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PAEKER'S RHETORICAL REABE2. 
 EXERCISES 
 
 IN 
 
 RHETORICAL READING; 
 
 WITH A SERIES OP 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS, 
 
 PARTICULARLY DESIGNED TO FAMILIARIZE READERS W^TH THE 
 
 PAUSES AND OTHER MARKS IN GENERAL USE, AND LEAD 
 
 THEM TO THE PRACTICE OF MODULATION AND 
 
 INFLECTION OF THE VOICE. 
 
 BY RICHARD GREEN PARKER, A.M. 
 
 / 
 
 PRINCIPAL 07 THE JOHNSON SCHOOL, BOSTON; AUTHOR OF "AIDS TO ENOLISH 
 
 COMPOSITION," " OUTLINES OP GENERAL HISTORY," " THE SCHOOL 
 
 COMPEND OP NATURAL PHILOSOPHy," 4C. 
 
 FIFTH EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 PrJBLISHED BY A. S. BARNES & CO 
 
 CINCINNATI: 
 
 H. W. DERBY & CO. 
 
 1850. 
 

 
 EDUCATION DEPT. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 
 
 A. S. BARNES !c CO., 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of 
 
 New York. 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 
 HOBART & ROB BINS; 
 
 NBW BNOLAND TYPB AND STEHEOTTPB FOUNDBRY, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
 F. G. GUTIERREZ, 
 
 PRINTER, 
 
 Cor. John and Dutch-streets, N. Y. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The principal difficulty, in teaching the art of Reading, lies in conveying 
 to the pupil a clear idea of tone, modulation, and inflection of the voice. II 
 the teacher can induce the pupil to inflect his voice at all, he will find little 
 difficulty in teaching him to modulate it rightly. Nature directs every one 
 in this, in common conversation, with unerring precision. It is only, there 
 fore, by " holding the mirror up to Nature,'^ that the teacher can expect to see 
 her as she is. Few teachers have not noticed the animation and correctness 
 with which even young children will modulate the colloquial parts of their 
 story-books. But the same children almost invariably fall into a lifeless, 
 monotonous manner, when performing their portioned tasks in their reading- 
 books at school. This arises from no want of excellent selections for exer- 
 cises in Reading. But a wide distinction is to be drawn between a lesson 
 and an exercise. We have many selections abounding in all the beauties of 
 taste, learning, and judgment ; which may, with great advantage, be put 
 into the hands of the pupil, after he has been taught the art of reading; but 
 I have met with none, designed for the general classes of learners, which 
 have combined instruction with practice. It has been thought that directions 
 for the management of the voice in reading would be lost upon young learn- 
 ers, and that they are suitable for them only whose riper powers and more 
 matured intellect better fit them for their reception. But it seems to have 
 been forgotten, how easily children are taught to imitate. If, in connexion 
 with some colloquial sentence, another of less obvious import be given, 
 requiring tfie same modulations and inflections of the voice, the child natur- 
 ally catches the true manner of modulating the latter, from the former. It is 
 upon this principle of imitation and analogy combined, that many of the 
 lessons in this volume are founded. The author has been convinced, by 
 experience, in the institution under his charge, that the principle is a good 
 one ; and experience, he thinks, does not often deceive. Whether the details 
 of the plan are judiciously executed, is for others to decide. 
 
 Such being the plan of the work, the author has thought it inexpedient to 
 encumber its pages with rules, definitions, or explanatory detail; because it 
 has been fully proved that how simple soever a rule may be, the pupil will 
 not reaulily apply it, unless particularly directed by the teacher ; and if nature 
 and analogy will direct him to a correct and rhetorical modulation, rules and 
 definitions become superfluous. 
 
 A great deficiency in all our reading-books remains to be supplied. The 
 1* 
 
 ivig09501 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 Spelling-book and the Grammar furnish copious explanations ol the pauses 
 and other marks used in written language. But there is no elementary 
 work, designed for common schools, which affords particular exercises for the 
 management of those important marks. The author has endeavored, in the 
 first part of this volume, to supply this remarkable defect ; and he believes, 
 that, how much soever others may differ from him in the analogies which he 
 has traced, in the subsequent lessons, between "fAe models" and the exer- 
 cises under the models, he is justly entitled to the credit of having originated 
 the two important principles above mentioned, upon which the plan of the 
 work is founded ; and he is encouraged, not only by experience, but by the 
 confident opinion of many judicious friends, to whom the plan has been 
 unfolded, to believe that this volume, assisted by the familiar explanations 
 of the teacher, will serve as a better introduction to the art of Reading 
 than a more labored treatise formed on rhetorical rule. A lesson is first 
 devoted to each of the respective pauses and other marks, and the pupil is 
 then led by progressive steps, in the subsequent lessons, from the simplest 
 sentences, requiring little attention to pause, emphasis, or inflection of the 
 voice, to those which involve the highest exertions of taste and intellect. 
 Lilac Lodge, Dedham, Mass., June, 1849. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 As a large portion of this volume is devoted to a consideration of the 
 pauses and other marks usually employed in written language, and the 
 notice which should be taken of them in the correct and judicious enun- 
 ciation of the sentences in which they are respectively used, a few intro- 
 ductory remarks respecting their nature and the origin of their names 
 may not, perhaps, be deemed superfluous by those who use the book. 
 
 Punctuation is peculiar to the modern languages of Europe. It was 
 wholly unknown to the Greeks and Romans ; and the languages of the 
 East, although they have certain marks or signs to indicate tones, have 
 no regular system of punctuation. The Romans and the Greeks also, 
 it is true, had certain points, which, like those of the languages of the 
 East, were confined to the delivery and pronunciation of words ; but the 
 pauses were indicated by breaking up the matter into lines or para- 
 graphs, not by marks resembling those in the modern system of punc- 
 tuation. Hence, in the responses of the ancient oracles, which were 
 generally written down by the priests and delivered to the inquirers, the 
 ambiguity — intentional, doubtless — which the want of punctuation 
 caused, saved the credit of the oracle, whether the expected event was 
 favorable or unfavorable. As an instance of this kind, may be cited that 
 remarkable response which was given on a well known occasion when 
 the oracle was consulted with regard to the success of a certain military 
 expedition. 
 
 "Ibis et redibis nunquam peribis in bello." Written, as it was, 
 without being pointed, it might be translated either " Thou shalt go, 
 and shalt never return, thou shalt perish in battle," or " Thou shalt go 
 and shalt return, thou shalt never perish in battle." The correct trans- 
 lation depends on the placing of a comma after the word nunquam, or 
 after redibis. 
 
 The invention of the modem system of punctuation has been attrib- 
 uted to the Alexandrian grammarian Aristophanes, after whom it was 
 improved by succeeding grammarians ; but it was so entirely lost in the 
 time of Charlemagne that he found it necessary to have it restored by 
 Warnefried and Alcuin. It consisted at first of only one point, used in 
 three ways, and sometimes of a stroke, both being formed in several 
 ways. But as no particular rules were followed in the use of these signs, 
 punctuation was exceedingly uncertain, until the end of the fifteenth 
 
8 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 century, when the learned Venetian printers, the Manutii, increased the 
 number of the signs, and established some fixed rules for their applica- 
 tion. These were so generally adopted, that we may consider them as 
 the inventors of the present method of punctuation ; and although mod- 
 ern grammarians have introduced some improvements, nothing but some 
 particular rules have been added since that time. 
 
 The design of the system of Manutius was purely grammatical, and 
 had no further reference to enunciation, than to remove ambiguity in 
 the meaning and to give precision to the sentence. This, therefore, is 
 the object of punctuation, and although the marks employed in written 
 language may sometimes denote the difierent pauses and tones of voice 
 which the sense and an accurate pronunciation require, yet they are 
 more generally designed to mark the grammatical divisions of a sen- 
 tence, and to show the dependence and relation of words and members 
 which are separated by the intervening clauses. The teacher, therefore, 
 who directs his pupils to "mind their pauses in reading," gives but an 
 unintelligible direction to those who are unversed in the rules of analysis. 
 A better direction would be to disregard the pauses, and endeavor to read 
 the sentence with just such pauses and tones as they would employ if 
 the sentence were their own, and they were uttering it in common con- 
 versation. The truth of this remark will abundantly appear by a refer- 
 ence to the ninth lesson of this volume, and the directions given in 
 relation to the comma. Indeed it is often the case that correct and 
 tasteful reading requires pauses, and those too of a considerable length, 
 to be made, where such pauses are indicated in written language by no 
 mark whatever. [See Lesson X.] 
 
 In like manner it will appear, from an inspection of the latter part of 
 the ninth lesson, that it is not unfrequently the case that the sense will 
 allow no pause whatever to be made in cases where, if the marks alone 
 were observed, it would seem that a pause of considerable length is 
 required. The pupil, therefore, who has been taught to mind his pauses, 
 must first be taught to unlearn this direction, and endeavor to understand 
 the sentence which he is to read before he attempts to enunciate it. 
 
 The characters employed in written language are the following : 
 
 The Comma, 
 
 } 
 
 The Hyphen, 
 
 
 The Semicolon, 
 
 '} 
 
 The Breve, 
 
 
 The Colon, 
 
 
 The Apostrophe, 
 
 
 The Period, 
 
 
 
 
 The Dash, 
 
 
 
 The Brace, 
 
 The Exclamation, 
 
 ! 
 
 The Acute Accent, 
 
 
 The Interrogation, 
 
 ? 
 
 The Grave Accent, 
 
 
 The Quotation Marks, 
 
 IC " 
 
 The Circumflex Accent, 
 
 i\ 
 
 The Diajresis, 
 
 
 The Caret, 
 
 A 
 
 The Crotchets, 
 
 C) 
 
 The Cedilla, 
 
 5 
 
 The Brackets, 
 
 [] 
 
 The Asterisk, 
 
 * 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Obelisk or Dagger, f 
 
 The Double Obelisk or Double 
 
 Dagger, ' 
 
 The Section, $ 
 
 The Paragraph, % 
 
 The Parallels, || 
 
 The Ellipsis, sometimes expressed by Periods, thus, 
 
 «< " sometimes by Hyphens, thus, 
 
 " " sometimes by Asterisks or Stars, thus, ##*### 
 
 " " sometimes by a Dash prolonged, thus, 
 
 These characters, when judiciously employed, ^ the meaning and 
 give precision to the signification of sentences, which, in a written form, 
 would be ambiguous or indefinite without them. Thus, " I said that he 
 is dishonest it is true and I am sorry for it." Now the meaning of this 
 sentence can be ascertained only by a correct punctuation. If it be 
 punctuated as follows : " I said that he is dishonest, it is true, and I 
 am sorry for it ;" the meaning will be, that it is true that I said he was 
 dishonest, and I am sorry that I said so. But if it be punctuated thus, 
 " I said that he was dishonest ; it is true ; and I am sorry for it ;" the 
 meaning will be, I said that he was dishonest ; it is true that he was 
 dishonest, and I am sorry that he was so. 
 
 Again, the following sentence, as here punctuated, is an innocent re- 
 mark : " Believing Richard Brothers to be a prophet sent by God, I have 
 painted his portrait." But the sentence as it was originally written by 
 its author, with the comma after sent, instead of after God, was a piece 
 of horrid profanity. 
 
 A further instance of the importance of correct punctuation was 
 afibrded by a late advertisement, in which the commissioner for lighting 
 one of the most commercial cities of Europe, by the misplacing of a 
 comma in his advertisement, would have contracted for the supply of 
 but half the required light. The advertisement represented the lamps 
 as " 4050 in number, having two spouts each, composed of not less than 
 twenty threads of cotton." This expression implied that the lamps had 
 each two spouts, and that the two spouts had twenty threads, that is, 
 each spout had ten threads. But the meaning that the commissioner 
 intended to convey was, that each spout had twenty threads ; and his 
 adverliseraent should have had the comma after "5;jot//5," instead of 
 after " cacJt," thus: The lamps have two spouts, each composed of 
 twenty threads, &c. 
 
 These instances will suffice to illustrate the nature and the importance 
 of correct punctuation. 
 
 But although the meaning of a sentence is thus materially affected by 
 the punctuation, it will be seen in the following lessons that the punc- 
 tuation alone is an unsafe guide to follow in the enunciation of any 
 collection of words. For, in many cases, these marks indicate no pause, 
 emphasis, or other remarkable circumstance requiring notice in the enun- 
 ciation of the sentence. [See Lesson IX., latter part.] 
 
 The nature of the marks used in written language may also be under- 
 stood by a reference to the origin of their names. 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The word Comma is derived from the Greek language, and properly 
 designates a segment, section, or part cut off from a complete sentence. 
 In its usual acceptation, it signifies the point which marks the smaller 
 segments or portions of a period. It therefore represents the shortest 
 pause, and consequently marks the least constructive, or most dependent 
 parts of a sentence. 
 
 The word colon is from the Greek, and signifies a member, and the 
 Latin prefix semi means half. A Semicolon is used for the purpose of 
 pointing out those parts of a compound sentence, which, although they 
 each constitute a distinct proposition, have yet a dependence upon each 
 other, or on some common clause. 
 
 The Colon is used to divide a sentence into two or more parts, which, 
 although the sense be complete in each, are not independent. 
 
 The word Period is derived from the Greek, and means a circuit. 
 When the circuit of the sense is completed, with all its relations, the 
 mark bearing this name is used to denote this completion. 
 
 The word Interrogation is derived from the Latin, and means a ques 
 tion. 
 
 The word Exclamation is from the same language, and means a pas 
 sionate utterance. 
 
 The word Parenthesis is derived from the Greek language, and means 
 an insertion. A sentence, clause, or phrase, inserted between the parts 
 of another sentence for the purpose of explanation, or of calling particu- 
 lar attention, is properly called a parenthesis. 
 
 It is to be remarked, however, that the name parenthesis belongs only 
 to the sentence inserted between brackets or crotchets, and not to those 
 marks themselves. 
 
 The word Hyphen is derived from the Greek language, and signifies 
 under one, that is, together; and is used to imply that the letters or sylla 
 bles between which it is placed are to be taken together as one word. 
 
 The hyphen, when placed over a vowel, to indicate the long sound oi 
 the vowel, is called the Macron, from the Greek, signifying long. 
 
 The mark called a Breve, indicating the short sound of the vowel, is 
 from the Latin, signifying short. 
 
 The word Ellipsis, also from the Greek, means an omission, and prop- 
 erly refers to the words, the members, or the sentences which are omitted, 
 and not to the marks which indicate the omission. 
 
 The word Apostrophe, also from the Greek, signifies the turning arcay, 
 or the omission of one letter or more.* 
 
 The word Diceresis is also from the Greek, and signifies the taking 
 apart, or the separation of the vowels, which would otherwise be pro- 
 nounced as one syllable. 
 
 The term Accent is derived from the Latin language, and implies the 
 tone of the voice with which a word or syllable is to be pronounced. 
 
 * The word Apostrophe, as hera used, must not be confoimded with the same word aa 
 the name of a rhetorical figure. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 The word Section, derived also from the Latin, signifies a cutting, or 
 a division. The character which denotes a section seems to be com- 
 posed of ss, and to be an abbreviation of the words signum sectionis, or 
 the sign of a section. This character, which was formerly used as the 
 sign of the division of a discourse, is now rarely used except as a refer- 
 ence to a note at the bottom of the page. 
 
 The word Paragraph is derived from the Greek language, and signi- 
 fies an ascription in the margin. This mark, like that of the section, 
 was formerly used to designate those divisions of a section which are 
 now indicated by unfinished lines or blank spaces. This mark, as well 
 as the section, is now rarely used except as a reference. 
 
 It may further be remarked, that notes at the bottom of the page, on 
 the margin, or at the end of the book, are often indicated by figures, or 
 by letters, instead of the marks which have already been enumerated. 
 
 The word Caret is from the Latin, and signifies it is wanting. This 
 mark is used only in manuscript. 
 
 The Cedilla is a mark placed under the letters c and g to indicate the 
 soft sound of those letters. 
 
 The Asterisk, Obelisk, Double Obelisk, and Parallels, with the section 
 and paragraph, are merely arbitrary marks to call attention to the notes 
 at the bottom of the page. 
 
 As these marks which have now been enumerated all have a meaning, 
 and are employed for some special purpose, it is recommended to the 
 teacher never to allow the pupil to pass by them without being assured 
 that he or she understands what that purpose is. Correct and tasteful 
 reading can never be attained without a full appreciation of the meaning 
 which the author intended to convey ; and that meaning is often to be 
 ascertained by the arbitrary marks employed for the purpose of giving 
 definiteness to an expression. At the same time the teacher should be 
 careful that the pupil shall consider these marks as his guide to the 
 meaning only, not to the enunciation, of a sentence. Correct delivery 
 must be left to the guidance of taste and judgment only. 
 
 In many excellent selections for lessons in reading, the pieces have 
 been arranged in regular order, according to the nature of their respective 
 subjects, under the heads of Narrative, Descriptive, Didactic, Argument- 
 ative and Pathetic pieces, Public Speeches, Promiscuous pieces, the 
 Eloquence of the Bar, of the Pulpit, and of the Forum. 
 
 By Narrative pieces is meant those pieces only which contain a simple 
 narration. Descriptive pieces are those in which something is described. 
 Didactic pieces are those designed to convey some particular kind of 
 instruction, whether moral, religious, or scientific. Argumentative 
 pieces are those in which some truth is designed to be proved. Pathetic 
 pieces are those by which the feelings of pity, love, admiration and other 
 passions, are excited. Promiscuous pieces are those which fall under 
 none of the classes which have been enumerated, or consist of a mixture 
 of those classes. The Eloquence of the Bnr consists of speeches (or 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 phas, as they are technically called) made by distinguished lawyers in 
 the courts of justice in favor of or against a supposed criminal. The 
 Eloquence of the Pulpit consists of sermons or discourses delivered on 
 religious occasions. The Eloquence of the Forum consists in the 
 speeches, addresses, orations, ficc, addressed to political or promiscuous 
 assemblies. 
 
 To many, this information may seem superfluous or puerile. But as 
 this volume is designed for the young and the unlettered, it must not be 
 forgotten that their sources of information are few, and that they will 
 not always take the pains to inform themselves of the meaning of words, 
 even when they are familiar to their eyes in capital letters, and in the 
 running titles of the books before them every day. It is often the case, 
 that the teacher also, taking for granted that his pupils are familiar with 
 the meaning of words so often presented to their eyes, neglects to ques- 
 tion them on the subject ; and in riper years it becomes a matter of 
 surprise to the pupil himself, that, in early life, words which he had 
 heard sounded almost every day at school presented no idea to his mind 
 beyond that of an unmeaning, or rather an unintelligible sound. 
 
 The object of all education is not so much to fill the mind with knowl- 
 edge as to strengthen its powers, and enlarge its capacity. Those exer- 
 cises, therefore, are always most beneficial, in all education, which tend 
 most effectually to this result. There is, perhaps, no branch of study 
 connected with popular education, which, when properly pursued, 
 is more highly subservient to this end than the study of correct 
 and tasteful reading, as an art. It necessarily involves a complete 
 knowledge of the subject to be read, the relation and dependences of 
 the phrases, clauses, and members of the sentences, the proper mean- 
 ing of the words employed, and the connexion between the sentences 
 themselves. This cannot be acquired without a vigorous employment 
 of the perceptive powers, aided by those of comparison, of analysis, of 
 reasoning, of judgment, of taste, and of discrimination. Subordinate 
 and auxiliary to the acquisition of this important art, on the part of the 
 pupil, it is here recommended that the teacher should exercise also the 
 power of classification, by requiring his pupils, while studying a reading 
 lesson, (which, by the way, always should be studied, previous to practis- 
 ing it,) to ascertain and to inform his teacher under which of the above 
 mentioned classes, whether narrative, descriptive, didactic, &c., the piece 
 he is about to read belongs. The teacher who thus employs the faculties 
 of his pupils cannot fail to see a vigorous growth of intellect springing 
 up under his culture, and will be amply compensated for such mortifica- 
 tions as may occasionally arise during formal examinations, from the 
 treachery of the youthful memory, or the want of a proper command 
 over its stores. 
 
 One of the best selections of reading lessons which has been in use 
 in the common schools of this country is that of Blr. Lindley Murray, 
 called " The English Reader." Whether estimated by its moral and 
 
INTHODUCTION. 13 
 
 religious tone, or by the taste and beauty of the selections, it must 
 equally command the approbation of all to whom the subject of educa- 
 tion is consigned. It is true that the compiler had not learnt the modern 
 art of selecting from the productions of editors, members of school com 
 mittees, and others, whose vanity might, perhaps, aid the circulation of 
 his work, — but he has made ample amends for this kind of neglect, by 
 presenting the choicest gems of English literature, selected from the 
 brightest stars of that galaxy familiarly known as the British classics. 
 His introductory tract, for many of the observations in which he has 
 acknowledged his indebtedness to Dr. Blair and to the Encyclopedia 
 Britannica, contains so much valuable instruction on the art of reading, 
 that the author of this work is persuaded that he cannot render better 
 service than by presenting it entire. Many of the suggestions, it will be 
 seen, are followed out in the introductory lessons in this volume; but as 
 all information becomes the heller Jixedhy repetition, such repetition will, 
 to say the least, be pardonable, even though it may be deemed superfluous. 
 
 "OBSERVATIONS ON THE PRINCIPLES OF GOOD READING. 
 
 " To read with propriety is a pleasing and important attainment , 
 productive of improvement both to the understanding and the heart. It 
 is essential to a complete reader, that he minutely perceive the ideas, 
 and enter into the feelings of the author, whose sentiments he professes 
 to repeat : for how is it possible to represent clearly to others, what we 
 have but faint or inaccurate conception of ourselves ? If there were no 
 other benefits resulting from the art of reading well, than the necessity 
 it lays us under of precisely ascertaining the meaning of what we read, 
 and the habit thence acquired of doing this with facility, both when 
 reading silently and aloud, they would constitute a sufficient compensa- 
 tion for all the labor we can bestow upon the subject. But the pleasure 
 derived to ourselves and others from a clear communication of ideas 
 and feelings, and the strong and durable impressions made thereby on 
 the minds of the reader and the audience, are considerations which give 
 additional importance to the study of this necessary and useful art. 
 The perfect attainment of it doubtless requires great attention and prac- 
 tice, joined to extraordinary natural powers ; but as there are many 
 degrees of excellence in the art, the student whose aims fall short of 
 perfection will find himself amply rewarded for every exertion he may 
 think proper to make. 
 
 "To give rules for the management of the voice in reading, by which 
 ihe necessary pauses, emphasis, and tones, may be discovered and put 
 in practice, is not possible. After all the directions that can be offered 
 on these points, much will remain to be taught by the living instructer : 
 much will be attainable by no other means than the force of example, 
 influencing the imitative powers of the learner. Some rules and princi- 
 ples on these heads will, however, be found useful, to prevent erroneous 
 and vicious modes of utterance ; to give the young reader some taste 
 for the subject ; and to assist him in acquiring a just and accurate mode 
 of delivery. The observations which we have to make, for these pur- 
 poses, may be comprised under the following heads : Proper Loudness 
 of Voice; Distinctness; Slowness; Propriety of Pronunciation ; Emphasis; 
 Tones ; Pauses ; and Mode of Reading Verse. 
 2 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "PROPER LOUDNESS OF VOICE. 
 
 " The first attention of every person who reads to otiiers, doubtless, 
 must be to make himself heard by all those to whom he reads. He 
 must endeavor to fill with his voice the space occupied by the comi^any. 
 This power of voice, it may be thought, is wholly a natural talent. It 
 is, in a good measure, the gift of nature ; but it may receive considerable 
 assistance from art. Much depends, for this purpose, on the proper pitch 
 and management of the voice. Every person has three pitches in his 
 voice ; the high, the middle, and the low one. The high is that which 
 he uses in calling aloud to some person at a distance. The low is when 
 be approaches to a whisper. The middle is that which he employs in 
 common conversation, and which he should generally use in reading to 
 others. For it is a great mistake, to imagine that one must take the 
 highest pitch of his voice, in order to be well heard in a large company. 
 This is confounding two things which are different — loudness or strength 
 of sound, with the key or note in which we speak. There is a variety 
 of sound within the compass of each key. A speaker may, therefore, 
 render his voice louder, without altering the key ; and we shall always 
 be able to give most body, most persevering force of sound, to that pitch 
 of voice to which in conversation we are accustomed. "Whereas by 
 setting out on our highest pitch or key, we certainly allow ourselves less 
 compass, and are likely to strain our voice before we have done. We 
 shall fatigue ourselves, and read with pain ; and whenever a person 
 speaks with pain to himself, he is always heard with pain by his 
 audience. Let us, therefore, give the voice full strength and swell of 
 sound ; but always pitch it on our ordinary speaking key. It should be 
 a constant rule never to utter a greater quantity of voice than we can 
 afford without pain to ourselves, and without any extraordinary effort. 
 As long as we keep within these bounds, the other organs of speech will 
 be at liberty to discharge their several offices with ease ; and we shall 
 always have our voice under command. But whenever we transgress 
 these bounds, we give up the reins, and have no longer any manage- 
 ment of it. It is a useful rule too, in order to be well heard, to cast our 
 eye on some of the most distant persons in the company, and to con- 
 sider ourselves as reading to them. We naturally and mechanically 
 utter our words with such a degree of strength as to make ourselves be 
 heard by the person whom we address, provided he is within the reach 
 of our voice. As this is the case in conversation, it will hold also in 
 reading to others. But let us remember, that in reading, as well as in 
 conversation, it is possible to offend by speaking too loud. This extreme 
 hurts the ear, by making the voice come upon it in rumbling, indistinct 
 masses. 
 
 •' By the habit of reading, when young, in a loud and vehement man- 
 ner, the voice becomes fixed in a strained and unnatural key ; and is 
 rendered incapable of that variety of elevation and depression which 
 constitutes the true harmony of utterance, and affords ease to the reader, 
 and pleasure to the audience. This unnatural pitch of the voice, and 
 disagreeable monotony, are most observable in persons who were taught 
 to read in large rooms ; who were accustomed to stand at too great a 
 distance, when reading to their teachers ; whose instructers were very 
 imperfect in their hearing; or who were taught by persons who con- 
 sidered loud expression as the chief requisite in forming a good reader. 
 These are circumstances which demand the serious attention of every 
 one to whom the education of youth is committed. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 "distinctness. 
 
 "In the next place, to being well heard and clearly understood, dis- 
 tinctness of articulation contributes more than mere loudness of sound. 
 The quantity of sound necessary to fill even a large space is smaller 
 than IS commonly imagined ; and, with distinct articulation, a person 
 with a weak voice will make it reach further than the strongest voice 
 can reach without it. To this, therefore, every reader ought to pay great 
 attention. He must give every sound which he utters its due propor- 
 tion ; and make every syllable, and even every letter, in the word which 
 he pronounces, be heard distinctly: without slurring, whispering, or 
 suppressing, any of the proper sounds. 
 
 "An accurate knowledge of the simple, elementary sounds of the lan- 
 guage, and a facility in expressing them, are so necessary to distinctness 
 of expression, that if the learner's attainments are, in this respect, im- 
 perfect, (and many there are in this situation.) it will be incumbent on 
 his teacher to carry him back to these priniary aniculations ; and to 
 suspend»his progress till he become perfectly master of them. It will 
 be in vain to press him forward, with the hope of forming a good reader, 
 if he cannot completely articulate every elementary sound of the lan- 
 gqage. 
 
 "due degree of slowness. 
 
 " In order to express ourselves distinctly, moderation is requisite with 
 regard to the speed of pronouncing. Precipitancy of speech confounds 
 all articulation, and all meaning. It is scarcely necessary to observe, 
 that there may be also an extreme on the opposite side. It is obvious 
 that a lifeless, drawling manner of reading, which allows the minds of 
 the hearers to be always outrunning the speaker, must render every 
 such performance insipid and fatiguing. But the extreme of reading 
 too fast is much more common ; and requires the more to be guarded 
 against, because, when it has grown into a habit, few errors are more 
 difficult to be corrected. To pronounce with a proper degree of slow- 
 ness, and with full and clear articulation, is necessary to be studied by 
 all, who wish to become good readers ; and it cannot be too much 
 recommended to them. Such a pronunciation gives weight and dignity 
 to the subject. It is a great assistance to the voice, by the pauses and 
 rests which it allows the reader more easily to make : and it enables the 
 reader to swell all his sounds, both with more force and more harmony. 
 
 "PROPRIETY OF PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 "After the fundamental attentions to the pitch and management of 
 tlie voice, to distinct articulation, and to a proper degree of slowness of 
 spoech, what the young reader must, in the next place, study, is pro- 
 priety of pronunciation ; or, giving to every word which he utters that 
 sound which the best usage of the language appropriates to it ; in oppo- 
 sition to broad, vulgar, or provincial pronunciation. This is requisite 
 both for reading intelligibly, and for reading with correctness and ease. 
 Instructions concerning this article may be best given by the living 
 teacher. But there is one observation, which it may not be improper 
 here to make. In the English language, every word which consists of 
 more syllables than one has one accented syllable. The accents rest 
 sometimes on the vowel, sometimes on the consonant. The genius of 
 the language requires the voice to mark that syllable by a stronger 
 percussion, and to pass more slightly over the rest.' Now, after we have 
 
16 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 learned the proper seats of these accents, it is an important rule, to 
 give every word just the same accent in reading as in common dis- 
 course. Many persons err in this respect. When they read to others 
 and with solemnity, they pronounce the syllables in a different manner 
 from what they do at other times. They dwell upon them and protract 
 them ; they multiply accents on the same word, from a mistaken notion, 
 that it gives gravity and importance to their subject, and adds to the 
 energy of their delivery. Whereas this is one of the greatest faults that 
 can be committed in pronunciation : it makes what is called a pompous 
 or mouthing manner, and gives an artificial, affected air to reading, which 
 detracts greatly both from its agreeableness and its impression. 
 
 '' Sheridan and Walker have published dictionaries for ascertaining 
 the true and best pronunciation of the words of our language. By 
 attentively consuhing them, particularly 'Walker's Pronouncing Dic- 
 tionary,' the young reader will be much' assisted in his endeavors to 
 attain a correct pronunciation of the words belonging to the English 
 language.* 
 
 '< EMPHASIS. * 
 
 "By emphasis is meant a stronger and fuller sound of voice, by 
 which we distinguish some word, or words, on which we design to lay 
 particular stress, and to show how they affect the rest of the sentence. 
 Sometimes the emphatic words must be distinguished by a particular 
 tone of voice, as well as by a particular stress. On the right manage- 
 ment of the emphasis depends the life of pronunciation. If no emphasis 
 be placed on any words, not only is discourse rendered heavy and life- 
 less, but the meaning is often left ambiguous. If the emphasis be 
 placed wrong, we pervert and confound the meaning wholly. 
 
 <' Emphasis may be divided into the Superior and the Inferior emphasis . 
 The superior emphasis determines the meaning of a sentence, with refer- 
 ence to something said before, presupposed by the author as generai. 
 knowledge, or removes an ambiguity, where a passage may have more 
 senses than one. The inferior emphasis enforces, graces, and enlivens, 
 but does xioi fix, the meaning of any passage. The words to which this 
 latter emphasis is given are, in general, such as seem the most import- 
 ant in the sentence, or, on other accounts, to merit this distinction. The 
 following passage will serve to exemplify the superior emphasis. 
 
 ' Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world, and all our woe,' &c. 
 
 * Sing, heavenly Muse ! ' 
 
 " Supposing that originally other beings besides men had disobeyed 
 the commands of the Almighty, and that the circumstance were well 
 known to us. there would fall an emphasis upon the word man's in the 
 first line ; and hence it would read thus : 
 
 ' Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit,' &c. 
 
 " Btit if it were a notorious truth, that mankind had transgressed in 
 
 * This remark must now be received, in this country at leist, with some qii.ilifica- 
 tion. Mr. Wnlker has lost the confidence which is established by usage, and we have 
 no work which professes to supply his place, so (ar as pronunciation alone is coDcerned. 
 As a guide to the siirnificatinn of words, and the tracing of their etymology, the Dic- 
 tionary of Dr. Webster is of the highest authority, and has received the approbation of 
 critics in the mother country, as well as in this. Dr. Wel)ster has spent a long life in 
 'he investigation of authorities, and probably no one individual has labored longer or 
 'ith equal success in this department of literature. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 a peculiar manner more than once, the emphasis would fall on first ; 
 and the line be read, 
 
 * Of man's first disobedience,' &c. 
 
 " Again, admitting death (as was really the case) to have been an 
 unheard-of and dreadful punishment, brought upon man in consequence 
 of his transgression ; on that supposition, the third line would be read, 
 ' Brought death into the world,' &c. 
 
 " But if we were to suppose that mankind knew there was such an evil 
 as death in other regions, though the place they inhabited had been free 
 from it till their transgression, the line would run thus : 
 ' Brought death into the world,' &c. 
 
 " The superior emphasis finds place in the following short sentence, 
 which admits of four distinct meanings, each of which is ascertained by 
 the emphasis only. 
 
 ' Do you ride to town to-day ? ' 
 
 [See Lessvn XXIL] 
 
 " The following examples illustrate the nature and use of the inferior 
 emphasis : 
 
 " 'Many persons mistake the love, for the practice of virtue.' 
 
 " ' Shall I reward his services with Falsehood ? Shall I forget him who 
 cannot forget me ?' 
 
 " ' If his principles are false, no apology from himself can make them 
 right; if founded in truth, no censure from others can make them 
 wrong.' 
 
