have schools and teachers among 
 them, and that their children should be instructed like the chil- 
 dren of white men. The chiefs listened with their customary si- 
 lence and decorum to a long speech, setting forth the advantages 
 that would accrue to them from this measure, and when he had 
 concluded, begged the interval of a day to deliberate on it. 
 
 2. On the following day, a solemn convocation was held, 
 at which one of the chiefs addressed the governor in the name 
 of all the rest. " My brother," said he, " we have been think- 
 ing over the proposition of our Great Father at Washington, 
 to send teachers and set up schools among us. We are very 
 thankful for the interest he takes in our welfare ; but after 
 much deliberation, have concluded to decline his offer. What 
 will do very well for white men, will not do for red men. 
 
 3. " I know you white men say we all come from the same 
 father and mother, but you are mistaken. We have a tra- 
 dition handed down from our forefathers, and we believe it, 
 that the Great Spirit, when he undertook to make men, made 
 the black man ; it was his first attempt, and pretty well for a 
 beginning ; but he soon saw he had bungled ; so he deter- 
 mined to try his hand again. He did so, and made the red 
 man. He liked him much better than the black man, but 
 still he was not exactly what he wanted. So lie tried once 
 more, and made the white man, and then he was satisfied. 
 You see, therefore, that you were made last, and that is the 
 reason I call you my youngest brother.
 
 452 SANDERS- NEW SERIES. 
 
 4. " When the Great Spirit had made the three men, he 
 called them together and showed them three boxes. The first 
 was filled with books, and maps, and papers ; the second with 
 bows and arrows, knives and tomahawks ; the third with 
 spades, axes, hoes, and hammers. ' These, my sons,' said he, 
 * are the means by which you are to live ; choose among them 
 according to your fancy.' . 
 
 5. " The white man, being the favorite, had the first choice. 
 He passed by the box of working-tools without notice ; but 
 when he came to the weapons for war and hunting, he stopped 
 and looked hard at them. The red man trembled, for he had 
 set his heart upon that box. The white man, however, after 
 looking upon it for a moment, passed on, and chose the box 
 of books and papers. The red man's turn came next ; and 
 you may be sure he seized with joy upon the bows and arrows, 
 and tomahawks. As to the black man, he had no choice left, 
 but to put up with the box of tools. 
 
 6. " From this it is clear that the Great Spirit intended the 
 white man should learn to read and write ; to understand all 
 about the moon and stars ; and to make every thing, even 
 rum and whisky. That the red man should be a first-rate 
 hunter, and a mighty warrior ; but he was not to learn any 
 thing from books, as the Great Spirit had not given him any ; 
 nor was he to make rum and whisky, lest he should kill him- 
 self with drinking. As to the black man, as he had nothing 
 but working-tools, it was clear he was to work for the white 
 and red man, which he has continued to do. 
 
 7. " We must go according to the wishes of the Great 
 Spirit, or we shall get into trouble. To know how to read 
 and write, is very good for white men, but very bad for red 
 men. It makes white men better, but red men worse. Some 
 of the Creeks and Cherokees learned to read and write, and 
 they are the greatest rascals among all the Indians. 
 
 8. " They went on to Washington, and said they were going 
 to see their Great Father, to talk about the good of the na- 
 tion. And when they got there, they all wrote upon a little
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 453 
 
 piece of paper, without the nation at home knowing any thing 
 about it. And the first thing the nation at home knew of the 
 matter, they were called together by the Indian agent, who 
 showed them a little piece of paper, which he told them was 
 a treaty, which their brethren had made in their name, with 
 their Great Father at Washington. 
 
 9. " And as they knew not what a treaty was, he held up 
 the little piece of paper, and they looked under it, and lo ! it 
 covered a great extent of country, and they found that their 
 brethren, by knowing how to read and write, had sold their 
 houses, and their lands, and the graves of their fathers ; and 
 that the white man, by knowing how to read and write, had 
 gained them. Tell our Great Father at Washington, there- 
 fore, that we are very sorry we can not receive teachers 
 among us; for reading and writing, though very good for 
 white men, is very bad for Indians." 
 
 EXERCISE CLIV. 
 THE OTTAWA MAID. 
 
 GEORGE COLTON. 
 
 What though a daughter of the Sun, 
 And rather of the twilight born 
 Than of the flushed and rosy morn, 
 
 That maid with dusk complexion shone ; 
 
 Yet was its hue' as purely clear 
 
 As heaven, when first the stars appear ; 
 
 And all her form had Nature's art 
 
 So molded light that every part 
 
 From Naiad* foot to chiseled face, 
 
 Se.emed conscious of a perfect grace ; 
 
 While her untaught, untainted soul 
 
 Informed, inspired, illumed the whole, 
 
 * NA'-IAD, (na'-yad) a water-nymph.
 
 454 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 And flowed through eyes as darkly bright 
 As e'er were lit with heavenly light 
 At Beauty's triumph, Love's fond hour, 
 In court or cottage, hall or bower. 
 
 2. And well her simple Indian dress 
 Became that airy loveliness ; 
 
 The fawn-skin frock, so softly dressed, 
 Close folded o'er her swelling breast, 
 And gently bound her waist about, 
 By belt with purple wampum wrought; 
 Thence falling short, in graceful ease, 
 Like Highland kirtle to her knees ; 
 And well the rounded limb that graced 
 Her crimson-broidered leggins, laced 
 The beaded moccasins to meet 
 Upon those fairy-fashioned feet, 
 These soothly of a youth had told, 
 Of delicate and maiden mold, 
 But that the smooth and raven tresses, 
 Descending low in soft caresses, 
 And rising breast, howe'er concealed, 
 That form a maiden true revealed. 
 As on her arm there hung a bow 
 Of polished length and ebon glow, 
 She might have seemed, that forest child, 
 An Indian Dian, chaste and wild ! 
 
 3. As stood she there, a chieftain's plume 
 Advanced amid the forest's bloom. 
 Unseen by her, in fixed delight 
 
 The warrior viewed that fairer sight, 
 Than e'er he deemed could greet his eyes, 
 Save in the Indian's Paradise. 
 At last she saw, and, half afraid, 
 Prepared for flight. " Fly not," he said :
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 455 
 
 " The flowers the maiden's fingers twine 
 Less lovely than the maiden shine. 
 Say, doth the dark-eyed Ottawa 
 Braid them to deck her bridal day ?" 
 Upon her cheek the deeper glow 
 Drank up its smiles : " N6, chieftain, nd ! 
 But when, among the Ottawa homes 
 The wise, the brave, Tecumseh comes, 
 Whom all the red men love to hear, 
 And runners say that he is near, 
 Then " 
 
 4. " What," he cried, " if I were he ?" 
 She gazed on him more timidly, 
 Shrank backward, then, with maiden grace, 
 Approached, but looked not in his face : 
 
 " Why, then a maid of Pontiac's race 
 
 Presents these Daughters of the Spring 
 
 To cheer him, faint with journeying ," 
 
 She said, and with a gentle breath, 
 
 Much like a sigh, the flowery wreath 
 
 Was laid upon Tecumseh's arm. 
 
 " By this clear stream, in sunlight warm," 
 
 She added with a blush and smile, 
 
 " They have been growing all the while, 
 
 That they might greet, with lovely eyes, 
 
 The Eagle of the Southern skies." 
 
 5. " Nor doth the maiden," he replied, 
 
 " By day the lingering moments number, 
 Till sits a lover by her side ? 
 
 Sees she no warrior in her slumber ?" 
 " Omeena's thoughts," she lisped, with tone 
 Like running brooks, " are all her own : 
 In dreams Omeena is alone." 
 " These flowers," said he, their fragrance smelling, 
 sweet, but sweeter, maiden, be
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Flowers, -where the Shawnee hath his dwelling ! 
 Say, will the Ottawa go and see ?" 
 
 6. " These grow around her father's home : 
 Do such not have a fairer bloom 1 
 
 And flowers upon her mother's grave 
 Can any else so sweetly wave ?" 
 " But," cried the chief, confusedly, 
 As rose to his her speaking eye, 
 
 " Tecumseh is the greatest brave, 
 His hands are red with foeman's slaughter !" 
 " Omeena is great Pontiac's daughter !" 
 Was her reply. " 'T is Pontiac's name 
 Leads me to conflict, glory, fame, 
 That star shall be Tecumseh's guide ! 
 Will Pontiac's daughter be his bride ?" 
 
 7. " Chieftain !" exclaimed she, pointing high, 
 " See yonder cloud climb up the sky. 
 And hark ! the song-birds will not sing : 
 They cower in fear each shivering wing. 
 But lo ! yon eagle's rising form ! 
 
 He hastes alone to meet the storm. 
 He cares not for his aerie past, 
 So he may ride the rolling blast. 
 
 8. Go, warrior ; when the sky is clear, 
 The Ottawa maid will meet him here. 
 Go when the pale face dwells no more 
 By Wabash tide or Huron's shore, 
 Then to her mother's grave she '11 bring 
 Young flowers, her last, sweet offering, 
 And in the Eagle's aerie sing !" 
 
 And ending thus, his hand she took, 
 Softly, and with a soul-lit look, 
 Though timid love her virgin bosom shook.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 457 
 
 EXERCISE CLV. 
 
 SONG OF THE LIGHTNING. 
 
 G. \V. CUTTER. 
 
 1. (") Away, away through the sightless air, 
 
 Stretch forth your iron thread, 
 For I would not dim my sandals fair 
 
 With the dust ye tamely tread ; 
 Aye, rear it up on its million piers, 
 
 Let it reach the world around, 
 And the journey ye make in a hundred years, 
 
 I '11 clear at a single bound. 
 
 2. Though I can not toil like the groaning slave 
 
 Ye have fettered with iron skill, 
 To ferry you over the boundless wave, 
 
 Or- grind in the noisy mill ; 
 What is his giant strength and speed ? 
 
 But a single shaft of mine 
 Would give that monster a flight indeed 
 
 To the depths of the ocean brine. 
 
 3. No, no, I 'm the spirit of light and love, 
 
 To my unseen hand 't is given 
 To pencil the ambient clouds above, 
 
 And polish the stars of heaven. 
 I scatter the golden rays of fire 
 
 On the horizon far below ; 
 And deck the skies where storms expire, 
 
 With my red and dazzling glow. 
 
 4. The deepest recesses of earth are mine, 
 
 I traverse its silent core ; 
 Around me the starry diamonds shine, 
 And thg sparkling fields of ore ; 
 20
 
 458 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 And oft I leap from nay throne on high 
 To the depths of the ocean's caves, 
 
 Where the fadeless forests of coral lie, 
 Far under the world of waves. 
 
 5. My being is like a lovely thought 
 
 That dwells in a sinless breast ; 
 A tone of music that ne'er was caught, 
 
 A word that was ne'er expressed. 
 I burn in the bright and burnished halls 
 
 Where the fountains of sunlight play, 
 Where the curtain of gold and opal falls 
 
 O'er the scene of the dying day. 
 