 " ' Though deep, yet clear ; though gentle, yet not dull ; 
 Strong without rage; without o'erfiowing, full.* 
 
 " ' A friend exaggerates a man's virtues ; an enemy, his crimes.'' 
 
 " ' The rvise man is happy when he gains his own approbation ; the 
 fool, when he gains that of others? 
 
 " The superior emphasis, in reading as in speaking, must be deter- 
 mined entirely by the sense of the passage, and always made alike ; but 
 as to the inferior emphasis, taste alone seems to have the right of fixing 
 its situation and quantity. 
 
 '< Among the number of persons who have had proper opportunities 
 of learning to read, in the best manner it is now taught, very few could 
 be selected, who, in a given instance, would use the inferior emphasis 
 alike, either as to place or quantity. Some persons, indeed, use scarcely 
 any degree of it ; and others do not scruple to carry it far beyond any- 
 thing to be found in common discourse; and even sometimes throw it 
 upon words so very trifling in themselves, that it is evidently done with 
 no other view than to give a greater variety to the modulation.* Not- 
 withstanding this diversity of practice, there are certainly proper bounda- 
 ries, within which this emphasis must be restrained, in order to make it 
 meet the approbation of sound judgment and correct taste. It will, 
 doubtless, have different degrees of exertion, according to the greater or 
 
 * By modulation is meant, that pleasing variety of voice which is perceived in utter- 
 ing a sentence, and which in its nature is perlecily distinct from emphasis, and the 
 tones of emotion and passion. The young reader should be careful to render his modu- 
 lation correct and easy : and, for this purpose, should form it upon the model of the inoisl 
 jiidicioiui n:id accurue sjxvikors. 
 
 2# 
 
18 IWTRODUGTION. 
 
 less degree of importance of the words upon which it operates ; and 
 there may be very properly some variety in the use of it : but its appli- 
 cation is not arbitrary, depending on the caprice of readers. 
 
 " As emphasis often falls on words in different parts of the same sen- 
 tence, so it is frequently required to be continued, with a little variation, 
 on two, and sometimes more words together. The following sentences 
 exemplify both the parts of this position : ' If you seek to make one 
 rich, study not to increase his stores, but to diminish his desires? 'The 
 Mexican figures, or picture-writing, represent things, not words : they 
 exhibit images to the eye, not ideas to the understanding." 
 
 " Some sentences are so full and comprehensive, that almost every 
 word is emphatical : as, ' Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and 
 plains ! ' or, as that pathetic expostulation in the prophecy of Ezekiel, 
 ' Why will ye die ! ' 
 
 " Emphasis, besides its other offices, is the great regulator of quantity. 
 Though the quantity of our syllables is fixed, in words separately pro- 
 nounced, yet it is mutable when these words are arranged in sentences ; 
 the long being changed into short, the short into long, according to the 
 importance of the word with regard to meaning. Emphasis also, in 
 particular cases, alters the seat of the accent. This is demonstrable 
 from the following examples. ' He shall wfcrease, but I shall tfecrease.' 
 ' There is a difference between giving and /orgiving.' ' In this species 
 of composition, plausWAWiy is much more essential than jjroiability.' 
 In these examples, the emphasis requires the accent to be placed on 
 syllables to which it does not commonly belong. 
 
 ''In order to acquire the proper management of the emphasis, the 
 great rule to be given is, that the reader study to attain a just conception 
 of the force and spirit of the sentiments which he is to pronounce. For 
 to lay the emphasis with exact propriety is a constant exercise of good 
 p:ense and attention. It is far from being an inconsiderable attainment. 
 It is one of the most decisive trials of a true and just taste ; and must 
 arise from feeling delicately ourselves, and from judging accurately of 
 what is fittest to strike the feeUngs of others. 
 
 " There is one error, against which it is particularly proper to caution 
 the learner ; namely, that of multiplying emphatical words too much, 
 and using the emphasis indiscriminately. It is only by a prudent 
 reserve and distinction in the use of them, that we can give them any 
 weight. If they recur too often ; if a reader attempts to render every 
 thing he expresses of high importance, by a multitude of strong em- 
 phases, we soon learn to pay little regard to them. To crowd every 
 sentence with emphatical words, is like crowding all the pages of a book 
 with Italic characters ; which, as to the effect, is just the same as to use 
 no such distinctions at all. 
 
 ''tones. 
 
 " Tones are different both from emphasis and pauses ; consisting m 
 the notes or variations of sound which we employ in the expression of 
 our sentiments. Emphasis affects particular words and phrases, with a 
 degree of tone or inflection of voice ; but tones, peculiarly so called, 
 affect sentences, paragraphs, and sometimes even the whole of a dis- 
 course. 
 
 " To show the use and necessity of tones, we need only observe, that 
 the mind, in communicating its ideas, is in a constant state of activity, 
 emotion, or agitation, from the difierent effeets which those ideas pro- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 duce in the speaker. Now the end of such coinmunicatiuu being not 
 merely to lay open the ideas, but also the different feelings which they 
 excite in him that utters them, there must be other signs than words to 
 manifest those feelings ; as words uttered in a monotonous manner can 
 represent only a similar state of mind, perfectly free from all activity 
 and emotion. As the communication of these internal feelings was of 
 much more consequence in our social intercourse than the mere con- 
 veyance of ideas, the Author of our being did not, as in that convey- 
 ance, leave the invention of the language of emotion to man, but 
 impressed it himself upon our nature, in the same manner as he has 
 done with regard to the rest of the animal world ; all of which express 
 their feelings by various tones. Ours, indeed, from the superior rank 
 that we hold, are in a high degree more comprehensive ; as there is not 
 an act of the mind, an exertion of the fancy, or an emotion of the heart, 
 which has not its peculiar tone or note of the voice, by which it is to be 
 expressed ; and which is suited exactly to the degree of internal feeling. 
 It is chiefly in the proper use of these tones, that the Ufe, spirit, beauty, 
 and harmony of delivery consist. 
 
 " The limits of this introduction do not admit of examples to illustrate 
 the variety of tones belonging to the different passions and emotions. 
 We shall, however, select one, which is extracted from the beautiful 
 lamentation of David over Saul and Jonathan ; and which will in some 
 degree elucidate what has been said on this subject. 
 
 " ' The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places ; how are the 
 mighty fallen ! Tell it not in Gath ; publish it not in the streets of 
 Askelon ; lest the daughters of the PhiUstines rejoice ; lest the daugh- 
 ters of the uncircumciscd triumph. Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there 
 be no dew nor rain upon you, nor fields of offerings ; for there the shield 
 of the mighty was vilely cast away ; the shield of Saul, as though he 
 had not been anointed with oil.' The first of these divisions expresses 
 sorrow and lamentation ; therefore the note is low. The next contains 
 a spirited command, and should be pronounced much higher. The other 
 sentence, in which he makes a pathetic address to the mountains where 
 his friends had been slain, must be expressed in a note quite diflerent 
 from the two former ; not so low as the first, nor so high as the second, 
 but in a manly, firm, yet plaintive tone. 
 
 " The correct and natural language of the emotions is not so difiicull 
 to be attained as most readers seem to imagine. If we enter into the 
 spirit of the author's sentiments, as well as into the meaning of his 
 words, we shall not fail to deliver the words in properly varied tones. 
 For there are few people who speak English without a provincial note, 
 that have not an accurate use of tones, when they utter their sentiments 
 in earnest discourse. And the reason that they have not the same use 
 of them in reading aloud the sentiments of others may be traced to the 
 very defective and erroneous method in which the art of reading is 
 taught ; whereby all the various, natural, expressive tones of speech are 
 suppressed, and a few artificial, unmeaning reading notes are substi- 
 tuted for them. 
 
 " But when we recommend to readers an attention to the tone and 
 lang lage of emotions, we must be understood to do it with proper lim- 
 itation. Moderation is necessary in this point, as in other things. For 
 when the reading becomes strictly imitative, it assumes a theatrical 
 manner, and mu.st be highly improper, as well as give offence to the 
 hearers, because it is inconsistent with that deli«acy and modesty which 
 
20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 are indispensable on such occasions. The speaker who delivers his own 
 emotions must be supposed to be more vivid and animated than would 
 be proper in the person who relates them at second hand. 
 
 " We shall conclude this section with the following rule for the tones 
 that indicate the passions and emotions : ' In reading, let all your tones 
 of expression be borrowed from those of common speech, but, in some 
 degree, more faintly characterized. Let those tones which signify any 
 disagreeable passion of the mind be still more faint than those which 
 indicate agreeable emotions : and on all occasions preserve yourselves 
 from being so far affected with the subject as to be unable to proceed 
 through it with that easy and masterly manner which has its good 
 effects in this, as well as in every other art.' 
 
 " PAUSES. 
 
 " Pauses or rests, in reading or speaking, are a total cessation of the 
 voice, during a perceptible, and, in many cases, a measurable space of 
 time. Pauses are equally necessary to the speaker and the hearer. To 
 the speaker, that he may take breath, without which he cannot proceed 
 far in delivery ; and that he may, by these temporary rests, relieve the 
 organs of speech, which otherwise would be soon tired by continued 
 action ; to the hearer, that the ear also may be reheved from the fatigue 
 which it would otherwise endure from a continuity of sound ; and that 
 the understanding may have sufficient time to mark the distinction of 
 sentences, and their several members. 
 
 " There are two kinds of pauses : first, emphatical pauses ; and next, 
 such as mark the distinctions of sense. An emphatical pause is gener- 
 ally made after something has been said of peculiar moment, and on 
 which we desire to fix the hearer's attention. Sometimes, before such a 
 thing is said, we usher it in with a pause of this nature. Such pauses 
 have the same effect as a strong emphasis ; and are subject to the same 
 rules, especially to the caution of not repeating them too frequently. 
 For as they excite uncommon attention, and of course raise expectation, 
 if the importance of the matter be not fully answerable to such expect- 
 ation, they occasion disappointment and disgust. 
 
 " But the most frequent and principal use of pauses is to mark the 
 divisions of the sense, and at the same time to allow the reader to draw 
 his breath ; and the proper and delicate adjustment of such pauses is 
 one of the most nice and difficult articles of delivery. In all reading, 
 the management of the breath requires a good deal of care, so as not to 
 oblige us to divide words from one another, which have so intimate a 
 connexion that they ought to be pronounced with the same breath, and 
 without the least separation. Many a sentence is miserably mangled, 
 and the force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the 
 wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is reading, should be 
 very careful to provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. 
 It is a great mistake to imagine that the breath must be drawn only at 
 the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may easily be 
 gathered at the intervals of the period, when the voice is suspended only 
 for a moment ; and, by this management, one may always have a suffi- 
 cient slock for carrying on the longest sentence, without improper inter- 
 ruptions. 
 
 " Pauses in reading must generally be formed upon the manner in 
 which we utter ourselves in ordinary, sensible conversation, and not 
 upon the stiff, artificial manner which is acquired from reading books 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 21 
 
 according to the common punctuation. It will by no means be sufficient 
 to attend to the points used in printing, for these are far from marking 
 all the pauses which ought to be made in reading. A mechanical atten- 
 tion to these resting places has perhaps been one cause of monotony, by 
 leading the reader to a similar tone at every stop, and a uniform cadence 
 at every period. The primary use of points is to assist the reader in 
 discerning the grammatical construction ; and it is only as a secondary 
 object that they regulate his pronunciation. On this head the following 
 direction may be of use : * Though in reading great attention should be 
 paid to the stops, yet a greater should be given to the sense, and their 
 correspondent times occasionally lengthened beyond what is usual in 
 common speech.' 
 
 " To render pauses pleasing and expressive, they must not only be 
 made in the right place, but also accompanied with a proper tone of 
 voice, by which the nature of these pauses is intimated ; much more 
 than by the length of them, which can seldom be exactly measured. 
 Sometimes it is only a slight and simple suspension of voice that is 
 proper ; sometimes a degree of cadence in the voice is required ; and 
 sometimes that peculiar tone and cadence which denote the sentence to 
 be finished. In all these cases, we are to regulate ourselves by attend- 
 ing to the manner in which nature teaches us to speak when engaged in 
 real and earnest discourse with others. The following sentence exem- 
 plifies the suspending and the closing pauses : ' Hope, the balm of life, 
 soothes us under every misfortune.' The first and second pauses are 
 accompanied by an inflection of voice, that gives the hearer an expecta- 
 tion of something further to complete the sense ; the inflection attending 
 the third pause signifies that the sense is completed. 
 
 " The preceding example is an illustration of the suspending pause, in 
 its simple state : the following instance exhibits that pause with a degree 
 of cadence in the voice ; ' If content cannot remove the disquietudes of 
 mankind, it will at least alleviate them.' 
 
 " The suspending pause is often, in the same sentence, attended with 
 both the rising and the falling inflection of voice ; as will be seen in this 
 example: 'Moderate exercise^ and habitual temperance', strengthen 
 the constitution.' * 
 
 " As the suspending pause may be thus attended with both the rising 
 and the falling inflection, it is the same with regard to the closing pause : 
 it admits of both. The falling inflection generally accompanies it ; but 
 it is not unfrequently connected with the rising inflection. Interrogative 
 sentences, for instance, are often terminated in this manner : as, ' Am I 
 ungrateful' ? ' ' Is he in earnest' ? ' 
 
 " But where a sentence is begun by an interrogative pronoun or ad- 
 verb, it is commonly terminated by the falling inflection : as, ' What has 
 he gained by his folly' ? ' ' Who will assist him'? ' ' Where is the mes- 
 senger' ? ' < When did he arrive' ? ' 
 
 " When two questions are united in one sentence, and connected by 
 the conjunction or, the first takes the rising, the second the falling in- 
 flection : as, ' Does his conduct support discipline' or destroy it'? ' 
 
 "The rising and falling inflections must not be confounded with 
 emphasis. Though they may often coincide, they are, in their nature, 
 perfectly distinct. Emphasis sometimes controls those inflections. 
 
 " The regular application of the rising and falling inflections confers 
 
 ♦ The rtaing Inflection ia denoted by the acute, the faUing by the grave, accent. 
 
Jiii INTRODTJCTION. 
 
 SO much beauty on expression, and is so necessary to be studied by 
 the young reader, that we shall insert a few more examples, to induce 
 him to pay greater attention to the subject. In these instances, all 
 the inflections are not marked. Such only are distinguished as are 
 most striking, and will best serve to show the reader theu* utility and 
 importance. 
 
 " ' Manufactures^ trade\ and agriculture', certainly employ more than 
 nineteen parts in twenty of the human species.' 
 
 " ' He who resigns the world has no temptation to envy', hatred\ 
 malice^ anger'; but is in constant possession of a serene mind: he 
 who follows the pleasures of it, which are in their very nature dis- 
 appointing, is in constant search of care\ solicitude', remorse', and con- 
 fusion\' 
 
 " ' To advise the ignorant^ relieve the needy\, comfort the afflicted', 
 are duties that fall in our way almost every day of our lives.' 
 
 " ' Those evil spirits, who, by long custom, have contracted in the body 
 habits of lust' and sensuaUty^; malice' and revenge^; an aversion to 
 everything that is good\ just^ and laudable', are naturally seasoned and 
 prepared for pain and misery.' 
 
 " ' I am persuaded, that neither deathyjnor life^ ; nor angels', nor 
 principalities', nor powers^ ; nor things present', nor things to come^ ; nor 
 height', nor depth^ ; nor any other creature', shall bp. able to separate us 
 from the love of God\' 
 
 "The reader who would wish to see a minute and ingenious investi- 
 gation of the nature of these inflections, and the rules by which they 
 are governed, may consult Walker's Elements of Elocution. 
 
 "MANNER OF READING VERSE. 
 
 " When we are reading verse, there is a peculiar difficulty in making 
 the pauses justly. The difficulty arises from the melody of verse, which 
 dictates to the ear pauses or rests of its own ; and to adjust and com- 
 pound these properly with the pauses of the sense, so as neither to hurt 
 the ear nor ofiend the understanding, is so very nice a matter, that it is 
 no wonder we so seldom meet with good readers of poetry. There are 
 two kinds of pauses that belong to the melody of verse : one is the pause 
 at the end of the line ; and the other, the cajsural pause in or near the 
 middle of it. With regard to the pause at the end of the line, which 
 marks that strain or verse to be finished, rhyme renders this always sen- 
 sible, and in some measure compels us to observe it in our pronuncia- 
 tion. In respect to blank verse, we ought also to read it so as to make 
 every line sensible to the ear ; for, what is the use of melody, or for what 
 end has the poet composed in verse, if, in reading his lines, we suppress 
 his numbers, by omitting the final pause ; and degrade them, by our 
 pronunciation, into mere prose ? At the same time that we attend to 
 this pause, every appearance of sing-song and tone must be carefully 
 guarded against. The close of the line, where it makes no pause in 
 the meaning, ought not to be marked by such a tone as is used in 
 finishing a sentence ; but, without ei-ther fall or elevation of the voice, 
 it should be denoted only by so slight a suspension of sound as may 
 distinguish the passage from one line to another, without injuring the 
 meaning. 
 
 " The other kind of melodious pause is that which falls somewhere 
 about the middle of the verse, and divides it into two hemistichs ; a 
 pause not so great as that which belongs to the close of the line, but 
 
INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 Still sensible to an ordinary ear. This, which is called the caesural 
 pause, may fall, in English heroic verse, after the fourth, fifth, sixth, or 
 seventh, syllable in the line. Where the verse is so constructed that 
 this caesural pause coincides with the slightest pause or division in the 
 sense, the line can be read easily ; as in the two first verses of Pope's 
 Messiah : 
 
 ' Ye nymphs of Solyma^ ! begin the song ; 
 To heavenly themes^^ sublimer strains belong.' 
 
 But if it should happen that words which have so strict and intimate a 
 connexion as not to bear even a momentary separation are divided from 
 one another by this caesural pause, we then feel a sort of struggle between 
 the sense and the sound, which renders it difficult to read such lines 
 harmoniously. The rule of proper pronunciation in such cases is, to 
 regard only the pause which the sense forms, and to read the line 
 accordingly. The neglect of the caesural pause may make the line 
 sound somewhat unharmoniously ; but the effect would be much worse, 
 if the sense were sacrificed to the sound. For instance, in the following 
 lines of Milton, 
 
 * What in me is dark, 
 
 Illumine ; what is low, raise and support,' 
 
 the sense clearly dictates the pause after illumine, at the end of the third 
 syllable, which, in reading, ought to be made accordingly ; though, if 
 the melody only were to be regarded, illumine should be connected with 
 what follows, and the pause not made till the fourth or sixth syllable. 
 So m the following line of Pope's Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, 
 
 * I sit, with sad civility I read,' 
 
 the ear plainly points out the cajsural pause as falling after sad, the fourth 
 syllable. But it would be very bad reading to make any pause thiere, 
 so as to separate sad and civility. The sense admits of no other pause 
 than after the second syllable, sit, which therefore must be the only pause 
 made in reading this part of the sentence. 
 
 " There is another mode of dividing some verses, by introducing what 
 may be called demi-cajsuras, which require very slight pauses; and 
 which the reader should manage with judgment, or he will be apt to fall 
 into an afiected, sing-song mode of pronouncing verses of this kind. The 
 following lines exemplify the demi-csesura. 
 
 ' Warms' in the sun", refreshes' in the breeze, 
 Glows' in ihe stars", and blossoms' in the trees : 
 Lives' through all life"; extends through all extent, 
 Spreads' unaivided", operates' unspent.' 
 
 " Before the conclusion of this introduction, the compiler takes the 
 liberty to recommend to teachers to exercise their pupils in discovering 
 and explaining the emphatic words, and the proper tones and pauses, 
 of every portion assigned them to read, previously to their being called 
 out to the performance. These preparatory lessons, in which they should 
 be regularly examined, will improve their judgment and taste, prevent 
 the practice of reading without attention to the subject, and establish a 
 habit of readily discovering the meaning, force, and beauty, of every 
 sentence they peruse." 
 
 1 
 
? 1 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To the directions of Mr. Murray which have now been recited, the 
 author of this work has little to add, except the suggestions which are 
 given in the respective lessons which follow. One direction more, how 
 ever, he will add, which is partly expressed in borrowed language • 
 
 "Learn to speak slow ; all other graces 
 Will follow in their proper places ;" 
 And while thus slowly onward you proceed, 
 Study the meaning of whate'er you read. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS 
 
 LESSON I. 
 
 THE PERIOD. 
 The Period is a round dot or mark like this • 
 
 2. The period is generally placed after the last word in a 
 sentence. 
 
 3. When you come to a period, you must stop, as if you 
 had nothing more to read. 
 
 4. You must pronounce the word which is immediately 
 before a period, with the falling inflection of the voice. 
 
 5. But you do not know what I mean by the falling in- 
 flection of the voice. 
 
 6. I am now going to tell you. 
 
 7. Listen attentively to what I am going to say. 
 
 8. Charles has bought a new hat. 
 
 9. That sentence was read with the falling inflection of 
 the voice. 
 
 10. 1 am going to tell you in the next lesson what I mean 
 by the rising inflection of the voice. 
 
 11. Look in the next lesson, and find the eighth sentence, 
 which you have just read. 
 
 12. Tell me whether you would read it in the same man- 
 ner in the second lesson. 
 
 3 
 
M 
 
 nfTftOfetrCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 LESSON II. 
 
 THE INTERROGATION POINT, OR QUESTION 
 
 The Interrogation Pointy or Question, is a mark like 
 this ? 
 
 The interrogation point, or question, shows that a 
 question is asked, and is generally read with the rising 
 inflection of the voice, 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 13. Has Charles bought a new hat? 
 
 14. Did you say that Charles has bought a new hat? 
 
 15. Did you read the thirteenth sentence in the same 
 manner that you read the eighth ? 
 
 16. Do you know what I mean by the rising inflection of 
 the voice 1 
 
 17. Do you know now how to read a sentence with the 
 faiJing inflection of the voice? 
 
 18. Shall I tell you again ? Will you listen attentively? 
 
 19. Are the little marks after the sentences in the first 
 lesson, like those at the end of the sentences in this lesson? 
 
 20. Do you know that you have read all the sentences in 
 this lesson with the rising inflection of the voice? 
 
 21. Will you look at the following sentences, and read 
 those which are marked D, with the falling inflection of the 
 voice, and those which are marked Q,, with the rising in- 
 flection of the voice? 
 
 22. D. John has arrived. 
 Has .John arrived? 
 My father is very well. 
 Is your mother well ? 
 Mary has lost her book. 
 Has Caroline found her work-box 1 
 They who have not read these sentences well 
 
 must read them over again. 
 
 29. Q. May they who have read them well proceed to 
 the next lesson? 
 
 30. D. As soon as they understand what they have read, 
 1 shall give them a new lesson. 
 
 31. Q. Will they all be as easy as this? 
 
 23. 
 
 a. 
 
 24. 
 
 D. 
 
 25. 
 
 Q. 
 
 26. 
 
 D. 
 
 27. 
 
 Q. 
 
 28. 
 
 D. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 27 
 
 32. D. That will depend upon yourself more than 
 on me. 
 
 33. Q,. Does the D in the above sentences stand for a 
 declaration? 
 
 34. D. Yes. I think, also, that the Q, stands for a 
 question. 
 
 LESSON III. 
 
 Sometimes the sentence which ends with an interrogation 
 pointy should he read with the falling inflection of the voice 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 35. What o'clock is it 1 
 
 36. How do you do to-day ? 
 
 37. What have you in your hand? 
 
 38. Where have you been ? 
 
 39. When did your father return home? 
 
 40. How did you hear that story? 
 
 41. How much did he give for his book? 
 
 42. Whose hat is that in the entry ? 
 
 43. What did you see in the street? 
 
 44. How high is the steeple of St. Paul's Church ? 
 
 45. Where does that man live? 
 
 46. Which of those books do you prefer ? 
 
 47. Who is that at the other end of the room ? 
 
 48. Whither is that bird flying? 
 
 49. Why did you leave your place just now? 
 
 50. Wherefore do you not try to read correctly ? 
 
 LESSON IV. 
 
 Sometimes the first part of a sentence ending with an 
 %iiterrogation point, must he read toith the rising inflection 
 of the voice, and the last part with the falling inflection. 
 The parts of the sentence are separated hy a mark like 
 this ( , ) called a comma. At the comma the rising inflec' 
 
28 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS, 
 
 lion must be used, and at the interrogation point the falling 
 inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 51. Shall I give you a peach, or an apple? 
 
 52. Would you rather have a kite, or a football? 
 
 53. Is that John, or Charles 1 
 
 54. Are you going home, or into the school-house ? 
 
 55. Will you go now, or will you stay a little longer ? 
 
 56. Is that a Grammar, or a Geography ? 
 
 57. Do you expect to ride, or to walk 1 
 
 58. Does your father intend to build his new house in 
 the city, or in the country ? 
 
 59. Shall we now attend to our reading lessons, or to our 
 lessons in spelling ? 
 
 60. Did you go to church on the last Sabbath, or did you 
 stay at home ? 
 
 LESSON V. 
 
 Sometimes the Jirst part of a sentence ending with a 
 note of interrogation, must be read with the falling infec- 
 tion of the voice, and the last pari with the rising infec- 
 tion. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 61. Where have you been to-day? At home ? 
 
 62. Whose books are those on the floor ? Do they be- 
 long to John ? 
 
 63. Whither shall I go ? Shall I return home ? 
 
 64. What is that on the top of the house ? Is it a bird ? 
 
 65. What are you doing with your book 1 Are you tear- 
 ing out the leaves ? 
 
 66. Whom shall I send? Will John go willingly ? 
 
 67. When shall I bring you those books ? Would you 
 like to have them to-day ? 
 
 68. Who told you to return ? Did your father ? 
 
 69. How much did you pay for that book ? More than 
 three shillings ? 
 
 70. How old shall you be on your next birthday? 
 Eleven ? 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 29 
 
 71. Why did you not arrive sooner 7 Were you neces- 
 sarily detained ? 
 
 72. How often shall my brother sin against me, and I for- 
 give him 1 Till seven times ? 
 
 73. But what excuse can the Englishman plead 1 The 
 custom of duelling? 
 
 74. What concern they 1 The general cause ? 
 
 75. How many lessons are there in this book ? Are there 
 more than twenty-five ? 
 
 LESSON VI. 
 
 In this lesson some of the sentences are questions requir- 
 ing the rising, and some the falling, inflection of the voice. 
 A few sentences also ending with a period are inserted. 
 No directions are given to the pupil with regard to the 
 manner of reading them, it being desirable that his own 
 understanding, under the guidance of nature alone, should 
 direct him. But it may be observed that questions which 
 can be answered by yes, or no, generally require the rising 
 inflection of the voice ; and that questions which cannot be 
 answered by yes, or no, generally require the falling in- 
 flection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 76. John, where have you been this morning ? 
 
 77. Have you seen my father to-day. 
 
 78. That is a beautiful top. 
 
 79. Where did you get it 1 
 
 80. I bought it at the toy-shop. 
 
 81. What did you give for it? 
 
 82. I gave a shilling for it. 
 
 83. What excuse have you for coming late this morning? 
 Did you not know that it is past the school hour ? 
 
 84. If you are so inattentive to your lessons, do you think 
 that you shall make much improvement ? 
 
 85. Will you go, or stay? Will you ride, or walk ? 
 80, Will you go to-day, or to-morrow ? 
 
 87. Did he resemble his father, or his mother ? 
 
 88. Is this book yours, or mine ? 
 
 89. Do you hold the watch to-night ? We do, sn . 
 
 3^ 
 
30 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 90. Did you say that he was armed ? He was armed. 
 
 91. Did you not speak to it ? I did. 
 
 92. Art thou he that should come, or must we expect 
 another person ? 
 
 93. Why are you so silent ? Have you nothing to say ? 
 
 94. Who hath believed our report ? To whom hath the 
 arm of the Lord been revealed 1 
 
 LESSON VII. 
 
 THE EXCLAMATION POINT 
 
 Tlie Exclamation Point is a mark like this ! 
 
 The exclamation point is placed at the end of sentences 
 which express surprise, astonishment, wonder, or admiration, 
 and other strong feelings ; and such sentences are generally 
 read with the falling inflection of the voice. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 95. How cold it is to-day ! 
 
 96. What a beautiful top that is ! 
 
 97. How mysterious are the ways of Providence ! 
 
 98. How noisy those boys are in the street ! 
 
 99. What a simple fellow he is to spend his money so 
 uselessly ! 
 
 100. Poor fellow, he does not know what to do with 
 himself! 
 
 101. What a fine morning it is ! How brightly the sun 
 shines ! How verdant is the landscape ! How sweetly the 
 birds sing ! 
 
 102. Look here! See what a handsome doll my mother 
 has just given me ! 
 
 103. Good Heaven ! What an eventful life was hers ! 
 
 104. Good friends! sweet friends! let me not stir you 
 up to such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 
 
 105. Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 
 106. Oh disgrace upon manhood 1 It is strange ! It is 
 dreadful ! 
 
 107. Alas, poor country, almost afraid to kno^-n itself! 
 
INTRnDUCTORY LESSONS. 31 
 
 108. Oh glory ! glory ! mighty one on earth 1 How just- 
 ly imaged in this waterfall 1 
 
 109. Tremendous torrent ! for an instant hush the terrors 
 of thy voice ! 
 
 110. Ah, terribly the hoarse and rapid whirlpools rage 
 there ! 
 
 111. Oh! deep enchanting prelude to repose! The dawn 
 of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 
 
 112. Daughter of Faith, awake ! arise ! illume the dread 
 unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 
 
 113. It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
 
 114. Lovely art thou, oh' Peace ! and lovely are thy chil- 
 dren, and lovely are the prints of thy footsteps in the green 
 valleys 1 
 
 115. Why, here comes my father ! How quickly he has 
 returned ! Oh how glad I am to see him I 
 
 LESSON VIll. 
 
 THE PERIOD, INTERROGATION, AND EX 
 CLAMATION UNITED. 
 
 The pupil was taught, in the first lesson, (see No. 3,) that when he 
 comes to a period, he must stop, as if he had nothing more to read. At 
 the end of a paragraph, whether the period or any other mark be used, 
 a longer pause should be made than at the end of an ordinary sentence. 
 The interrogation and the exclamation points generally require pauses 
 of the same length with the period. 
 
 It may here be remarked, that good readers always make their 
 PAUSES LONG ; but whatever be the length of the pause, tlie pupil must be 
 careful that every pau^e which he makes sJiall be a total cessation of 
 
 THE VOICE. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 116. George is a good boy. He gets his lesson well. He 
 is attentive to the instructions of his teacher. He is orderly 
 and quiet at home. 
 
 117. A good scholar is known by his obedience to the 
 rules of the school. He obeys the directions of his teacher. 
 His attendance at the proper time of school is always punc- 
 
32 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 tual. He is remarkable for his diligence and attention. He 
 reads no other book than that which he is desired to read by 
 his master. He studies no lessons but those which are ap- 
 pointed for the day. He takes no toys from his pocket to 
 amuse himself or others. He pays no regard to those who 
 attempt to divert his attention from his book. 
 
 118. Do you know who is a good scholar? Can you 
 point out many in this room ? How negligent some of our 
 fellow-pupils are ! Ah ! I am afraid that many will regret 
 that they have not improved their time ! 
 
 119. Why, here comes Charles ! Did you think that he 
 would return so soon 7 I suspect that he has not been 
 pleased with his visit. Have you, Charles? And were your 
 friends glad to see you ? When is cousin Jane to be mar- 
 ried ? Will she make us a visit before she is married ? Or 
 will she wait until she has changed her name? 
 
 120. My dear Edward, how happy I am to see you ! I 
 heard of your approaching happiness with the highest pleas- 
 ure. How does Rose do 1 And how is our old whimsical 
 friend the baron ? You must be patient, and answer all my 
 questions. I have many inquiries to make. 
 
 121. The first dawn of morning found Waverley on the 
 esplanade in front of the old Gothic gate of the castle. But 
 he paced it long before the draw-bridge was lowered. He 
 produced his order to the sergeant of the guard, and was 
 admitted. The place of his friend's confinement was a 
 gloomy apartment in the- central part of the castle. 
 
 122. Do you expect to be as high in your class as your 
 brother? Did you recite your lessons as well as he did? 
 Lazy boy ! Careless child ! You have been playing these 
 two hours. You have paid no attention to your lessons. 
 You cannot say a word of them. How foolish you have 
 been ! What a waste of time and talents you have made 1 
 
 LESSON IX. 
 
 THE COMMA. 
 
 The Comma is a mark like this , 
 
 When you come to a comma in reading, you must gener- 
 ally make a short pause. Sometimes you must use the falling 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 83 
 
 tnjlection of the voice, when you come to a comma ; and 
 sometimes you must keep your voice susperided^ as if so?ne 
 one had stopped you before you Jiad read all that you in- 
 tended. In this lesson you must keep your voice suspeiuled 
 when you come to a comma ; but let the slight pau^e^ or stop 
 that you make, be a total cessation of the voice. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 123. Diligence, industry, and proper improvemenl of 
 time, are material duties of the young. 
 
 124. He is generous, just, charitable, and humane. 
 
 125. By wisdom, by art, by the united strength of a civil 
 community, men have been enabled to subdue the whole 
 race of lions, bears, and serpents. 
 
 126. The genuine glory, the proper distinction of the 
 rational species, arises from the perfection of the mental 
 powers. 
 
 127. Courage is apt to be fierce, and strength is often 
 exerted in acts of oppression. Wisdom is the associate of 
 justice. It assists her to form eqival laws, to pursue right 
 measures, to correct power, to protect weakness, and to 
 unite individuals in a common interest and general welfare. 
 Heroes may kill tyrants, but it is wisdom and laws that pre- 
 vent tyranny and oppression. 
 
 [Sometimes a comma must he read like a question.'^ 
 
 128.* Do you pretend to sit as high in school as Antho- 
 ny? Did you read as correctly, speak as loudly, or behave 
 as well as he ? 
 
 128. Do you pretend to sit as high on Olympus as Her- 
 cules ? Did you kill the Nemcan lion, the Erymanthiau 
 boar, the Lernean serpent, or Stymphalian birds ? 
 
 129. Are you the boy, of whose good conduct I have 
 heard so much ? 
 
 129. Art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I 
 have heard so much? 
 
 130. Have you not misemployed your time, wasted your 
 talents, and passed your life in idleness and vice ? 
 
 130. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority, violated 
 
 * Some of Ihe sentences which follow will be marked with the same number; 
 and such sentences are to be read in the same manner, and with the same in- 
 flection of the voice, &cc.. 
 
84 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons 
 and properties of thy fellow-subjects ? 
 
 131. Who is that standing up in his place, with his hat 
 on, and his books under his arm ? 
 
 131. Whom are they ushering from the world, with all 
 this pageantry and long parade of death ? 
 
 132. Did he recite his lesson correctly, read audibly, and 
 appear to understand what he read? 
 
 132. Was his copy written neatly, his letters made hand- 
 somely, and did no blot appear on his book ? 
 
 132. Was his wealth stored fraud fully, the spoil of orphans 
 wronged, and widows who had none to plead their rights? 
 
 132. Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil 
 genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry? 
 
 133. Is that a map which you have before you, with the 
 leaves blotted with ink ? 
 
 133. Is this a dagger, which I see before me, the handle 
 toward my hand ? 
 
 133. Will you say that your time is your own, and that 
 you have a right to employ it in the manner you please ? 
 
 [Sometimes the comma is to be read like a period, with 
 the falling inflection of the voice.] 
 
 134. The teacher directed him to take his seat, to study 
 his lesson, and to pass no more time in idleness. 
 
 134. It is said by unbelievers that religion is dull, unso- 
 cial, uncharitable, enthusiastic, a damper of human joy, a 
 morose intruder upon human pleasure. 
 
 134. Charles has brought his pen instead of his pencil, 
 his paper instead of his slate, his grammar instead of his 
 arithmetic. * 
 
 134. Perhaps you have mistaken sobriety for dulness, 
 equanimity for moroseness, disinclination to bad company 
 for aversion to society, abhorrence of vice for uncharitable- 
 ness, and piety for enthusiasm. 
 
 135. Henry was careless, thoughtless, heedless, and in- 
 attentive. 
 
 135. This is partial, unjust, uncharitable, iniquitous. 
 
 135. The history of religion is ransacked for instances of 
 persecution, of austerities, and enthusiastic irregularities. 
 
 135. Religion is often supposed to be something which 
 must be practised apart from every thing else, a distinct pro- 
 fession, a peculiar occupation. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 35 
 
 135. Dryden's mind has a larger range, and he collects 
 his images and illustrations from a more extensive circum- 
 ference of science. Dryden knew more of man in his gen- 
 eral nature, and Pope in his local manners. The notions 
 of Dryden were formed by comprehensive speculation, and 
 those of Pope by minute attention. 
 
 135. Oh ! you might deem the spot the spacious cavern 
 of some virgin mine, deep in the womb of earth, where the 
 gems grow, and diamonds put forth radiant rods, and bud 
 with amethyst and topaz. 
 
 [Sometimes the comma is to be read like an exclamation.*'^ 
 
 136. Oh how can you destroy those beautiful things which 
 your father procured for you 1 that beautiful top, those pol- 
 ished marbles, that excellent ball, and that beautifully painted 
 kite, oh how can you destroy them, and expect that he will 
 buy you new ones ! 
 
 136. Oh how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
 of charms that Nature to her votary yields ! the warbling 
 woodland, the resounding shore, the pomp of groves, the 
 garniture of fields, all that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
 and all that echoes to the song of even, all that the moun- 
 tain's sheltering bosom shields, and all the dread magnifi- 
 cence of heaven, oh how canst thou renounce and hope to 
 be forgiven ! 
 
 137. Oh winter ! ruler of the inverted year ! thy scattered 
 hair with sleetlike ashes filled, thy breath congealed upon 
 thy lips, thy cheeks fringed with a beard made white with 
 other snows than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in 
 clouds, a leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne a sliding 
 car, indebted to no wheels, but urged by storms along its 
 slippery way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest, and 
 dreaded as thou art ! 
 
 138. Lovely art thou, O Peace ! and lovely are thy children, 
 and lovely are the prints of thy footsteps in the green valleys. 
 
 [Sometimes the comma and other marks are to be read 
 without any pause or inflection of the voice."] 
 
 138. You see, boys, what a fine school-room we have, in 
 which you can pursue your studies. 
 
 * The pupil will notice that some sentences which contain a question, to 
 which no answer is given or expected, are marked with an exclamation point 
 instead of an interrogation point ; but such sentences generally express sur- 
 prise or astonishment, &c. The sentences numbered 13G are of this kind 
 3ee Clark's English Grammar, Page 190. 
 
36 FNTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 138. You see, my son, this wide and large firmament 
 over our heads, where the sun and moon, and all the stars 
 appear in their turns. 
 
 138. Therefore, my child, fear, and worship, and love 
 God. 
 
 138. He, that can read as well as you can, James, need 
 not be ashamed to read aloud. 
 
 138. He, that can make the multitude laugh and weep as 
 you can, Mr. Shakspeare, need not fear scholars. 
 
 139. I consider it my duty, at this time, to tell you, that 
 you have done something, of which you ought to be 
 ashamed. 
 
 139. I deem it my duty, on this occasion, to suggest, that 
 the land is not yet wholly free from the contamination of a 
 traffic, at which every feeling of humanity must revolt. 
 
 140. The Spaniards, while thus employed, were sur- 
 rounded by many of the natives, who gazed, in silent admi- 
 ration, upon actions which they could not comprehend, and 
 of which they did not foresee the consequences. The dress 
 of the Spaniards, the whiteness of their skins, their beards, 
 their arms, appeared strange and surprising. 
 
 141. Yet, fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, beau- 
 tiful stream! by the village side, but windest away from the 
 haunts of men, to silent valley and shaded glen. 
 
 142. But it is not for man, either solely or principally, 
 that night is made, 
 
 143. We imagine, that, in a world of our own creation, 
 there would always be a blessing in the air, and flowers and 
 fruits on the earth. 
 
 144. Share with you ! said his father — so the industrious 
 must lose his labor to feed the idle. 
 
 144. His brother, Moses, did not imitate his example. 
 
 LESSON X. 
 
 [Sometimes the pause of a comma must be made where 
 there is no pause in your book. Spaces are left in the fol- 
 lowing sentences where the pause is proper. "] 
 
 145. James was very much delighted with the picture 
 which he saw. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 37 
 
 145. The Europeans were hardly less amazed at the 
 scene now before them. 
 
 146. The inhabitants were entirely naked. Their 
 black hair, long and curled, floated upon their shoulders, 
 or was bound in tresses around their head. 
 
 147. Persons of reflection and sensibility contemplate 
 with interest the scenes of nature. 
 
 148. The succession and contrast of the seasons give 
 scope to that care and foresight, diligence and industry, which 
 are essential to the dignity and enjoyment of human be- 
 ings. 
 
 149. The eye is sweetly delayed on every object to 
 which it turns. It is grateful to perceive how widely, 
 yet chastely, nature hath mixed her colors and painted 
 her robe. 
 
 150. Winter compensates for the want of attractions 
 abroad by fireside delights and homefelt joys. In 
 all this interchange and variety we find reason to ac- 
 knowledge the wise and benevolent care of the God 
 of seasons. 
 
 [77te pupil may read the follovnng sentences ; hut before reading tJiem, 
 he may tell after what word the pause should he made. The pause is not 
 printed in the sentences , but it must he made when reading them. Jlnd 
 here it may he observed, that the comma is more frequently used to point 
 out the grammatical divisions of a sentence, than to indicate a rest or 
 cessation of the voice. Good reading depends much upon skill and judg- 
 ment in making those pauses which the sense of the sentence dictates, hut 
 which are not noted in the book; and the sooner the pupil is taught to 
 make them, with proper discrimination, the surer and the more rapid will 
 be his progress in the art of reading.} 
 
 151. While they were at their silent meal a horseman 
 came galloping to the door, and, with a loud voice, called 
 out that he had been sent express with a letter to Gilbert 
 Ainslee. 
 
 152. The golden head that was wont to rise at that part 
 of the table was now wanting. 
 
 153. For even though absent from school I shall get the 
 lesson. 
 
 153. For even though dead I will control the trophies of 
 the capitol. 
 
 154. It is now two hundred years since attempts have 
 been made to civilize the North American savage. 
 
 l.>5. Doing well has something more in it than the fulfil- 
 lintr of a duty. 
 
 4 
 
38 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 156. You will expect me to say something of the lonely 
 records of the former races that inhabited this country. 
 
 157. There is no virtue without a characteristic beauty 
 to make it particularly loved by the good, and to make the 
 bad ashamed of their neglect of it. 
 
 158. A sacrifice was never yet offered to a principle, that 
 was not made up to us by self-approval, and the considera- 
 tion of what our degradation would have been had we done 
 otherwise. 
 
 159 The following story has been handed down by family 
 tradition for more than a century. 
 
 160. The succession and contrast of the seasons give 
 scope to that care and foresight, diligence and industry, 
 which are essential to the dignity and enjoyment of human 
 beings, whose happiness is connected with the exertion of 
 their faculties. 
 
 161. A lion of the largest size measures from eight to 
 nine feet from the muzzle to the origin of the tail, which 
 last is of itself about four feet long. The height of the 
 larger specimens is four or five feet. 
 
 162. The following anecdote will show with what obstinate 
 perseverance pack horses have been known to preserve the 
 line of their order. 
 
 163. Good morning to you, Charles 1 Whose book is that 
 which you have under your arm? 
 
 163. A benison upon thee, gentle huntsman ! Whose 
 towers are these that overlook the wood ? 
 
 164. The incidents of the last few days have been such 
 as will probably never again be witnessed by the people of 
 America, and such as were never before witnessed by any 
 nation under heaven. 
 
 165. To the memory of Andre his country has erected 
 the most magnificent monuments, and bestowed on his fam- 
 ily the highest honors and most liberal rewards. To the 
 memory of Hale not a stone has been erected, and the trav 
 eller asks in vain for the place of his long sleep. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. '*^^ 
 
 LESSON XI. 
 
 THE SEMICOLON. 
 
 The Semicolon is made by a comma placed under a period, 
 this 5 
 
 WJien you come to a semicoIo?i, you must generally mxike a 
 pause twice as long as you would make at a comma. 
 
 Sometimes you must use the falling inflection of the voice 
 when yaiL come to a semicolon^ and sometimes you must keep 
 your voice suspended, as you were directed in the ninth lesson. 
 Whatever may be the length of the pauses, let it be a total 
 CESSATION of the voice. 
 
 "When you come to a semicolon in this lesson^ you must 
 keep your voice suspended^ as you were directed in the ninth 
 lesson. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 166. That God whom you see me daily worship ; whom I 
 daily call upon to bless both you and me, and all mankind ; 
 whose wondrous acts are recorded in those Scriptures which 
 you constantly read ; that God who created the heaven and 
 the earth is your Father and Friend. 
 
 167. My son, as you have been used to look to me in all 
 your actions, and have been afraid to do any thing unless 
 you first knew my will ; so let it now be a rule of your life 
 to look up to God in all your actions. 
 
 168. If I have seen any perish for want of clothing, or 
 any poor without covering; if his loins have not blessed me, 
 and if he were not warmed with the fleece of my sheep ; if 
 I have lifted up my hand against the fatherless, when I saw 
 my help in the gate ; then let mine arm fall from my shoul 
 der blade, and mine arm be broken from the bone. 
 
 169. The stranger did not lodge in the street; but I 
 opened my doors to the traveller. 
 
 170. If my land cry against me, or the furrows thereof 
 complain ; if I have eaten the fruits thereof without money, 
 or have caused the owners thereof to lose their life ; let 
 thistles grow instead of wheat, and cockles instead of barley. 
 
 171. When the fair moon, refulgent lamp of night, o'er 
 heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light; when not a 
 
40 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 breath disturbs the deep serene, and not a cloud o'ercasts the 
 solemn scene; around her throne the vivid planets roll, and 
 stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole ; o'er the dark trees 
 a yellower verdure shed, and tip with silver every mountain's 
 head; then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, a flood 
 of glory bursts from all the skies; the conscious swains, re- 
 joicing in the sight, eye the blue vault, and bless the useful 
 light. 
 
 172. When the battle was ended, the stranger disappeared : 
 and no person knew whence he had come, nor whither he had 
 gone. 
 
 173. The relief was so timely, so sudden, so unexpected, 
 and so providential ; the appearance and the retreat of him 
 who furnished it were so unaccountable; his person was so 
 dignified and commanding; his resolution so superior, and 
 his interference so decisive, that the inhabitants believed him 
 to be an angel, sent by Heaven for their preservation. 
 
 LESSON XII. 
 
 Sometimes you must use the falling inflection of the voice 
 when you come to a semicolon, as in the following 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 174. Let your dress be sober, clean, and modest; not to 
 set off the beauty of your person, but to declare the sobriety 
 of your mind; that your outward garb may resemble the in- 
 ward plainness and simplicity of your heart. 
 
 175. In meat and drink, observe the rules of Christian 
 temperance and sobriety ; consider your body only as the 
 servant and minister of your soul ; and only so nourish it, 
 as it may best perform an humble and obedient service. 
 
 176. Condescend to all the weakness and infirmities of 
 your fellow-creatures; cover their frailties; love their excel- 
 lences; encourage their virtues; relieve their wants; rejoice 
 in their prosperity; compassionate their distress; receive their 
 friendship; overlook their unkindness; forgive their malice; 
 be a servant of servants; and condescend to do the lowest 
 offiGes for the lowest of mankind. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 41 
 
 177. Struck with the sight of so fine a tree, he hastened 
 to liis own, hoping to find as large a crop upon it; but, to his 
 great surprise, he saw scarcely any thing, except branches, 
 covered with moss, and a few yellow leaves. 
 
 178. In sleep's serene oblivion laid, I've safely passed the 
 silent night ; again I see the breaking shade, again behold 
 tiie morning light. 
 
 179. New-born, I bless the waking hour ; once more, with 
 awe, rejoice to be ; my conscious soul resumes her power, 
 and soars, my guardian God, to thee. 
 
 180. That deeper shade shall break away; that deeper 
 sleep shall leave mine eyes; thy light shall give eternal 
 day ; thy love, the rapture of the skies. 
 
 191. In the sight of our law the African slave trader is a 
 pirate and a felon ; and in the sight of Heaven, an offender 
 far beyond the ordinary depth of human guilt. 
 
 182. Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose; the 
 spectacles set them unhappily wrong; the point in dispute 
 was, as all the world knows, to which the said spectacles 
 ought to belong. 
 
 183. What hope of liberty is there remaining, if whatever 
 is their pleasure, it is lawful for them to do; if what is lawful 
 for them to do, they are able to do ; if what they are able to 
 do, they dare do; if what they dare do, they really execute; 
 and if what they execute, is in no way offensive to you ? 
 
 184. Mercury, I won't go in the boat with that fellow. He 
 has murdered his countryman ; he has murdered his friend ; 
 I say I won't go in the boat with that fellow ; I will swim over 
 the river; I can swim like a duck. 
 
 185. It is not the use of the innocent amusements of life 
 which is dangerous, but the abuse of them; it is not when 
 they are occasionally, but when they are constantly pursued ; 
 when the love of amusement degenerates into a passion; and 
 when, from being an occasional indulgence, it becomes an 
 habitual desire. 
 
 186. The prevailing color of the body of a tiger is a deep 
 tawny, or orange yellow ; the face, throat, and lower part of 
 the belly are nearly white; and the whole is traversed by 
 numerous long black stripes. 
 
 187. The horse, next to the Hottentot, is the favorite prey 
 of the lion ; and the elephant and camel are both highly rel- 
 ished ; while the sheep, owing probably to its woolly fleece, 
 is seldom molested. 
 
 188. The lion, with his strong teeth, breaks large bones 
 
 4# 
 
49 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 with the greatest ease; and he often swallows their fragments 
 along with the flesh. 
 
 189. The horse is quick-sighted; he can see things in the 
 night which his rider cannot perceive; but when it is too 
 dark for his sight, his -sense of smelling is his guide. 
 
 190. In summer, horses in the country feed on grass, or on 
 grass and oats; in winter, they eat oats, corn, and hay. When 
 grazing in the pasture, they always choose the shortest grass, 
 because it is the sweetest ; and as they have cutting teeth in 
 both their jaws, they can eat very near the ground. 
 
 LESSON XIII. 
 
 The semicolon is sometimes used for a question ^ and some- 
 times as an exclamation. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 192. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated 
 the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons 
 and properties of thy fellow-subjects 1 
 
 193. Oh, it was impious ; it was unmanly ; it was poor and 
 pitiful ! 
 
 194. Have not you too gone about the earth like an evil 
 genius; blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; plun- 
 dering, ravaging, killing without law, without justice, merely 
 to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion ? 
 
 195. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to 
 sight? Or art thou but a dagger of the mind ; a false crea- 
 tion, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? 
 
 196. Has Mercury struck thee with his enfeebling rod ; 
 or art thou ashamed to betray thy awkwardness? [^This 
 sentence should he read as directed in Lesson 4.] 
 
 197. By such apologies shall man insult his Creator; and 
 shall he hope to flatter the ear of Omnipotence? Think you 
 that such excuses will gain new importance in their ascent 
 to the Majesty on high ; and will you trust the interests of 
 eternity in the hands of these superficial advocates? 
 
 198. And shall not the Christian blush to repine; the 
 Christian, from before whom the veil is removed ; to whose 
 eyes are revealed the glories of \eaven? 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 43 
 
 199. Why, for so many a year, has the poet and the philoso- 
 pher wandered amidst the fragments of Athens or of Rome; 
 and paused, with strange and kindling feelings, amidst their 
 broken columns, their mouldering temples, their deserted 
 plains? It is because their day of glory is passed; it is be- 
 cause their name is obscured; their power is departed; their 
 influence is lost! 
 
 200. Where are they who taught these stones to grieve ; 
 where are the hands that hewed them ; and the hearts that 
 reared them? 
 
 201. Hope ye by these to avert oblivion's doom ; in grief 
 ambitious, and in ashes vain? 
 
 202. Can no support be offered ; can no source of confi- 
 dence be named? 
 
 203. Is this the man that made the earth to tremble ; that 
 shook the kingdoms; that made the world like a desert; 
 that destroyed the cities ? 
 
 203. Falsely luxurious, will not man awake ; and, spring- 
 ing from the bed of sloth, enjoy the cool, the fragrant, and 
 the silent hour, to meditation due and sacred song? 
 
 204. But who shall speak before the king when he is trou- 
 bled ; and who shall boast of knowledge when he is distressed 
 by doubt ? 
 
 205. Who would in such a gloomy state remain longer 
 than nature craves ; when every muse and every blooming 
 pleasure wait without, to bless the wildly devious morning 
 walk? 
 
 206. Farewell ! May the smile of Him who resides in 
 the heaven of heavens be upon thee ; and against thy name, 
 in the volume of his will, may happiness be written ! 
 
 207. What a glorious monument of human invention, that 
 has thus triumphed over wind and wave; has brought the 
 ends of the earth in communion ; has established an inter- 
 change of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the 
 north all the luxuries of the south; diffused the light of 
 knowledge and the charities of cultivated life; and has thus 
 bound together those scattered portions of the human race, 
 between which, nature seems to have thrown an insurmount- 
 able barrier ! 
 
 20S. Who that bears a human bosom, hath not often felt, 
 liovv dear are all those ties which bind our race in gentleness 
 together ; and how sweet their force, let fortune's wayward 
 Hand the while be kind or cruel? 
 
 209. If it was intended for us as well as you, why has not 
 
44 INTRODtJCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 the Great Spirit given it to us ; and not only to us, but why- 
 did he not give to our forefathers the knowledge of that book, 
 with the means of rightly understanding it ? 
 
 LESSON XIV. 
 
 THE COLON. 
 
 The Colon consists of two periods placed one above the other j 
 thus 2 
 
 Sometimes the passage ending with a colon is to he read 
 with the voice suspended ; but it should generally be read 
 with the falling inflection of the voice. In this lesson the 
 falling inflection is required. 
 
 Be careful to let this pause he a total cessation of the 
 VOICE, — longer than that indicated by a comma, or by a semi- 
 colon. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 210. The smile of gayety is often assumed while the heart 
 aches within : though folly may laugh, guilt will sting. 
 
 211. There is no mortal truly wise and restless at the same 
 time : wisdom is the repose of the mind. 
 
 212. Nature felt her inability to extricate herself from the 
 consequences of guilt: the gospel reveals the plan of Divine 
 interposition and aid. 
 
 213. Nature confessed some atonement to be necessary : 
 the gospel discovers that the atonement is made. 
 
 2i4. Law and order are forgotten : violence and rapine 
 are abroad : the golden cords of society are loosed. 
 
 215. The temples are profaned : the soldier's curse re- 
 sounds in the house of God : the marble pavement is tram- 
 pled by iron hoofs : horses neigh beside the altar. 
 
 216. Blue wreaths of smoke ascend through the trees, 
 and betray the half-hidden cottage: the eye contemplates 
 well-thatched ricks, and barns bursting with plenty : the 
 peasant laughs at the approach of winter. 
 
 217. The necessaries of life are few, and industry secures 
 them to every man: it is the elegancies of life that empty the 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 45 
 
 purse* the knick-knacks of fashion, the gratification of pride, 
 and the indulgence of luxury, make a man poor. 
 
 218. Your tree was as fruitful, and in as good order as 
 his : it bore as many blossoms, and grew in the same soil : 
 only it was not fostered with the same care. Edmund has 
 kept his tree clear of hurtful insects : you have suffered them 
 to eat up yours in its blossom. 
 
 219. My dear children, I give you these trees : you see 
 that they are in good condition. They will thrive as much 
 by your care as they will decline by your negligence : their 
 fruits will reward you in proportion to your labor. 
 
 220. But Abraham pressed him greatly : so he turned, and 
 they went into the tent: and Abraham baked unleavened 
 bread, and they did eat. 
 
 221. A bee among the flowers in spring is one of the 
 most cheerful objects that can be looked upon. Its life ap- 
 pears to be all enjoyment : so busy and so pleased : yet it is 
 only a specimen of insect life, with which, by reason of the 
 animal being half domesticated, we happen to be better ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 222. 'Tis a picture in memory distinctly defined, with 
 the strong and unperishing colors of mind : a part of my 
 being beyond my control, beheld on that cloud, and tran- 
 scribed on my soul. 
 
 223. Bare trees and shrubs but ill you know could shelter 
 them from rain or snow : stepping into their nests they pad- 
 dled : themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled : soon 
 every father bird and mother grew quarrelsome and pecked 
 each other. 
 
 224. Yet such is the destiny of all on earth : so flour- 
 ishes and fades majestic man. 
 
 225. Let those deplore their doom whose hopes still 
 grovel in this dark sojourn : but lofty souls, who look be- 
 yond the tomb, can smile at fate, and wonder why they 
 mourn. 
 
 226. If for my faded brow thy hand prepare some fu- 
 ture wreath, let me the gifl resign : transfer the rosy gar- 
 land : let it bloom around the temples of that friend be- 
 loved, on whose maternal bosom, even now, I lay my aching 
 head. 
 
 227. We do not understand these things: we are told 
 that your religion was given to your forefathers, and has 
 been handed down from father to son. We also have a 
 religion which was given to our forefathers, and has been 
 
46 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 handed down to us: it teaches us to be thankful for all 
 favors received, to love each other, and to be united: we 
 never quarrel about religion. 
 
 LESSON XV. 
 
 THE COLON, — continued. 
 
 In this lesson the passages ending with a colon are to 
 be read with the voice suspended. {See Lesson 9th.) 
 
 228. Do not flatter yourselves with the hope of perfect 
 happiness : there is no such thing in the world. 
 
 229. He was often heard to say : I have done with the 
 world ; and I am willing to leave it. 
 
 229. Be not a niggard of your speech : how goes it 1 
 
 229. Those will be bad days to acquire and cultivate the 
 spirit of devotion : but the spirit of devotion, acquired, and 
 cultivated, and confirmed before, will convert those bad days 
 into good ones. 
 
 230. But, when old age has on your temples shed her 
 silver frost, there's no returning sun : swift flies our summer, 
 swift our autumn's fled, when youth, and spring, and golden 
 joys, are gone. 
 
 231. A divine legislator, uttering his voice from heaven; 
 an almighty governor, stretching forth his arm to punish or 
 reward ; informing us of perpetual rest prepared hereafter 
 for the righteous, and of indignation and wrath awaiting the 
 wicked : these are the considerations which overawe the 
 world, which support integrity, and check guilt. 
 
 232. Not to the rosy maid, whom former hours beheld 
 me fondly covet, tune I now the melancholy lyre: but 'tis 
 to thee, O Sickness ! 'tis to thee I wake the silent strings. 
 
 233.* A boy at school is by no means at liberty to read 
 what books he pleases : he must give attention to those 
 which contain his lessons; so that when he is called upon 
 to recite, he may be ready, fluent, and accurate in repeating 
 the portion assigned him. 
 
 233. A poet is by no means at liberty to invent what 
 system of the marvellous he pleases : he must avail himself 
 
 * See note on page 33. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 47 
 
 either of the religious faith, or the superstitious credulity 
 of the country wherein he lives ; so as to give an air of 
 probability to events which are most contrary to the com- 
 mon course of nature. 
 
 2J34.* It is not only in the school-room, that attention 
 should be given to your books : there is a place, one not 
 like a school-room ; I mean your own chamber : where you 
 can find many opportunities of acquiring knowledge. 
 
 234. It is not only in the sacred fane that homage should 
 be paid to the Most High : there is a temple, one not made 
 with hands; the vaulted firmament: far in the woods, almost 
 beyond the sound of city-chime, at intervals heard through 
 the breezeless air. 
 
 235. As we perceive the shadow to have moved along 
 the dial, but did not perceive its moving; and it appears 
 that the grass has grown, though nobody ever saw it grow : 
 so the advances we make in knowledge, as they consist of 
 such minute steps, are perceivable only by the distance 
 gone over. 
 
 236. When the proud steed shall know why man restrains 
 his fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains ; when the dull 
 ox, why now he breaks the clod, is now a victim, and now 
 Egypt's god : then shall man's pride and dulness compre- 
 hend his actions', passions', being's use and end. 
 
 237. Jehovah, God of hosts, hath sworn, saying : Surely 
 as I have devised, so shall it be ; and as I have purposed, 
 so shall it stand. 
 
 238. That day he wore a riding coat, but not a whit the 
 warmer he : another was on Thursday brought, and ere the 
 Sabbath he had three. 
 
 239. George, you must not laugh at me; I will not bear 
 It. You forget what you are about when you ridicule me : 
 I know more than you do about the lessons. 
 
 239. Brutus, bay not me; I'll not endure it. You for- 
 get yourself, to hedge me in : I am a soldier, older in prac- 
 tice, abler than yourself to make conditions. 
 
 240. I never heard a word about it before, said George, 
 yesterday: who told you about it, Charles? 
 
 240. I never heard one word of it before, said my uncle 
 Toby, hastily : how came he there. Trim ? 
 
 241. Thou shalt pronounce this parable upon the king 
 of Babylon; and shalt say: How hath the oppressor ceased? 
 
 * See note on pap^e 33. 
 
48 INTRODUCTORY LESSOMS. 
 
 LESSON XVI 
 
 THE PARENTHESIS, CROTCHETS, AND 
 BRACKETS 
 
 A Parenthesis is a sentence^ or part of a sentence, en- 
 closed between two curved lines like these ( ) 
 
 The curved lines in which the parenthesis is enclosed are 
 called Crotchets. 
 
 The parenthesis, with the crotchets lohich enclose it, is 
 generally inserted between the words of another sentence, 
 and may be omitted without injuring the sense. 
 
 The parenthesis should generally be read in a quicker and 
 lower tone of voice than the other parts of the sentence in 
 which it stands. 
 
 Sometimes a sentence is enclosed in marks like these [ ] 
 which are called Brackets.* 
 
 Sentences which are included within crotchets or brackets, 
 should generally be read in a quicker and lower tone of voice. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 242. I asked my eldest son (a boy who never was guilty 
 of a falsehood) to give me a correct account of the matter. 
 
 243. The master told me that the lesson (which was a 
 very difficult one) was recited correctly by every pupil in 
 the class. 
 
 244. When they were both turned of forty, (an age in 
 which, according to Mr. Cowley, there is no dallying with 
 life,) they determined to retire, and pass the remainder of 
 their days in the country. 
 
 245. Notwithstanding all this care of Cicero, history 
 informs us, that Marcus proved a mere blockhead ; and 
 that nature (who, it seems, was even with the son for her 
 
 * Although the crotchet and the bracket are sometimes indiscriminately 
 used, the following difference in their use may generally be noticed : Crotchets 
 are used to enclose a sentence, or part of a sentence, which is inserted between 
 the parts of another sentence : brackets are generally used to separate two 
 subjects, or to enclose an explanation, note, or observation, standing b}' itself. 
 When a parenthesis occurs within another parenthesis, brackets enclose the 
 former, and crotchets enclose the latter. See No. 263. 
 Fox's Grammar, Part III., page 30. 
 
INTEODUCTORY LESSONS. 49 
 
 prodigality to the father) rendered him incapable of im- 
 proving, by all the rules of eloquence, the precepts of phi- 
 losophy, his own endeavors, and the most refined conversa- 
 tion in Athens. 
 
 246. Natural historians observe (for whilst 1 am in the 
 country I must fetch my allusions from thence) that only 
 the male birds have voices; that their songs begin a little 
 before breeding-time, and end a little after. 
 
 247. Dr. Clark has observed, that Homer is more per- 
 spicuous than any other author; but if he is so, (which yet 
 may be questioned,) the perspicuity arises from his subject, 
 and not from the language itself in which he writes. 
 
 248. The many letters which come to me from persons 
 of the best sense of both sexes (for I may pronounce their 
 characters from their way of writing) do not a little en- 
 courage me in the prosecution of this my undertaking. 
 
 249. It is this sense which furnishes the imagination with 
 its ideas; so that by the pleasures of the imagination, or 
 fancy, (terms which I shall use promiscuously,) 1 here mean 
 such as arise from visible objects. 
 
 250. The stomach (cramm'd from every dish, a tomb of 
 boiled and roast, and flesh and fish, where bile, and wind, 
 and phlegm, and acid, jar, and all the man is one intestine 
 war) remembers oft the school-boy's simple fare, the tem- 
 perate sleeps, and spirits light as air. 
 
 251. William Penn was distinguished from his com- 
 panions by wearing a blue sash of silk network, (which it 
 seems is still preserved by Mr. Kett of Seething-hall, near 
 Norwich,) and by having in his hand a roll of parchment, 
 on which was engrossed the confirmation of the treaty of 
 purchase and amity. 
 
 252. Again, would your worship a moment suppose, ('tis 
 a case that has happened, and may be again,) that the visage 
 or countenance had not a nose, pray who would, or who 
 could, wear spectacles then? 
 
 253. Upon this the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) 
 changed countenance with alarm. 
 
 254. To speak of nothing else, the arrival of the Eng- 
 lish in her father's dominions must have appeared (as indeed 
 it turned out to be) a most portentous phenomenon. 
 
 255. Surely, in this age of invention something may be 
 struck out to obviate the necessity (if such necessity exists) 
 of so tasking the human intellect. 
 
 25G. I compassionate the unfortunates now, (at this very 
 5 
 
50 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 moment, perhaps,) screwed up perpendicularly in the seat 
 of torture, having in the right hand a fresh-nibbed patent 
 pen, dipped ever and anon into the ink-bottie, as if to hook 
 up ideas, and under the outspread palm of the left hand a 
 fair sheet of best Bath post, (ready to receive thoughts yet 
 unhatched,) on which their eyes are rivetted with a stare of 
 disconsolate perplexity, infinitely touching to a feeling mind. 
 
 257. Oh the unspeakable relief (could such a machine 
 be invented) of having only to grind tin answer to one of 
 one's dear five hundred friends! 
 
 25S. Have I not groaned under similar horrors, from the 
 hour when I was first shut up (under lock and key, I believe) 
 to indite a dutiful epistle to an honored aunt ? 
 
 259. To such unhappy persons, then, I would fain oflfer a 
 few hints, (the fruit of long experience,) which may prove 
 serviceable in the hour of emergency. 
 
 269. If ever you should come to Modena, (where, among 
 other relics, you may see Tassoni's bucket,) stop at a palace 
 near the Reggio gate, dwelt in of old by one of the Donati. 
 
 261. My father and my uncle Toby (clever soul) were 
 sitting by the fire with Dr. Slop ; and Corporal Trim (a 
 brave and honest fellow) was reading a sermon to them. — As 
 the sermon contains many parentheses, and affords an op- 
 portunity also of showing you a sentence in brackets, (you 
 will observe that all the previous parentheses in this lesson 
 are enclosed in crotchets,) I shall insert some parts of it in 
 the following numbers. [See No. 262, 263, &c.] 
 