 6. With a glance I cleave the sky in twain, 
 
 I light it with a glare, 
 When fall the boding drops of rain, 
 
 Through the darkly curtained air : 
 The rock-built towers, the turrets gray, 
 
 The piles of a thousand years, 
 Have not the strength of potter's clay, 
 
 Before my glittering spears. 
 
 7. From the Alps or the highest Andes' crag, 
 
 From the peaks of eternal snow, 
 The dazzling folds of my fiery flag 
 
 Gleam o'er the world below ; 
 The earthquake heralds my coming power, 
 
 The avalanche bounds away, 
 And the howling storms, at midnight hour 
 
 Proclaim my kingly sway. 
 
 8. Ye tremble when my legions come, 
 
 When my quivering sword leaps out 
 O'er the hills that echo my thunder drum, 
 And rend with joyous shout ;
 
 YOUNG LADIES' EEADER. 459 
 
 Ye quail on the land or upon the seas, 
 
 Ye stand in your fear aghast, 
 To see me burn the stalwart trees, 
 
 Or shiver the stately mast. 
 
 9. The hieroglyphs on the Persian wall, 
 
 The letters of high command, 
 Where the Prophet read the Tyrant's fall, 
 
 Were traced with my burning hand ; 
 And oft in fire have I wrote since then, 
 
 What angry Heaven decreed, 
 But the sealed eyes of sinful men 
 
 Were all too blind to read. 
 
 10. At last, the hour of light is here, 
 
 And kings no more shall blind, 
 Nor bigots crush, with craven fear, 
 
 The forward march of mind. 
 The words of truth and freedom's rays 
 
 Are from my pinions hurled, 
 And soon the sun of better days 
 
 Shall rise upon the world. 
 
 11. (") But away, away through the sightless air, 
 
 Stretch forth your iron thread, 
 For I would not soil my sandals fair 
 
 With the dust ye tamely tread : 
 Aye, rear it up on its million piers, 
 
 Let it circle the world around, 
 And the journey ye make in a hundred years 
 
 I '11 clear at a single bound. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 1. With what modulation of voice should this piece 
 be read ? See notation marks, first and last stanzas. 2. To what is 
 reference made in the ninth stanza ? See Daniel v. 25.
 
 460 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLVI. 
 
 
 
 1. AR'-NOLD WINK'-EL-RIED, a Swiss patriot, in the battle of Sempach, 
 July 9, 1386, by the sacrifice of his life, enabled his countrymen to 
 defeat the Austrian troops. In order to break the Austrian ranks, he 
 rushed on them, grasped several lances, and heedless of the thrusts, 
 bore them to the ground. His countrymen rushed through the open- 
 ing thus made, and won the victory. 
 
 2. SIR HENRY VANE, one of the early governors of Massachusetts, 
 on his return to England, rendered himself conspicuous by his public 
 acts. On one occasion, on account of his advocacy for a Republican 
 government, he was falsely accused of treason, condemned, and be- 
 headed, June 14, 1662. 
 
 3. LORD RUSSELL, an English nobleman of acknowledged probity, 
 sincerity, and private worth, was unjustly condemned for treason, 
 and beheaded, July 21, 1683. 
 
 BEAUTY, THE MARK GOD SETS UPON VIRTUE. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 1. The high and divine beauty which can be loved without 
 effeminacy, is that which is found in combination with the hu- 
 man will, and never separate. Beauty is the mark God sets 
 upon virtue. Every natural action is graceful. Every heroic 
 act is also decent, and causes the place and the bystanders to 
 shine. We are taught by great actions that the universe is 
 the property of every individual in it. 
 
 2. Every rational creature has all nature for his dowry and 
 estate. It is his, if he will. He may divest himself of it ; he 
 may creep into a corner, and abdicate his kingdom, as most 
 men do ; but he is entitled to the world by his constitution. 
 In proportion to the energy of his thought and will, he takes 
 up the world into himself. " All those things, for which men 
 plow, build, or sail, obey virtue," said an ancient historian. 
 " The winds and the waves are always on the side of the 
 ablest navigators." So are the sun, and moon, and all the 
 stars of heaven.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 461 
 
 3. When a noble act is done, perchance in a scene of great 
 natural beauty, when Leonidas and his three hundred mar- 
 tyrs consume one day in dying, and the sun and moon come 
 each and look at them once in the steep defile of Thermop- 
 ylae ; when Arnold Winkelried 1 , in the high Alps, under the 
 shadow of the avalanche, gathers in his side a sheaf of Aus- 
 trian spears to break the line for his comrades ; are not these 
 heroes entitled to add the beauty of the scene to the beauty 
 of the deed? 
 
 4. When the bark of Columbus nears the shore of America, 
 before it, the beach lined with savages fleeing out of all their 
 huts of cane, the sea behind, and the purple mountains of the 
 Indian Archipelago around, can we separate the man from 
 the living picture 1 ? Does not the New World clothe his 
 form with her palm-groves and savannas as fit drapery ? 
 
 5. Ever does natural beauty steal in like air, and envelop 
 great actions. When Sir Henry Vane 4 was dragged up the 
 Tower-hill, sitting on a sled, to suffer death, as the champion 
 of the English laws, one of the multitude cried out : " You 
 never sat on so glorious a seat." Charles II., to intimidate 
 the citizens of London, caused the patriot, Lord Russell, 8 to be 
 drawn in an open coach, through the principal streets of the 
 city, on his way to the scaffold. "But," to use the simple 
 narrative of his biographer, " the multitude imagined they saw 
 Liberty and Virtue sitting by his side." 
 
 6.' In private places, among sordid objects, an act of truth 
 or heroism seems at once to draw to itself the sky as its tem- 
 ple, the sun as its candle. Nature stretches out her arms 
 to embrace man, only let his thoughts be of equal greatness. 
 Willingly does she follow his steps with the rose and the vio- 
 let, and bend her lines of grandeur and grace to the decoration 
 of her darling child. Only let his thoughts be of equal scope, 
 and the frame will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in 
 unison with her works, and makes the central figure of the 
 visible sphere. '
 
 462 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLVII. , v ,; 
 
 DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 
 
 FRANCIS WAYLAND. 
 
 1. Whatever we would do for our country must be done 
 for THE PEOPLE. Great results can never be effected in any 
 other way. Specially is this the case under a republican 
 constitution. Here the people are not only the real, but the 
 acknowledged, fountain of all authority. They make the 
 laws, and they control the execution of them. They direct 
 the Senate, they overawe the cabinet ; and, hence, it is the 
 moral and intellectual character of the people, which must 
 give to the " very age and body of our institutions their form 
 and pressure." 
 
 2. So long as our people remain virtuous and intelligent, 
 our government will remain stable. While they clearly per- 
 ceive, and honestly decree justice, our laws will be whole- 
 some, and the principles of our constitution will commend 
 themselves everywhere to the common sense of man. But, 
 should they become ignorant and vicious ; should their de- 
 cisions become the dictates of passion and venality, rather 
 than of reason and of right, that moment are our liberties at 
 an end ; and, glad to escape from the despotism of millions, 
 we shall flee for shelter to the despotism of one. Then will 
 the world's last hope be extinguished, and darkness brood for 
 ages over the whole human race. 
 
 3. Not less important is moral and intellectual cultivation, 
 if we would prepare our country to stand forth the bulwark 
 of the liberties of the world. Should the time to try men's 
 souls ever come again, our reliance under God must be, as it 
 was before, on the character of our citizens. Our soldiers 
 must be men whose bosoms have swollen with the conscious 
 dignity of freemen, and who, firmly trusting in a righteous 
 God, can look unmoved on embattled nations leagued to- 
 gether for purposes of wrong.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 463 
 
 4. When the means of education everywhere throughout 
 our country, shall be free as the air we breathe ; when every 
 family shall have its Bible, then, and not till then, shall we 
 exert our proper influence on the cause of man ; then, and 
 not till then, shall we be prepared to stand forth between the 
 oppressor and the oppressed, and say to the proud wave of 
 domination : Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther. 
 
 5. The paramount duty of every American citizen is, to 
 put in requisition every possible means for elevating univer- 
 sally the intellectual and moral character of our people. The 
 intellectual stores of the English language are open before 
 every man, in which he may find all the knowledge that he 
 will ever need to form his opinions upon any subjects, on 
 which it will be his duty to decide. A man who can not read 
 is a being not contemplated by the genius of our constitution. 
 Where the right of suffrage is extended to all, he is certainly 
 a dangerous member of the community, who has not qualified 
 himself to exercise it. 
 
 6. But, though the entire mass of our population should be 
 intellectually educated, still only a part, and by far the least 
 important part of our work, will have been accomplished. 
 We have increased the power of the people, but we have left 
 it doubtful in what direction that power will be exerted. We 
 have made it certain that a public opinion will be formed ; 
 but whether that opinion shall be healthful or destructive, is 
 yet to be decided. 
 
 7. We have cut our channels, by which knowledge may be 
 conveyed to every individual of our mighty population ; it 
 remains for us, by means of these very channels, to instill 
 into every bosom an unshaken reverence for the principles of 
 right. Having gone this far, we must go still farther ; for 
 we must be aware, that the tenures by which our liberties are 
 held, can never be secure, unless moral, keep pace with intel- 
 lectual, education.
 
 464 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLVIII. 
 
 NOTE This piece is well suited to reading in concert. To give it 
 the better effect, the class may be divided into two parts : one side 
 reading the stanzas under the title " EAETH," and the other respond- 
 ing with those under the caption " HEAVEN." 
 
 EARTH AND HEAVEN. 
 
 O. F. RICHARDSON. 
 EARTH. 
 
 1. There is grief, there is grief, there is wringing of hands, 
 (pi.) And weeping and calling for aid ; 
 
 For Sorrow hath summoned her group, and it stands 
 Round the couch where the sufferer is laid. 
 
 And lips are all pallid, and cheeks are all cold, 
 And tears from the heart-springs are shed ; 
 
 Yet who that looks on the sweet saint to behold, 
 But would gladly lie down in her stead. 
 
 2. There is grief, there is grief, there is anguish and strife, 
 (pi.) And the sufferer is striving for breath ; 
 
 For the spirit will cling, O ! how fondly, to life, 
 
 And stern is the struggle with death ! 
 But the terrible conflict grows deadlier still, 
 
 Till the last fatal symptoms have birth ; 
 And the eye-ball is glazed, and the heart-blood is chill ; 
 
 And this is the portion of earth ! 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 3. There is bliss, there is bliss, in the regions above, 
 
 They have opened the gates of the sky ; 
 A spirit has soared to those mansions of love, 
 
 And seeks for admittance on high. 
 And friends long divided are hasting to greet 
 
 To a land where no sorrow may come, 
 And the seraphs are eager a sister to meet, 
 
 And to welcome the child to its home.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 465 
 
 4. There is bliss, there is bliss, at the foot of the throne, 
 
 See the spirit all purified bend ; 
 And it beams with delight, since it gazes alone, 
 
 On the face of a father, a friend ! 
 Then it joins in the anthems forever that rise, 
 
 And its frailty or folly forgiven, 
 It is dead to the earth, and new-born to the skies, 
 
 And this is the portion of Heaven ! 
 
 EXERCISE CLIX. 
 SPEAK GENTLY TO THE ERRING. 
 
 F. 6. LEE. 
 L 
 
 (p.) Speak gently to the erring, ye know not all the power, 
 With which the dark temptation came, in some unguarded hour ; 
 Ye may not know how earnestly they struggled, or how well, 
 Until the hour of weakness came, and sadly thus they fell. 
 
 Speak gently of the erring, oh ! do not thou forget, 
 However darkly stained by sin, he is thy brother yet : 
 Heir of the self-same heritage, child of the self-same God, 
 He hath but stumbled in the path thou hast in weakness trod. 
 
 Speak kindly to the erring, for is it not enough, 
 
 That innocence and peace are gone, without thy censure rough ? 
 
 It surely is a weary lot, that sin-crushed heart to bear ; 
 
 And they who share a happier fate, their chidings well may spare. 
 
 Speak kindly of the erring, thou yet may'st lead him back 
 With holy words, and tones of love, from misery's thorny track ; 
 Forget not thou hast often sinned, and sinful yet must be ; 
 Deal kindly with the erring one, as God hath dealt with thee I 
 
 20*
 
 466 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLX. 
 
 1. CHAR-X.E-MAGNE' (Charles, the Great), King of the Franks, and af- 
 terwards Emperor of the West, was born, A. D. 742. Though con- 
 tinually engaged in war, he was a great friend and patron of learn- 
 ing, and, in private life, was a very amiable and estimable man. He 
 died in 814. 
 
 2. AJL-EX-AN'-DER, the Great, the celebrated son of Philip, King of 
 Macedon, was born, B. C. 356. After a life previously unsurpassed 
 in warlike achievements, he died of a disease brought on by intem- 
 perate habits, B. C. 323. 
 
 3. CLE'-SAB, Caius Julius, the first Roman emperor, and one of the 
 greatest generals of antiquity. He wrote an account of his wars in 
 Gaul, which is still extant. He was assassinated in the Senate 
 House, B. C. 43, in the 56th year of his age. 
 
 4. HAN'-NI-BAL, the celebrated leader of the Carthaginians, after a 
 brilliant military career, in which he came near to the achievement 
 of a full triumph over the city and empire of Rome, took poison, and 
 died, B. C. 183, at the age of 64. 
 
 5. MA-CHI-A'-VEL, a famous political writer, born at Florence in 
 1469. One of his works, the Prince, contains maxims of government 
 and policy, which have rendered bis name synonymous with what- 
 ever is vile in principle or pernicious in practice. 
 
 6. BA-JA'-ZET, a warlike and tyrannical Sultan of Turkey, who, by 
 the murder of his brother, came to the throne in 1389. He died in 
 1403. 
 
 CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 <* LAMARTINE. 
 
 1. Personal glory will be always spoken of, as character- 
 izing the age of Napoleon ; but it will never merit the praise 
 bestowed upon that of Augustus, of Charlemagne, 1 and of 
 Louis XIV. There is no age ; there is only a name ; and 
 this name signifies nothing to humanity, but himself. False 
 in institutions, for he retrograded ; false in policy, for he de- 
 based ; false in morals, for he corrupted ; false in civilization, 
 for he oppressed ; false in diplomacy, for he isolated, he 
 was only true in war, for he shed torrents of human blood. 
 
 2. But what can we then allow him? His individual
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 467 
 
 genius was great, but it was the genius of materialism. His 
 intelligence was vast and clear, but it was the intelligence of 
 calculation. He counted, he weighed, he measured ; but he 
 felt not ; he loved not ; he sympathized with none ; he was 
 a statue, rather than a man. Therein lay his inferiority to 
 Alexander 3 and to Caesar 8 ; he resembled more the Hannibal 4 
 of the aristocracy. Few men have thus been molded, and 
 molded cold. All was solid, nothing gushed forth in that 
 mind, nothing was moved. His metallic nature was felt even 
 in his style. & 
 
 3. He was, perhaps, the greatest writer of human events 
 since Machiavel. 5 Much superior to Caesar in the account of 
 his campaigns, his style is not the written expression alone ; 
 it is the action. Every sentence in his pages is, so to speak, 
 the counterpart and counter-impression of the fact. There 
 is neither a letter, a sound, or a color wasted between the 
 fact and the word, and the word is himself. His phrases 
 concise, but struck off without ornament, recall those times 
 when Bajazet 6 and Charlemagne, not knowing how to write- 
 their names at the bottom of their imperial acts, dipped their 
 hands in ink or blood, and applied them with all their articu- 
 lations impressed upon the parchment. It was not the signa- 
 ture ; it was the hand itself of the hero thus fixed eternally 
 before the eyes ; and such were the pages of his campaigns 
 dictated by Napoleon, the very soul of movement, of ac- 
 tion, and of combat. 
 
 ' 4. This fame, which constituted his morality, his conscience, 
 and his principle, he merited by his nature and his talents, 
 from war and from glory ; and he has covered with it the 
 name of France. France, obliged to accept the odium of 
 his tyranny and his crime, should, also, accept his glory with a 
 serious gratitude. She can not separate her name from his, 
 without lessening it ; for it is equally intrusted with his great- 
 ness as with his faults. She wished for renown, and he has 
 given it to her ; but what she principally owes to him, is the 
 celebrity she has gained in the world.
 
 468 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 5. This celebrity, which will descend to posterity, and 
 which is improperly called glory, constituted his means and 
 his end. Let him, therefore, enjoy it. The noise he has 
 made will resound through distant ages ; but let it not per- 
 vert posterity, or falsify the judgment of mankind. This 
 man, one of the greatest creations of God, applied himself 
 with greater power than any other man ever possessed, to ac- 
 cumulate therefrom, on his route, revolutions and ameliora- 
 tions of the human mind, as if to check the march of ideas, 
 and make all received truths retrace their steps. But time 
 has overleaped him, and truths and ideas have resumed their 
 ordinary current. He is admired as a soldier ;' he is meas- 
 ured as a sovereign ; he is judged as a founder of nations ; 
 great in action, little in idea, nothing in virtue ; such is the 
 man. 
 
 ,; EXERCISE CLXI. 
 
 THE CORSICAN NOT CONTENT. 
 
 WILLIAM H. SEWARD. 
 
 1. Only two years after the birth of John Quincy Adams, 
 there appeared on an island in the Mediterranean Sea, a hu- 
 man spirit, endowed with equal genius, without the regulating 
 qualities of justice and benevolence which Adams possessed 
 in such an eminent degree. A like career opened to both. 
 Born, like Adams, a subject of a king ; the child of more ge- 
 nial skies, like him, became in early life a patriot and a citi- 
 zen of a new and great Republic. Like Adams, he lent his 
 service to the State in precocious youth, and in its hour of need, 
 and won its confidence. 
 
 2. But unlike Adams, he could not wait the dull delays of 
 slow and laborious, but sure advancement. He sought power 
 by the hasty road that leads through fields of carnage, and he 
 became, like Adams, a supreme magistrate, a consul. But 
 there were other consuls. He was not content. He thrust
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 469 
 
 them aside, and was consul alone. Consular power was too 
 short ; he fought new battles, and was consul for life. But 
 power, confessedly derived from the people, must be exer- 
 cised in obedience to their will, and must be resigned to them 
 again, at least in death. He was not content. 
 
 3. He desolated Europe afresh, subverted the Republic, im- 
 prisoned the patriarch who presided over Rome's comprehen- 
 sive See, and obliged him to pour on his head the sacred oil 
 that made the persons of kings divine, and their right to reign 
 indefeasible. He was an emperor. But he soon saw around 
 him a mother, brothers, and sisters, not ennobled, whose humble 
 state reminded him and the world that he was born a plebeian. 
 He had no heir to wait impatient for the imperial crown. 
 
 4. He scourged the earth again and again. Fortune smiled 
 on him even in his wild extravagance. He bestowed king- 
 doms and principalities on his kindred ; put away the devoted 
 wife of his youthful days, and another, a daughter of Haps- 
 burg's imperial house, joyfully accepted his proud alliance. 
 Offspring gladdened his anxious sight ; a diadem was placed 
 on its infant brow, and it received the homage of princes, 
 even in its cradle. 
 
 5. Now he was indeed a monarch ; a legitimate monarch ; 
 a monarch by divine appointment ; the first of an endless 
 succession of monarchs. But there were other monarchs who 
 held sway in the earth. He was not content. He would 
 reign with his kindred alone. He gathered new and greater 
 armies from his own land from subjugated lands. He called 
 forth the young and the brave, one from every household ; 
 from the Pyrenees to the Zuyder Zee ; from Jura to the 
 ocean. He marshaled them into long and majestic columns, 
 and went forth to seize that universal dominion, which seemed 
 almost within his grasp. 
 
 6. But ambition had tempted fortune too far. The nations 
 of the earth resisted, repelled, pursued, and surrounded him. 
 The pageant was ended. The crown fell from his presump- 
 tuous head. The wife who had wedded him in his pride, for-
 
 470 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 sook him when fear came upon him. His child was ravished 
 from his sight. His kinsmen were degraded to their first 
 estate, and he was no longer emperor, nor consul, nor general, 
 nor even a citizen, but an exile and a prisoner, on a lonely- 
 island in the midst of the wild Atlantic. 
 
 7. Discontent attended him there. The wayward man 
 fretted out a few lonely years of his yet unbroken manhood, 
 looking off, at the earliest dawn and the evening's twilight, 
 toward that distant world that had only just eluded his grasp. 
 His heart corroded. Death came, not unlooked for, though 
 it came, even then, unwelcome. He was stretched on his bed 
 within the fort which constituted his prison. A few fast and 
 faithful friends stood around him, with the guards who rejoiced 
 that the hour of relief, from long and wearisome watching, was 
 at hand. 
 
 8. As his strength wasted away, delirium stirred up the 
 brain from its long and inglorious inactivity. The pageant 
 of ambition returned. He was again a lieutenant, and a 
 general, a consul, an emperor of France. He filled again the 
 throne of Charlemagne. His kindred pressed around him, 
 again invested with the pompous pageantry of royalty. The 
 daughter of the long line of kings again stood proudly by his 
 side, and the sunny face of his child shone out from beneath 
 the diadem that encircled his flowing locks. The marshals of 
 the empire awaited his command. 
 
 9. The legions of the Old Guard were in the field, their 
 scarred faces rejuvenated, and their ranks, thinned in many 
 battles, replenished. Russia, Prussia, Austria, Denmark, and 
 England, gathered their mighty hosts to give him battle. 
 Once more he mounted his impatient charger, and rushed 
 forth to conquest. He waved his sword aloft, and cried: " Tete 
 d'Armee !"* The feverish vision broke, the mockery was 
 ended. The silver cord was loosed, and the warrior fell back 
 upon his bed a lifeless corpse. THE CORSICAN WAS NOT 
 CONTENT ! 
 