 262. To have the fear of God before our eyes, and in our 
 mutual dealings with each other, to govern our actions by 
 the eternal measures of right and wrong: the first of these 
 will comprehend the duties of religion ; the second those of 
 morality, which are so inseparably connected together, that 
 you cannot divide these two tables, even in imagination, 
 (though the attempt is often made in practice,) without 
 breaking and mutually destroying them both. [Here my 
 father observed that Dr. Slop was fast asleep.] I said the 
 attempt is often made; and so it is; there being nothing 
 more common than to see a man who has no sense at all of 
 religion, and, indeed, has so much honesty as to pretend to 
 none, who would take it as the bitterest affront, should you 
 but hint at a suspicion of his moral character, or imagine he 
 was not conscientiously just and scrupulous to the uttermost 
 mite. 
 
INTKODUCTORi^ LESSONS. 51 
 
 263. I know the banker I deal vvitli, or the physician I 
 usually call in, [There is no need, cried Dr. Slop (waking) 
 to call in any physician in this case,] to be neither of them 
 men of much religion. 
 
 264. For a general proof of this, examine the history of 
 the Romish Church: [Well, what can you make of that? 
 cried Dr. Slop:] see wliat scenes of cruelty, murder, rapine, 
 bloodshed, [They may thank their own obstinacy, cried 
 Dr. Slop,] have all been sanctified by religion not strictly 
 governed by morality. 
 
 26'5. Experienced schoolmasters may quickly make a 
 grammar of boys' natures, and reduce them all (saving 
 some few exceptions) to certain general rules, 
 
 266. Ingenious boys, who are idle, think, with the hare 
 in the fable, that, running with snails, (so they count the 
 rest of their school-fellows,) they shall come soon enough 
 to the post; though sleeping a good while before their 
 starting. 
 
 LESSON XVII. 
 
 THE DASH. 
 
 The Dash is a straight mark like this — 
 
 The dash is sometimes used to express a sudden stop, or 
 change in the subject. 
 
 Sometimes the dash requires a pause no longer than a 
 com7na, and sometimes a longer pause than a period. 
 
 The dash is frequently/ used instead of crtftchcts or brackets^ 
 and a parenthesis is thus placed bettoccn two dashes. [See 
 iV/m6cr281.] 
 
 The dash is sometimes used to precede something unex- 
 pected ; as when a sentence beginning seriously ends hu- 
 morously. [Sec Numbers 311 ^o 318.] 
 
 In the following sentences the dash expresses a sudden stop, 
 or change of the subject. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 . 267. If you will give me your attention, I will show you — 
 but stop, I do not know that you wish to see. 
 
52 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 268. Alas ! that folly and falsehood should be so hard 
 to grapple with — but he that hopes to make mankind the 
 wiser for his labors, must not be soon tired. 
 
 269. I stood to hear — I love it well — the rain's con- 
 tinuous sound ; small drops, but thick and fast they fell, 
 down straight into the ground. 
 
 270. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that 
 fear ever uttered — I may well term them dreadful, for they 
 haunted my sleep for years afterwards. 
 
 271. Each zone obeys thee — thou goest forth dread, 
 fathomless, alone. 
 
 272. Please your honors, quoth Trim, the inquisition is 
 
 the vilest . Prithee spare thy description, Trim. I 
 
 hate the very name of it, said my father. 
 
 273. The fierce wolf prowls around thee — there he 
 stands listening — not fearful, for he nothing fears. 
 
 274. The wild stag hears thy falling waters' sound, and 
 tremblingly flies forward — o'er his back he bends his state- 
 ly horns — the noiseless ground his hurried feet impress not 
 — and his track is lost amidst the tumult of the breeze, and 
 the leaves falling from the rustling trees. 
 
 275. The wild horse thee approaches in his turn. His 
 mane stands up erect — his nostrils burn — he snorts — he 
 pricks his ears — and starts aside. 
 
 276. The music ceased, and Hamish Fraser, on coming 
 back into the shealing, (or shed,) said, I see two men on 
 horseback coming up the glen — one is on a white horse. 
 Ay — blessed be God, that is the good priest — now will I 
 die in peace. My last earthly thoughts are gone by — he 
 will show me the salvation of Christ — the road that leadeth 
 to eternal life. 
 
 277. There was silence — not a word was said — their 
 meal was before them — God had been thanked, and they 
 began to eat. 
 
 277. They hear not — see not — know not — for their 
 eyes are covered with thick mists — they will not see. 
 
 278. The God of gods stood up — stood up to try the 
 assembled gods of earth. 
 
 279. And ye like fading autumn leaves will fall; your 
 throne but dust — your empire but a grave — your martial 
 pomp a black funereal pall — your palace trampled by your 
 meanest slave. 
 
 280. To-day is thine — improve to-day, nor trust to- 
 morrow's distant ray. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 53 
 
 2S1. And thus, in silent waiting, stood the piles of stone 
 and piles of wood ; till Death, who, in his vast affairs, never 
 puts things off — as men in theirs — and tliiis, if 1 the truth 
 must tell, does his work Ji nail i/ and well — winked at our 
 hero as he passed, — Your house is finished, sir, at last; 
 a narrower house — a house of clay — your palace for 
 another day. 
 
 282. For some time the struggle was most amusing — the 
 fish pulling, and the bird screaming with all its might — the 
 one attempting to fly, and the other to swim from its invisi- 
 ble enemy — the gander at one moment losing and the next 
 regaining his centre of gravity. 
 
 The dash is sometimes to be read as a period, with the falling 
 inflection of the voice. 
 
 283. The favored child of nature, who combines in her- 
 self these united perfections, may justly be considered as the 
 masterpiece of creation — as the most perfect image of the 
 Divinity here below. 
 
 284. Now launch the boat upon the wave — the wind is 
 blowing off the shore — I will not live a cowering slave, in 
 these polluted islands more. 
 
 285. The wind is blowing off the shore, and out to sea 
 the streamers fly — my music is the dashing roar, my canopy 
 the stainless sky — it bends above, so fair a blue, that heaven 
 seems opening to my view. 
 
 286. He had stopped sAon after beginning the tale — he 
 had laid the fragment away among his papers, and had never 
 looked at it again. 
 
 287. The exaltation of his soul left him — he sunk down 
 — and his misery went over him like a flood. 
 
 2S8. May their fate be a mock-word — may men of all 
 lands laugh out with a scorn that shall ring to the poles. 
 
 289. You speak like a boy — like a boy who thinks the 
 old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young 
 sapling. 
 
 290. 1 am vexed for the bairns — I am vexed when I 
 think of Robert and Hamish living their father's life — But 
 let us say no more of this. 
 
 291. He hears a noise — he is all awake — again he 
 hears a noise — on tiptoe down the hill he softly creeps — 
 'Tis Goody Blake ! She is at the hedge of Harry Gill. 
 
 292. Mr. Playfair was too indulgent, in truth, and favora- 
 
 5* 
 
54 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 ble to his friends — and made a kind of liberal allowance for 
 the faults of all mankind — except only faults of baseness or 
 of cruelty ; against which he never failed to manifest the 
 most open scorn and detestation. 
 
 293. Towards women he had the most chivalrous feelings 
 of regard and attention, and was, beyond almost all men, 
 acceptable and agreeable in their society — though with- 
 out the least levity or pretension unbecoming his age or 
 condition. 
 
 The clash is sometimes to be read like a comma^ with the 
 
 voice suspended. [See Lesson 9M.] 
 
 294. Vain men, whose brains are dizzy with ambition, 
 bright your swords — your garments flowery, like a plain in 
 the spring-time — if truth be your delight, and virtue your 
 devotion, let your sword be bared alone at wisdom's sacred 
 word. 
 
 295. I have always felt that I could meet death with com- 
 posure ;*but I did not know, she said, with a tremulous voice, 
 her lips quivering — I did not know how hard a thing it 
 would be to leave my children, till now that the hour is 
 come. 
 
 296. The mountain — thy pall and thy prison — may 
 keep thee. 
 
 297. And Babylon shall become — she that was the 
 beauty of kingdoms, the glory of the pride of the Chal- 
 deans — as the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah by the 
 hand of God. 
 
 298. Our land — the first garden of liberty's tree — it has 
 been, and shall yet be, the land of the free. 
 
 299. Earth may hide — waves ingulf — fire consume us, 
 but they shall not to slavery doom us. 
 
 300. They shall find that the name which they have 
 dared to proscribe — that the name of Mac Gregor is a spell. 
 
 301. You must think hardly of us — and it is not natural 
 tliat it should be otherwise. 
 
 302. Delightful in his manners — inflexible in his prin- 
 ciples — and generous in his affections, he had all that could 
 charm in society, or attach in private. 
 
 303. The joys of life in hurried exile go — till hope's fair 
 smile, and beauty's ray of light, are shrouded in the griefs 
 and storms of night. 
 
 304. Day after day prepares the funeral dhroud ; tb" 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 55 
 
 world is gray with age: — the striking hour is but an eclio 
 of death's summons loud — the jarring of the dark grave's 
 prison door. Into its deep abyss — devouring all — kings 
 aiid the friends of kings alike must fall. 
 
 305. No persuasion could induce little Flora to leave the 
 shealing — and Hamish Fraser was left to sit with her all 
 night beside the bed. 
 
 306. One large star arose in heaven — and a wide white 
 glimmer over a breaking mass of clouds told that the moon 
 was struggling through, and in another hour, if the upper 
 current of air flowed on, would be apparent. 
 
 307. He was too weak, however, to talk — he could only 
 look iiis thanks. 
 
 308. She made an effort to put on something like mourn- 
 ing for her son ; and nothing could be more touching than 
 this strui£gle between pious affection and utter poverty : a 
 black ribbon or so — a faded black handkerchief, and one 
 or tw 'Tiore such humble attempts to express by outward 
 sign>^ :rief that passeth show. 
 
 309. v^.iC great clime, whose vigorous offspring by di- 
 viding ocean are kept apart, and nursed in the devotion of 
 freedom which their fathers fought for and bequeathed — a 
 heritage of heart and hand, and proud distinction from each 
 other land, whose sons must bow them at a monarch's mo- 
 tion, as if his senseless sceptre were a wand full of the 
 magic of exploded science — still one great clime, in full 
 and free defiance, yet rears her crest, unconquered and sub- 
 lime, above the far Atlantic. 
 
 The dash sometimes precedes something unexpected t as 
 when a sentence beginning seriously ends humorously. 
 
 310. Good people all, with one accord, lament for Madam 
 Blaize ; who never wanted a good word — from those who 
 spoke her praise. 
 
 311. The needy seldom passed her door, and always found 
 her kind; she freely lent to all the poor — who left a pledge 
 behind. 
 
 312. She strove the neighborhood to please, with manner 
 wondrous winning; and never followed wicked ways — ex- 
 cept when she was sinning. 
 
 313. At church, in silks and satin new, with hoop of 
 monstrous size, she never slumbered in her pew — but when 
 she shut her eyes. 
 
56 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 314. Her love was sought, I do aver, by twenty beaux, 
 and more; the king himself has followed her — when she 
 has walked before. 
 
 315. But now, her wealth and finery fled, her hangers-on 
 cut short all; her doctors found, when she was dead — her 
 last disorder mortal. 
 
 316. Let us lament, in sorrow sore; for Kent Street well 
 may say, that, had she lived a twelve-month more — she had 
 not died to-day. 
 
 The dash is sometimes used with other pauses to lengthen 
 them. 
 
 317. That God whom you see me daily worship, whom 
 I daily call upon to bless both you and me and all mankind; 
 whose wondrous acts are recorded in those Scriptures which 
 you constantly read, — that God who created the heavens 
 and the earth ; who appointed his Son Jesus Christ to re- 
 deem mankind: — this God, who has done all these great 
 things, who has created so many millions of men, with whom 
 the spirits of the good will live and be happy forever; — 
 this great God, the Creator of worlds of angels, and of men, 
 is your Father and Friend. 
 
 318. It is not, therefore, the use of the innocent amuse- 
 ments of life which is dangerous, but the abuse of them; — 
 it is not when they are occasionally, but when they are con- 
 stantly pursued ; when the love of amusement degenerates 
 into a passion, and when, from being an occasional indul- 
 gence, it becomes an habitual desire. 
 
 319. In every pursuit, whatever gives strength and energy 
 to the mind of man, experience teaches to be favorable to 
 the interests of piety, of knowledge, and of virtue; — in 
 every pursuit, on the contrary, whatever enfeebles or limits 
 the powers of the mind, the same experience ever shows to 
 be hostile to the best interests of human nature. 
 
 320. From the first hour of existence to the last, — from 
 the cradle of the infant, beside which the mother watches 
 with unslumbering eye, to the grave of the aged, where the son 
 pours his last tears upon the bier of his father, —7 in all that 
 intermediate time, every day calls for exertion and activity, 
 and moral honors can only be won by the steadfast mag- 
 nanimity of pious duty. 
 
 321. They say they have bought it. — Bought it! Yes: 
 — of whom ? — Of the poor trembling natives, who knew 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 57 
 
 that refusal would be vain ; and who strove to make a merit 
 of necessity, by seeming to yield with grace, what they knew 
 they had not the power to retain. 
 
 3'22. We gazed on the scenes, while around us they 
 glowed, when a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud; — 
 it was not like the sun, as at mid-day we view, nor the moon, 
 that rolls nightly through star-light and blue. 
 
 323. It is not the lifeless mass of matter, he will then 
 feel, that he is examining, — it is the mighty machine of 
 Eternal Wisdom : the workmanship of Him, in whom every 
 thing lives, and moves, and has its being. 
 
 324. The expanding rose, just bursting into beauty, has 
 an irresistible bewitchingness; — the blooming bride led 
 triumphantly to the hymeneal altar, awakens admiration and 
 interest, and the blush of her cheek fills with delight; — but 
 the charm of maternity is more sublime than all these. 
 
 325. But Winter has yet brighter scenes; — he boasts 
 splendors beyond what" gorgeous Summer knows, or Au- 
 tumn, with his many fruits and woods, all flushed with many 
 hues. 
 
 326. When suffering the inconveniences of the ruder 
 parts of the year, we may be tempted to wonder why this 
 rotation is necessary; — why we could not be constantly 
 gratified with vernal bloom and fragrance, or summer beauty 
 and profusion. 
 
 327. I feared, — said the youth, with a tear in his eye, — 
 I feared that the brute's voice, and the trampling of the 
 horse's feet, would disturb her. 
 
 328. Then a spirit passed before my face; the hair of my 
 flesh stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the 
 form thereof: an image was before mine eyes: — There 
 was silence, and I heard a voice — Shall mortal man be 
 more just than God 1 
 
 The dash is sometimes to be read as a question. 
 
 329. Is it not enough to see our friends die, and part with 
 them for the remainder of our days — to reflect that we shall 
 hear their voices no more, and that they will never look on 
 us again — to see that turning to corruption, which was but 
 just now alive, and eloquent, and beautiful with all the 
 sensations of the soul ? 
 
 330. He hears the ravens cry ; and shall he not hear, and 
 will he not avenge, the wrongs that his nobler animals suP 
 
58 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 fer — wrongs that cry out against man from youth to age, in 
 the city and in the field, by the way and by the fireside ? 
 
 331. Can we view their bloody edicts against us — their 
 hanging, heading, hounding, and hunting down an ancient 
 and honorable name — as deserving better treatment than 
 that which enemies give to enemies? 
 
 332. Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, lights 
 of the world, and demi-gods of fame ? Is this your triumph — 
 this your proud applause, children of truth, and champions 
 of her cause? 
 
 333. Still what are you but a robber — a base, dishonest 
 robber ? [See Lesson Sd, page 21th.] 
 
 334. Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant 
 band ? Was there ever — but I scorn to boast. 
 
 335. And what if thou shalt fall unnoticed by the liv- 
 ing — and no friend take note of thy departure ? 
 
 336. Seest thou yon lonely cottage in the grove — with 
 little garden neatly planned before — its roof deep-shaded 
 by the elms above, moss-grown, and decked with velvet 
 verdure o'er? 
 
 337. What shall we call them? — Piles of crystal light — 
 a glorious company of golden streams — lamps of celestial 
 ether burning bright — suns lighting systems with their joy- 
 ous beams? [See Lesson 5th, page 28tk.] 
 
 338. Can you renounce a fortune so sublime — such 
 glorious hopes — your backward steps to steer, and roll, 
 with vilest brutes, through mud and slime? No! no! your 
 heaven-touched hearts disdain the sordid crime! 
 
 The dash is sometimes to be read like an exclamation. 
 
 339. Now for the fight — now for the cannon-peal — for- 
 ward — through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fire! 
 
 340. They shake — like broken waves their squares re- 
 tire, — on them, hussars! Now give them rein and heel; 
 think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire: — earth 
 cries for blood, — in thunder on them wheel ! This hour to 
 Europe's fate shall set the triumph seal ! 
 
 341. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, 
 like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, and see the enor- 
 mous waste of vapor, tossed in billows lengthening to the 
 horizon round, now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now 
 embossed — and hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
 flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound ! 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 59 
 
 342. The chain of being is complete in me; in me is 
 matter's last gradation lost, and the next step is spirit — 
 Deity! I can command the lightning, and am dust! 
 
 343. Sadly to Blount did Eustace say. Unworthy office 
 here to stay ! no hope of gilded spurs to-day — but, see, 
 look up — on Flodden bent, the Scottish foe has fired 
 his tent. 
 
 ' 344. Good God 1 that in such a proud moment of life, 
 worth ages of history — when, had you but hurled one bolt 
 at your bloody invader, that strife between freemen and 
 tyrants had spread through the world; that then — O, dis- 
 grace upon manhood! e'en then you should falter — should 
 cling to your pitiful breath, — cower down into beasts, when 
 you might have stood men; and prefer a slave's life to a 
 glorious death ! 
 
 345. Beneath the very shadow of the fort, where friendly 
 swords were drawn, and banners flew, ah! who could deem 
 that foot of Indian crew was near 1 — Yet there, with lust of 
 murderous deeds, gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in 
 view, the ambushed foeman's eye — His volley speeds, and 
 Albert — Albert — falls! the dear old father bleeds! 
 
 346. Above me are the Alps, 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 thunderbolt of snow ! 
 
 347. Now, now, the secret I implore; out with it — speak 
 
 — discover — utter ! 
 
 348. Peace ! I'd not go if staying here would strew his 
 hoar hairs in the tomb — not stir, by Heaven ! Must I toss 
 counters? sum the odds of life, when honor points the way? 
 
 — When was the blood of Douglas precious in a noble cause? 
 
 349. How has expectation darkened into anxiety — anxie- 
 ty into dread — and dread into despair! Alas! not one 
 memento shall ever return for love to cherish. All that shall 
 ever be known is, that she sailed from her port, and was 
 never heard of more. 
 
 350. A measure of corn would hardly suffice me fine flour 
 enough for a month's provision, and this arises to above six 
 score bushels ; and many hogsheads of wine and other liquors 
 have passed through this body of mine — this wretched 
 strainer of meat and drink ! And what have I done all this 
 time for God and man? What a vast profusion of good 
 things upon a useless life and a worthless liver ! 
 
 351. Ay, cluster there, cling to your masters; judges, 
 Romans — slaves ! 
 
60 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS- 
 
 LESSON XVIII. 
 
 THE HYPHEN. 
 
 The Hyphen is a little mark like this - It resembles a 
 dash, but is not so long. 
 
 The hyphen is used to separate the syllables of a word; 
 or to make one word of tioo ; as, semi-circie, sea-water. 
 
 JVhen there is not room enough in the line for the whole 
 of a word, some of its syllables are put into the line with a 
 hyphen, and the remainder in the next line : as, extraor- 
 dinary. 
 
 TVhen a hyphen is placed over the letters a, e, i, o, u, or y, 
 it shoios that they have their long sound. 
 
 [The pupil may tell for what purpose the hyphen is used 
 in the following words.] 
 
 352. Extraneous, sea-water, semi-circle, demi-gods, Seeth- 
 ing-hall, Moss-side, plane-trees, bed-side, Birk-knowe, over- 
 canopied, toil-hardened, gray-haired, to-morrow, Sabbath- 
 day, Sardanapalus, ill-requited, thunder-cloud, European, 
 Epicurean, pine-covered, clay-cold, snow-clad, parish-clerk, 
 night-steed, moon-eyed, azure, all-wise, edict, fellow-crea- 
 tures, icy, well-founded, omega, fellow-feeling, uniform, 
 prophesy, earth-born, far-wandering, storm-clouds, hyme- 
 neal, chamber, either, fairy, lever, apiary, culinary. 
 
 LESSON XIX. 
 
 ELLIPSIS. 
 
 Ellipsis means an omission of some word or words.* 
 Sometimes a sentence is unfinished, or some parts of it are 
 
 * The ellipsis sometimes refers to syllables or letters only. See No. 359 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 61 
 
 purposely omitted; and the mark which indicates an ellipsis ^ 
 is put in the place of that which is left out. 
 
 An ellipsis is sometimes indicated by a mark like this 
 , which resembles a dash lengthened. 
 
 Sometimes the ellipsis is denoted by asterisks, or stars, like 
 these #**##* 
 
 Sometimes the ellipsis is marked by small dots, or periods, 
 like these 
 
 And sometimes the ellipsis is indicated by hyphens, like 
 these -- 
 
 The ellipsis sometimes so closely resembles a dash that it 
 is scarcely distinguishable from it. 
 
 The voice is generally suspended at an ellipsis ; but the 
 falling inflection is frequently used when the ellipsis follows 
 a question or exclamation. In some of the following sentences, 
 •t/ie dash and ellipsis are both used. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 353. Hast thou But how shall I ask a question 
 
 which must bring tears into so many eyes! 
 
 354. The air breathes invitation ; easy is the walk to 
 the lake's margin, where a boat lies moored beneath her 
 sheltering tree. — 
 
 Forth we went, and down the valley, on the streamlet's 
 bank, pursued our way, a broken company, mute or con- 
 versing, single or in pairs. 
 
 355. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? 
 if any,- speak; for him have I offended, — I pause for a 
 reply —^—^ 
 
 None ! then none have I offended. 
 
 356. It is in vain to explain : — the time it would take to 
 reveal to you 
 
 Satisfy my curiosity in writing them. 
 
 357. Indeed he is very ill, sir, Can't help it. 
 
 We are very distressed, Can't help it. Our poor 
 
 children, too Can't help that, neither. 
 
 358. Now, if he had married a woman with money, you 
 know, why, then 
 
 The suppliant turned pale, and would have fainted, 
 
 359. I have been, my dear S on an excursion 
 
 through the counties which lie along the eastern side of the 
 Blue Ridge. 
 
62 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 360. You have my answer: * * * — let my actions 
 speak. 
 
 361. No, no, Dionysius; remember that it was I alone 
 who displeased thee : Damon could not 
 
 362. U lie were all Remember haughty Henry, the 
 
 nephew of his wife, whose word could speed a veteran army 
 to his kinsman's aid. 
 
 363. I would not wound thee, Douglas, well thou know- 
 est ; but thus to hazard on a desperate cast thy golden 
 fortunes 
 
 364. For thy father's sake 
 
 Peace ! I'd not go if staying here would strew his hoar 
 hairs in the tomb not stir, by Heaven ! 
 
 365. Nay, hear me, hear me, Douglas 
 
 — Talk to me of dangers? Death and shame! is not my 
 race as high, as ancient, and as proud as thine? 
 
 366. Still must I wonder ; for so dark a cloud 
 
 Oh, deeper than thou think'st I've read thy heart. 
 
 367. Your grace will pardon me for obeying 
 
 Say no more, my child; you are yet too raw to make 
 proper distinctions. 
 
 368. Let them or suppose I address myself to 
 
 some particular sufferer — there is something more confi- 
 dential in that manner of communicating one's ideas — as 
 Moore says. Heart speaks to heart — I say, then, take es- 
 pecial care to write by candle-light. 
 
 369. To such unhappy persons, in whose miseries I 
 deeply sympathize ----- Have I not groaned under 
 similar horrors? 
 
 370. TAff^ spares manual labor — M/s would relieve from 
 
 mental drudgery, and thousands yet unborn But hold ! 
 
 I am not so sure that the female sex in general may quite 
 enter into my views on the subject. 
 
 371. I am glad to see you well : Horatio or I do 
 
 forget myself 
 
 372. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, or ever 
 I had seen that day, Horatio ! 
 
 My father methinks I see my father. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 63 
 
 LESSON XX. 
 
 APOSTROPHE, QUOTATION, AND DliERESIS. 
 
 An Apostrophe is a mark which differs from a comma only 
 in being placed above the line ; thus ' 
 
 The apostrophe shows that some letter or letters are left 
 out; as, 'iisfor it is, xho^ for though, lov'd for loved. 
 
 The apostrophe is likewise used in grammar to designate 
 the possessive case; aSy John's book. 
 
 A Quotation consists of four commas or apostrophes; two 
 placed at the beginning and tioo at the end of a word, sentence, 
 or part of a sentence. The two which are placed at the be- 
 ginning are inverted, or upside doion. 
 
 A quotation shows that the word or sentence was spoken by 
 some one, or was taken from some other author. 
 
 A Diceresis consists of two periods placed over a vowel; 
 thus, a. 
 
 The diceresis shows that the letter over which it is placed is 
 to be pronounced separately ; as, creator, Zoonomia, aerial. 
 
 [In this lesson the pupil is to recognize each of the above-men- 
 tioned marks, and explain their use.] 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 373. The fox-howl's heard on the fell (or hilH afar.* 
 
 374. The kindling fires o'er heaven so bright, look sweetly 
 out from yon azure sea. 
 
 375. Banished from Rome ! what's banished, but set free 
 
 * In this lesson, as well as in someof the preceding lessons, there are several 
 sentences of poetry, which are not divided into poetical lines. The reason of 
 this is, that, in the opinion of the author, poetical lines should not be read by 
 the pupil, without special instruction to avoid that '^ sing sono-" utterance, into 
 which ne is too apt to fall in readings verse. This subject is reserved for the 
 3(>lh lesson, where it is fully exemplihed. It remains to be observed here, that 
 abbreviations and contractions, such as occur in the poetical sentences in this 
 lesson and others, which appear in the form of prose, are not allowable in 
 prose itself. This explanation appears to be necessary, lest the authority of 
 this book should be quoted by the pupil for the use of abbreviations in prose. 
 
64 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 from daily contact of the things I loathe ? " Tried and con- 
 victed traitor" — Who says this? Who'll prove it, at his 
 peril, on my head ? " Banished V — I thank you for't. It 
 breaks my chain! I held some slack allegiance till this 
 hour — but nov/ my sword's my own. 
 
 376. Your consul's merciful. For this all thanks. He 
 
 dares not touch a hair of Catiline. " Traitor ! " I go 
 
 but I return. This trial! Here I devote your senate! 
 
 I've had wrongs, to stir a fever in the blood of age. * * * * * 
 This day is the birth of sorrows. 
 
 377. The eye could at once command a long-stretching 
 vista, seemingly closed and shut up at both extremities by 
 the coalescing cliffs. 
 
 378. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in 
 the hideous coils of the monster Python. 
 
 379. In those mournful months, v/hen vegetables and 
 animals are alike coerced by cold, man is tributary to the 
 howling storm, and the sullen sky; and is, in the pathetic 
 phrase of Johnson, a " slave to gloom." 
 
 380. I would call upon all the true sons of humanity to 
 cooperate with the laws of man and the justice of Heaven in 
 abolishing this " cursed traffic." 
 
 381. Come, faith, and people these deserts! Come and 
 reanimate these regions of forgetfulness. 
 
 382. 1 am a professed lucubrator; and who so well qual- 
 ified to delineate the sable hours, as 
 
 " A meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin ! " 
 
 383. He forsook, therefore,, the bustling tents of his 
 father, the pleasant " south country " and " well of La- 
 hairoi ; " he went out and pensively meditated at the even- 
 tide. 
 
 384. The Grecian and Roman philosophers firmly be- 
 lieved that "the dead of midnight is the noon of thought." 
 
 385. Young observes, with energy, that ** an undcvout 
 astronomer is mad.^^ 
 
 386. Young Blount his armor did unlace, and, gazing on 
 his ghastly face, said — "By Saint George, he's gone! that 
 spear-wound has our master sped; and see the deep cut 
 on his head! Good night to Marmion ! " — "Unnurtured 
 Blount ! thy brawling cease • he opes his eyes," said Eustace, 
 " peace!" — 
 
INTRODUCTORT LESSONS. 65 
 
 3S7. The first sentence, with which he broke the awful 
 silence, was a quotation from Rousseau : " Socrates died 
 like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God!" 
 
 38S A celebrated modern writer says, " Take care of 
 the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves." 
 This is an admirable remark, and might be very seasonably 
 recollected when we begin to be *' weary in well doing," 
 from the thought of having much to do. 
 
 3S\). I've seen the moon gild the mountain's* brow; I've 
 watched the mist o'er the river stealing; but ne'er did I feel 
 in my breast, till now, so deep, so calm, and so holy a feeling : 
 'tis soft as the thrill which memory throws athwart the soul 
 in the hour of repose. 
 
 390. Blest be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew from 
 Pyrrho's * maze and Epicurus' * sty ; and held high converse 
 with the godlike few, who to th' enraptured heart, and ear, 
 and eye, teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody. 
 
 391. But thou, who Heaven's * just vengeance dar'st defy, 
 this deed, with fruitless tears, shalt soon deplore. 
 
 392. O Winter ! ruler of the inverted year ! thy scatter'd 
 hair with sleet-like ashes fill'd, thy breath congeal'd upon thy 
 lips, thy cheeks fring'd with a beard made white with other 
 snows than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, a 
 leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne a sliding car, in- 
 debted to no wheels, but urg'd by storms along its slipp'ry 
 way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, and dreaded 
 as thou art ! 
 
 393. For, as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I 
 found an altar with this inscription, " To the unknown 
 God." Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare 
 I unto you. 
 
 ♦ The apostrophe in these words is the sign of the possessive case. 
 6"^ 
 
66 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 LESSON XXI. 
 
 THE ASTERISK, OBELISK, DOUBLE OBE- 
 LISK, SECTION, PARALLELS, PARAGRAPH, 
 INDEX, CARET, BREVE, AND BRACE.* 
 
 The pupil will take particular notice of the following 
 marks, so that he may call them hy name, and explain their 
 use in the following lesson. 
 
 This mark * is called an Asterisk, or Star. 
 
 This mark f is called an Obelisk. 
 
 This mark f is called a Double Obelisk. 
 
 This mark fl is called a Paragraph. 
 
 This mark § is called a Section. 
 
 These marks || are called Parallels. 
 
 The Asterisk, Obelisk, Double Obelisk, Paragraph, Sec- 
 tion, Parallel, and sometimes figures, or letters, are used to 
 shoiv that there is a note at the bottom of the page. JVJien 
 many notes occur on a page, these marks are sometimes 
 doubled. [See next page.] 
 
 The Paragraph ^ is used to show the beginning of a new 
 subject. 
 
 The Section '^ is also used to divide chapters into less 
 parts. 
 
 The Index or Hand (][/* points to something which r©- 
 quires particular attention. 
 
 The Breve ^-^ is placed over a letter to show that it has a 
 short sound; as, Helena. 
 
 Hie Brace > is used to unite several lines of poetry, or 
 to connect a number of words with one common term. 
 
 The Caret A is never used in printed books ; but in wri- 
 ting it shows that something has accidentally been left out ; as, 
 
 recited 
 
 George has his lesson. 
 
 A 
 
 * The teacher will find, in Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III,, pag-o 
 21st to 35th, a complete enumeration of all the marks used in written lang^uaj^e, 
 with rules, observations, and practical exercises for the pupil in the use of them, 
 iuore extensive and particular than he will probably find in any other werk. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 67 
 
 ffj' When several asterisks or stars are placed together, they repre- 
 Bcnt an ellipsis. [See Lesson 19th.] 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 394. Many persons pronounce the word Helena,* incor 
 rectly. They call it Helena ; and the words ac'ceptable, rec- 
 ognize, Epicure'an, and Europe'an, are frequently incorrectly 
 called accep'table, recog'nize, Epicu'rean, and Euro'pean. 
 
 395. The leprosy, therefore, of Naaman shall cleave unto 
 thee. * ♦ * ♦ And he went out from his presence a leper 
 as white as snow. 
 
 396. The Cougar t is the largest animal of the cat kind, 
 found in North America; and has occasionally received the 
 name of the American lion, from the similarity of its pro- 
 portions and color to those of the lion of the old world. 
 
 397. The keeper of the elephant gave him a gallon of 
 arrack, f which rendered the animal very furious. 
 
 398. I fell upon my knees on the bank, with my two 
 servants, and the drogoman§ of the monastery. 
 
 399. The history of Joseph is exceedingly interesting 
 and instructive. II 
 
 400. It was a cave, a huge recess, that keeps, till June, 
 December's snow; a lofty precipice in front, a silent 
 tarn ^ below. 
 
 401. C-e-o-u-s, ^ 
 
 c? '•" ' ' / are pronounced like shiis. 
 b-c-i-o-u-s, i '^ 
 
 T-i-o-u-s, ) 
 
 402. See where the rector's** splendid mansion stands, 
 embossed deep in new enclosed lands, — lands wrested from 
 the indigent and poor, because, forsooth, he holds the village 
 cure.tt 
 
 403. When the young blood danced jocund through his 
 veins, 'tis said his sacred stole fj received some stains. 
 
 404. Their wants are promised Bridewell,§<5 or the stocks. 
 
 * This is the name of a small island situated on the west of Africa, noted 
 for the exile of Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 t Pronounced Coo'-sar. Tne name given to this animal, by the country 
 people, generally, is painter, evidently a corruption of panther. 
 