 * Tete d'Armee, head of the Army.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEK. 471 
 
 EXERCISE CLXII. 
 
 The 5th of May came amid wind and rain. Napoleon's passing 
 spirit was deliriously engaged in a strife more terrible than the ele- 
 ments around. The words " tete d'armee," (head of the army), the 
 last which escaped from his lips, intimated that his thoughts were 
 watching the current of a heavy fight. About eleven minutes before 
 six in the evening, Napoleon expired. Scott's Life of Napoleon. 
 
 DEATH OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 ISAAC M'LELLAN. 
 
 1. (o) Wild was the night ; yet a wilder night 
 
 Hung round the soldier's pillow ; 
 In his bosom there waged a fiercer fight 
 Than the fight on the wrathful billow. 
 
 2. (pi-) A few fond mourners were kneeling by, 
 
 The few that his stern heart cherished ; 
 They knew, by his glazed and unearthly eye, 
 That life had nearly perished. 
 
 3. They knew by his awful and kingly look, 
 
 By the order hastily spoken, 
 That he dreamed of days when the nations shook, 
 And the nations' hosts were broken. 
 
 4. He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew, 
 
 And triumphed the Frenchman's " eagle ;" 
 And the struggling Austrian fled anew, 
 Like the hare before the beagle. 
 
 5. The bearded Russian he scourged again, 
 
 The Prussian's camp was routed, 
 And again, on the hills of haughty Spain, 
 His mighty armies shouted. 
 
 6. Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows, 
 
 At the pyramids, at the mountain,
 
 472 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows, 
 And by the Italian fountain ; 
 
 7. On the snowy cliffs, where mountain-streams 
 
 Dash by the Switzer's dwelling, 
 He led again, in his dying dreams, 
 His hosts, the broad earth quelling. 
 
 8. Again Marengo's field was won, 
 
 And Jena's bloody battle ; 
 Again the world was overrun, 
 Made pale at his cannons' rattle. 
 
 9. (*') He died at the close of that darksome day, 
 
 A day that shall live in story : 
 In the rocky land they placed his clay, 
 " And left him alone with his glory." 
 
 EXERCISE CLXIII. 
 
 THE NEEDLE. 
 
 SAMUEL WOODWOETH. 
 
 1. The gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling 
 
 In waltz or cotillon, at whist or quadrille ; 
 And seek admiration by vauntingly telling 
 
 Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill ; 
 But give me the fair one, in country or city, 
 
 Whose home and its duties are dear to her heart, 
 Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty, 
 
 While plying the needle with exquisite art : 
 The bright little needle (")the swift-flying needle, 
 
 The needle directed by beauty and art. 
 
 2. If Love have a potent, a magical token, 
 
 A talisman, ever resistless and true,
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 473 
 
 A charm that is never evaded or broken, 
 
 A witchery certain the heart to subdue, 
 'T is this, and his armory never has furnished 
 
 So keen and unerring, or polished a dart ; 
 Let beauty direct it, so pointed and burnished, 
 
 And O ! it is certain of touching the heart : 
 The bright little needle (") the swift-flying needle, 
 
 The needle directed by beauty and art. 
 
 3. Be wise, then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration 
 
 By dressing for conquest, and flirting with all ; 
 You never, whate'er be your fortune or station, 
 
 Appear half so lovely at rout or at ball, 
 As gayly convened at a work-covered table, 
 
 Each cheerfully active and playing her part, 
 Beguiling the task with a song or a fable, 
 
 And plying the needle with exquisite art : 
 The bright little needle (") the swift-fly iig needle, 
 
 The needle directed by beauty and art. 
 
 EXERCISE CLXIV. 
 THE VICTOR'S CROWN. 
 
 UBS. HALE. 
 
 1. A crown for the victor, a crown of light ! 
 
 From the land where the flowers ne'er feel a blight 
 Was gathered the wreath that around it blows ; 
 And he who o'ercometh his treacherous foes, 
 
 That fadeless crown shall gain. 
 A king went forth on the rebel array, 
 Intrenched where a lovely hamlet lay ; 
 He frowned, and there 's naught save ashes and blood, 
 And blackened bones, where that hamlet stood, 
 
 Yet his treacherous foes he hath not slain.
 
 474 SANDEBS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 2. A crown for the victor, a crown of light ! 
 Encircled with jewels so pure and bright, 
 Night never hath gloomed where its luster flows ; 
 And he who can conquer his proudest foes, 
 
 That glorious cro'wn shall gain. 
 A hero came from the gory field, 
 And low at his feet the pale captives kneeled ; 
 In his might he hath trodden a nation down, 
 But he may not challenge that glorious crown, 
 
 For his proudest foes he hath not slain. 
 
 3. A crown for the victor, a crown of light ! 
 Like the morning sun to the dazzled sight, 
 From the night of a dungeon raised, it glows ; 
 And he who can slay his deadliest foes, 
 
 That shining crown shall gain. 
 With searching eye, and stealthy tread, 
 The man of wrath sought his enemy's bed : 
 Like festering wounds are the wrongs he hath borne 
 And he takes the revenge his soul had sworn, 
 
 But his deadliest foe he hath not slain. 
 
 4. A crown for the victor, a crown of light ! 
 To be worn with a robe whose spotless white 
 Makes darkness seem resting on Alpine snows ; 
 And he who o'ercometh his mightiest foes, 
 
 That robe and crown shall gain. 
 With eye upraised, and forehead bare, 
 A pilgrim knelt down in holy prayer : 
 He hath wrestled with SELF, and with passion striven ; 
 And to him hath the Sword of the Spirit been given ; 
 
 Oh ! crown him, for his foes, his sins, are slain.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 475 
 
 EXERCISE CLXV. 
 THE MORAL WORLD SUPERIOR TO THE NATURAL. 
 
 GRIMKE. 
 
 1. Man, the noblest work of God in this lower world, 
 walks abroad through its labyrinths of grandeur and beauty, 
 amid countless manifestations of creative power and provi- 
 dential wisdom. He acknowledges, in all that he beholds, the 
 might that called them into being ; the skill which perfected the 
 harmony of the parts, and the benevolence which consecrated 
 all to the glory of God and the welfare of his fellow-creatures. 
 
 2. He stands entranced on the peak of ^Etna, or TenerifFe, 
 or Montserrat, and looks down upon the far-distant ocean, 
 silent to his ear, and tranquil to his eye, amid the rushing of 
 tempestuous winds, and the fierce conflict of stormy billows. 
 He sits enraptured on the mountain-summit, and beholds, as 
 far as the eye can reach, a forest robe, flowing in all the varie- 
 ties of graceful undulations, over declivity after declivity, as 
 though the fabulous river of the skies were pouring its azure 
 waves over all the landscape. 
 
 3. He hangs over the precipice, and gazes with awful de- 
 light on the savage glen, rent open, as it were, by the earth- 
 quake, and black with lightning-shattered rocks ; its only mu- 
 sic the echoing thunder, the scream of the lonely eagle, and 
 the tumultuous waters of the mountain torrent. He reclines, 
 in pensive mood, on the hill-top, and sees around and beneath 
 him all the luxuriant beauties of field and meadow, of olive- 
 yard and vineyard, of wandering stream and grove-encircled 
 lake. He descends to the plain, and, amid waving harvests, 
 verdant avenues, and luxuriant orchards, sees, between garden 
 and grass-plot, the farm-house, embosomed in copse-wood, or 
 " tall ancestral trees.*' 
 
 4. He walks through the valley, fenced in by barrier cliffs, 
 to contemplate, with mild enthusiasm, its scenes of pastoral 
 beauty ; the cottage and its blossomed arbor, the shepherd 
 and his flock, the clumps of oaks, or the solitary willow. He
 
 476 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 enters the caverns buried far beneath the surface, and is struck 
 with amazement at the grandeur and magnificence of a sub- 
 terranean palace, hewn out, as it were, by the power of the 
 Genii,* and decorated by the taste of the Queen of the Fairies. 
 
 5. Such is the natural world ; and such, for the most part, 
 has it ever been, since men began to subdue the wilderness, 
 to scatter the ornaments of civilization amid the rural scenery 
 of nature, and to plant the lily on the margin of the deep, the 
 village on the hill-side, and martial battlements in the defiles 
 of the mountains. Such has been the natural world, whether 
 beheld by the eye of savage or barbarian, of the civilized or the 
 refined. Such has it been, for the most part, whether con- 
 templated by the harpers of Greece, the bards of Northern 
 Europe, or the voluptuous minstrels of the Troubadourf age. 
 Such it was, when its beauties, like scattered stars, beamed on 
 the page of classic lore ; and such, when its " sunshine of picture" 
 poured a flood of meridian splendor on modern literature. 
 
 6. Admirable as the natural world is for its sublimity and 
 beauty, who would compare it, even for an instant, with the 
 sublimity and beauty of the MORAL WORLD ? Is not the soul, 
 with its glorious destiny and its capacities for eternal happi- 
 ness, more awful and majestic than the boundless Pacific, or 
 the interminable An'des ? Is not the mind, with its thoughts 
 that wander through eternity, and its wealth of intellectual 
 power, an object of more intense interest than forest, or cata- 
 ract, or precipice ? And the heart, so eloquent in the depth, 
 purity, and pathos of its affections, can the richest scenery of 
 hill and dale, can the melody of breeze, and brook, and bird, 
 rival it in loveliness 1 
 
 7. The same God is the Author of the invisible and visible 
 world. The moral grandeur and beauty of the world of man 
 
 * GE'-NI-I, imaginary beings, some good, some bad, fabled to oc- 
 cupy a place intermediate between men and angels. 
 
 f TROU'-BA-DOUE age, that is, the age of the Troubadours, a class 
 of poets -who flourished from the eleventh to about the commence- 
 ment of the fifteenth century.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 477 
 
 are equally the productions of His wisdom and goodness, with 
 the fair, the sublime, the wonderful in the physical creation. 
 What, indeed, are these, but the outward manifestations of 
 His might, skill, and benevolence ? What are they but a glo- 
 rious volume, forever speaking to the eye and ear of man, in 
 the language of sight and sound, the praises of its Author 
 And what are those but images, faint and imperfect as they 
 are, of His own incomprehensible attributes 1 What are 
 they, the soul, the mind, the heart of an immortal being, but 
 the temple of the Holy Spirit ; the dwelling-place of Him 
 whom the Heaven of heavens can not contain, who inhabiteth 
 eternity ? 
 
 EXERCISE CLXVI. 
 BEAUTY OF AGE. 
 
 L H. SI60UBNBY. 
 
 1. " The principle of beauty hath no age, 
 
 It looketh forth, even though the eye be dim, 
 The forehead frost-crown'd, yea, it looketh forth, 
 Like holy star, on all whom God hath made." 
 
 2. The beauty of age ! Does any one call me ironical, or 
 point the finger at me in derision ? Verily, I am speaking in 
 good faith. Yet am I not ignorant of what Time takes away. 
 I know that he is prone to steal from the eye its luster, and 
 from the Parian brow its smoothness. The round cheek falls 
 away at his plowshare, and the dimples disappear. The hair, 
 no longer abundant, leaves the bald crown, or withered tem- 
 ples unshielded. Its hues of chestnut, or auburn, or raven 
 black, vanish, and the complexion, no longer relieved by their 
 rich contrast, loses its tint of rose or lily, and settles into the 
 trying companionship of iron gray or white. 
 
 3. The erect form yields its dignity. The vertebral column 
 bends, and the limbs resign their elasticity. Happy are they 
 who are compelled to call in no aid from crutch or staff, to
 
 478 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 sustain their footsteps. The beautiful hand loses its plump- 
 ness, and bones and sinews and jagged veins become protu- 
 berant. Even the ear sometimes forfeits its delicate symme- 
 try, and grows elephantine. The voice is prone to forget its 
 harmony, or, unmodified by its dental allies, "pipes and 
 whistles in its sound." 
 
 4. All these deteriorations, and more than these, I admit, 
 yet boldly sustain my argument, the beauty of age. Where 
 is it ? In what does it consist ? Its dwelling is in the soul, 
 and it makes itself visible by radiations that reach the soul; 
 by the smile of benevolence, by limitless good will, by a 
 saintly serenity, by the light of heaven shining upon the head 
 that is so near it. 
 
 5. The smile of Washington, which had always possessed a 
 peculiar charm, gathered force and sweetness from the snows 
 of time. One who was accustomed to meet him in the family, 
 says : " Whenever he gave me one of these smiles, I always 
 felt the tears swelling under my eye-lids." 
 
 6. What an affecting sketch of the tranquil beauty of age on 
 which death hath set his seal, is given in a letter from Pope, to 
 an artist whom he desires to preserve the likeness of the mother, 
 whose declining years were soothed by his filial love and duty. 
 
 7. " My poor old mother is dead. I thank God that her 
 death was as easy as her life has been innocent ; and, as it cost 
 her not a groan, or even a sigh, there is still upon her counte- 
 nance such an expression of tranquillity, nay, almost of pleas- 
 ure, that it is amiable to behold. It would afford the finest 
 image of a saint expired, that painter ever drew ; and it would 
 be the greatest obligation which that art could bestow on a 
 friend, if you could come and sketch it for me. I hope to see 
 you soon, ere this winter flower shall have faded. I will de- 
 fer the interment until to-morrow night. I know you love 
 me, or I could not have written this, or, indeed, at such a time, 
 have written at all. Adieu ! May you die as happy !" 
 
 8. At his villa of Twickenham, bought with the first fruits 
 of his translation of Homer's Iliad, the poet sheltered and sol-
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 479 
 
 aced this venerable mother. From her honored seat at his 
 fireside, her tender, simple message cheered him amid his 
 toils : " I send you my daily prayers, and I bless you, my 
 deare." More touching and admirable was the interchange of 
 these hallowed sensibilities, than all the melody of his verse. 
 
 9. Of the intrinsic beauty of age, I have been so happy as to 
 see some distinguished specimens. My infant eyes opened upon 
 one. My earliest perceptions of the beautiml and holy were 
 entwined with silver hairs, and I bless God, that the fourteen 
 first years of life dwelt under their serene shadow. A fair 
 countenance, a clear, blue eye, and a voice of music, return to 
 me as I recall the image of that venerated lady, over whom more 
 than threescore and ten years had passed, ere I saw the light. 
 
 10. Her tall, graceful form, moving with elastic steps 
 through the parterres, whose numerous flowers she superin- 
 tended, and her brow raised in calm meditation from the sa- 
 cred volume she was reading, were to me beautiful. Many 
 sought to take counsel of her, both for the things of this life 
 and the next, and her words were so uttered as to make them 
 happier as well as wiser. 
 
 11. The sorrowful came to be enlightened by the sunbeam 
 that dwelt in her spirit, and the children of want for bread 
 and a garment ; for her wealth was the Lord's, and, when she 
 cast it into His treasury, it was with a smile, as if she was her- 
 self the receiver. The beauty of the soul was hers, that 
 waxeth not old. Love was in her heart to all whom God had 
 made, a love not ending in blind indulgence, but seeking to 
 elevate them in the scale of existence. 
 
 12. Thus it was until eighty-eight years had passed over 
 her ; and when she entered the exalted society for which she 
 had been fitted here, tears flowed widely and freely, as for one 
 in her prime. At her grave I learned my first lesson of a 
 bursting grief that has never been forgotten. Let none say 
 that the aged die unloved, or unmourned by the young. It is 
 not so. 
 
 13. Another, I knew, without munificent endowment of
 
 480 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 mind, person, or position. Yet had he, to the last, a beauty 
 that love followed, the beauty of kind regard to all creatures, 
 and of a perfect temperament that never yielded to anger. 
 Hence the wheels of life ran on without chafing, and, in his 
 eighty-eighth year, his step was as elastic as at twenty, the 
 florid hue of his cheek unchanged, and his bright, brown hair, 
 without a thread of silver. 
 
 14. He loved the plants and flowers, and knew how scien- 
 tifically to promote their welfare, and to enrich the dark, 
 brown mold, with golden fruits, and fair vine-clusters. By 
 these sweet recreations, life was made sweeter, and renewed 
 its pleasures like the fresh spring-buds, and the bird that re- 
 turns again to its nest after the winter. Sorrows he had 
 tasted, but they left no cloud, only a deeper tenderness for all 
 who mourned. 
 
 15. His religion had no mixture of coldness toward those 
 who differed from him, no exclusiveness, no bigotry. The 
 frailties of those around, he regarded with gentleness or with 
 pity. He blamed not, upbraided not. On his loving soul 
 there was no slander-spot. His life was like one long smile, 
 closing with a music-strain. And on it was written as a fair 
 motto, " the man without an enemy" 
 
 16. From the sacred pictures of the departed, that hang in 
 the soul's temple, I would fain select another. It is of a friend, 
 who, in early years, suffered from feebleness of constitution, 
 yet, by care and temperance, so renovated his health, that age 
 was to him better and more vigorous than youth. A strong 
 perception of the beautiful, both in nature and art, lighted up 
 his mind with a perpetual sunbeam. 
 
 17. His fine taste went hand in hand with a perfect philan- 
 thropy, so that what he admired he patronized, and what he 
 patronized he spread abroad, that others might share his en- 
 joyment. The gates of his spacious rural villa were thrown 
 open as a pleasure-ground for all the people, and with the 
 treasures of literature and the arts, he enriched the noble 
 public institute that he founded. " The holy truth walked
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 481 
 
 ever by his side ;" while independence of thought and action, 
 with regard to men, was mingled with the deepest humility 
 and reverence toward God. 
 
 18. To draw merit from obscurity, to sustain honest indus- 
 try, to encourage humble virtue, to stimulate the young to 
 higher effort, and silently to relieve the suffering poor, were 
 his pleasures. And with these pleasures would- sometimes 
 steal over his brow an expression denied to what the world 
 calls beauty, " the set of features and complexion, the tincture 
 of the skin that she admires." It was the beauty of the soul, 
 looking forth in the life of one, who faithfully and without 
 ostentation, held his large fortune in stewardship for God and 
 for man. 
 
 EXERCISE CLXVII. 
 
 GENIUS WAKING. 
 
 J. 6. FKBOI7AL. 
 
 1. Slumber's heavy chain hath bound thee, 
 
 Where is now thy fire ? 
 Feebler wings are gathering round thee, 
 (<) Shall they hover higher 1 
 
 Can no power, no spell recall thee 
 
 From inglorious dreams ? 
 O ! could glory so appall thee, 
 
 With his burning beams ? 
 
 2. Thine was once the highest pinion 
 
 In the midway air ; 
 With a proud and sure dominion, 
 
 Thou didst upward bear, 
 Like the herald, winged with lightning, 
 
 From the Olympian throne, 
 Ever mounting, ever brightening, 
 
 Thou wert there alone. 
 21
 
 482' SANDEKS' NEW SEEIES. 
 
 3. Where the pillared props of heaven 
 
 Glitter with eternal snows, 
 Where no darkling clouds are driven, 
 
 Where no fountain flows, 
 Far above the rolling thunder, 
 
 When the surging storm 
 Rends its sulphury folds asunder, 
 
 We beheld thy form. 
 
 4. O, what rare and heavenly brightness 
 
 Flowed around thy plumes, 
 As a cascade's foamy whiteness, 
 
 Lights a cavern's glooms ! 
 Wheeling through the shadowy ocean, 
 
 Like a shape of light, 
 With serene and placid motion, 
 
 Thou wert dazzling bright. 
 
 5. From that cloudless region stooping, 
 
 Downward thou didst rush, 
 Not with pinion faint and drooping, 
 
 But the tempest's gush. 
 (") Up again, undaunted soaring, 
 
 Thou didst pierce the cloud, 
 When the warring winds were roaring 
 
 Fearfully and loud. 
 
 6. Where is now that restless longing 
 
 After higher things 1 
 Come they not, like visions, thronging 
 
 On their airy wings? 
 Why should not their glow enohant thee 
 
 Upward to their bliss ? 
 Surely danger can not daunt thee 
 
 From a heaven like this.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' HEADER. 483 
 
 7. (si.) But thou slumberest ; faint and quivering 
 
 Hangs thy ruffled wing ; 
 Like a dove in winter shivering, 
 
 Or a feebler thing. 
 (<) Where is now thy might and motion, 
 
 Thy imperial flight ? 
 Where is now thy heart's devotion ? 
 
 Where thy spirit's light "? 
 
 8. Hark ! his rustling plumage gathers 
 
 Closer to his side, 
 Close, as when the storm-bird weathers 
 
 Ocean's hurrying tide. 
 Now his nodding beak is steady, 
 
 Wide his burning eye, 
 Now his opening wings are ready, 
 
 And his aim how high ! 
 
 9. Now he curves his neck, and proudly 
 
 Now is stretched for flight ! 
 Hark ! his wings they thunder loudly 
 
 And their flash, how bright ! 
 Onward, onward, over mountain, 
 
 Through the rock and storm, 
 Now, like sunset over fountain, 
 
 Flits his glancing form. 
 
 10. Glorious bird ! thy dream has left thee, 
 
 Thou hast reached thy heaven, 
 Lingering slumber hath not reft thee 
 
 Of the glory given. 
 With a bold, a fearless pinion, 
 
 On thy starry road, 
 None, to fame's supreme dominion, 
 
 Mightier ever trode.
 
 484 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLXVIII. 
 BATTLE OF WATERLOO.* 
 
 BTEON. 
 
 1. There was a sound of revelry by night, 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
 Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ! 
 
 A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
 
 And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; [knell ! 
 
 ( ) But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising 
 
 2. Did ye not hear it 1 No ; 'twas but the wind, 
 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
 
 () On with the dance ; let joy be unconfined ; 
 
 No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 
 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet 
 
 ( ) But, hark ! That heavy sound breaks in once more, 
 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
 
 () Arm ! ARM ! it is it is the cannon's opening roar ! 
 