 X Arrack is a very strong spirituous liquor. 
 
 & Drogoman means an interpreter. 
 
 II The whole history of Joseph will be foinid in the Bible j from the 37 Ji 
 clinpter to l!ie cud of the book of Genesis. 
 
 U Ta n is a small lake, high up in the mountains. 
 
 ** A . l.Tj;\ man. ft Cure, — The office of a clergyman. 
 
 J* l^l ./,-, — A long robe worn bv the clergy of England. 
 
 ^■} B iUcwcil, — A house of correction. 
 
^8 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 LESSON XXII. 
 
 ACCENT. 
 
 Accent is the peculiar tone or force given to some letter or 
 syllahle of a word. 
 
 There are three accents ^ the Acute, the Grave, and the 
 Circumflex. 
 
 Tlie acute accent is noted hy a mark like this ' placed over 
 a letter or syllahle, as in the word Epicurean. 
 
 The grave accent is represented hy a mark like this ^ 
 placed over a letter or syllahle, as in the word Clessammor. 
 
 The circumflex accent is distinguished hy a mark like 
 this A placed over a letter or syllahle. 
 
 The letter or syllahle over which either of the accents is 
 placed, is to he pronounced moreforcihly than the other parts 
 of the same word; as, rec'ognize, Reuthamir, Fingal. 
 
 The word or syllahle over which the acute accent is placed, 
 must be pronounced with the rising inflection of the voice; as, 
 rec'ognize, Epicure'an, ac'ceptable. 
 
 IVie word or syllahle over which the grave accent is placed 
 must he pronounced ivith the falling inflection of the voice; as, 
 Reuthamir, Clessammor. 
 
 The word or syllable over which the circumflex accent is 
 placed, must he pronounced partly loith the rising and partly 
 with the falling inflection of the voice. If it begin with the ris' 
 ing and end with the fallings it is called the falling circumflex ; 
 but if it begin with the falling and end with the rising, it is 
 called the rising circumflex. 
 
 The circumflex accent is sometimes used to express the 
 broad sound of a letter, as in Fingal, in which the a is 
 jjronounced as in the word fall. 
 
 In every word of more than one syllable, there is one {and 
 sometimes more than one) tvhich must he pronounced more 
 forcibly than the others ; and the acute accent is often used 
 to show which this syllahle is. The syllable thus pronounced 
 is called the accented syllabic ; as, cap'illary, red'olent, ax'iom. 
 
 The acute, grave, and circumflex accents are sometimes 
 used to direct the management of the voice in reading sen- 
 tences ; the acute accent indicating the rising, the grave the 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 69 
 
 falling injlection of the voice, and the circumflex both the 
 rising and falling united. When the circumflex is used to 
 indicate a sound commcncijig with the rising and ending 
 with the falling inflection, it is printed thus, ^ ; but when 
 the sound commences icith the falling and ends toith the 
 rising inflection, it is printed thus, ^ , which the pupil will 
 perceive is the same mark inverted. 
 
 [The pupil may now read the following sentences, recol- 
 lecting to manage his voice, when he meets the respective 
 marks of accent, as directed above.] 
 
 405. Did they recite correctly, or incorrectly 1 
 
 406. They recited correctly, not incorrectly. 
 
 407. Did they speak properly, or improperly ? 
 
 408. They spoke properly, not improperly. 
 
 409. Did Charles go willingly, or unwillingly? 
 
 410. Charles went willingly, not unwillingly. 
 
 411. Did you say Epicurean, or Epicurean? 
 
 412. I said Epicurean, not Epicurean. I know better 
 than to say so. 
 
 413. You must not say accep'table, but ac'ceptable. 
 
 414. You must not pronounce that word recognize, but 
 recognize. 
 
 415. We must act according to the law, not contrary to it. 
 
 416. Did he say wisdom, or wisdom? 
 
 417. He said wisdom, not wisdom. 
 
 418. What must the King do now? Must he submit? 
 The King shall do it: must he be deposed? 
 The King shall be contented : must he lose 
 The name of King? — let it go ! 
 
 419. I'll give my jewels, for a set of beads ; 
 My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; 
 My gay apparel, for an almsman's gown; 
 My figured goblets, for a dish of wood ; 
 My sceptre, for a painter's walking staff; 
 My subjects, for a pair of carved saints : 
 And my large kingdom, for a little grave; 
 A little, little grave — an obscure grave. 
 
 420. Art thou poor? Show thyself active and indus- 
 trious, peaceable and contented: Art thou wealthy? Show 
 thyself beneficent and charitable, condescending and hu- 
 mane. 
 
70 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 421. This corruptible must put on incorruption, and this 
 mortal must put on immortality. 
 
 422. Religion raises men above themselves; irreligion 
 sinks them beneath the brutes. 
 
 423. And if you do, you will but make it blush, and glow 
 with shame of your proceedings, Hubert. 
 
 424. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. 
 
 425. Madam, you have my father much offended. 
 
 426. If you said so, then I said so. 
 
 427. No, say you ; did he say No ? He did ; he said No. 
 
 428. Is the goodness, or the wisdom of the divine Being 
 more manifest in this his proceeding? 
 
 429. Shall we in your person crown the author of the 
 public calamities, or shall we destroy him? 
 
 430. From whence can he produce such cogent exhorta- 
 tions to the practice of every virtue, such ardent excitement 
 to piety and devotion, and such assistance to attain' them, as 
 those which are to be met with throughout every page of 
 these inimitable writings'? 
 
 431. Where, amidst the dark clouds of Pagan philosophy, 
 can he show us such a clear prospect of a future state, the 
 immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, and 
 the general judgment, as in St. Paul's first epistle to the 
 Corinthians? 
 
 432. Would it not employ a beau prettily enough, if, in- 
 stead of eternally playing with his snuff-box, he spent some 
 time in making one? 
 
 433. Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious 
 beings for so mean a purpose? Can he delight in the pro- 
 duction of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived rea- 
 sonable beings ? Would he give us talents that are not to be 
 exerted, capacities that are not to be gratified? 
 
 434. Whither shall I tiirn ? Wretch that I am ! to what 
 place shall I betake myself? Shall I go to the capitol? 
 Alas 1 it is overflowed with my brother's blood ! Or shall I 
 retire to my house? Yet there I behold my mother plunged 
 in misery, weeping and despairing ! 
 
 435. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets? I know 
 that thou believest. 
 
 436. Art thou he that should come, or shall we look for 
 another? 
 
 437. The baptism of John, was it from heaven, — or of 
 men? 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 71 
 
 438. Will you go, — or stay ? Will you ride, — or walk 7 
 Will you go to-day, — or to-morrow? 
 
 4:39. Did you see him, — or his brother? Did he travel 
 for health, — or pleasure? 
 
 440. Did he resemble his father, — or his mother? Is 
 this book yours, — or mine? 
 
 441. Was it ar'med, say you? 'Armed, my lord. From 
 top to toe ? My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 442. Then saw you not his face? Oh yes, my lord, he 
 wore his beaver up. 
 
 443. I did not say a better soldier, but an elder. 
 
 444. Aim not to show knowledge, but to acquire it. 
 
 445. Did I say go, — or go ? 
 
 446. Hence ! — home, you idle creatures, get you home. 
 You blocks, you stones ! you worse than senseless things ! 
 
 447. Get thee behind me, Satan. No. You did not 
 read that right. You should say, Get thee behind me, 
 Satan. 
 
 448. 'Angels and ministers of grace, defend us. 
 
 449. Jesus, Master ! have mercy ofi us.* 
 
 450. Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth 
 not; charity vaunteth not itself; is not puffed up; doth not 
 behave itself unseemly ; seeketh not her own ; is not easily 
 provoked ; thinketh no evil. 
 
 451. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and un- 
 derstand all mysteries, and all knowledge ; and though I 
 have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have 
 not charity, I am nothing. 
 
 452. I tell you, though you, though all the world, though 
 an angel from heaven, should declare the truth of it, I could 
 not believe it. 
 
 453. I tell you, though you, though all the world, though 
 an angel from heaven, should declare the truth of it, I could 
 not believe it. 
 
 454. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. 
 
 455. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. 
 [ The pupil may say which is the correct way of reading these 
 two sentences.] 
 
 * This impassioned expression of the ten lepers to our Savior is most fre- 
 quently read from the sacred desk with the acute accent. The author thinks 
 tnat due reflection will convince every one that it thereby loses a great portion 
 of its force and feeling'. The grave accent is on many, perhaps on all occn- 
 sions, expressive of a tone of much deeper emotion than that indicated by the 
 acute accent ; a remark which this sentence will clearly prove. See also 
 Numbers 432 and 453, and especially Number 657, page ios. 
 
72 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 456. Are you going to Boston ? What did you ask me ? 
 Are you going to Boston ? ^ 
 
 457. They tell us to be moderate ; but they, they are to 
 revel in profusion. 
 
 458. I see thou hast learned to rail. 
 
 459. I know that thou art a scoundrel. 
 
 460. Sach trifling would not be admitted in the inter 
 course of men, and do you think it will avail more with 
 Almighty God ? 
 
 461. Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great 
 thing ? 
 
 462. Talk to me of dangers ? Death and shame ! Is not 
 my race as high, as ancient, and as proud as thine ? 
 
 [Let the pupil tell in which of the fmir ways the following 
 sentence should be read.] 
 
 463. Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss ? 
 
 464. Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss ? 
 
 465. Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss ? 
 
 466. Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss ? 
 
 467. Lo ! — have I wandered o'er the hills for this ? 
 
 468. That lulled them, as the north wind does the sea. 
 
 469. For we trust we have a good conscience. 
 
 470. Trust I Triist we have a good conscience ! 
 
 471. Certainly, Trim, quoth my father, interrupting him, 
 you give that sentence a very improper accent ; for you curl 
 up your nose, man, and read it with such a sneering tone, 
 as if the parson was going to abuse the apostle. 
 
 472. For we trust we have a good conscience. 
 
 473. Trust ! Trust we have a good conscience ! 
 
 474. Surely, if there is anything in this life which a man 
 may depend upon, and to the knowledge of which he is capa- 
 ble of arriving upon the most indisputable evidence, it must 
 be this very thing, — whether he has a good conscience 
 or no. 
 
 * In all Questions which can be answered by yes or no, (as has been already 
 stated, under Lesson 6th,) rising inflection oi tne voice is used. But it niaj^ 
 here be remarked, that when the question is repeated, the repetition is gen- 
 erally accompanied by the falling inflection. But the reason of this is. thai 
 on the repetition of the question it becomes rather a declaration than a ques- 
 tion. Thus, in the question in No. 456, if the person addressed, by reason 
 of distance or deafness, does not hear distinctly, and says, What did you 
 ask me ? the reply would naturally be, / asked you, Are you going to 
 Boston. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 73 
 
 475. I am positive I am right, quoth Dr. Slop. 
 
 476. If a man thinks at all, he cannot well be a stranger 
 to the true state of this account; — he must be privy to his 
 own thoughts and desires — he must remember his past pur- 
 suits, and know certainly the true springs and motives which 
 in general have governed the actions-of his life. I defy him, 
 without an assistant, quoth Dr. Slop. 
 
 477. In other matters we may be deceived by false appeaj- 
 ances; but here the mind has all the evidence and facts 
 within herself. 
 
 LESSON XXIII. 
 
 EMPHASIS. 
 
 By Emphasis is meant the force or loudness of voice hy 
 which we distinguish the principal word or words in a sen- 
 tence. 
 
 To emphasize a wordy means to pronounce it in a loud or 
 forcible manner. 
 
 The meaning of a sentence, especially if it be a question, 
 often depends upon the proper placing of the emphasis. 
 Thus : in the sentence, Shall you ride to town to-day ? if 
 the emphasis be placed upon ride, the question will be, 
 Shall you RIDE to town to-day? — and it may be answered, 
 No, I shall not ride, I shall walk. If the emphasis be 
 placed upon you, the question then becomes, Shall YOU 
 ride lo town to-day ? and the answer may be. No, I shall 
 not go myself, I shall send my son. If the emphasis be 
 placed on town, the question then becomes, Shall yo»i ride 
 to TOWN to-day? and the answer may be, No, I shall not 
 ride to town, but I shall ride into the country. If the 
 emphasis be placed upon day, the question then becomes, 
 Shall you ride to town TO-DAY? and the answer may be, 
 No, I shall not go to-day, but I shall to-morrow. 
 
 In reading the following sentences, the pupil will em- 
 phasize the words in capital letters. 
 
 478. You were paid to FIGHT against Alexander, not to 
 RAIL at him. 
 
 7 
 
74 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 479. And Saul said unto Michal, Why hast thou DE- 
 CEIVED me so? 
 
 480. Then said the High Priest, Are these things SO? 
 
 481. Exercise and temperance strengthen even an IN- 
 DIFFERENT constitution. 
 
 482. AGAIN to the battle, Achaians. 
 
 483. I that denied thee GOLD, will give my HEART. 
 
 484. You wronged YOURSELF to write in such a 
 case. 
 
 485. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our STARS ; but 
 in OURSELVES, that we are underlings. 
 
 486. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy 
 brother's eye, but considerest not the BEAM that is in thine 
 OWN eye? 
 
 487. And Nathan said unto David, THOU art the man. 
 
 488. A day, an HOUR of virtuous liberty, is worth a 
 whole eternity of bondage. 
 
 489. I'm tortured even to madness when I THINK of 
 the proud victor. 
 
 490. 'Tis all a libel, PAXTON, sir, will say : — 
 Not yet, my friend! TO-MORROW, faith, it may; 
 And for that very cause I print TO-DAY. 
 
 491. The men whom nature's works can charm, with 
 GOD HIMSELF hold converse; grow familiar day by day 
 with his conceptions, ACT upon his plan, and form to HIS 
 the relish of their souls. 
 
 492. It is equally unjust in thee to put DAMON or ME 
 to death : but PYTHIAS were unjust, did he let Damon 
 suffer a death that the tyrant prepared only for PYTHIAS. 
 
 493. What! does life DISPLEASE thee? 
 
 Yes ; it displeases me when I see a TYRANT. 
 
 494. BETRAYEST thou the Son of man with a kiss? 
 
 495. Betrayest THOU the Son of man with a kiss ? 
 
 496. Betrayest thou the SON of man with a kiss ? 
 
 497. Betrayest thou the Son of MAN with a kiss? 
 
 498. Betrayest thou the Son of man with a KISS? 
 
 499. The firmest works of MAN, too, are gradually 
 giving way. 
 
 500. And THOU must sail upon this sea, a long event- 
 ful voyage. The wise MAY suffer wreck — the foolish 
 MUST. 
 
 501. My ear is PAINED, my soul is SICK, with every 
 day's report of wrong and outrage, with which earth ia 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 75 
 
 FILLED. There is no FLESH in man's obdurate heart, — 
 it does not FEEL for man. 
 
 502. Slaves cannot BREATHE in England; if their 
 lungs receive our air, that moment they are FREE. 
 
 LESSON XXIV. 
 
 PRIMARY AND SECONDARY EMPHASIS * 
 
 In sentences where several words are to he emphasized^ some 
 words receive a stronger emphasis than others. This leads to 
 a distinction, called primary and secondary emphasis. The 
 primary emphasis is the stronger emphasis. The secondary 
 emphasis is the weaker emphasis; ofiohich, there are several 
 degrees. 
 
 In the follotoing sentences, the words in LARGE CAPI- 
 TALS are to receive the primary emphasis. Those in small 
 CAPITALS are to receive the secondary emphasis, and those in 
 Italic an emphasis of less force than those in small capitals. 
 
 503. What STRONGER breastplate than a heart untainted! 
 THRICE is he armed that hath his quarrel just : and he 
 but naked, though locked up in STEEL, whose conscience 
 with INJUSTICE is corrupted. 
 
 504. But winter has yet brighter scenes; — he boasts 
 splendors beyond what gorgeous summer knows, — or au- 
 tumn with her many fruits and woods, all flushed with 
 many hues. 
 
 505. Boisterous in speech, in action prompt and hold. 
 He buys, he sells, — he steals, he KILLS for gold. 
 
 506. The combat deepens. ON, ye brave, who rush to 
 glory or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, 
 and CHARGE with all thy chivalry. 
 
 507. Oh, fear not thou to die ! But rather fear to LIVE ; 
 
 * Although emphasis g-cnerally requires a degree of loudness in the voice, 
 yet it is frequently the case thatstrondy emphatic words should be uttered with 
 a deiper rather than a louder tone of voice. This remark can be exemplified 
 better by the living teacher than by examples addressed to the eye. 
 
76 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 for life has thousand snares thy feet to try, by peril, pain, 
 and strife. 
 
 608. Yea, long as Nature's humblest child hath kept her 
 temple undefiled by sinful sacrifice. Earth's fairest scenes are 
 all HIS OWN : he is a MONARCH, and his throne is built 
 amid the skies. 
 
 509. Misses! the tale that I relate this lesson seems 
 to carry — Choose not alone a proper mate, but proper 
 TIME to marry. 
 
 510. Son of night, RETIRE; call thy winds and fly: 
 Why dost thou come to my presence with thy shadowy 
 arms? Do I FEAR thy gloomy form, dismal spirit of 
 Loda! Weak is thy shield of clouds; feeble is that 
 meteor, thy sword. 
 
 511. My dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields 
 of my rest are pleasant. 
 
 DWELL then in thy calm Jield, and let ComhaVs son be 
 forgot. Do mij steps ascend, from my hills into thy peace- 
 ful plains? Do /meet thee, with a spear, in thy cloud, spirit 
 of dismal Loda ? Why, then, dost ihow frown on Fingal ? — 
 or shake thine airy spear 1 But thou frownest in vain ; I 
 never fled from mighty men. And shall the sons of the 
 WIND frighten the King of Morven? NO; he knows the 
 weakness of their arms. 
 
 512. Yonder schoolboy, who plays the truant, says, the 
 proclamation of peace was NOTHING to the show; and 
 even the chairing of the members at election, would not 
 have been a finer sight than this ; only that red and green 
 are prettier colors than ail this mourning. 
 
 513. The text is gospel wisdom. I would ride the 
 camel, — yea, LEAP him FLYING, through the needle's 
 eye, as easily as such a pampered soul could pass the 
 narrow gate. 
 
 514. Why judge you then so hardly of the dead ? For 
 what he left UNDONE: — for sins, not one of which is 
 mentioned in the ten commandments. 
 
 515. Though you may think of a million strokes in a 
 minute, you are required to execute but one. 
 
 516. Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, but 
 every CARLE can lord it o'er thy land. 
 
 517. HEREDITARY bonomen! Know ye w< — who 
 would be free, THEMSELVES must strike the blow? By 
 THEIR n^A^ arm the conquest must be wrought : — Will 
 Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? — NO! True, they may 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 77 
 
 lay your proud despoilers low : but not for YOU will free- 
 dom's altars flame. 
 
 518. A THOUSAND YEARS scarce serve to form a state ; 
 an HOUR may lay it in the dust. 
 
 519. He prayed but for life -^ for life he would give all 
 he had in the world ; — it was but LIFE he asked — LIFE, 
 if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations ; — 
 he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the 
 damps of the lowest caverns of their hills. 
 
 520. I could have bid you LIVE, had life been to you the 
 same weary and wasting burden that it is to me. 
 
 521. Be the combat our OWN ! and we'll perish or con- 
 quer MORE PROUDLY alone ; for we have sworn by our 
 country's assaulters, that living we WILL be victorious, or 
 that dying our deaths shall be GLORIOUS. 
 
 522. Earth may hide — waves ingulf — FIRE consume 
 us, but they SHALL not to slavery doom us. 
 
 523. If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves: 
 but we have smitten them already with Jire on the 
 waves, and new triumphs on land are before us. To the 
 CHARGE! — Heaven's banner is o'er us. 
 
 524. False Wizard, AVAUNT ! I have marshalled 
 ray clan : their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are 
 one. 
 
 525. What means this shouting ? I do fear the people 
 choose Caesar for their King. 
 
 Ay, do you FEAR it ? Then must I think you would not 
 HAVE it so. 
 
 526. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke; but 
 here I am to speak what I do KNOW. 
 
 527. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might have 
 stood against the WORLD. Now lies he thercy and none so 
 poor to do him reverence. 
 
 528. He was my friend, faithful and just to me ; but 
 Brutus says he was AMBITIOUS ;=^ and Brutus is an hon- 
 orable man. He hath brought many captives home to 
 
 ♦As this reading is new and original, it may, perhaps, require some de- 
 fence. In the first assertion, the emphasis is thrown on the word ambitious 
 because that is the objection made by Brutus against Caesar. The cunning 
 Antony then lirings forward circumstances to prove that Csesar was 7wt 
 ambitious ; and then asserts that Bnitus says he was ambitious, notwith- 
 standing these arguments in Caesar's defence. Antony then proceeds to pro- 
 duce furtlier proof to the contrary ; and having brought what he supposes an 
 incontrovertible argument in proof of the injustice of the charge, he then 
 states the charge as resting merely on the bare assertion of Brutus. Brutus 
 says so still. 
 
 7* 
 
78 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 Rome, whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : Did this 
 in Csesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, 
 Caesar hath wept. Ambition should be made of sterner 
 stuff. Yet Brutus says he WAS ambitious ; and Brutus is 
 an honorable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal I 
 thrice presented him a kingly crown ; which he did thrice 
 REFUSE. Was THIS AMBITION ? Yet Brutus SAYS he was 
 ambitious ; and sure he is an honorable man. 
 
 529. O masters ! if I were disposed to stir your hearts and 
 minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and 
 Cassius wrong, who, you all know, are honorable men. I will 
 not do THEM wrong, — I rather choose to wrong the dead — 
 to wrong myself and you, — than I will wrong such honorable 
 men. 
 
 530. But here 's a parchment, with the seal of Cjesar ; 1 
 found it in his closet : 't is his will. Let but the commons 
 HEAR this testament, (which, pardon me, I do not mean to 
 r'ead^ and they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, and 
 dip their napkins in his sacred blood, — yea, beg a hair of 
 him for memory, and, dying, mention it within their vMls^ 
 bequeathing it as a rich LEGACY unto their issue. 
 
 53L If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You 
 all do know this mantle : I remember the first time ever 
 Csesar put it on : ('twas on a summer's evening in his tent : 
 that day he overcame the Nervii :) — LOOK! In this place 
 ran Cassius' dagger through : see what a rent the envious 
 Casca made. Through this, the well-beloved Brutus 
 stabbed ; and, as he plucked his cursed steel away, mark how 
 the blood of Csdssir followed it ! This was the most unkindest 
 cut of all ! for, when the noble Caesar saw HIM stab, IN- 
 GRATITUDE, more strong than traitors' arms, quite van- 
 quished him ! Then burst his mighty heart : and, in his 
 mantle muffling up his face, even at the base of Pompey's 
 statue, which all the while ran blood, great Cjesar fell. O 
 what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then 7, and you, 
 and all of us, fell down ; whilst 'bloody TREASON flour- 
 ished over us. 
 
 532. 0, now you iveep ; and I perceive you feel the dint 
 of pity: — these are gracious drops. Kind souls! What, 
 weep you when you but behold our Caesar's vesture wound- 
 ed ? Look ye here ! Here is HIMSELF — marred, as you 
 see, by traitors. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 79 
 
 LESSON XXV. 
 
 DISTINCTNESS OF ARTICULATION. 
 
 In order to exercise the voice, and acquire distinctness of articula- 
 tion, the pupil is required, in this lesson, to pronounce (as well as he 
 can) certain letters, which do not constitute a word, and then tlie 
 words in which the same letters occur. It is not designed that he 
 should call the letters by name, but endeavor to pronounce the sound 
 which they represent when united.* 
 
 Sound the folloioing letters, and then the words which foU 
 low, in which the same letters occur. Be particularly care- 
 ful to give a clear and distinct sound to every letter. 
 
 Aw. Law, saw, draw. 
 
 Or. For, nor. 
 
 Bd. Orbed, probed. 
 
 Bdst. Robb'dst, prob'dst. 
 
 Bl. Able, table, cable, abominable. 
 
 Bid. Troubl'd, humbrd, tumbl'd. 
 
 Bldst. Troubl'dst, crumbl'dst, tunibl'dst. 
 
 Biz. Troubles, crumbles, tumbles. 
 
 Blst. Troubl'st, cruinbl'st, tumbl'st. 
 
 Br. Brand, strand, grand. 
 
 Bs. Ribs, cribs, fibs, nibs. 
 
 * This lesson is deemed by the author one of the most importanl in the 
 book, and indispensably necessary to be carefully practised and often repealed, 
 in order to acquire distinctness of articulation. There are some letters and 
 syllables, which are very frequently lost by a vicious pronunciation. A native 
 Boslonian seldom pronounces tlie final g in the syllable iug. The letters 
 d, I, r, t, and the syllable ed, frequently share the fate of the ing, not only 
 among Rostonians, but also among' the generalit}- of readers and speakers. 
 The syllable er is almost universally mispronounced, as if it were nr. In the 
 words merry, and perish, few, if any, mistake the proper sound of the letters 
 er; but in the words vwrcy and tnervuiid, there are few who give the proper 
 sound of these letters. The letters aw also are frequently mispronounced like or. 
 In order that this lesson may be understood by those teachers, who are not 
 familiar with the mode in which the sounds of the letters are taught in the 
 Boston schools, the author deems it necessary to give the following explanation. 
 Where two vowels, or a vowel and a consonant, occur together, no difficulty 
 will occur in pronouncing the sounds of the letters ; but when several conso- 
 nants occur together without a vowel, as in the fourth line of this lesson, where 
 Bdst occur together, it must be understood that each of these letters staiids 
 for a certain sound, although that sound oe not a clear, articulate one ; and 
 the soiuids of each of these letters must be given together, as one syllable, 
 before the words robb'sl and prob'st, in which they occur, are read, fty such 
 an exercise the voice will be improved, and ease acquired in the prontinciation 
 of words in which letters of difficult combination occur. 
 
so INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 CM, Fetch'd. 
 
 Dl. Candle, handle, bridle, saddle. 
 
 Did. Handl'd, bridl'd, saddl'd. 
 
 Dh. Candles, handles, bridles, saddles. 
 
 Dlst. Fondl'st, handl'st, bridl'st. 
 
 Dr. Drove, draw, drink, drive. 
 
 Dz. Deeds, reeds, feeds, seeds. 
 
 Dth. Breadth, width. 
 
 Dths. Breadths, widths. 
 
 /v. Flame, fling, flounce, fly, flew. 
 
 Fid. Trifl'd, stifl'd, rifl'd. 
 
 Fist. Trifl'st, stifl'st, rifl'st. 
 
 Flz. Trifles, rifles, stifles, ruffles. 
 
 Fr. Frame, France, frown, front. 
 
 Fs. Laughs, quaffs, staffs, ruffs, muffs. 
 
 Fst. Laugh'st, quaff''st. 
 
 Ft. Waft, raft, graft. 
 
 Fts. Wafts, grafts, rafts. 
 
 Fist. Waft'st, graft'st. 
 
 Gd. Bragg'd, begg'd, pegg'd. 
 
 Gdst. Bragg'dst, begg'dst, pegg'dst. 
 
 Gl. Glow, glance, glide, gluck, glad. 
 
 Gld. Haggl'd, struggl'd, mangl'd, strangl'd. 
 
 Gldst. Haggl'dst, struggl'dst, mangl'dst, strangl'dst. 
 
 Glz. Mangles, strangles, struggles. 
 
 Gist. Mangl'st, strangl'st, struggl'st. 
 
 Gr. Grave, grand, grow, grind, ground. 
 
 Gz. Pigs, figs, begs, pegs, cags, nags. 
 
 Gst. Bragg'st, begg'st. 
 
 Jd. Hedged, fledged, wedged, caged. 
 
 Kl. Uncle, carbuncle, ankle, crankle, rinkle 
 
 Kid. Rankl'd, tinkl'd, knuckl'd, truckl'd. 
 
 Klz. Truckles, ankles, rinkles, uncles. 
 
 Klst. Truckl'st, rinkl'st, buckl'st. 
 
 Kldst. Truckl'dst, rinkl'dst, buckl'dst. 
 
 Kn. Blacken, broken, spoken. 
 
 Knd. Blacke]|'d, reckon'd, beckon'd. 
 
 Knz. Blackens, reckons, beckons. 
 
 Knst. Black'nst, reck'nst, beck'nst. 
 
 Kndst. Black'ndst, reck'ndst, beck'ndst. 
 
 Kr. Crony, crumble, crank, crankle. 
 
 Ks. Thinks, brinks, sinks, thanks. 
 
 Kst. Think'st, sink'st, thank'st. 
 
 Ct. Sack'd, thwack'd, crack'd, smack'd. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 81 
 
 Lh. Elb, bulb. 
 
 Lbd. Bulb'd. 
 
 Lbz. Elbs, bulbs. 
 
 LcL Hold, told, fold, scold, roll'd. 
 
 Ldz. Holds, folds, scolds 
 
 Ldst. Hold'st, fold'st, rolld'st, scold'st 
 
 Lf. Elf, self, shelf. 
 
 Lfs. Elfs. 
 
 Lft. Delft. 
 
 Lj. Bulge, bilge. 
 
 Lk. Milk, silk, elk. 
 
 Lkt. • Milk'd. 
 
 Lks, Milks, silks, elks. 
 
 Lkts. Mulcts. 
 
 Lm. Elm, whelm, film. 
 
 Lmd. Whelm'd, film'd. 
 
 Lmz. Whelms, films. 
 
 Ln. Fall'n, stol'n, svvoll'n. 
 
 Lp. Help, scalp, whelp. 
 
 Lps. Helps, scalps, whelps. 
 
 Lpst. Help'st, scalp'st. 
 
 Ls. False, pulse. 
 
 Lst. Fall'st, call'st, dwell'st. 
 
 Lt. Felt, halt, salt, malt, colt, dolt. 
 
 Lts. Halts, colts, dolts, faults. 
 
 Lv. Shelve, delve, helve. 
 
 Lvd. Shelv'd, delv'd. 
 
 Lvz. Elves, shelves, delves. 
 
 Lz. Balls, stalls, halls, falls, shells. 
 
 Lsh. Filch, milch. 
 
 Lsht. Filched. 
 
 Lth. Health, wealth, stealth. 
 
 Lths. Healths, wealths, stealths. 
 
 Md. Entomb'd, doom'd, room'd. 
 
 Mf. Humphrey. 
 
 Mt. Attempt. 
 
 Mts. Attempts. 
 
 Mz. Tombs, catacombs, combs. 
 
 Mst. Entomb'st, comb'st. 
 
 Nd. And, brand, sand, hand, land. 
 
 Ndz. Bands, sands, hands, lands. 
 
 Ndst. Send'st, defend'st, lend'st, brand'ft 
 
 Nj. Range, strange, mange, grange. 
 
 Njd. Ranged, flanged. 
 
82 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 Nk. Rank, think, crank, prank, sank. 
 
 Nks. Ranks, thinks, cranks, pranks. 
 
 JVkst. Rank'st, thank'st, think'st, sank'st. 
 
 Nt. Sent, rent, went, bent, lent, trent. 
 
 Ntst. Want'st, went'st, sent'st, lent'st. 
 
 Nts. Wants, rents, scents. 
 
 Nz. Fins, bans, scans, mans, fans. 
 
 Nsh. Flinch, linch, pinch, bench. 
 
 Nsht. Flinch'd, pinch'd, bench'd, drench'd. 
 
 Nst. Winced. 
 
 Ngd. Hanged, banged, prolonged. 
 
 Ngz. Songs, tongs, prolongs. 
 
 Ngth. Length, strength. 
 
 PL Pluck, ply, plain, plume. 
 
 Pld. Rippled, tippled. 
 
 Plz. Ripples, tipples, apples. 
 
 Plst. Ripplest, tipplest. 
 
 Pr. Pray, prance, prince, prime, prayer 
 
 Ps. Claps, raps, sips, nips, dips. 
 
 Pst. Rapp'st, sipp'st, nipp'st, dipp'st. 
 
 Rb. Herb, barb, disturb. 
 
 Rbd. Barb'd. 
 
 Rbs. Herbs, barbs. 
 
 Rbst. Barb'st, disturbsta. 
 
 Rbdst. Barb'dst. 
 
 Rd. Bard, word, hard, lard, heard. 
 
 Rds. Bards, words, interlards. 
 
 Rdst. Heard'st, fear'dst, appear'dst. 
 
 Rf. Surf, scurf, scarf, wharf. 
 
 Rft. Wharf 'd, scarf'd, scurf'd. 
 
 Rg. Burgh. 
 
 Rgz. Burghs. 
 
 Rj. Barge, large, dirge, charge. 
 
 Rjd. Urged, enlarged, charged. 
 
 Rk. Hark, lark, ark, dark, stark. 
 
 Rkt. Hark'd, work'd, dirk'd. 
 
 Rks. Harks, works, dirks, arks. 
 
 Rkst. Work'st, embark'st, dirk'st. 
 
 Rktst. Bark'dst, embark'dst, dirk'dst. 
 
 Rl. Snarl, marl, whirl, dirl, girl, hurl. 
 
 Rid. Snarl'd, hurl'd, world. 
 
 Rlz. Snarls, hurls, whirls. 
 
 Rlst. Snarl'st, hurl'st, whirl'st. 
 
 Rldst Snarl'dst, hurl'dst, whirl'dst. 
 
INTRODUCTORT LESSONS. 83 
 
 Rm. Arm, harm, farm, alarm. 
 