 3. Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
 Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
 
 * On the night previous to the battle, a splendid ball was given at 
 Brussels. The Duke of Wellington, having heard of Napoleon's de- 
 cisive operations, had intended to have the ball put off; but, it seem- 
 ing important that the people of Brussels should be kept in igno- 
 rance of what was in progress, the Duke not only desired that the 
 ball should be held, but that the general officers should be present. 
 They were, however, instructed to quit the place as quietly as possi- 
 ble, at 10 o'clock, and join immediately each his own respective di- 
 vision
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 485 
 
 And there were sudden partings, such as press 
 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 
 Which ne'er might be repeated who could guess 
 
 If ever more should meet, those mutual eyes, 
 
 Since upon night so sweet, such awful morn could rise ? 
 
 4. (=) And there was mounting, in hot haste ; the steed, 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war, 
 And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar ; 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
 While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, 
 Or whispering with white lips "The foe! They come, 
 they come !" 
 
 5. And Ardennes* waves above them her green leaves, 
 Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
 Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
 
 Over the unreturning brave, alas ! 
 
 Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, 
 
 Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
 
 In its next verdure, when the fiery mass 
 
 Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 
 
 And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low. 
 
 6. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
 Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay, 
 
 The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 
 The morn, the marshaling in arms, the day, 
 Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent, 
 The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
 Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
 Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent ! 
 * Pronounced in two syllables.
 
 486 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLXIX. 
 I. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Eternal Hope !. when yonder spheres sublime 
 Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, 
 Thy joyous youth began but not to fade, 
 When all the sister planets have decayed ; 
 When, wrapped in fire, the realms of ether glow, 
 And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below, 
 Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
 And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile. 
 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 n. 
 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 With what astonishment and veneration may we look into 
 our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of virtue 
 and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection ? We 
 know not yet what we shall be, nor will it ever enter into the 
 heart of man to conceive the glory that will be always in re- 
 serve for him. The soul, considered with its Creator, is like 
 one of those mathematical lines that may draw nearer to 
 another for all eternity without a possibility of touching it. 
 And can there be a thought so transporting as to consider 
 ourselves in these perpetual approaches to Him, who is not 
 only the standard of perfection, but of happiness ? 
 
 ADDI80N. 
 
 in. 
 
 TRUE HAPPINESS. 
 True happiness is not the growth of earth, 
 
 The soil is fruitless, if you seek it there 
 'T is an exotic of celestial birth, 
 
 And never blooms but in celestial air. 
 Sweet plant of paradise ! its seeds are sown 
 
 In here and there a breast of heavenly mold, 
 It rises slow, and buds, but ne'er was known 
 
 To blossom here, the climate is too cold. 
 
 E. B. SHERIDAN.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 487 
 
 rv. 
 
 A FIRM RELIGIOUS BELIEF. 
 
 I envy no quality of the mind or intellect in others ; not 
 genius, power, wit, or fancy ; but, if I could choose what would 
 be most delightful, and, I believe, most useful to me, I 
 should prefer a firm religious belief to every other blessing ; 
 for it makes life a discipline of goodness, creates new hopes, 
 when all earthly hopes vanish ; and throws over the decay, 
 the destruction of existence, the most gorgeous of all lights ; 
 awakens life even in death, and, from corruption and decay, 
 calls up beauty and divinity ; makes an instrument of torture 
 and of shame the ladder of ascent to paradise ; and, far above 
 all combinations of earthly hopes, calls up the most delight- 
 ful visions of plains and amaranths, the gardens of the blest, 
 the security of everlasting joys, where the sensualist and the 
 skeptic view only gloom, decay, annihilation, and despair. 
 
 SIB HUMPHREY DAVY. 
 
 V. 
 
 NATURE. 
 
 There 's not a plant that springeth, 
 
 But bears some good to earth ; 
 There 's not a life but bringeth 
 
 Its store of harmless mirth ; 
 The dusty wayside clover 
 
 Has honey in its cells, 
 The wild bee, humming over, 
 
 Her tale of pleasure tells ; 
 The osiers o'er the fountain, 
 
 Keep cool the water's breast, 
 And on the roughest mountain 
 
 The softest moss is pressed. 
 Thus holy Nature teaches 
 
 The worth of blessings small, 
 That Love pervades and reaches, 
 
 And forms the bliss of all.
 
 488 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 It is pleasing to review the day that is past, and to think 
 that its duties have been done ; to think that the purpose with 
 vrhich we rose has been accomplished ; that in the busy scene 
 which surrounds us, we have done our part, and that no tempt- 
 ation has been able to subdue our firmness and our resolu- 
 tion. Such are the sentiments w^th which, in every year of 
 life, and still more in that solemn moment, when life is draw- 
 ing to its close, the man of persevering virtue is able to re- 
 view the time that is past. 
 
 VH. 
 
 SELFISHNESS. 
 
 What e'er the passions, knowledge, fame, or pelf, 
 No one will change his neighbor for himself; 
 The learned are happy nature to explore, 
 
 The fool is happy that he knows no more. 
 
 POPE. 
 
 vra. 
 
 A RESOLUTE MIND. 
 
 It is interesting to notice how some minds seem almost to 
 create themselves, springing up under every disadvantage, 
 and working their solitary but irresistible way through a 
 thousand obstacles. Nature seems to delight in disappoint- 
 ing the assiduities of art, with which it would rear dullness to 
 maturity ; and to glory in the vigor and luxuriance of her 
 chance productions. She scatters the seeds of genius to the 
 winds, and though some may perish among the stony places 
 of the world, and some may be choked by the thorns and 
 brambles of early adversity, yet others will now and then 
 strike root even in the clefts of the rock, struggle bravely up 
 into sunshine, and spread over their sterile birth-place all the 
 beauties of vegetation. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READEE. 489 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE DROP OF WATER. 
 
 L 
 
 "How mean, 'mid all this glorious space, ho-w valueless am 1 1" 
 A little drop of water said, as, trembling in the sky, 
 It downward fell, in haste to meet th' interminable sea, 
 As if the watery mass its goal and sepulcher should be. 
 
 n. 
 
 But, ere of no account, within the watery mass it fell 
 It found a shelter and a home, the oyster's concave shell ; 
 And there that little drop became a hard and precious gem, 
 Meet ornament for royal wreath, for Persia's diadem. 
 
 in. 
 
 Cheer up, faint hlart, that hear'st the tale, and though thy lot may seem 
 Contemptible, yet not of it as nothing-worth esteem ; 
 Nor fear that thou, exempt from care of Providence, shall be 
 An undistinguishable drop in nature's, boundless sea. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Power that called thee into life has skill to make thee live, 
 
 A place of refuge can provide, another being give ; 
 
 Can clothe thy perishable form with beauty rich and rare, 
 
 And, " when He makes his jewels up," grant thee a station there. 
 
 RICHARD SIANT. 
 
 X. 
 
 FEMALE FORTITUDE. 
 
 I have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with 
 which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of for- 
 tune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man, 
 and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the ener- 
 gies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation 
 to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity. 
 Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and 
 tender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and 
 alive to every trivial roughness, while treading the prosperous 
 paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the comforter 
 and supporter of her husband under misfortune, and abiding, 
 with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of adversity. 
 
 WASHINGTON IBVING. 
 
 21*
 
 490 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 EXERCISE CLXX. 
 CONNECTICUT IN EARLY TIMES. 
 
 BANCROFT. 
 
 1. Connecticut, from the first, possessed unmixed popu- 
 lar liberty. The government was in honest and upright 
 hands ; the little strifes of rivalry never became heated ; the 
 magistrates were sometimes persons of no ordinary endow- 
 ments ; but, though gifts of learning and genius were valued, 
 the State was content with virtue and single-mindedness ; and 
 the public welfare never suffered at the hands of plain men. 
 Roger Williams had ever been a welcome guest at Hartford ; 
 and " that heavenly man, John Haynes," would say to him : 
 " I think, Mr. Williams, I must now confess to you, that the 
 most wise God hath provided and cut out this part of the 
 world as a refuge and receptacle for all sorts of consciences." 
 
 2. There never existed a persecuting spirit in Connecticut ; 
 while " it had a scholar to their minister in every town and 
 village." Education was cherished ; religious knowledge was 
 carried to the highest degree of refinement, alike in its appli- 
 cation to moral duties, and to the mysterious questions on 
 the nature of God, of liberty, and of the soul. A hardy 
 race multiplied along the alluvion of the streams, and subdued 
 the more rocky and less inviting fields ; its population for a 
 century doubled once in twenty years, in spite of considerable 
 emigration ; and, if, as has often been said, the ratio of the 
 increase of population is the surest criterion of public happi- 
 ness, Connecticut was long the happiest State in the world. 
 
 3. Religion united with the pursuits of agriculture, to give 
 to the land the aspect of salubrity. The domestic wars were 
 discussions of knotty points in theology ; the concerns of the 
 parish, the merits of the minister, were the weightiest affairs; 
 and a church reproof the heaviest calamity. The strifes of 
 the parent country, though they sometimes occasioned a levy 
 among the sons of the husbandmen, yet never brought an 
 enemy within their borders; tranquillity was within their
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 491 
 
 gates, and the peace of God within their hearts. No fears of 
 midnight ruffians could disturb the sweetness of slumber ; the 
 best house required no fastening but a latch, lifted by a 
 string ; bolts and locks were unknown. 
 
 4. There was nothing morose in the Connecticut character. 
 It was temperate industry enjoying the abundance which it 
 had created. No great inequalities of condition excited envy, 
 or raised political feuds ; wealth could display itself only in 
 a larger house and a fuller barn ; and covetousness was satis- 
 fied by the tranquil succession of harvests. There was veni- 
 son from the hills ; salmon, in their season, not less than shad, 
 from the rivers ; and sugar from the trees of the forest. For 
 a foreign market, little was produced beside cattle ; and, in 
 return for them, but few foreign luxuries stole in. Even as 
 late as 1713, the number of seamen did not exceed one hun- 
 dred and twenty. 
 
 5. The soil had originally been justly divided, or held as 
 common property in trust for the public, and for new comers. 
 Forestalling was successfully resisted ; the trood of specula- 
 tors in land inexorably turned aside. Happiness was enjoyed 
 unconsciously ; beneath the rugged exterior, humanity wore 
 its sweetest smile. There was, for a long time, hardly a law- 
 yer in the land. The husbandman who held his own plow, 
 and fed his own cattle, was the great man of the age ; no one 
 was superior to the matron who, with her busy daughters, 
 kept the hum of the wheel incessantly alive, spuming and 
 weaving every article of their dress. 
 
 6. Fashion was confined within narrow limits ; and pride, 
 which aimed at no grander equipage than a pillion, could ex- 
 ult only in the common splendor of the blue and white linen 
 gown, with short sleeves, coming down to the waist, and in 
 the snow-white flaxen apron, which, primly starched and 
 ironed, was worn on public days by every woman in the land. 
 For there was no revolution, except from the time of sowing 
 to the time of reaping ; from the plain dress of the week day, 
 to the more trim attire of Sunday.
 
 492 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 7. Every family was taught to look upward to God, as to 
 the Fountain of all good. Yet life was not somber. The 
 spirit of frolic mingled with innocence ; religion itself some- 
 times wore the garb of gayety ; and the annual thanksgiving 
 to God was, from primitive times, as joyous as it was sincere. 
 Nature always asserts her rights, and abounds in means of 
 gladness. 
 
 8. The frugality of private life had its influence on public 
 expenditure. Ha 1 ." a century after the concession of the char- 
 ter, the annual expenses of the government did not exceed 
 eight hundred pounds, or four thousand dollars ; and the 
 wages of the Chief Justice were ten shillings a day while on 
 service. In each county, a magistrate acted as judge of pro- 
 bate, and the business was transacted with small expense to 
 the fatherless. 
 
 9. Education was always esteemed a concern of deepest 
 interest, and there were common schools from the first. Nor 
 was it long before a small college, such as the day of small 
 things permitted, began to be established ; and Yale owes its 
 birth " to ten worthy fathers, who, in 1700, assembled at 
 Branford, and each one, laying a few volumes on a table, said, 
 ' I give these books for the founding of a college in this 
 colony.' " 
 
 10. But the political education of the people is due to the 
 happy organization of towns, which here, as, indeed, through- 
 out all New England, constituted each separate settlement a 
 little democracy of itself. It was the natural reproduction 
 of the system, which the instinct of humanity had imperfectly 
 revealed to our Anglo-Saxon ancestors. In the ancient re- 
 publics, citizenship had been an hereditary privilege. In 
 Connecticut, citizenship was acquired by inhabitancy, was lost 
 by removal. 
 
 11. Each town-meeting was a little legislature, and all in- 
 habitants, the affluent and the more needy, the wise and the 
 foolish, were members with equal franchises. There the taxes 
 of the town were discussed and levied ; there the village offi-
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 493 
 
 cers were chosen ; there roads were laid out, and bridges 
 voted ; there the minister was elected, the representatives to 
 the assembly were instructed. The debate was open to all ; 
 wisdom asked no favors ; the churl abated nothing of his pre- 
 tensions. 
 
 12. Whoever reads the records of these village democra- 
 cies, will be perpetually coming upon some little document 
 of political wisdom, which breathes the freshness of rural leg- 
 islation, and wins a disproportioned interest from the justice 
 and simplicity of the times. As the progress of society re- 
 quired exertions in a wider field, the public mind was quick- 
 ened by associations that were blended with early history ; 
 and when Connecticut emerged from the quiet of its origin, 
 aud made its way into scenes where a new political world 
 was to be created, the sagacity that had regulated the affairs of 
 the village, gained admiration in the field and in the council. 
 
 EXERCISE CLXXI. 
 THE TOMB OF YEARS. 
 
 CHARLES CON9TANTTNE PISE. 
 
 1. Upon the tomb of years the monarch bent, 
 
 To read the epitaph of human things ; 
 'T was written on the ti^e-worn monument, 
 
 " Scepters and crowns lie moldering here with kings." 
 
 2. Next, crowned with laurel-wreaths the hero came, 
 
 And paused in silence o'er the mighty grave ; 
 He read : " Time spares not glory, spares not fame. 
 Beneath this sod their plumes no longer wave !" 
 
 3. The lord of countless treasures then drew nigh, 
 
 And trembled as he stooped to scan the doom 
 Of the rich man, and heaved a hollow sigh ; 
 
 He read : " Wealth can not bribe the impartial tomb."
 
 494: SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 4. The beauteous girl in all her youth and charms, 
 
 Fixed her dark eye upon the grave of years ; 
 And when 't was written : " In death's icy arms 
 Beauty lies clasped !" she turned away in tears. 
 
 5. The skeptic sternly gazed, but on his brow 
 
 A frown of horror gathered while he read ; 
 For he hath naught to cheer his spirit now, 
 And not a ray will light his grave when dead ! 
 
 6. The Christian knelt, and reading, that beneath 
 
 The tomb of years, crowns, plumes, and treasures lie, 
 And beauty fades away, looked upon death 
 As the mere prelude to eternity. 
 
 7. Yes, o'er Time's sepulcher, amid the gloom 
 
 That gathers round the place where ages sleep, 
 Faith, heavenly Faith, will mitigate our doom, 
 And Hope her vigils o'er our ashes keep ! 
 
 EXERCISE CLXXII. 
 EVENING IN PARADISE. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
 Had in her sober livery all%iings clad : 
 Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, 
 They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, 
 Were slunk ; all but the wakeful nightingale ; 
 She all night long her amorous descant sung ; 
 Silence was pleased : now glowed the firmament 
 With living sapphires ; Hesperus, that led 
 The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon 
 Eising in clouded majesty, at length, 
 Apparent queen, unvailed her peerless light, 
 And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
 
 YOUNG I, AD IBS' HEADER. 495 
 
 2. When Adam thus to Eve : " Fair consort, the hour 
 Of night, and all things now retired to rest, 
 
 Mind us of like repose ; since God hath set 
 Labor and rest, as day and night, to men 
 Successive ; and the timely dew of sleep, 
 Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight, inclines 
 Our eyelids ; other creatures all day long 
 Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest ; 
 Man hath his daily work of body or mind 
 Appointed, which declares his dignity, 
 And the regard of Heaven on all his ways : 
 While other animals unactive range, 
 And of their doings God takes no account. 
 
 3. " To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east 
 With first approach of light, we must be risen, 
 And at our pleasant labor, to reform 
 
 Yon flowery arbors, yonder alleys green, 
 Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, 
 That mock our scant manuring, and require 
 More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth ; 
 Those blossoms, also, and those dropping gums 
 That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth, 
 Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease ; 
 Meanwhile, as Nature wills, night bids us rest." 
 
 4. To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned : 
 " My author and disposer, what thou bidd'st 
 Unargued I obey ; so God ordains. 
 
 God is thy law, thou mine ; to know no more, 
 Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise. 
 With thee conversing, I forget all time ; 
 All seasons, and their change, all please alike. 
 Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, 
 With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, 
 When first on this delightful land he spreads
 
 496 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
 Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth 
 After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on. 
 Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night, 
 With this her solemn bird and this fair moon, 
 And these the gems of heaven, her starry train : ' 
 But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends 
 With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun 
 On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower, 
 Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance after showers ; 
 Nor grateful evening mild ; nor silent night, 
 With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by moon, 
 Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet. 
 But wherefore all night long shine these ? For whom 
 This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes ?" 
 
 5. To whom our general ancestor replied : 
 " Daughter of God and man, accomplished Eve, 
 These have their course to finish round the earth 
 By morrow evening ; and from land to land 
 In order, though to nations yet unborn, 
 Ministering light prepared, they set and rise ; 
 Lest total darkness should by night regain 
 Her old possession, and extinguish life 
 In nature and all things ; which these soft fires 
 Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat 
 Of various influence, foment and warm, 
 Temper or nourish, or in part shed down 
 Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow 
 On earth, made hereby apter to receive 
 Perfection from the sun's more potent ray. 
 
 6. " These, then, though unbeheld in deep of night, 
 
 Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none, 
 That heaven would want spectators, God want praise : 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 497 
 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep : 
 All these with ceaseless praise his works behold 
 Both day and night. How often, from the steep 
 Of echoing hill or thicket, have we heard 
 Celestial voices to the midnight air, 
 Sole, or responsive each to other's note, 
 Singing their great Creator ! oft in bands 
 While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, 
 With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds, 
 In full harmonic number joined, their songs 
 Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven." 
 
 7. Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they passed 
 On to their blissful bower ; it was a place 
 Chosen by the sovereign Planter, when he framed 
 All things to man's delightful use : the roof 
 
 Of thickest covert was inwoven shade, 
 
 Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew 
 
 Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side 
 
 Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, 
 
 Fenced up the verdant wall ; each beauteous flower, 
 
 Iris all hues, roses, and jessamin, 
 
 Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought 
 
 Mosaic ; under-foot, the violet, 
 
 Crocus and hyacinth, with rich inlay 
 
 Broidered the ground, more colored than with stone 
 
 Of costliest emblem ; other creature here, 
 
 Beast, bird, insect or worm, durst enter none, 
 
 Such was their awe of man. 
 
 8. Thus, at their shady lodge arrived, both stood, 
 Both turned, and under open sky adored 
 
 The God that made both sky, air, earth and heaven, 
 Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe, 
 And starry pole : " Thou, also, madest the night, 
 Maker Omnipotent ! and thou the day
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES. 
 
 Which we, in our appointed work employed, 
 Have finished, happy in our mutual help 
 And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss 
 Ordained by thee ; and this delicious place, 
 For us too large, where thy abundance wants 
 Partakers, and uncropped falls to the ground. 
 But thou hast promised from us two a race 
 To fill the earth, who shall with us extol 
 Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake, 
 And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep." 
 
 EXERCISE CLXXIII. 
 POWER AND PROVIDENCE OF GOD. 
 
 BIBLE. 104TH PSALM. 
 
 1. Bless the Lord, O my soul ! 
 
 O Lord, my God ! thou art very great ; 
 
 Thou art clothed with honor and majesty. 
 
 Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment : 
 
 Who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain : 
 
 Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters : 
 
 Who maketh the clouds his chariot : 
 
 Who walketh upon the wings of the wind : 
 
 Who maketh his angels spirits ; 
 
 His ministers a flaming fire. 
 
 2. Who laid the foundations of the earth, 
 That it should not be removed forever. 
 
 Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a garment : 
 
 The waters stood above the mountains. 
 
 At thy rebuke, they fled ; 
 
 At the voice of thy thunder, they hasted away. 
 
 They go up by the mountains ; they go down by the valleys, 
 
 Unto the place which thqiu hast founded for them. 
 
 Thou hast set a bound that they may not pass over, 
 
 That they turn not again to cover the earth.
 
 YOUNG LADIES' READER. 499 
 
 3. He sendeth the springs into the valleys, 
 Which run among the hills. 
 
 They give drink to every beast of the field : 
 
 The wild asses quench their thirst. 
 
 By them shall the fowls of the heaven have their habitation. 
 
 Which sing among the branches. 
 
 He watereth the hills from his chambers : 
 
 The earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works. 
 
 4. He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, 
 And herb for the service of man : 
 
 That he may bring forth food out of the earth ; 
 And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, 
 And oil to make his face to shine, 
 And bread which strengthened man's heart. 
 
 5. The trees of the Lord are full of sap ; 
 
 The cedars of Lebanon, which he hath planted , 
 Where the birds make their nests ; 
 As for the stork, the fir-trees are her house. 
 The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats, 
 And the rocks for the conies. 
 
 6. He appointeth the moon for seasons ; 
 The sun knoweth his going down. 
 Thou makest darkness, and it is night, 
 Wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth. 
 The young lions roar after their prey, 
 
 And seek their meat from God. 
 
 The sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, 
 
 And lay them down in their dens. 
 
 Man goeth forth unto his work, 
 
 And to his labor until the evening. 
 