 Rmd. Arm'd, harm'd, alarm'd, warm'd. 
 
 Rmz. Arms, harms, alarms, warms. 
 
 Rmst. Arm'st, harm'st, alarm'st, warm'st. 
 
 Rmdst. Arm' dst, harm'dst, alarm'dst. 
 
 Rn. Burn, spurn, turn, fern. 
 
 Rnd. Burn'd, spurn'd, turn'd. 
 
 Rnt. Burnt, learnt. 
 
 Rnz. Urns, burns, turns, spurns. 
 
 Rnst. Earn'st, learn'st. 
 
 Rndst, Earn'dst, learn'dst. 
 
 Rp. Harp, carp, warp. 
 
 Rpt. Harp'd, carp'd, warp'd. 
 
 Rps. Harps, carps, warps. 
 
 Rs. Hearse, verse, terse. 
 
 Rst. First, erst, worst, burst. 
 
 Rsts. Bursts. 
 
 Rt. Heart, dart, mart, hart, part, art. 
 
 Rts. Harts, darts, marts, parts, arts. 
 
 Rtst. Hurt'st, dart'st, part'st. 
 
 Rv. Curve, swerve, carve. 
 
 Rvd. Curv'd, swerv'd, nerv'd. 
 
 Rvz. Curves, swerves, nerves. 
 
 Rvst. Curv'st, swerv'st, nerv'st. 
 
 Rvtst. Curv'dst, swerv'dst, nerv'dst. 
 
 Rz. Errs, avers, prefers, offers, scoffers. 
 
 Rch. Search, lurch, birch, church. 
 
 Rcht. Search'd, church'd. 
 
 Rsh. Harsh, marsh. 
 
 Rth. Hearth, earth, birth, dearth, mirth. 
 
 Rths. Hearths, earths, births. 
 
 8h. Ship, shut, shun, shine, share. 
 
 Sht. Push'd, hush'd, brush'd, crush'd. 
 
 Sk. Mask, risk, brisk, frisk. 
 
 8kt. Mask'd, risk'd, frisk'd. 
 
 Sks. Masks, risks, frisks. 
 
 Skst. Mask'st, risk'st, frisk'st. 
 
 SI. Slay, slew, slain, slim, slink. 
 
 Sid. Nestled, bristled, wrestled. 
 
 Sm. Smoke, smite, smart, small, smack. 
 
 Sn. Snail, snarl, snort, snag, 
 
 Sp. Spurn, spank, spirt, spa. 
 
 Sps, Whisps, lisps. 
 
84 INTROrrUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 St. Starve, stay, stock, strike. 
 
 Str. Strain, strong, strive, strung. 
 
 Sts. Busts, lusts, masts, fasts, blasts. 
 
 Th. Thine, thee, that, those, there. 
 
 Th. Thin, thistle, thief. 
 
 Thd. Wreathed, breathed, sheathed. 
 
 Thz. Wreathes, breathes, sheathes. 
 
 Thst. Wreath'st, breath'st, sheath'st. 
 
 Tl. Little, title, whittle, bottle, settle, nettle 
 
 TlcL Settled, whittled, bottled, nettled. 
 
 Tlz. Battles, whittles, bottles, nettles, settles 
 
 Tlst, Settl'st, whittl'st, bottl'st, nettl'st. 
 
 Tldst. Settl'dst, whittl'dst, bottl'dst. 
 
 TV. Travels, trinket, trunk, contrive. 
 
 Tz. Hats, flits, cats, bats, mats, brats. 
 
 Tst. Combat'st. 
 
 Vd. Swerved, nerved, curved, loved, 
 
 Vdsf. Liv'dst, nerv'dst, curv'dst, swerv'dst 
 
 Vl. Swivel, drivel, grovel, novel. 
 
 Vld. Drivel'd, grovei'd. 
 
 Viz. Drivels, swivels, grovels, nove s. 
 
 Vlst. Drivel'st, grovel'st. 
 
 Vldst. Drivel'dst, grovel'dst. 
 
 Vn. Driven, riven, heaven. 
 
 Vz. Lives, drives, swerves, nerves. 
 
 Vat, Liv'st. 
 
 Zl. Muzzle, dazzle. 
 
 Zld. Muzzl'd, dazzl'd. 
 
 Zlz. Muzzles, dazzles. 
 
 Zlst, Muzzl'st, dazzl'st. 
 
 Zldst. Muzzl'dst, dazzl'dst. 
 
 Zm. Spasm, chasm. 
 
 Zmz. Spasms, chasms. 
 
 Zn. Prison, risen, mizzen. 
 
 Ziid. Imprisoned, reasoned. 
 
 Znz. Prisons. 
 
 Znst. Imprison'dst. 
 
 The pupil, having been required to pronounce the letters 
 and words in the preceding exercise, may now read the fol- 
 lowing sentences, in lohich he must he particularly careful to 
 pronounce clearly and distinctly every letter which is not 
 silent. The sentences must be read very slowly. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 85 
 
 533. Deeply possess your mind with the vast importance 
 of a good judgment, and the inestimable advantage of right 
 reasoning. 
 
 534. Review the instances of your own misconduct in life. 
 
 535. Think seriously how many follies and sorrows you 
 might have escaped, and how much guilt and misery you 
 might have prevented, if from your early years you had 
 taken pains to judge correctly, concerning persons, times, 
 and things. 
 
 536. This will awaken you with lively vigor to the work 
 of improving your reasoning powers, and seizing every 
 opportunity and advantage for that end. 
 
 537. Consider the weakness, frailties, and mistakes of 
 human nature in general ; the depth and the difficulty of 
 many truths, and the flattering appearances of falsehood. 
 
 538. Whence arise the infinite varieties of dangers to 
 which we are exposed in our judgment of things? 
 
 539. Contrive and practise some suitable methods to ac- 
 quaint yourself with your own ignorance, and to impress 
 your mind with a deep and painful sense of the low and 
 imperfect degrees of your present knowledge. 
 
 540. Presume not too much upon a bright genius, a ready 
 wit, and good parts; for these, without labor and study, will 
 never make a man of knowledge and wisdom. 
 
 In order to show the pupil the difference between distinct 
 and indistinct articulation^ the following extract is presented; 
 the left-hand column being printed as the piece is frequently 
 read by pupils at school, and the right-hand column exhibit- 
 ing the same as it should be articulated. 
 
 541. The young of all an- 
 muls pear treceive playzhu 
 from the excise of thlimbs 
 an bodly facties, without ref- 
 frence t enny end ter be 
 tained, ur enny use tbe ansd 
 by theexshun. 
 
 542. Ur chile without 
 knowin enny thing er the 
 use er languige zin er high 
 dgree dlighted with bin abe 
 ter speak. 
 
 8 
 
 541. The young of all an- 
 imals appear to receive pleas- 
 ure from the exercise of 
 their limbs and bodily facul- 
 ties, without reference to 
 any end to be attained, and 
 any use to be answered, by 
 the exertion. 
 
 542. A child, without 
 knowing any thing of the 
 use of language, is in a high 
 degree delighted with being 
 able to speak. 
 
86 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 548. Its cessant reption 
 uv er few ticlate sounds or 
 praps of a single word, which 
 it has lunned ter primounce, 
 proves this point clilly. 
 
 544. Nor ist less pleased 
 with its fust successful deav- 
 urs ter walk, or rath ter run, 
 which purcedes walkin, al- 
 though tirely ignurunt er 
 th importance er th attain- 
 munt tits futur life, an even 
 without plyin it ter enny 
 present purps. 
 
 545. Childs dlighted with 
 speak without hav enny 
 thing tur say, an with walk 
 without known wither ter 
 
 go- 
 
 546. An prevesly ter both 
 these sreasonable ter blieve 
 that the wake hours funcy 
 ragreebly take up with thex- 
 cise vish, or praps more 
 prop speak, with learn ter 
 see. 
 
 543. Its incessant repeti- 
 tion of a few articulate 
 sounds, or perhaps of a sin- 
 gle word, which it has learn- 
 ed to pronounce, proves this 
 point clearly. 
 
 544. Nor is it less pleased 
 with its first successful en- 
 deavors to walk, or rather to 
 run, which precedes walkmg; 
 although entirely ignorant of 
 the importance of the altain- 
 ment to its future life, and 
 even without applying it to 
 any present purpose. 
 
 545. A child is delighted 
 with speaking, without hav- 
 ing any thing to say; and 
 with walking, without know- 
 ing whither to go. 
 
 546. And previously to 
 both these, it is reasonable 
 to believe that the waking 
 hours of infancy are agreea- 
 bly taken up with the exer- 
 cise of vision, or perhaps, 
 more properly speaking, with 
 learning to see. 
 
 In reading the above sentences in the right-hand column^ 
 the pupil must be particularly careful to pronounce clearly 
 and distinctly all the sounds which he finds omitted in the 
 left-hand column^ particularly the syllablemg, the letters d, n, 
 t, and all the proper vowel sounds. 
 
 LESSON XXVI. 
 
 MANNER, OR EXPRESSION. 
 
 In this lesson, the pupil is required to adapt the manner 
 of his reading to the meaning of the seiitences which he is to 
 read ; and endeavor to imitate, as closely as possible, the 
 
INTKODUCTORY LESSONS. 87 
 
 tones which nature teaches him to use in common conversa- 
 tion, or when he is affected hy strong feelings. Thus, if he 
 have such a sentence as the following to read, — 
 
 ** Sirrah, savage, dost thou pretend to be ashamed of my 
 company ? Dost thou know that I have kept the best com- 
 pany in England 1" — 
 
 lie will of course read it in quite a different manner from 
 that which he would use in this which follows : 
 
 "Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day. In 
 Booth, I would you were a little sick, that I might sit all 
 night and watch with you. I warrant I love you more than 
 you do me." 
 
 [The following sentence should he read in an angry 
 manner.'\ 
 
 547. Father, what sort of a tree is that which you have 
 given me 1 It is as dry as a broomstick ; and I shall not 
 have ten apples on it. You have treated my brother Ed- 
 mund better than you have me. You have given him a tree 
 which is full of apples. You ought to make him give me 
 half of them. 
 
 [ The following should he read in a milder manner."] 
 
 548. Give you half of them? Your tree was as fruitful 
 and in as good order as his ; but you have not taken good 
 care of it. Edmund has kept his tree clear of hurtful in- 
 sects; but you have suffered them to eat up yours in its 
 blossoms. I shall not direct him to share his apples with so 
 idle a boy as you have been. 
 
 [ To be read in a respectful, calm, but decided manner.] 
 
 549. Alexander ! I am your captive — I must hear what 
 you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. 
 But my soul is unconquered ; and if I reply at all to your 
 reproaches, I will reply like a free man. 
 
 [ To be read in a threatening manner.] 
 
 550. He DARES not touch a hair of Catiline. 
 
 551. [With surprise.] What! does life displease thee ? 
 [Calmly, but loith emphasis.] Yes; — it displeases me 
 
 when I see a tyrant. 
 
 552. [Mildly.] The sun not set yet, Thomas ? Not quite, 
 sir. It blazes tnrough the trees on the hill yonder, as if 
 their branches were all on fire. 
 
88 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 553. [With energy. '\ Sirrah, I begin with this kick, as 
 a tribute to your boasted honor. Get you into the boat, 
 or I will give you another. I am impatient to have you 
 condemned. 
 
 554 [With moderation.'] Stranger, if thou hast learnt a 
 truth, which needs experience more than reason, that the 
 world is full of guilt and misery ; and hast known enough 
 of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, to tire thee of it — 
 enter this wild wood, and view the haunts of nature. 
 
 555. [Proudly and haughtily*'] Do you pretend to sit 
 as high on Olympus as Hercules? Did you destroy tyrants 
 and robbers? You value yourself greatly on subduing one 
 serpent. I did as much as that while I lay in my cradle. 
 
 556. [With fear.] Mirza, terror and doubt are come 
 upon me. I am alarmed as a man who suddenly perceives 
 that he is on the brink of a precipice, and is urged forward 
 by an irresistible force; but yet I know not whether my 
 danger is a reality or a dream. 
 
 557. [In a threatening manner.] I know thou art a scoun- 
 drel ! Not pay thy debts! Kill thy friend who lent thee 
 money, for asking thee for it! Get out of my sight, or 1 
 will drive thee into the Styx. 
 
 558. [In a commanding inanner.] Stop, I command thee. 
 No violence. Talk to him calmly. 
 
 559. [In a solemn manner.] Such are the excuses which 
 irreligion offers Could you have believed that they were so 
 empty, so unworthy, so hollow, so absurd? And shall such 
 excuses be offered to the God of heaven and earth? By 
 such apologies shall man insult his Creator? 
 
 560. [In a mournful manner.] Oh, my dear, dear mother 1 
 don't you know your son ! your poor boy, George? 
 
 561. [In a terrified manner.] The Lord have mercy upon 
 us — what is this ? 
 
 562. [In a proud, disdainful manner.] Why then dost 
 thou frown on Fingal? Or shake thine airy spear? But 
 thou frownest in vain : I never fled from mighty men. And 
 shall the sons of the wind frighten the King of Morven? 
 No ; he knows the weakness of their arms. 
 
 563. [In an energetic manner.] Now launch the boat 
 upon the wave, — the wind is blowing off the shore — I will 
 not live a cowering slave on these polluted islands more. 
 
 * See Number 128, page .33. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONSJ. 89 
 
 Beyond the wild, dark, heaving sea, there is a better home 
 for me. 
 
 564. [In a plaintive, sorrowful manner.'^ O Switzerland ! 
 my country! 'tis to thee I strike my harp in agony: — My 
 country ! nurse of liberty, home of the gallant, great, and 
 free, my sullen harp I strike to thee. Oh ! 1 have lost you 
 all ! — parents, and home, and friends. 
 
 565. [With quickness and emphasis.^ Talk to me of 
 dangers? — Death and shame! — is not my race as high, as 
 ancient, and as proud as thine? By heaven, it grieves me, 
 Harry Percy, preaching such craven arguments to me. 
 
 566. [With humility.] Father, I have sinned against 
 heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be 
 called thy son. 
 
 567. [With horror.] How frightful the grave! how de- 
 serted and drear ! with the howls of the storm wind — the 
 creaks of the bier, and the white bones all clattering together. 
 
 568. [ With calmness.] How lovely, how sweet the repose 
 of the tomb ! No tempests are there ; — but the nightin- 
 gales come, and sing their sweet chorus of bliss. 
 
 569. [Li an authoritative manner.] Heat me these irons 
 hot; and look thou stand within the arras: when I strike 
 my foot upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, and bind 
 the boy, which you shall find with me, fast to the chair : be 
 heedful : hence, and watch. 
 
 570. [In a supplicating tone.] Alas ! what need you be 
 so boisterous rough? I will not struggle, I will stand stone- 
 still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away, and I will sit 
 as quiet as a lamb ; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a 
 word, nor look upon the irons angrily; thrust but these men 
 away, and I'll forgive you, whatever torments you do put me to. 
 
 571. [Solemn caution.] Lochiel ! Lochiel, beware of the 
 day when the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! for 
 a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, and the clans of 
 CuUoden are scattered in fight. 
 
 ALEXANDER S FEAST. 
 
 572. 
 
 Martial Dascriplion, 
 
 'T was at the royal feast for Persia won 
 By Philip's warlike son, 
 8^ 
 
90 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 Awe. 
 
 Aloft, in awful state, 
 The godlike hero sate 
 On his imperial throne. 
 
 Admiration. 
 
 His valiant peers were placed around. 
 
 Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound : 
 
 So should desert in arms be crown'd. 
 
 Delight. 
 
 The lovely Thais, by his side. 
 Sat like a blooming Eastern bride, 
 In flower of youth, and beauty's pride. 
 
 Rapture. 
 
 Happy, happy, happy pair! 
 None but the brave. 
 None but the brave. 
 
 Triumph. 
 
 None but the brave, deserve the fair. 
 573. 
 
 Description. 
 
 Timotheus, placed on high. 
 
 Amid the tuneful choir. 
 
 With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : 
 The trembling notes ascend the sky, 
 
 And heavenly joys inspire. 
 The song began from Jove, 
 Who left his blissful seat above — 
 Such is the power of mighty love ! — 
 
 Awe. 
 
 A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
 Sublime on radiant spheres he rode. 
 When he to fair Olympia press'd 
 And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world 
 The listening crowd admire the lofty sound: 
 
 Surprise increased. 
 
 "A present deity!" they shout around; — 
 " A present deity ! " the vaulted roofs rebound. 
 With ravish'd ears 
 > The monarch hears, 
 
 Importance. 
 
 Assumes the god. 
 Affects to nod. 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 91 
 
 574. 
 
 Jovial description. 
 
 The praise of Bacchus, then the sweet musician sungi 
 Of Bacchus, ever fair and young ! 
 
 The jolly god in triumph comes ! 
 
 Sound the trumpets ! beat the drums 1 
 
 Flush'd with a purple grace, 
 
 He shows his honest face. 
 
 Inciting. 
 
 Now give the hautboys breath. — He comes! he comes! 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
 Drinking joys did first ordain. 
 
 Bacchanulian rapture. 
 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure. 
 
 Rich the treasure, 
 
 Sweet the pleasure; 
 Sweet is pleasure after pain ! 
 
 575. 
 
 Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
 Fought all his battles o'er again : 
 
 Swelling. 
 
 And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain! 
 
 Observing. 
 
 The master saw the madness rise ; 
 His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes : {rapidly.) 
 And while he heaven and earth defied, 
 (Slowly.) Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride • 
 
 576. 
 
 Sorrowful. 
 
 He chose a mournful muse. 
 Soft pity to infuse ; (very slowly.) 
 He sung Darius great and good ! 
 By too severe a fate, 
 
 Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! — {gradually sinTdng.) 
 {Louder.) Fallen from his high estate. 
 And weltering in his blood ! 
 
 * There should be a transition in the voice here, as in the strain of Timo- 
 tlieus, from heroic to pallietic ; as rapid too. 
 
92 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 Reproach. 
 
 Deserted at his utmost need 
 By those his former bounty fed, 
 On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
 With not a friend to close his eyes ! 
 
 Reflection. 
 
 With downcast look the joyless victor sate, 
 Revolving, in his alter'd soul, 
 
 The various turns of fate below ; 
 And now and then a sigh he stole, 
 
 Pity. 
 
 And tears began to flow ! 
 577. 
 
 Secret satisfaction. 
 
 The mighty master smiled, to see 
 
 That love was in the next degree : 
 
 'Twas but a kindred sound to move ; 
 
 For pity melts the mind to love, {rapidly ^ 
 
 Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, changed to 
 
 Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. livdy.) 
 
 Remonstrance. 
 
 War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; » 
 
 Honor, but an empty bubble; 
 Never ending, still beginning. 
 
 Fighting still, and still destroying. 
 
 Requesting. 
 
 If the world be worth thy winning. 
 Think, oh, think it worth enjoying! 
 
 Admiration. 
 
 Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 
 
 Take the good the gods provide thee. 
 
 Bursts of approbation. 
 
 The many rend the skies with loud applause : 
 So love was crown'd ; but music won the cause 
 
 578. 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain. 
 
 Pensive. 
 
 Gazed on the fair. 
 Who caused his care. 
 
 Effeminately. 
 
 And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd 
 Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 93 
 
 At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, 
 The vanquish'd victor — sunk upon her breast! 
 
 579. 
 
 Burst of voice.* 
 
 Now Strike the golden lyre again ! 
 
 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 
 
 Break his bands of sleep asunder. 
 
 And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder! 
 
 Amazement. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! — the horrid sound 
 
 Has raised up his head, 
 
 As awaked from the dead; 
 And, amazed, he stares around. 
 
 580. 
 
 Inciting furiously. 
 
 Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries — 
 
 See the furies arise ! 
 
 See the snakes that they rear, 
 
 How they hiss in their hair. 
 And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! {rapidly.) 
 
 Behold a ghastly band. 
 
 Each a torch in his hand. 
 These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
 
 And, unburied, remain ' 
 
 Inglorious on the plain. 
 
 Give the vengeance due 
 
 To the valiant crew! 
 Behold ! how they toss their torches on high, 
 How they point to the Persian abodes. 
 And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 
 
 581. 
 
 Breathless eagerness. 
 
 The princes applaud, with a furious joy; f 
 
 And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy ; 
 
 Thais led the way. 
 
 To light him to his prey ! 
 
 Burst. 
 
 And, like another Helen, fired — another Troy. 
 
 * The burst upon " rouse ; " dwelling on the consonant r, trilled by the 
 tongue against the uoper gum. 
 
 t The princes — appiaud — with a furious — joy } 
 And the king — seized a flaraU«au — with z«a1 — to dostroy, &e. 
 
94 INTEODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 582. 
 
 Narrative manner. 
 
 Thus, long ago, 
 Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
 While organs .yet were mute, 
 Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
 
 And sounding lyre. 
 Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
 
 5S3. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 At last, divine Cecilia came, 
 
 Inventress of the vocal frame. 
 The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
 
 And added length to solemn sounds. 
 With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
 
 Concluding. 
 
 Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 
 Or both divide the crown : 
 
 Awe. 
 
 He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
 
 Delight. 
 
 She drew an angel down. — Dry den. 
 
 s 584. 
 
 Disdain. 
 
 Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! 
 Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear. 
 Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
 This roantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 
 
 LESSON XXVII. 
 
 PITCH OF THE VOICE. 
 
 Every person has three keys, or pitches of the voice, called 
 
 THE HIGH, THE MIDDLE and THE LOW KEY. 
 
 The HIGH KEY w that which is used in calling to a person 
 at a distance. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 95 
 
 The MIDDLE KEY is that which is used in common con- 
 versation. 
 
 The LOW KEY is that which is used lohen we wish no one to 
 iear, except the person to whom we speak ; and is almost, but 
 \ot quite, a whisper. 
 
 Each one of these Iceys or pitches of the voice has different 
 degrees of loudness ; and it is important that the pupil should 
 txercise his voice in speaking, in all of these keys, both with 
 viildness and with force. 
 
 [The pupil may read the following sentence in each of the 
 different keys.] 
 
 585. They have rushed through like a hurricane ; like an 
 army of locusts they have devoured the earth ; the war has 
 fallen like a water-spout, and deluged the land with blood. 
 
 [Read the following in the high key.] 
 
 586. Next Anger rushed ; — his eyes on fire, in lightnings 
 owned his secret stings; in one rude clash he struck his 
 lyre, and swept with hurried hands the strings. 
 
 [Read the folloicing in the low key.] 
 
 587. With woful measures wan Despair — low, sullen 
 sounds his grief beguiled : — a solemn, strange, and min- 
 gled air : — 'twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 
 
 [Read the follotoing in the middle key,] 
 
 588. But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, what was thy 
 delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
 and bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
 
 589. [Read icith the high key.] But, with a frown, Re- 
 venge impatient rose. He threw his blood-stained sword in 
 thunder down ; and, with a withering look, the war-denoun- 
 cing trumpet took, and blew a blast so loud and dread, were 
 ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe. And ever and anon 
 he beat the doubling drum with furious heat : [Low key, 
 very sloioly.] and though, sometimes, each dreary pause be- 
 tween, dejected Pity, at his side, her soul-subduing voice 
 applied, [High key, rapidly.] yet still he kept his wild, un- 
 altered mien, while each strained ball of sight seemed burst- 
 ing from his head. 
 
 590. [Middle key.] Alexander the Great demanded of a 
 pirate, whom he had taken, by what right he infested the 
 seas. " By the same right," replied the pirate, *' that Alexan- 
 der enslaves the world. But I am called a robber, because I 
 have only one small vessel ; and he is styled a conqueror, 
 because he commands great fleets and armies." 
 
J-ff INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 LESSON XXVIII. 
 
 TRANSITION. 
 
 [It is important that the pupil practise a change or transi- 
 tion of the voice from loud and forcible utterance to a softer 
 and lower tone ; and from rapid to slow pronunciation. In 
 this lesson he is presented with a few examples in which 
 such a change of manner is required.] 
 
 591. [Softli/ and sloicly.'] An hour passed on. The 
 Turk awoke. That bright dream was his last. [More 
 loudly.'] He woke — to hear the sentry's shriek, [Very loud 
 and rapid.] " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " 
 [Slowly and softly.] He woke to die midst flame and smoke, 
 and shout and groan, and sabre stroke, and [Faster and 
 louder.] death shots falling thick and fast, as lightnings from 
 the mountain cloud ; [Still louder.] and heard, with voice 
 as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band ; [ Very loud, rap- 
 idly, and with much animation.] Strike — till the last armed 
 foe expires — Strike — for your altars and your fires — Strike — 
 for the green graves of your sires, God — and your native land. 
 
 [In a softer and sloioer manner.] They fought — like brave 
 men, long and well, — they piled that ground with Moslem 
 slain, — they conquered — [Very slowly, and in a mournful 
 manner.] but Bozzaris fell, bleeding at every vein. 
 
 592. [In a gentle manner and low tone.] When, doffed 
 his casque, he felt free air, around 'gan * Marmion wildly 
 stare : — [Much louder, and in a wild and somewhat angry 
 manner.] "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz Eustace, where? 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare? Redeem my pennon, — 
 charge again! Cry — 'Marmion to the rescue.' — [Very 
 slowly, and almost in a lohisper.] Vain! Last of my race, 
 on battle plain that shout shall ne'er be heard again ! [In- 
 creasing in loudness.] Yet my last thought is England's : — 
 [Louder, and with more earnestness.] fly — Fitz Eustace, to 
 Lord Surrey hie. [Mo7'e rapidly.] Tunstall lies dead upon 
 the field ; his life-blood stains the spotless shield : Edmund 
 is down, — my life is reft, — the Admiral alone is left. 
 
 * A «ontraction for be^an. See Apostrophe, Lesson 20, page 64. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 97 
 
 [Ti^z^/t 7nuch earnestness of manner. "j Let Stanley charge 
 with spur of fire, with Chester charge and Lancashire, full 
 upon Scotland's central host, [Slowli/.] or victory and Eng- 
 land's lost. [An^n-i/i/.] Must I bid twice? — hence, varlets ! 
 fly ! Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
 
 593. [Distinet/i/, slowly, and in a moderate tone,'] Yet 
 still Lord Marm ion's falcon flew with wavering flight, while 
 fiercer grew around the battle yell. [^Loudly and quickly.] 
 " A Home ! a Gordon ! " was the cry. 
 
 594. [Sloicly and loith feeling.] Oh, what a fall was there, 
 my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 [Loudly and loith emphasis.] while bloody treason flourished 
 over us. 
 
 595. [Softly and slowly.] Oh, now you weep ; and I per- 
 ceive you feel the dint of pity: — these are gracious drops. 
 Kind souls! [Quickly ^ louder, and with strong emphasis.] 
 What, weep you when you but behold our Caesar's VES- 
 TURE wounded ? [ Very loudly and earnestly.] Look ye 
 here ! — here is HIMSELF — marred as you see by traitors. 
 
 596. [Very sloicly and sorrowfully.] Oh, I could play 
 the woman with mine eyes, and braggart with my tongue ! — 
 [With earnestness, louder, and rapidly.] But, gentle heaven, 
 cut short all intermission; front to front, bring thou this 
 fiend of Scotland and myself; [Still more forcibly, but with 
 a lower tone.] within my sword's length set him ; if he 
 escape, heaven forgive him too. 
 
 597. [Proudly, and tnith a loud and angry manner.] But 
 here I stand and scoff* you; — here I fling hatred and defi- 
 ance in your face. [In a much milder manner, slowly, and in 
 derision.] Your consul's * merciful — For this — all thanks 
 [Very loud, and in a threatening manner. See Number 
 550.] He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 
 
 598. [In a low tone, very softly.] His words do take pos- 
 session of my bosom, — [Louder, and with earnestness.] 
 Read here, young Arthur. [ Very softly,] How now, fool- 
 ish rheum ! turning dospiteous torture out the door ! I must 
 be brief, lest resolution drop out at my eyes in tender, 
 womanish tears. — [Louder, and as if striving to hide his 
 tears.] Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writ '? 
 
 * Tlie pupil will notire thnl t'nere arc many abbreviations of this kind made 
 in this book in pieces which apjiear to be jyrose. All the sentences which are 
 poetical have been printed in the form of prose, to prevent the " sins; song" 
 niajmcr of reading. But it must be understood and recollected, that although 
 abbreviiitions are nllowable in poetry, they are not admitted in prose. 
 
 9 
 
98 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 599. [Sloivli/, and in a very sad manner.] Too fairly, 
 Hubert, for so foul effect. [In an entreating manner.] 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 
 
 In a stern manner.] Young boy, I must. 
 
 In a very sorrowful and supplicating manner.] And 
 will you ? 
 
 [Sternly^ and in an apparently determined manner.] And 
 I will. 
 
 600. [With a very earnest^ sorrowful, and entreating 
 manner.] Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes that 
 never did, nor never shall, so much as frown on you? 
 
 601. [In a rough manner, hut still struggling to conceal 
 his pity.] I have sworn to do it ; and with hot irons must 1 
 burn them out. 
 
 602. [In a very pathetic manner.] If an angel should 
 have come to me, and told me, Hubert should put out mine 
 eyes, I would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's.* 
 
 603. [In a kind, reUnting, and very feeling manner.] 
 Well — see to live; I will not touch thine eyes, for all the 
 
 treasure that thy uncle owes. [In a slow, solemn, and 
 
 decided manner.] Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 with this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 604. [/// a joyful and grateful manner.] O, now you 
 look like Hubert! all this while you were disguised. 
 
 605. [In an animated manner.] The combat deepens — 
 [ Very loud, rapidly, and with much energy.] On, ye brave, 
 who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich, all thy 
 banners wave ; and charge with all thy chivalry. 
 
 606. [In a slow, solemn, and mournful manner.] Ah, few 
 shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their 
 winding-sheet, and every turf beneath their feet shall be a 
 soldier's sepulchre. 
 
 * This expression, " I wovld not have believed no tongiie but Hubert's" is a 
 grammatical error, hardly sanctioned even by the great name of Shakspeare, 
 from whom it was taken. The poets frequently have "^reat liberties allowed 
 thinn under the name of poetic license ; and the nameof Sliakspeare " honors this 
 corruption.'^ Were it laiown to a certainty that he was a classical scholar, 
 the expression above quoted might be pardoned as an idiotism, or imitation of 
 the Greek construction, in which, double negatives are frequently used to 
 strengthen the negation. — See Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part IT. page 
 47. No. 106, and Andrews and Stoddard's Latin Grammar, page 303, 
 § 325, No. 6, edition of 1836. — Shakspeare and Cowper both use the expres- 
 sions, •'' I had as lief not be," and ^' I had much rather be ; " thus joining the 
 auxiliary of the pluperfect tense with the present. — See Parker and Fox's 
 Grammar, Part II. page 54. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 93 
 
 LESSON XXIX. 
 
 ELLIPTICAL SENTENCES. 
 
 An Ellipsis* means an omission; and when any thing is 
 omitted, or purposely left out, it is said that there is an ellip- 
 sis in the sentence^ and the sentence is called an elliptical 
 sentence. 
 
 Elliptical sentences occur very frequently ; and it is 
 necessary, in reading such sentences, to supply, in our 
 minds, all that is omitted, in order to give the proper tone, 
 accent, emphasis, and expression. Thus in the following 
 questions, — ** What went ye out into the wilderness to see? 
 A reed shaken by the wind ? " — there is an ellipsis or omis- 
 sion of the words " did you go out to see ; " and when these 
 words are supplied, the questions will he, "What went ye 
 out into the wilderness to see? Did you go out to see a 
 reed shaken by the wind? 
 
 Elliptical sentences must always he read in the same 
 manner, with the same emphasis, tone, accent, and expression, 
 that tliry would be if the ellipses were supplied. 
 
 In every elliptical sentence, a pause should he made at 
 every ellipsis long enough to pronounce, or rather to think 
 over, the words which are omitted. 
 
 In the following sentences, the ellipsis is supplied in Italic 
 letters, in the form of a parenthesis. The pupil will first 
 read them as they stand, and then read them with the omis- 
 sion of those parts lohich are in Italic letters. 
 
 607. What sought they thus afar? (Did they seek) 
 Bright jewels of the mine? (Did they seek) The wealth 
 of seas? (or) the spoils of war ? (No, they did not seek 
 either of these, hut) They sought a faith's pure shrine. 
 
 608. What, then, would it be reasonable to expect from 
 the fnnciful tribe, from the musicians and poets of such a 
 region ? ( Would it he reasonable to expect) Strains ex- 
 pressive of joy, tranquillity, or the softer passions ? No ; 
 
 * See Lesson 19, page 6-2. 
 
100 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 their style must have been better suited to their circum- 
 stances. 
 
 609. Art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I 
 have heard so much? 
 
 (Nu! I am not a Thracian robber ^ but) I am a Thra- 
 cian, and a soldier. 
 
 (Do you call yourself) A soldier? (/ consider you as 
 nothing better than) a thief, a plunderer, an assassin ! 
 (who is) the pest of the country. 
 
 610. No deep and deadly quarrel was between these 
 brothers, and neither of them could distinctly tell the cause 
 of this unnatural estrangement. Perhaps dim jealousies 
 of their father's favor (was the cause of this unnatural 
 estrangement — perhaps) selfish thoughts that will some- 
 times force themselves into poor men's hearts respect- 
 mg temporal expectations (was the cause of this unnatural 
 estrangement — perhaps) unaccommodating manners on both 
 sides (we?'e the cause of this unnatural estrangement — per^ 
 haps) taunting words that mean little when uttered, but 
 which rankle and fester in remembrance, or imagined op- 
 position of interests, that, duly considered, would have been 
 found one and the same, (we?'e the causes of this unnatural 
 estrangement) — these and many other causes, slight when 
 single, but strong when rising up together in one baneful 
 band, had gradually, but fatally infected their hearts, till at 
 last they who in youth had been seldom separate, and truly 
 attached, now met at market, and, miserable to say, (not 
 only at market, but even also) at church, with dark and 
 averted faces, like different clansmen during a feud. 
 