 7. O Lord ! how manifold are thy works ! 
 In wisdom hast thou made them all :
 
 500 SANDERS'-NEW SERIES. 
 
 The earth is full of thy riches. 
 
 So is this great and wide sea, 
 
 Wherein are things creeping innumerable, 
 
 Both small and great beasts. 
 
 There go the ships : 
 
 There is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein. 
 
 These wait all upon thee, 
 
 That thou mayest give them their meat in due season. 
 
 That thou givest them, they gather : 
 
 Thou openest thy hand they are filled with good : 
 
 Thou hidest thy face they are troubled : [dust. 
 
 Thou takest away their breath they die, and return to their 
 
 Thou sendest forth thy Spirit they are created : 
 
 And thou renewest the face of the earth. 
 
 8. The glory of the Lord shall endure forever : 
 The Lord shall rejoice in his works. 
 He looketh on the earth and it trembleth : 
 He toucheth the hills and they smoke. 
 I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live : 
 I will sing praise to my God while I have my being. 
 My meditation of him shall be sweet : 
 I will be glad in the Lord. 
 Let the sinners be consumed out of the earth, 
 And let the wicked be no more. 
 Bless thou the Lord, O my soul ! Praise ye the Lord ! 

 
 LATELY PUBLISHED. 
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES OF' READERS, , 
 
 BY CHARLES W. SANDERS, A.M. 
 
 I 
 
 SANDERS' TUTORIAL PRIMER. Bound, 10 cents. { 
 
 SANDERS' SPELLER, DEFINER, AND ANALYZER, 15 " 
 
 SANDERS' FIRST READER. Easy lessons 12J " 
 
 SANDERS' SECOND READER. A grade higher 25 " 
 
 SANDERS' THIRD READER. Progressive Lessons 38 " 
 
 SANDERS' FOURTH READER. Elocution, etc 63 " 
 
 SANDERS' FIFTH READER. For more advanced classes . 75 " 
 
 SANDERS' YOUNG LADIES' READER $1. 
 
 SANDERS' SCHOOL SPEAKER. In press. 
 ELOCUTIONARY CHART. By SANDERS and MERRILL. $3. 
 
 The excellence and success of SANDERS' NEW SERIES are probably un- 
 equaled. Most carefully prepared, after over thirty years of extensive \ 
 experience in this department of education, the sale now approaches a j 
 million of volumes a year, and is fast increasing. Their mechanical 
 execution is most attractive and substantial, and the prices, all things 
 considered, are the lowest of any series published. Among the dis- 
 tinguished educators who have recently highly commended them, are 
 THE SUPERINTENDENTS OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION OF SEVERAL OF THE STATES, 
 and of NEW YORK and other large cities. Most of the largest popular 
 literary institutions, commenced since the completion of this Series, 
 have adopted it after careful comparison with the best Reading Books 
 now published. We have only room for brief extracts, as specimens { 
 of the opinions formed after such examinations. ROBERT ALLYN, ESQ., 
 COMMISSIONER OF PUBLIC SCHOOLS FOR THE STATE OF RHODE ISLAND, 'l 
 writes, Jan. 12, 1855 : "From what I have seen of their arrangement j 
 of lessons, their judicious selection of topics, the simplicity of their j 
 rules, and the pertinency of their questions, definitions, and instruc- 5 
 tions, I have no hesitation in recommending these books, most warmly 
 and cordially, to all Teachers and School Committees. * * * No 
 other Series within my knowledge promises so well as this." 
 
 HON. J. D. HAMMOND, LL.D. Regent of AT. Y. University, commends 
 the New Series as " combining in new matter the proved excellences 
 of the old Series, with the advantages arising from the long expe- 
 rience of this distinguished author of Reading Books."
 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES OF READERS. 
 
 The Michigan Journal of Education commends SANDERS' CHART, as " a 
 piece of Educational machinery -with which every school-house should 
 be provided." 
 
 HON. N. "W. EDWARDS, SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION FOR THE 
 STATE OF ILLINOIS, after a long examination of the principal books for 
 schools, now published, has selected, as a uniform series for that State, 
 SANDERS' NEW SERIES, entire, Willson's Histories, Mdflligotfs Ortho- 
 graphical Works, and Hitchcock's Geology, as the best works extant in 
 their departments. This selection has been confirmed by the Illinois 
 Legislature. Mr. EDWARDS says, in his official circular of September 
 20, 1854, after commending the Pictorial Primer and New Speller: 
 
 " The READING BOOKS by Mr. SANDERS are not mere collections of ex- 
 tracts, however excellent, either in style or matter. They furnish, in- 
 deed, specimens of almost every good style, and are celebrated for the 
 high moral tone which pervades the lessons. But they do more. 
 They present the learner with the means and incitements to a careful 
 and correct study and appreciation of what he reads. To this end, he 
 finds the more difficult words in each lesson selected and arranged be- 
 forehand, as an exercise in spelling," etc. etc. 
 
 Hon. THOS. H. BENTON, Jr., STATE SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, IOWA, 
 says : " I give them my unqualified approbation as a series of text 
 books admirably adapted to the common schools of our State." 
 
 In the city of NEW YORK the London of America where several 
 sets of Reading books are urged upon teachers by leading publishers, 
 and where the most vigorous competition has elicited the severest and 
 most critical comparison and scrutiny, SANDERS' NEW SERIES has been 
 selected for the Public Schools, and recommended by Jos. McKeen, 
 LL.D., Superintendent of Schools, the Principals of the Normal Schools, 
 and by some TWO HUNDRED PRINCIPALS OP THE WARD SCHOOLS, who 
 unite in saying " We are highly pleased with them. They are me- 
 thodical, progressive, and entertaining, and well calculated to form a 
 correct taste and make good readers." Truly says Dr. McKeen, " they 
 are most certainly vindicating their way with the public." 
 
 S. W. SETON, ASSISTANT SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, NEW YORK CITY, 
 says : " SANDERS' SERIES having come under my survey in examining 
 the Primary Schools of the city, I am induced to express a very favor- 
 able opinion of them. They are well adapted to their end. The ju- 
 dicious author has taken great care of an important point the moral 
 tone of the lessons. The pictorial illustrations are of a very useful char- 
 acter, varied, tasteful, and well executed," etc. 
 
 IVISON & PHINNEY, Publishers, 
 
 178 Fulton Street, New York.
 
 PUBLISHED BY IVISON AND PHINNEY, NEW YORK. 
 
 FRENCH. 
 
 fntufe Sams. 
 
 I. FASQUELLE'S NEW FEENCH COUKSE. 
 
 $1 25. 
 
 n. A KEY TO THE EXEKCISES IN FAS- 
 
 quelle's French Course. 75 cents. 
 
 m. FASQUELLE'S COLLOQUIAL FEENCH | 
 
 Course. 75 cents. 
 
 IY. FASQUELLE'S TELEMAQUE. 62 1-2 cents. 
 Y. NAPOLEON. BY ALEXANDEE DUMAS. 
 
 With Notes, Ac. by Louis Fasquelle, LL.D. 75 cents. In press 
 
 VI. HOWAED'S AIDS TO FEENCH COMPOSI- 
 
 tion. A Companion to Fasquelle's French Course. $1. 
 
 VII. TALBOT'S FEENCH PEONUNCIATION. 75 
 
 cents. 
 
 * - 
 
 I. FASQUELLE'S NEW FEENCH COUESE. 
 
 $1 25. 
 
 Fasquelle's French Coarse is on the plan of " Woodbury's Method with German." 
 It pursues the same gradual course, and comprehends the same wide scope of instruc- 
 tion. It is most eminently practical ; works admirably in the class-room. It will be 
 found everywhere equal alike to the wants of the teacher and the pupil, indicating in 
 the author a clear and profound knowledge of his native tongue, added to consummate 
 skill in the art of imparting it. 
 
 NOTICES. 
 
 From the JVew York Evangelist. 
 
 " It is a very copious and elaborate work, supplying the pupil with the material 
 ' for all his necessary elementary study, and going over the ground with great thorough- 
 ness." 
 
 From the New York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 "This grammar is designed to teach reading, speaking, and writing the French 
 language, upon the same system which Mr. Woodbury has so successfully applied 
 to German. Combining the analytic and synthetic principles of instruction, it will 
 perhaps be more generally useful than any other on the same subject." 
 
 From the Philadelphia Knquirer. 
 
 "Fasquelle's New French Course is evidently u work of more than ordinary 
 abilitv, and is the result of much labor and rc'st-urch." 
 
 55
 
 PUBLISHED BY IVISON AND PHINNEY, NEW YOEK. 
 
 FASQUELLE'S NEW FRENCH COURSE. 
 
 NOTICES. 
 
 From F. J. P. Wehrung, Prof, of Modern Languages in New York Central Collegt.' 
 
 "The learned author has brought before the public a text-book for the acquisition 
 of that (the French) language, at the same time original and complete in itself, super- 
 seding any system heretofore in use." 
 
 From the Philadelphia North American and U. S. Gazette. 
 
 u It is elaborated in a very full and thorough manner, calculated to render his I 
 volume of great value to both teachers and learners." 
 
 From the Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 " The student will find it a very excellent assistant in acquiring a knowledge of the 
 French." 
 
 From Prof. J. Wilson, of Wes. Female Institute, Staunton, Va. 
 
 From Cyrus Knotelton, Principal of the Hughes High School, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 
 "It is sometime since I began to make inquiry for a treatise on the French lan- 
 guage, which should, in my opinion, meet the wants of pupils and teachers. Fas- 
 quelle's grammar satisfies me. It is evidently the work of a thorough teacher as well 
 as a thorough scholar. For the advent of such a work 
 
 I shall ever be thankful, for it places in the hand of both tutor and student a new power 
 for the conquest of knowledge. If the remainder of the series be as well prepared as 
 this, I see nothing more for the student of French to hope or require." 
 
 From W. W. Howard, Prof, in the Military Institute, Newcastle, Ky. 
 
 "The progress which my pupils have made in three months has highly gratified 
 themselves, their parents, and their teachers, and I attribute it wilh justice to the sys- 
 tematic and practical, yet simple plan of the work." 
 
 From H. J. Doucet, Teacher of French in S. C. ./?., Vt. 
 
 u The author has, in my opinion, rendered a great service to the teacher as well as 
 to the student of the French language, in presenting them with this valuable guide. 
 The skillful and ample manner in which the verbs are treated in this book would alone 
 make it the best extant on the French language." 
 
 From the Watchman and Reflector, Vt. 
 
 " This work, as stated in the title-page, follows the plan of Mr. Woodbury's sue- { 
 
 cessful book for learning German. Its aim is to make progress thorough in the same J 
 
 way, by teaching the science and the art of the tongue. Like that book, it embraces 
 reading-lessons and a vocabulary." 
 
 From the Methodist Quarterly Review. 
 " The work is done everywhere with conscientious thoroughness." 
 
 From the JVejp Haven Palladium. 
 "The work is exceedingly valuable, and will have an immense sale." 
 
 From the Detroit Free Press. 
 " It seems to us most decidedly superior to any work of its kind ever published.


 
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