 611. What shall we call them? (Shall we call them) 
 Piles of crystal light? — (Shall we call them) A glorious 
 company of golden streams — (Shall ive call them) Lamps 
 of celestial ether burning bright — (or) suns lighting sys- 
 tems with their joyous beams ? But thou to these art as the 
 noon to night. 
 
 612. Hail to your lordship ! I am glad to see you well. 
 {It is) Horatio (who speaks to me,) or 1 do forget myself 
 
 613. (It is) The same, my lord, and (I am) your poor 
 servant ever. 
 
 614. Sir, (you are) my good friend. Pll change that 
 name with you. 
 
 615. Ah, whither now are fled those dreams of greatness? 
 (Whither now are fed) Those unsated hopes of happi- 
 ness ? ( Whither now are fed) Those busy, bustling days ' 
 
INTRODUCTORY LCSSoI^S: 
 
 m 
 
 (Whither now are fled*) Those gay-spent, festive nights, 
 (and) those veering thoughts, lost between good and ill, that 
 shared thy life 1 
 
 616. Almighty! trembling like a timid child, I hear thy 
 
 awful voice (and when I hear it I am) alarmed — 
 
 (and) afraid. I see the flashes of thy lightning wild, and in 
 the very grave would hide my head. 
 
 617. Sourceless and endless God! compared with thee, 
 life is a shadowy, (and not only a shadoicy, but also a) mo- 
 mentary dream ; and (even) time, when viewed through thy 
 eternity, (is) less than the mote of morning's golden beam. 
 
 618. What excuse can the Englishman plead? (Will he 
 plead) the custom of duelling? An excuse, this (is) that in 
 these regions cannot avail. 
 
 The spirit that made him draw his sword in the combat 
 against his friend, is not the spirit of honor ; it is the spirit 
 of the furies, (it is the spirit) of Alecto herself (who was 
 the chief of the furies.) To her he must go, for she has 
 long dwelt in his merciless bosom. 
 
 619. Curse these cowardly covenanters — what (shall toe 
 do) if they tumble down upon our heads pieces of rock from 
 their hiding places? (Shall we) advance? Or (shall we) 
 retreat? 
 
 620. To save a bishop, may I name a dean? (3Tai/ you 
 name) a dean, sir? No; his fortune is not made; you hurt 
 a man that's rising in the trade. If (I may) not (name) the 
 tradesman who set up to-day, much less (may I name) the 
 apprentice who to-morrow may (set tip.) 
 
 621. And what are things eternal? Powers depart, (and 
 therefore they are not things eternal,) possessions vanish, 
 (and therefore they are not things eternal,) and opinions 
 change, (and therefore they are not things eternal,) and pas- 
 sions hold a fluctuating seat, (and therefore they are not 
 things eternal;) but, by the storms of circumstance unshaken, 
 and subject neither to eclipse nor wane, duty exists — im- 
 mutably survives! What (is there) more that may not 
 perish? 
 
 622. So goes the world ; if (you are) wealthy, you may 
 
 * Tlie ellipsis is suppliod at each of these inquiries, lo show that the falling 
 inflection of the voice is required at each of the questions; [see Lesson 6</j ;J 
 and it will be noticed ihroun^hout (his lesson that the ellipsis is supplied in 
 parentheses in many sentences where it may appear to be superfluous ; but 
 the author's design in so doing' is lo lead more directly to the proper intonation 
 of the voice. As a particular instance of this kind, see No. 615, 616, 
 and 618. 
 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 II^TRODJJCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 call this {man your) friend, that {man your) brother; — 
 friends and brothers all {men loill be to you) {or you may call 
 all men your friends and brothers.) 
 
 623. I once saw a poor fellow {who was both) keen and 
 clever, witty and wise; — he paid a man a visit, and no one 
 noticed him, and no one ever gave him a welcome. {It is) 
 Strange, cried I ; whence is it {that this man is so much neg- 
 lected?) He walked on this side {of the room,) and then on 
 that {side of the room ; *) he tried to introduce a social chat ; 
 now here, now there, in vain he tried {to introduce a social 
 chat.) Some {persons, lohen he spoke to them) formally and 
 freezingly replied {to him;) and some {persons made him no 
 proper answer, but) said by their silence, {you would) better 
 stay at home {than come here, ivhere you are not wanted.) 
 
 624. A rich man burst the door. {A man who was) 
 As CrcEsus rich. I'm sure he could not pride himself upon 
 his wit ; and as to wisdom, he had none of it. He had 
 what's better; he had wealth. What a confusion {there was 
 when he entered the room!) All {who are in the room) stand 
 up erect — These t {persons in this part of the room) crowd 
 around to ask him of his health ; {and) these {persons in 
 another part of the room) arrange a sofa or a chair, and 
 these {persons) conduct him there. {Some said to him,) 
 Allow me, sir, the honor {of handing you a chair, or of 
 conducting you to it.) Then {they each made) a bow down 
 to the earth. Is't possible to show meet gratitude for such 
 kind condescension?! 
 
 * This example shows very clearly how the proper intonation of the voice is 
 intimated by supplying the ellipses, although the sense is sufficiently clear as 
 the sentence is expressed, 
 
 t It may here be observed, that a pause should be made in every elliptical 
 sentence long enough to pronounce, or rather to think over, the words which 
 arc omiUed. The extract above affords a clear illustration of this remark. 
 See the directions, at the beginning of this lesson. 
 
 X It may perhaps be thought that some ellipses are unnecessaril}' supplied 
 m the preceding sentences ; but the practical teacher will readily allow that a 
 ourrect analysis is indispensable to the correct reading of a sentence, and that 
 liie facilities afforded to a child in )[as Jirst attempts, cannot be too great. It 
 will be borne in mind that tliis book is designed for very young, as well as for 
 more advanced pupils. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 103 
 
 LESSON XXX. 
 
 ANTITHESIS. 
 
 The word Antithesis means opposition or contrast. In all 
 sentences in which an emphatic word occurs, there is an an- 
 tithesis expressed or understood ; and it is necessary tobc able 
 to distinguish the words which form the antithesis, or which 
 arc contrasted, in order to ascertain which word should be 
 emp/utsized. Thus, in the sentence given in the introduction 
 to the 23c? Icssoji — ^^ Shall you ride to-town to-day V^ — 
 if the answer be, ** No, I shall walk^^ there is an antithesis, or 
 contrast, in the words ride and walk, which shoics that ride 
 is the emphatic word. Again, if the answer be, " No, I shall 
 ride into the country," the antithesis is in the words town and 
 country, which shows that the word town is the cinphatic 
 word. Once more, if the answer be, *' No, but I shall go 
 to-morrow," the antithesis is in the toords to-day and to-mor- 
 row, which shows that the word to-day is to be emphasized. 
 
 [It is thus seen, that it is necessary that the pupil should study out 
 the meaning of a sentence, and be able to forui tiie antithesis upon 
 which the emphatic words depend, in order to read it correctly and 
 expressively. This exercise will ol'ten require a degree of judgment 
 and discrimination not to be expected in a child, until the assistance of 
 the teacher comes to his aid. Indeed, it is this very thing which con- 
 stitutes the whole art of reading, and which often renders it a subject 
 of deep study even to matured minds. It is, however, a subject of 
 such paramount importance, that it must not be overlooked or neg- 
 lected even in the lessons of very young pupils. The assistance af- 
 forded the pupil in this lesson, will lead his mind, it is thoufrht, to a 
 correct understanding of the subject, and enable him to apply his 
 powers successfully to the analysis of other sentences, in which no 
 aid IS furnished for him.*] 
 
 * The great importance of a correot understan<iing' of this principle will be 
 seen in llio following pa.ssages from holy writ, which are frequently read from 
 ihc sacred liesk as follows : — 
 
 " As much as lielh in yoii, live peaceably with all RIEN." Now, if the em- 
 phasis be thus placed on the wora men, it would seem as if the apostle would 
 nnply that it is a duty to live peaceably with vien only, but that with women 
 aud children we may live in a diflerent manner. But by placing the emphasis 
 on ll»e word all, the inconsistency is removed ; thus, 
 
 " As much as lieth in you, live peaceably with AlJ-i men." 
 
 Again, in the fourth commandment, if the eniyiliajiis be put on the word day 
 Bs many read it, thus, " Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath DAY," 
 it would seem that the jii<;lit might be differently occupied. The command- 
 
104 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 In this lesson the emphatic words which form the antithesis 
 are printed in capitals, and the member of the antithesis 
 which is understood is supplied in Italic letters between 
 crotchets. The pupil will first read the icholc jjassage, and 
 then read if with the omission of the part in crotchets. 
 
 625. Mercury, Charon's boat is on the other side of the 
 water, {^and as there will be time enough before he gets over to 
 THIS side) allow me, before it returns, to have some conver- 
 sation with the North American savage, whom you brought 
 hither at the same time that you conducted me to the shades. 
 
 626. Why judge you then so hardly of the dead? 
 
 (I judge so hardly of the dead., not for any thing that 
 he has done, but) For what he left undone. 
 
 627. This man of half a million {was not destitute of 
 them, but he) had all these public virtues that you praise. 
 
 628. The darts of anguish {inay strike, but they) fix 
 not where the seat of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified 
 by acquiescence in the will supreme, {not only for a short 
 PERIOD, but) for TIME and for eternity. 
 
 629. Hereditary bondmen ! Know ye not, who would 
 be free {must not depend upon the assistance of others, but) 
 themselves must strike the blow 1 By their right arm, 
 {not by the right arm of others) the conquest must be 
 wrought. 
 
 630. Where'er we tread {it is not a common spot, but) 
 'tis haunted, holy ground. 
 
 631. Authors of modern date are {not so poor as they 
 formerly were, but they are) wealthy fellows. {It is not 
 for the benefit of his assistance) 'Tis but to snip his locks 
 they follow now the golden-haired Apollo. 
 
 ment undoubtedly should be read, " Remember that thou keep holy the SAB- 
 BATH day. 
 
 The following' passaofe was read from the sacred desk by one of the most 
 correct readers of the day, in the hearing of the author of this volume, three 
 times, with a false emphasis on the word men ; thus, 
 
 " O that MEN would therefore praise the Lord for his goodness, and de- 
 clare the wonders that he doeth for the children of men." 
 
 This reading gives rise to the question whether women and children, and 
 even ang'els, &.c., should not praise the Lord for his goodness. The emphasis 
 undoubtedly should be placed on the word praise; tlius, '' O that men would 
 therefore PRAISE the Lord for his goodness, and declare the WONDERS 
 that he doeth for the children of men." 
 
 This principle of antithesis must be carefully studied by all who aim at cor- 
 rect reading. The difference in style which characterizes the most eminent 
 speakers and readers is much affected by their peculiar understanding of the 
 meauing of an author, and of consequence the manner in which they men- 
 tally supply the ellipsis forming the antithesis. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 105 
 
 632. Yet none but you by name the guilty lasn ; {others 
 lash them in a differp:nt manner.) 
 
 633. It is often said by inconsiderate men, that time {not 
 inclination) is wanted for the duties of religion. 
 
 634. My friends ! {do not he hasty, hut) be cautious 
 how ye treat the subject upon which we meet. 
 
 635. Misses ! the tale that I relate {is not intended for 
 your DIVERSION alone^ hut it) seems to carry this lesson : 
 Choose not alone a proper mate, but proper time to marry. 
 
 636. As much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all 
 MEN, {hut not with all women.) 
 
 637. You did not read that last sentence correctly; for 
 by emphasizing the word men, you made it appear as if the 
 apostle meant that you might quarrel with women and chil- 
 dren, (if you would live peaccahly with men.) Now, his 
 meaning is, that you should live peaceably with all men, 
 {not icith your friends alone, hut ivlth all mankind.) 
 
 Therefore you should read it thus: As much as lieth in 
 you, live peaceably with ALL men. 
 
 [^Sonietimes both the words which constitute the antithesis 
 are expressed, as in the following sentence. '\ 
 
 638. It is from untamed passions, not from wild beasts, 
 that the greatest evils arise to human society. 
 
 639. By wisdom, by art, by the united strength of a civil 
 community, men have been enabled to subdue {not only one 
 single lion, hear, or serpentybut) the whole race of lions, 
 bears, and serpents. 
 
 LESSON XXXI 
 
 ENUMERATION. 
 
 WJien a number of particulars are mentioned in a sentence^ 
 it is called an Enumeration. 
 
 In many senttmces of this kind, it is proper to use the fall- 
 ing inflection of the voice at each of the subjects of the enu- 
 meration, except the last but one, ivhich should he read with 
 the rising inflection. The folloioing sentences are of this 
 
106 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 kind. In order to assist the pupil, the acnte and grave ac- 
 cents are used to designate the injlections of the voice, accord- 
 ing to the principles stated in Lesson 22, page 70. 
 
 640. But who the melodies of morn can tell 1 — The wild 
 brook babbling down the mountain's side; the lowing herd; 
 the sheepfold's simple bell ; the pipe of early shepherd, dim 
 descried in the lone valley ; echoing far and wide, the clam- 
 orous horn along the cliffs above ; the hollow murmur of 
 the ocean tide; the hum of bees; the linnet's lay of love; 
 and the full choir * that wakes the universal grove. 
 
 641. Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store of 
 charms that Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling 
 woodland, the resounding shore, the pomp of groves, the 
 garniture of fields; all that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
 and all that echoes to the song of even ; all that the moun- 
 tain's sheltering bosom shields, and all the dread magnifi- 
 cence of heaven, — oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope 
 to be forgiven ? 
 
 642. The coffin was let down to the bottom of the grave, 
 the planks were removed from the heaped up brink, the first 
 rattling clods had struck their knell, the quick shovelling was 
 over, and the long, broad, skilfully-cut pieces of turf were 
 aptly joined together, and trimly laid by the beating spade, so 
 that the newest mound in the churchyard was scarcely dis- 
 tinguishable from those that were grown over by the undis- 
 turbed grass and daisies of a luxuriant spring. 
 
 643. The poor child of nature knew not the God of reve- 
 lation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in every 
 thing around him. He beheld him in the star that sank in 
 beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that 
 flamed on him from his midway throne ; in the flower that 
 snapped in the morning breeze; in the lofty pine, that defied 
 a thousand whirlwinds; in the timid warbler, that never left 
 its native grove ; in the fearless eagle, whose untired pinion 
 was wet in cloiids ; in the worm that crawled at his foot ; and 
 in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, 
 to whose mysterious source he bent in humble, though blind 
 adoration. 
 
 644. Our lives, says Seneca, are spent either in doing 
 nothing at all, or in doing nothing to the purpose, or in 
 doing nothing that we ought to do. 
 
 * Pronounced quire. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 107 
 
 C45. It was necessary for the world that arts should be in- 
 vented and improved, books written and transmitted to pos- 
 terity, nations conquered and civilized. 
 
 G46. All other arts of perpetuating our ideas, except wri- 
 ting or printing, continue but a short time. Statues can last 
 but a few thousands of years, edifices fewer, and colors still 
 fewer than edifices. 
 
 047. Life consists, not of a series of illustrious actions, or 
 elegant enjoyments; the greater part of our time passes in 
 compliance with necessities, in the performance of daily 
 duties, in the removal of small inconveniences, in the pro- 
 curement of petty pleasures. 
 
 648. Though we seem grieved at the shortness of life in 
 general, we are constantly wishing every period of it at an 
 end. The minor longs to be of age, then to be a man of 
 business, then to make up an estate, then to arrive at honors, 
 then to retire. 
 
 649. The devout man does not only believe, but feels 
 there is a Deity ; he has actual sensations of him ; his ex- 
 perience concurs with his reason ; he sees him more in all his 
 intercourse with him ; and even in this life almost loses his 
 faith in conviction. 
 
 650. Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are 
 these ; adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, 
 idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, 
 strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, 
 revellings, and such like. 
 
 651. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long- 
 suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. 
 
 652. The ill-natured man, though but of equal parts with 
 the good-natured man, gives himself a large field to expatiate 
 in ; he exposes those failings in human nature over which the 
 other would cast a veil, laughs at vices which the other 
 either excuses or conceals, falls indifferently on friends or 
 enemies, exposes the person who has obliged him, and, in 
 ihort, sticks at nothing that may establish his character of 
 a wit. 
 
 653. What can interrupt the content of the fair sex, upon 
 whom one age has labored after another to confer honors, 
 and accumulate immunities? Those to whom rudeness is 
 mfamy, and insult is cowardice? Whose eye commands the 
 brave, and whose smile softens the severe? Whom the 
 sailor travels to adorn, the soldier bleeds to delend, and the 
 poet wears out life to celebrate ; who claim tribute froni 
 
108 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 every art and science, and for whom, all who approach them 
 endeavor to multiply delights, without requiring from them 
 any return but willingness to be pleased. 
 
 654. Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the 
 face; she has touched it with vermilion; made it the seat of 
 smiles and blushes; lighted it up and enlivened it with the 
 brightness of the eyes ; hung it on each side with curious or- 
 gans of sense; given it airs and graces that cannot be de- 
 scribed, and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair, 
 as sets all its beauties in the most agreeable liorht. 
 
 655. Should the greater part of the people sit down and 
 draw up a particular account of their time, what a shameful 
 bill would it be ! So much in eating, and drinking, and 
 sleeping, beyond what nature requires; so much in revelling 
 and wantonness ; so much for the recovery of the last night's 
 intemperance ; so much in gaming, plays, and masquerades ; 
 so much in paying and receiving formal and impertinent 
 visits; so much in idle and foolish prating, in censuring and 
 reviling our neighbors; so much in dressing out our bodies 
 and talking of fashions; and so much wasted and lost in 
 doing nothing at all. 
 
 656. They, through faith, subdued kingdoms, wrought 
 righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouth of lions, 
 quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the 
 sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in 
 fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens. 
 
 657. I conjure you by that which you profess, (howe'er 
 you came to know it,) answer me. Though you untie the 
 winds, and let them fight against the churches ; though the 
 yesty waves confound and swallow navigation up ; though 
 bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down ; though castles 
 topple on their warders' heads ; though palaces and pyramids 
 do slope their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
 of nature's germins tumble altogether, even till destruction 
 sicken, answer me to what I ask you. 
 
 [Sometimes the falling inflection is used at each particular 
 in the enumeration except the lasty as in the folloioing 
 sentences.'^ 
 
 658. To advise the ignorant, relieve the needy, comfort 
 the afflicted, are duties that fall in our way almost every day 
 in our lives. 
 
 659. The miser is more industrious than the saint. The 
 
TNTRODTJCTORY LESSONS. 109 
 
 pains of getting, the fear of losing, and the inability of enjoy- 
 ing his wealth, have been the mark of satire in all ages. 
 
 660. When ambition palls in one way, interest another, 
 inclination a third, and perhaps reason contrary to all, a man 
 is likely to pass his time but ill, who has so many different 
 parties to please. 
 
 661. As the genius of Milton was wonderfully turned to 
 the sublime, his subject is the noblest that could have entered 
 into the thoughts of man. Every thing that is truly great 
 and astonishing has a place in it. The whole system of the 
 intellectual world, the chaos and the creation, heaven, earth, 
 and hell, enter into the constitution of his poem. 
 
 662. Labor, or exercise, ferments the hiimors, casts them 
 into their proper channels, throws off redundancies, and 
 helps nature in those secret distributrons, without which, the 
 body cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the soul act with cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 LESSON XXXII. 
 
 IRONY. 
 
 Irony consists in such expressions as are intended to con- 
 vey a meaning directly opposite to what the words imply. 
 Thus, when ice say of a boy who never gets his lesson^ that he 
 is an admirable scholar, this is called Irony. 
 
 The word or words which are ironical, are generally to be 
 emphasized, sometimes with the circumfiex, and sometimes icith 
 the other accents. In the following sentences the ironical parts 
 are printed in Italic letters, and the pupil will manage his 
 voice in pronouncing the accented icords, according to the 
 principles explained in Lesson 22, page 69. 
 
 663. They will give enlightened freedom to our viinds, 
 who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride. 
 
 664. That lulled them as the north wind does the sea. 
 
 665. " This is well got up for a closing scene, '^ said Fer- 
 gus, smiling disdainfully upon the apparatus of terror. 
 
 666. Your consul is merciful: for this all thanks. — lie 
 DARES not touch a hair of Catiline. 
 
 667. Surely in this age of invention, something may be 
 
 10 
 
110 mTROBUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 Struck out to obviate the necessity (if such necessity exists) 
 of so tasking — degrading the human intellect. Whi/ should 
 not a sort of mute barrel organ he constructed^ on the plan 
 of those that play sets of tunes and country dances, to indite 
 a catalogue of polite epistles, calculated for all the ceremo- 
 nious observances of good breeding ? O the unspeakable 
 relief (could such a machine be invented) of having only to 
 grind an answer to one of one's dear five hundred friends. 
 
 668. Or suppose there were to be an epistolary steam- 
 engine — Ay, that's the thing — Steam does every thing now- 
 a-da.ys. Dear Mr. Brunei, set about it, I beseech you, and 
 achieve the most glorious of your undertakings. The block 
 machine at Portsmouth would be nothing to it. That spares 
 manual labor — this would relieve mental drudgery, and 
 
 thousands yet unborn But hold 1 I am not so sure that 
 
 the female sex in general may quite enter into my views of 
 the subject. 
 
 669. And it came to pass at noon that^ Elijah mocked 
 them, and said, " Cry aloud, for he is a God: — either he is 
 talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey ^ or perad- 
 venture he sleepeth and must be awaked. 
 
 670. We have much reason to believe the modest man 
 would not ask him for his debt, where he pursues his life. 
 
 671. O terrible war ! in which this band of profligates 
 are to march under Catiline. Draw out all your garrisons 
 against this formidable body ! 
 
 672. But it is foolish in us to compare Drusus Africanus 
 and ourselves with Clodius ; all our other calamities were 
 tolerable ; but no one can patiently bear the death of Clodius. 
 
 673. Do you think yourself as learned, or as smart a boy 
 as Charles ? Has he not learned the whole of the^rs^ page 
 in his book? And did he not learn three lines in two hours? 
 Could you do as much as that 1 
 
 LESSON XXXIII. 
 
 ANALOGY. 
 
 The word Analogy means resemblance ; and it is taken as 
 the title of this lesson, to represent the principle stated in the 
 preface of this book, founded on the faculty of imitation. 
 
INTRODTTCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In connexion with some colloquial sentence^ another of less 
 obvious import is given, requiring the same modulations and 
 injiections of the voice. The sentences are printed side by 
 side, and separated by a line. The pupil tcill read both 
 sentences in the same manner, toith the same modulation, tone, 
 emphasis, and expression. The simple or colloquial sentence 
 is called the model, and the more difficult one the analogical 
 sentence. 
 
 MODELS. 
 
 G74. Why did you drive 
 your hoop so fast to-day? 
 
 675. Go tell your father 
 how naughty you have been, 
 and ask your mother to re- 
 prove you. 
 
 676. Thomas Smith, go 
 away : take your things and 
 run. Why do you bring 
 such silly things here? Do 
 you think I want them, you 
 foolish boy? They are good 
 for nothing; they are not 
 worth having. 
 
 677. I would rather be a 
 kitten, and cry mew, than one 
 of those same prosing letter- 
 mongers. 
 
 678. Do you pretend to 
 sit as high in school as An- 
 thony 1 Did you read as cor- 
 rectly, speak as loudly, or be- 
 have as well as he?* 
 
 679. Are you the boy of 
 whose good conduct I have 
 heard so much ? 
 
 680. Have you not mis- 
 employed your time, wasted 
 
 ANALOGICAL SENTENCES. 
 
 674. Why looks your Grace 
 so heavily to-day? 
 
 675. Go show your slaves 
 how choleric you are, and bid 
 your bondmen tremble. 
 
 676. Son of night, retire : 
 call thy winds and fly. Why 
 dost thou come to my pres- 
 ence with thy shadowy arms? 
 Do I fgar thy gloomy form, 
 dismal spirit of Loda? Weak 
 is thy shield of clouds : 
 feeble is that meteor thy 
 sword. 
 
 677. I'd rather be a dog, 
 and bay the moon, than such 
 a Roman. 
 
 678. Do you pretend to 
 sit as high on Olympus as 
 Hercules ? Did you kill the 
 Nemre'an lion, the Eryman- 
 thian boar, the Lernean ser- 
 pent, or Stymphalian birds? 
 
 679. Art thou the Thra- 
 cian robber, of whose ex- 
 ploits I have heard so much ? 
 
 680. Hast thou not set at 
 defiance my authority, violated 
 
 * Some of the sentences in lliis lesson may be found in previous parts of the 
 nook. See page 33, iVo. 128, &,c. 
 
112 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 your talents, and passed your 
 life in idleness and vice? 
 
 681. Who is that standing 
 up in his place, with his hat 
 on, and his books under his 
 arm? 
 
 682. Did he recite his 
 lesson correctly, read audi- 
 bly, and appear to under- 
 stand what he read? 
 
 683. Is that a map which 
 you have before you, with 
 the leaves blotted with ink? 
 
 684. Henry was careless, 
 thoughtless, heedless, and 
 inattentive. 
 
 685. Oh, how can you de- 
 stroy those beautiful things 
 which your father procured 
 for you! — that beautiful top, 
 — those polished marbles, — 
 that excellent ball, — and that 
 beautifully painted kite, — oh, 
 how can you destroy them, 
 and expect that he will buy 
 you new ones ? * 
 
 the public peace, and passed 
 thy life in injuring the persona 
 and properties of thy fellow- 
 subjects? 
 
 681. Whom are they ush- 
 ering from the world with 
 all this pageantry and long 
 parade of death? 
 
 682. Was his wealth stored 
 fraudfully, the spoil of orphans 
 wronged, and widows who 
 have none to plead their 
 rights? 
 
 683. Is this a dagger which 
 I see before me, the handle 
 towards my hand ? 
 
 683. Will you say that 
 your time is your own, and 
 that you have a right to em- 
 ploy it in the manner you 
 please ? 
 
 684. This is partial, un- 
 just, uncharitable, iniqui- 
 tous. 
 
 685. Oh, how canst thou 
 renounce the boundless store 
 of charms that Nature to 
 her votary yields ! — the war- 
 bling woodland, the resound- 
 ing shore, the pomp of groves, 
 the garniture of fields ; all 
 that the genial ray of morn- 
 ing gilds, and all that echoes 
 to the song of even, all that 
 the mountain's sheltering bo- 
 som shields, and all the dread 
 magnificence of heaven, — oh, 
 how canst thou renounce, and 
 hope to be forgiven ? 
 
 * The principle involved in this lesson will be found by the teacher a useful 
 auxiliary m leadiiio; the pupil to the correct enunciation of diflficult sentences. 
 It is deemed usnecessary to extend the lesson by numerous models, or examples 
 of analog-y. The teacher will find it easy to form models for tlie pupil in his 
 exercises in reading 5 and if the experience of the author may be adduced in 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS, 113 
 
 LESSON XXXIV. 
 
 THE SLUR.* 
 
 The Slur is the name given to such a management of the 
 voice as is opposed to emphasis. When a word or part of a 
 sentence is emphasized, it is to be pronounced with a louder 
 and more forcible effort of the voice, and it is frequently to 
 be prolonged. But when a sentence or part of a sentence is 
 SLURRED, it is to be read like a parenthesis, "^ in an altered 
 tone of voice, more rapidly, and not so forcibly, and with all 
 the words pronounced nearly alike.\ 
 
 The parts which are to be slurred in this lesson are printed 
 in Italic letters, and the words on which emphatic force is to 
 be bestowed are printed in capitals, as in Lesson 24, page 75. 
 
 proof of the ulilily aiid efficacy of the principle, he has lifUe doubt that it will 
 DC acknowledged as a valuable aid in teaching' the art of reading. 
 
 * The following remarks upon tlie slur were communicated to the author by a 
 distinguished teacher. 
 
 " In order to communicate clearly and forcibly the whole signification of a 
 passage, it must be subjected to a rigid analysis. It will Uien be found, that 
 often one paramount idea pervades llie sentence, although it may be associated 
 with incidental statements, and qualified in every possible manner. It is the 
 province of the reader, by appropriate inflections and modulations of the voice, 
 to communicate to the listener every shade of meaning, be it more or less del- 
 icate. The primary idea, then, will require a forcible utterance, while the other 
 portions will be thrown into the sliade. For want of a better name, we may 
 designate as ' The S/ur' that particular element in elocution, by which those 
 parts of a sentence of less comparative importance, are rendeied less impres- 
 sive to the ear. 
 
 «' It will be imderstood, that the use of stress, alone, can by no means make a 
 reader ; in<ieed, it is certain liiat the best elocutionists are they who most 
 adroitly blend emphasis and sliir. The presence of the slur generally implies 
 the existence of emphasis ; and the former is often used to set an emphatic 
 word or plirase in stronger relief. 
 
 " A slurred passage must generaljy be read in a lower and less forcible 
 tone of voice, and more rapidly tiian the context j and this element (jiamely, 
 the slur) must be employ^ in cases of varentltesis, contrast, repetition, or ex- 
 plaruttion, where the sentence is of small comparative importance j and often 
 where qualijication of time, place, or manner is made." 
 
 \ See page 48, Lesson 16. 
 
 t On the management of the slur, much of the beauty and propriety of 
 enunciation depends ; especially in all sentences in which parentheses abound. 
 Ilow much soever a sentence may be cumbered with explanatory details, or 
 interrupted and obscured by parentheses and unimportant adjuncts, the reader, 
 by a proper management of the slur, can always bring forviard the most im- 
 portant particulars into a strong light, and throw the rest into shade; thereby 
 entirely changing the character of* the sentence, and making it appear lucid 
 strong, and expressive. 
 
114 TRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 QSQs Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By 
 Sinel's death, I know I am thane of Glamis; but how of 
 Cawdor? The thane of Cawdor lives, a prosperous gentle- 
 man; and to be King stands not within the prospect of be- 
 lief, no more than to be Cawdor. Say from WHENCE ^ou 
 oice this strange intelligence; — or WYiX upon this blasted 
 heath you stop our way ivith such prophetic greeting. 
 
 687. But let me ask by WHAT RIGHT do you involve 
 yourself in this multiplicity of cares? WHY do you loeave 
 around you this web of occupation, and then complain that you 
 cannot break it ? 
 
 688. And when the prodigal son came to himself, he said, 
 " How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough 
 and to spare, and I perish with hunger ! I will arise and GO 
 to my father; and will say unto him, * Father, I have sinned 
 against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to 
 be called thy son : — make me as one of thy hired servants.' " 
 And he arose, and was coming to his father; — but while he 
 was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had com- 
 passion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And 
 the son SAID unto him, *' Father, I have sinned against 
 heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called 
 thy son." * 
 
 689. When therefore the Lord knew how the Pharisees 
 had heard that Jesus made and baptized more disciples than 
 John, though Jesus himself baptized not, but his disciples, he 
 left Judea, and departed again into Galilee. 
 
 690. Search the Scriptures, /br m them ye think ye have 
 eternal life, and they are they which testify of me. 
 
 691. STRANGER, if thou hast learnt a truth which 
 needs experience more than reason, that the world is full of 
 guilt and misery, and hast known enough of all its sorrows, 
 crimes, and oares, to tire thee of it, — enter this wild 
 WOOD, and view the haunts of nature. 
 
 692. The calm shade shall bring a kindred calm, and 
 the sweet breeze, that makes the green leaves dance, shall waft 
 a balm to thy sick heart. 
 
 693. The massy rocks themselves, the old and ponderous 
 trunks of prostrate trees, that lead from knoll to knoll, a 
 causey rude, or bridge, the sunken brook, and their dark roots 
 
 * Tliis passage has been previously related ; and all similar repetitions are 
 to be slurred, unless there is particular rea«'on for emphasizing them. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 115 
 
 toith all their earth upon them, twisting high, breathe fixed 
 
 TRANQUILLITY. 
 
 694. The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and tripping 
 o^er its bed of pebbly sands, or leaping doicn the rocks, seems 
 with continuous laughter to rejoice in its own being.* 
 
 695. Therefore said they unto him, " How were thine eyes 
 opened?" lie answered and said, ** A man that is called 
 Jesus made clay, and anointed mine eyes, and said unto me, 
 * Go to the pool of Siloam and wash:' and I went and 
 washed, and I received sight." *#»**»***** Then 
 acrain the Pharisees asked him how he had received his sight. 
 He said unto THEM, " He put clay upon mine eyes, and 1 
 washed, and do see." 
 
 696. And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, when o'er 
 the sky advanced the kindling dawn, the crimson cloud, 
 BLUE main, and mountain gray, and lake dim gleaming on 
 the smoky lawn; — far to the west, the long, long vale with- 
 drawn, where ttoilight loves to linger for a while; and now 
 lie faintly kens the bounding fawn, and villager abroad at 
 early toil. Butlo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, 
 OCEAN, SMILE. 
 
 697. O God! be thou a God, and spare while yet 'tis 
 time! Renew not Adam's fall : — Mankind were then but 
 twain; but they are numerous now as are the waves, and 
 the tremendous rain, whose drops shall be less thick than 
 would their graves, were graves permitted to the sons of 
 Cain, 
 
 698. Mountains interposed, make enemies of nations, 
 who had else, like kindred drops, been mingled into one. 
 
 699. No! DEAR as freedom is, and in my heart's just 
 estimation prized above all price, I would much rather b^ 
 myself the SLAVE, and wear the bonds, than fasten them 
 on him. 
 
 700. A GREAT CITY — situatccl amidst all that nature could 
 create of beauty and profusion, or art collect of science and 
 magnificence, — the growth of many ages — the scene of 
 splendor, festivity , and happiness — in one moment withered 
 as by a spell — its palaces, its streets, its temples, its gardens 
 glowing with eternal spring, and its inhabitants in the full 
 enjoyment of life's blessings, obliterated from their very place 
 in creation, not by war, nor famine, or disease, nor any of the 
 natural causes of destruction to which earth had been accus' 
 
 * See note on page 145, No. 780. 
 
116 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 tomed — hut in a single night, as if by magic, and amid the 
 confiagration, as it vicrc, of nature itself, presented a subject 
 on which the wildest imagination might grow weary, without 
 even equalling the grand and terrible reality. 
 
 701. And THOU, O silent form, alone and bare, whom, as 
 I lift again my head, boived low in silent adoration, I again 
 behold, and to thy sufnmit upward from thy base sweep slowly, 
 with dim eyes suffused with tears, AWAKE, thou MOUN- 
 TAIN FORM. 
 
 702. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven, if in your 
 bright leaves loe would read the fate of men and empires, — 
 'tis to be forgiven, that, in our aspirations to he great, our 
 destinies o'erleap their mortal state, and claim a kindred 
 with you ; for ye are a beauty and a mystery, and create 
 in us such love and reverence from afar, that fortune, 
 FAME, power, life, have named themselves a star. 
 
 703. A few hours more, and she will move in stately 
 grandeur on, cleaving her path majestic through the flood, 
 as if she were a goddess of the deep. 
 
 704. Falsely luxurious, will not man awake, and spring- 
 ing from the bed of sloth, enjoy the cool, the fragrant, and 
 the silent hour, to meditation due and sacred song? 
 
 705. For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ? 
 To lie in dead oblivion, losing half the fleeting moments of 
 too short a life; — total extinction of the enlightened soul! 
 Or else to feverish vanity alive, wildered and tossing through 
 distempered dreams 1 
 
 706. But yonder comes the powerful KING OF DAY, 
 rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, the kindling 
 azure, and the mountain's brow illumed with fluid gold, his 
 near approach betoken glad. LO, NOW, APPARENT 
 ALL, aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air, he looks 
 in boundless MAJESTY abroad, and sheds the shining day, 
 that burnished plays on rocks, and hills, and towers, and 
 wandering streams, HIGH GLEAMING from afar. 
 
 707. PRIME CHEERER, LIGHT! of all material 
 beings FIRST AND BEST; EFFLUX DIVINE, NA- 
 TURE'S RESPLENDENT ROBE! without whose vesting 
 beauty all loere wrapt in unessential gloom; and THOU, 
 O SUN! SOUL of surrounding WORLDS! in tvhom, 
 best seeyi, shines out thy Maker — may I sing of thee? 
 
 70S. 'Tis by thy secret, strong, attractive force, as ivith 
 a chain indissoluble hound, thy system rolls entire ; from the 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 117 
 
 far bourn of utmost Saturn, wherling wide his round of thirty 
 years, to Mercury, ichose disk can scarce be caught by philo- 
 sophic eye, lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze. 
 
 709. And thus, in silent icaiting, stood the piles of stone 
 and piles of wood ; TILL DEATH, who, in his vast affaii's, 
 ne'er puts things off — as men in theirs — and thus, if J the 
 truth must tell, does his work finally and well, WINKED 
 at our hero as he passed, ** Your house is finished, sir, at 
 last; a narrower house — a house of clay — your palace 
 for another day." 
 
 710. The smoothness of flattery cannot now avail — 
 cannot SAVE us in this rugged and awjwl crisis. 
 
 711. What PROFIT hath a man of all his labor, which 
 he takcth under the sun ? 
 
 712. IS there any thing ichercof it may be said, ** See, this 
 is new ? " The thing which HAS been, it is that which shall 
 be, and that which IS done, is that which SHALL be done, 
 and there is no NEW thing under the sun. 
 
 713. THOU, glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 glasses itself in tempests, in ALL time, calm or convulsed, in 
 breeze, or gale, or storm, icing the pole, or in the torrid 
 clime dark heaving, BOUNDLESS, ENDLESS, and SUB- 
 LIME — the image of Eternity — the throne of the Invisi- 
 ble; even from out thy slime, the monsttrs of the deep are 
 made; each zone obeys thee — thou goest forth, DREAD, 
 FATHOMLESS, ALONE. 
 
 714. CENTRE of LiraiT and energy! thy way is 
 through the unknown void ; thou hast thy throne, morning 
 and evening, and at noon of day, far in the blue, untended 
 and alone : Ere the first wakened airs of earth had blown, 
 ON didst thou march, triumphant in thy light. Then didst 
 thou send thy glance, 2ohich still hath flown wide through the 
 never-ending worlds of night; and yet thy full orb burns with 
 fla.««h unquenched and bright. 
 
 715. In thee, FIRST LIGHT, the bounding ocean smiles, 
 when the quick winds uprear it in a swell, that rolls in glit- 
 tering green around the isles, where ever-springing fruits and 
 blossoms dwell. 
 
 716. THINE are the MOUNTAINS, — if^/frre they 
 purely lift snows that have never wasted, in a sky tvhich 
 hath no stain ; below the storm may drift its darkness, and 
 the thunder-gust roar by; — ALOFT, in thy eternal smile, 
 they lie, DAZZLING, but COLD; — thy farewell glance 
 
118 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 looks there, and when below thy hues of beauty die, girt 
 round them as a rosT/ belt^ they bear into the high, dark 
 vault, a brow that still is fair. 
 
 717. May THE LIKE SERENITY, in such dreadful 
 circumstances, and a DEATH EQUALLY GLORIOUS, 
 be the lot of all whom TYRANNY, of whatever denomina- 
 tion or description, SHALL, in any age, or in any country, 
 CALL to expiate their virtues on the scaffold. 
 
 718. Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all 
 sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a MOMENT, in the 
 TVVIxNKLING of an EYE, AT the LAST TRUMP; /or 
 the trumpet shall sound, and the dead be raised incorruptible, 
 and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on 
 INCORRUPTION, and this mortal must put on immortality. 
 So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and 
 this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be 
 brought to pass the saying that is written, DEATH is 
 
 SWALLOWED UP IN VICTORY. 
 
 719. O WINTER ! ruler of the inverted year ! 
 thy scattered hair with sleet-like ashes filled, thy breath 
 congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks fringed with a beard 
 made white with other snoios than those of age, thy forehead 
 wrapped in clouds, a leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
 a sliding car, indebted to no wheels, but urged by storms 
 along its slippery way, I LOVE THEE, all UNLOVELY 
 as thou seem'st, and DREADED as thou ART. 
 
 720. Lo 1 the unlettered hind, loho never knew to raise 
 his mind excursive to the heights of abstract contemplation, 
 as he sits on the green hillock by the hedge-row side, what 
 time the insect swarms are murmuring, and marks, in silent 
 thought, the broken clouds, that fringe with loveliest hues 
 the evening sky, feels in his soul the hand of nature rouse 
 the thrill of gratitude to him who formed the goodly 
 prospect ; he beholds the god throned in the west ; and 
 his reposing ear hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze, that 
 floats through neighboring copse or fairy brake, or lingers, 
 playful, on the haunted stream. 
 
 721. They shall hear of my vengeance, that would 
 scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. The miserable 
 Highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted, stripped of all, 
 dishonored, and hunted down, because the avarice of others 
 grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on 
 them in an awful change. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 119 
 
 LESSON XXXV. 
 
 MEASURE OF SPEECH.* 
 
 In Lesson 10th, page IGth, the pupil was informed that a pause is 
 Boinetimes made in reading, where there is no pause in tlie book. The 
 pause to which allusion is there made, is rendered necessary to allow 
 the reader to take breath. This lesson is designed to explain to the 
 pupil another sort of pause, or rather interruption of the voice, caused 
 by the peculiar operation of the organs of speech. 
 
 Dr. Rush, in his work "On the Human Voice," has remarked, with 
 regard to the manner in which children learn to read, that " the close 
 attention whicli their ignorance requires, and their slowness of utter- 
 ance, lead them to lay an equal stress upon every syllable, or at least 
 upon every word. This habit continues a long time after the eye has 
 acquired a facility in following up discourse, and in some cases infects 
 pronunciation throughout subsequent life." 
 
 The object of this lesson, which is entitled " Measure of Speech," is 
 twofold : 1st. To teach the pupil so to manage his voice, in conformity 
 with the natural operation of the organs of speech, as to break up the 
 monotonous, or ^'^ equal" manner of reading above mentioned, and to 
 introduce such an agreeable variety, as will cause peculiar melody of 
 utterance; and, 2dly. To enable him to read in such a manner that he 
 will not be " out of breathy" and consequently to exercise his voice 
 witliout fatigue. 
 
 A Measure of Speech consists of an accented and an 
 unaccented portion of sound, produced hy one effort of tht 
 voice. 
 
 In pronouncing an accented syllable, the voice makes an effort, 
 which must be repeated, if the next syllable is also an accented syl- 
 lable. But if the next syllable or syllables be unaccented, the voice 
 can pronounce them all with a single effort. Thus the words spirt, 
 spirit.^ spiritual^ or spiritually, may each be pronounced with a single 
 effort or pulsation of the voice. 
 
 * The teacher who would thoroughly understand the subject treated iu this 
 lesson, and who aims al excellence in the art of reading, is referred to the 
 very valuable and scientific work of Dr. Rush, of Philadelphia, entitled the 
 " Philosophy of the Human Voice," or to Dr. Barber's Grammar of Elocution, 
 a work founded on the principles advanced by Dr. Rush. Dr. Barber, whose 
 opinion on the subject has great weight, says, " In Dr. Rush's work, the reader 
 may repair to a fountain al once deep and full." In another place, Dr. Barber 
 assures " every public speaker, and every philosophical actor, that he will fail 
 in his duty to himself, if l)c neglects a diligent perusal of Dr. Rush's Philosophy 
 of the Voice." The same may also be said in relation to Dr. Barber's own 
 work. From the works of both these gendemen, the author has derived as- 
 sistance in the preparation of these Exercises. 
 
120 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 It may here be remarked, that it is not material whether the syl- 
 lables belong to the same word. The voice may utter, with a single 
 effort, several syllables, even when they constitute dijflerent words. 
 Thus each of the following lines may be pronounced by a single effort 
 or pulsation of the voice : — 
 
 Came to the — 
 When he was in — 
 'Twas at the — 
 Does to the — 
 Oft did the — 
 Utterable, &c. 
 
 But when two accented syllables follow one another, there must be a 
 distinct effort or pulsation of the voice to pronounce each. Thus the 
 words /a/e, hatc^ both being accented, require a distinct efibrt or pulsa- 
 tion of the voice for the pronunciation of each ; and a pause must be 
 made between each, long enough to pronounce an unaccented syllable. 
 It will thus be seen, that the two syllables fatal, or hating, can be pro- 
 nounced by the same effort that is required to pronounce the syllables 
 fate and hate. And here it may be remarked that, while an accented 
 syllable requires a distinct effort or pulsation of the voice in pro- 
 nouncing it, an unaccented syllable is uttered without such eftbrt. 
 This distinction of the voice, in pronouncing accented and unaccented 
 syllables, is called by Dr. Barber, in his Grammar of Elocution, the 
 pulsative and the remiss action of the voice. 
 
 An accented syllahlcy therefore, is uttered by the pulsative * 
 action of the voice. 
 
 An unaccented syllable is uttered by the remiss * action of 
 the voice. 
 
 A perfect measure of speech consists of one syllabic, or any 
 number of syllables, {not exceeding five,) uttered during one 
 pulsation and remission of the voice. 
 
 It may here be remarked, that a single syllable may constitute a 
 measure ; for if it be extended in sound, the first part of that sound 
 may be accented or heavy, and the latter unaccented or light. But a 
 short syllable will not constitute a measure. 
 
 More than one syllable cannot be uttered during the pulsative effort 
 of the voice ; while one, two, three, and even four, can be uttered 
 during the remiss action; as in the word spiritually, in which the 
 first syllable, spir, is pronounced by the pulsative, and the syllables 
 itually by the remiss action of the voice. 
 
 * As a proper understanding of these terms is deemed essential to a clear 
 comprehension of the principle on which this lesson is founded, the teacher 
 who wishes a fuller development of the subject, is referred to Dr. Barber's 
 Grammar of Elocution — or to Dr. Rush's work, already mentioned, on the 
 Philosophy of the Human Voice, Section 49th, entitled "the Rhythmus of 
 Speech." 
 
INTEODUCTOEY LESSONS. 
 
 121 
 
 An imperfect measure of speech consists of a single sylla- 
 ble on which the acute accent is placed, — or of a syllable or 
 syllables tchich are unaccented. 
 
 In the following examples for reading, the lines are di- 
 vided into several parts, which are separated by a mark like 
 this I called a bar, and the parts divided by the bars are all 
 
 PERFECT or IMPERFECT MEASURES OF SPEECH. 
 
 The accented sylhtbles, or those which require the pulsa- 
 tive effort of the voice, are noted by a star * under them, 
 and the unaccented syllables, or those which require the re- 
 miss action of the voice, have hyphens - under them. 
 
 The time occupied in reading each portion between the 
 bars must be equal, whether the bar includes a perfect or 
 imperfect measure of speech. A bar may contain an imper- 
 fect measure; the accented or the unaccented portions of the 
 measure being omitted. In that case, a mark like this "i is 
 inserted, to indicate a rest or stop long enough to pronounce 
 the portion which is omitted.* 
 
 [In reading the following passages, the pupil will recollect 
 that all the syllables which have a star under them are ac' 
 ccnted — that all which have the hyphen under them are 
 unaccented — and that all the marks like this ^ indicate that 
 a pause is to be made long enough to pronounce an unaccented 
 syllable.'] 
 
 722. 
 
 ^ In the 
 
 second 
 
 * 
 
 century 
 
 era 
 
 ♦ _ 
 
 ^ the 
 
 empire of I Rome 
 
 ^ of the Christian 
 
 * 
 
 compre- 
 
 hended the 
 
 fairest 
 
 part of the 
 
 earth 
 
 ^ and the 
 
 most ^ 
 
 civil- 
 
 ized portion of man- kind. 
 
 * Dr. Rush, in the very vahiable work already mentioned, has ihe following; 
 remarks in relation to the method of marking and dividing sentences here in- 
 troduced : — 
 
 " This notation will not, indeed, inform us what syllables are to be emphatic, 
 nor where the pauses are to be placed •, but it will cMjable a master, who knows 
 how to order all these things in speech, to furnish that which most men require 
 for every thing they do — a copy. If a boy is taught bv this method, he ac- 
 quires the habit of attention to the subjects of acceotuatioQ zmd pause, which 
 may be readily applied hi ordinary discourse." 
 
122 
 
 INTRODTTCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 
 723. 
 
 
 
 Twas at the royal 
 * - - * - 
 
 feast T 
 
 T for 
 
 Persia 
 
 * 
 
 won. 
 
 * _ 
 
 HOHENLINDEN.* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 724. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^ On 
 
 Linden 
 
 * 
 
 7:^ 
 
 when the 
 
 * 
 
 sun was low 
 
 * - * - 
 
 
 ^ AH 
 
 bloodless 
 * 
 
 ^:} 
 
 lay the un- 
 
 * - - 
 
 trodden 
 * 
 
 snow 
 * . 
 
 T\ 
 
 ^ And 
 
 dark as 
 
 * 
 
 winter 
 
 * 
 
 ^ was the 
 
 flow 
 
 * - 
 
 
 ^ Of 
 
 Iser 
 
 * _ 
 
 rolling 
 
 * - 
 
 rapidly. 
 
 n 
 
 ^1 
 
 
 725. 
 
 ^ But 
 
 Linden 
 
 1^ 
 
 saw an- 
 
 * 
 
 other 
 * - 
 
 sight 
 
 When the 
 
 * 
 
 drum 
 
 * 
 
 bea 
 
 * 
 
 t ^at 
 
 dead of 
 
 * 
 
 light 
 
 
 ^ Com- 
 
 manding 
 * 
 
 fires of 
 
 * 
 
 death 
 
 * _ 
 
 T: 
 
 light 
 
 
 ^ The darkness ^ of her 
 
 ♦ - * - * _ - 
 
 scenery. 
 
 T 
 
 T\ 
 
 
 726. 
 
 ;^By 
 
 torch and 
 
 * 
 
 trumpet 
 
 * 
 
 T\ 
 
 fast ar- 
 
 * 
 
 rayed 
 
 
 Each 
 * _ 
 
 horseman 
 
 * 
 
 drew his 
 
 * 
 
 battle 
 
 * 
 
 blade 
 
 * 
 
 T\ 
 
 
 * Ailhougii there are majiy poetical extracts in the preceding parts of this 
 book, this is the first extract in which the lines are distingxiished. All the pre- 
 ceding extracts have been presented in sentences like prose, to prevent that 
 " sing song " manner of reading into which children are apt to fall. It is 
 thought that the introductory remarks in this lesson are adapted to prepare 
 the pupil to read verse, without the danger of "favoring the poetry," as Uiis 
 sing-song is sometimes called. The usual punctuation is omitted, in this lesson^ 
 as the system of notation adopted fully supplies its place. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 123 
 
 ^ And furious I ^^ 
 
 every 
 
 ♦ _ _ 
 
 ^ To I join the 
 
 dreadful 
 
 revelry. 
 
 » 
 
 charger 
 
 neighed 
 
 * _ 
 
 Then 
 Then 
 
 shook the 
 
 * 
 
 rushed the 
 
 hills 
 
 steeds 
 
 727. 
 ^ with 
 
 Tto 
 
 thunder 
 
 » 
 
 battle 
 » _ 
 
 riven 
 driven 
 
 ^^ And 
 
 louder than the 
 * _ _ _ 
 
 Far 
 
 flashed I ^ the 
 
 red 
 
 ♦ - 
 
 bolts of I heaven | "^^ 
 
 ri"- 
 
 tillery. 
 
 * 
 
 T\ 
 
 ^ And 
 ^ On 
 "^ And 
 
 redder 
 
 Linden's 
 
 • - 
 
 darker 
 
 yet 
 
 728. 
 ^ those 
 
 fires shall 
 
 glow 
 
 hills of 
 
 ♦ 
 
 yet 
 
 blood-stained 
 
 ^ shall I be the 
 
 * . 
 snow 
 
 "11 
 
 flow 
 
 # _ 
 
 "^ Of Iser rolling rapidly. ^^ ^^ 
 
 ^ 'Tis 
 ^ Can 
 ^ Where 
 
 morn 
 
 « _ 
 
 pierce the 
 furious 
 
 729. 
 
 ^ but 
 
 scarce 
 
 yon 
 
 lurid 
 
 # _ 
 
 sun 
 
 war clouds 
 
 rolling 
 
 dun 
 
 T\ 
 
 Frank 
 
 ^ and 
 
 fiery 
 
 Hun 
 
 T\ 
 
 Shout in their 
 
 sulphurous 
 
 canopy 
 • - - 
 
 
 -n 
 
 n 
 
 ^ The 
 
 combat 
 
 1 
 
 deepens 
 
 # 
 
 
 * 
 
 1 
 
 On 
 
 Tye 
 
 brave 
 
 • 
 
 ho 
 
 rush to 
 
 * 
 
 glo 
 
 * 
 
 ry - 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 * 
 
 or 
 
 th 
 
 e 
 
 
 av 
 
 e 
 
 T 
 
 11 
 
124 
 
 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Wave 
 
 • - 
 
 *»M 
 
 Munich 
 
 * 
 
 ^1 
 
 all thy 
 
 * 
 
 banners 
 
 * 
 
 wave 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ And charge 
 
 *^, with 
 
 * 
 
 all ^ thy 
 
 * - * - 
 
 chivalry. 
 
 * 
 
 ^T^, 
 
 ^, 
 
 730. 
 
 Few ^ 
 
 * _ 
 
 ■^ few shall 
 * 
 
 part 
 
 * - 
 
 where 
 
 * 
 
 many 
 
 * 
 
 meet 
 
 * . 
 
 "!^. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^The 
 » 
 
 snow 
 
 *^ shall be their winding 
 * - _ - » . 
 
 sheet 
 
 * . 
 
 ^. 
 
 
 *^, And 
 
 every 
 
 * - . 
 
 turf 
 
 * - 
 
 -jbe- 
 # 
 
 neath their 
 
 * 
 
 feet 
 
 
 
 ^ Shall I be a I soldier's I sepulchre. I ^ I •^ 
 
 CATHARINA. 
 
 1 
 
 * 
 
 She 
 
 * 
 
 And 
 
 * 
 
 The 
 
 
 And 
 
 • 
 
 ^, she is 
 * - _ 
 
 meet perhaps 
 
 came ^ 
 
 * 
 
 731. 
 
 gone 
 
 # 
 
 ^ we have 
 
 » _ 
 
 sun of 
 
 that 
 
 seems to have 
 
 never a- 
 * - - 
 
 moment 
 
 # 
 
 risen in 
 
 gam 
 
 * . 
 
 *1 is set ^ 
 * . * - 
 
 vam. ^ 
 
 metH 
 
 So 
 
 Catha- 
 
 * 
 
 vanishes 
 
 * - - 
 
 rma 
 
 ^has 
 
 732. 
 
 fled like a 
 
 dream 
 
 * - 
 
 But has 
 
 ^. That 
 
 left^ 
 
 pleasure 
 
 * - 
 
 ^. a re- 
 
 ^. a- k 
 * . \ * 
 
 ffret ^, 
 
 *1 and es- 
 
 will not so suddenly pass. ^ 
 
 teem 
 
 « - 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 733. 
 
 125 
 
 Tin 
 
 yonder 
 
 grave 
 
 :i« 
 
 T Whexe 
 T The 
 
 Druid 
 
 lies T 
 
 slowly 
 
 winds the 
 
 stealing 
 
 wave '"^ 
 
 ii; 
 
 years 
 
 # 
 
 best 
 
 T To 
 
 deck 
 
 # _ 
 
 "1 its 
 
 * _ 
 
 sweets shall 
 
 * 
 
 Poet's 
 
 duteous 
 
 rise T I 
 
 * - 1 
 
 sylvan 
 
 grave. 
 
 [The pupil will observe that prose as well as poetry is 
 made up of similar measures of speech. The only differ- 
 ence in sound, between poetry and prose, is, that poetry or 
 verse consists of a regular succession of similar measures, 
 which produce a harmonious impression on the ear ; while 
 in prose, the different kinds of measure occur promiscuously, 
 without any regular succession. The following example 
 affords an instance of prose divided off into measures.] 
 
 And I be- 
 
 ♦ _ _ 
 
 angels 
 
 ny 
 
 beasts 
 
 them 
 
 sand 
 
 with a 
 
 was I slain "^ 
 
 held 
 
 # 
 
 round a- 
 
 734. 
 
 T and I 
 » _ _ 
 
 heard the 
 
 voice of 
 
 ma- 
 
 bout the 
 
 ^ and the 
 
 elders 
 
 T\ 
 
 throne 
 * 
 
 ^ and the 
 
 T and the 
 number of 
 
 T was 
 
 T and 
 
 loud 
 
 ♦ _ 
 
 ten T 
 
 thousand 
 
 times 
 
 thousands of 
 
 11 
 
 thousands 
 
 ten T 
 
 thou- 
 Saying 
 
 voice 
 
 T to re- 
 
 ^ and 
 
 ceive 
 
 * 
 
 wisdom 
 
 T and 
 
 and I glory 
 
 Worthy is the 
 
 * - - - 
 
 "i and 
 "T and 
 
 Lamb that 
 
 power 
 
 * . 
 
 strength 
 
 riches 
 
 honor 
 
 # _ 
 
 T and 
 11='«' 
 
 blessing. 
 
126 INTRODUCTORy LESSONS. 
 
 [In the following extracts, the marks of the accented and 
 unaccented syllables are omitted, but the bars and rests are 
 retained. The usual punctuation is also restored.] 
 
 735. 
 
 PART OP THE NINTH CHAPTER OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 And as | Jesus | passed | by, ^ | "^ he | saw a | man which 
 was I blind from his [ birth. | ^^ | T] | And his dis- | ci- 
 ples I asked him, | saying, | Master, | who did | sin, *^ | 
 ^ this I man | ^ or his | parents, | that he was | born "^ | 
 blind? m I T1 I Jesus | answered, | Neither hath this | 
 man | sinned | nor his | parents: | ^^ | but that the | 
 works of I God | ^ should be | made ^ | manifest in | him. 
 ^T I IT I ^ "^"^^ I ^^^^ *^^ I '^o^^s of I him that | sent 
 me, I while it is | day ; | ^^ | ^ the | night | cometh | 
 ^ when I no ^ I man I can ^ | work. "1 HT m H As | 
 long I ^ as I I am in the | world, ^ | I | am the | light | 
 ^ of the I world. I ^^ I ^^ I When he had | thus ^ | 
 spoken, | ^ he | spat on the | ground, ^ | ^ and | made | 
 clay I ^ of the | spittle, | and he a- | nointed the | eyes "^ \ 
 ^ of the I blind | man | ^ with the | clay, "^ | "^ and | said 
 unto him, | Go, ^ \ wash in the | pool of | Siloam, | ^^ | 
 (which is, by in- | terpre- | tation, | Sent.) | ^"1 | ^^ | 
 ^ He I went his | way, | therefore, | ^ and | washed, | 
 ^ and I came | seeing, m m | 
 
 ^ The I neighbors | therefore, | ^ and 1 they which be- | 
 fore had | seen him, | that he was | blind, | ^^ | said, ^ \ 
 Is not I this ^ I he that | sat and | begged? H^ H"! j 
 Some I said, ^ | This | is | he; ^ | others | said, ^ | He 
 is I like him : n^ n but I he I said, ^ I | am | he. ^^ | 
 *^^ I Therefore | said they unto him, | ^^"^ | How | were 
 thine j eyes | opened ? | '^^ | ^^ | ^ He | answered and [ 
 said, I ^ A I man | ^ that is | called | Jesus, | made | clay, ] 
 ^ and a- | nointed mine | eyes, | ^ and | said unto me, | 
 Go to the 1 pool of | Siloam, | "1 and | wash: ^ m | 
 ^ and I I went and | washed, | ^ and I re- ] ceived | sight. | 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS 127 
 
 ^^ m I Then I said they unto him, | ^^ | Where | is 
 he? n^ n I He I said, T H | I know not. m m | 
 
 "^ They | brought to the | Pharisees | him that a- j fore 
 time I ^ was I blind. | ^^ | And it was the | Sabbath | 
 day "^ I ^ when | Jesus | made the | clay, | ^ and | opened 
 his I eyes. | ^^ | Then a- 1 gain the | Pharisees | also | 
 asked him [ how he had re- | ceived his [ sight. | "^^ | 
 ^ He I said unto | them,* i ^ He | put '^ [ clay ^ | ^ upon 
 mine | eyes, | ^ and I | washed | and do | see. | ^^ | ^|^ | 
 Therefore said | some of the | Pharisees, | ^ This | man 
 is I not of I God, | "^ be- | cause | ^ he | keepeth not the | 
 Sabbath | day. | *^^ | Others | said, ^ | How can a | man 
 that is a | sinner, | do such | miracles? | ^^ | And there 
 was I "^ a di- | vision a- | mong them. | T1 MT | ^ They 
 say I unto the | blind | man a- | gain, ^ | "^^ | What | 
 sayest | thou of him? | that he hath | opened thine | eyes? | 
 ^T n He said, T I He is a I prophet, m m | 
 
 736. 
 
 PSALM CXXXIX. 
 
 O I Lord, ^ I thou hast | searched me, | ^ and | known 
 "^®- i ^^ I ^T M Thou I knowest my | down | sitting | 
 ^ and mine | up "^ | rising; | '^ thou | under- | standest 
 my I thoughts I T a- I far I off. ^ | ^^ Ml | Thou | 
 compassest my | path, ^ | ^ and my | lying | down, ^ \ and 
 art ac- | quainted with | all my | ways. | ^^ | For there is | 
 not a I word in my [ tongue, | ^ but | lo, ^ | O ^ | Lord, | 
 thou "-1 I knowest it | alto- | gether. M^ | "^T | Thou hast 
 be- I set me I T be- I hind and be- | fore, ^ | ^ and | laid 
 thine | hand up- | on me. | ^"^ \ ^^ | Such ^ | knowledge 
 is I too I wonderful for | me : | ^^ | it is | high, ^ | ^ I | 
 cannot at- | tain unto it. | ^^ j ^^ \ Whither shall I | 
 go ^ I ^ from thy | spirit? | "IT | "1 or | whither shall I | 
 flee from thy | presence? | ^^ H^ | If I as- | cend ^ \ 
 
 * See Number 695, page 115. 
 
128 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 up into I heaven, | ^^ | thou art | there : | ^^ | if I | 
 make my | bed in | hell, | ^ be- | hold, ^ | thou art | there. | 
 ^w| I w|wj I jf J I ^^j^g ^^^ I ^^^j^gg ^^^^^ I morning H and | 
 
 dwell in the | uttermost | parts of the | sea: | ^*^ | Even | 
 there | ^ shall thy | hand ^ | lead me, | ^ and thy j 
 right T I hand shall | hold me. ^^ ^ | If I | say, | Surely 
 the I darkness shall | cover me : | ^^ | even the | night ^ | 
 ^ shall be I light a- | bout me : | ^^ | Yea, | ^ the dark- 
 ness I hideth not from | thee ; | ^"^ | but the | night | shineth 
 as the I day : | ^^ | ^ the | darkness | and the 1 light ^ | 
 ^ are | both a- | like H to | thee, m H^ | 
 
 737. 
 
 MARCO BOZZARIS. 
 
 [He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Lapsi, the site of 
 ancient Plataja, August 20, 1823, and expired in tiie moment of 
 victory.] 
 
 ^ At I midnight, | ^^ | in his | guarded | tent, "^ \ 
 ^ The I Turk | ^ was | dreaming | ^ of the | hoUr, | 
 
 ""^ When I Greece, | ^ her | knee in | suppliance | bent, ^ | 
 ^ Should I tremble | ^ at his | power; | 
 
 ^^ I ^ In I dreams, | ^ through | camp and | court, "^ | 
 ^ he I bore ^ | 
 
 ^ The I trophies | "^ of a | conqueror. | 
 
 In I dreams, | ^ his | song of | triumph | heard ; | ^"^ | 
 
 Then ^ \ wore his | monarch's | signet | ring, — | '^'^ | 
 Then ^ | press'd that | monarch's | throne, — MT | "1 a 
 
 I King; 1 nil 
 1 As I wild his | thoughts, ^ | ^ and | gay of | wing, ^ | 
 1 As 1 Eden's | garden | bird. 1 | H | 11 | 
 
 738. 
 
 1 At I midnight, | 1 in the | forest | shades, | H | 
 1 Boz- I zaris | ranged his | Suliote | band, | H | 
 
 True I 1 as the | steel | 1 of their | tried | blades, | 
 Heroes 1 1 in | heart and [ hand; ] H | H 1 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 129 
 
 There had the | Persian's | thousands | stood, ^ | 
 There | ^ had the | glad ^ | earth ^ | drunk their | blood ^ | 
 
 ^ I On I old Pla- I tsa's | day : | 
 ^ And I now, *^ | ^ there | breathed that | haunted | air ^ | 
 The I sons | ^ of | sires who | conquered | there, '^ \ 
 ^ With I arm to | strike ^ | ^ and | soul to | dare, | 
 
 T As I quick,-! I -n Has I far as | they. ^ m HH 
 
 739. 
 ^ An I hour pass'd | on — ^ | ^^ | ^ the | Turk a- | woke : 
 
 mi 
 
 That ^ I bright ^ | dream | ^ was his | last; ^ m | 
 "^ He I woke — "^ | ^ to | hear his | sentry's | shriek, | 
 ^ " To I arms ! [ ^ they | come ! M the | Greek, ^ | ^ the 
 
 I Greek." ^ | 
 
 "^ He I woke — to | die | "^ midst | flame and | smoke, '^ | 
 ^ And I shout, and | groan, and | sabre stroke, ^ | 
 "^^ I ^ And I death-shots | falling | thick and | fast ^ | 
 "^ As I lightnings | ^ from the | mountain | cloud ; ^ | "^^ | 
 ^ And I heard, ^ | ^ with | voice as | thunder | loud, "^ | 
 
 ^ Boz- I zaris | cheer his | band ; | 
 ^^ I " Strike — ^ | ^ till the | last | armed | foe ex- | pires, 
 
 1 m I 
 
 Strike MT | 1 for your | altars | ^ and your | fires, ^ | 
 
 II I 
 
 Strike | ^ for the | green | graves of your | sires, | "^^ | 
 
 God— T I T and your | native | land ! " 1 Ml HI | 
 
 740. 
 They | fought, ^ \ ^ like | brave | men, ^ \ long and | well 
 
 1 Ml I 
 
 ^ They | piled that | ground | ^ with | Moslem | slain, ^ \ 
 ^ They | conquered— | ^^ | but Boz- | zaris | fell, ^ | 
 -1-1 I Bleeding at | every | vein. 1 Ml Ml Ml | 
 -1 His I few sur- | viving | comrades | -j-] | saw -| | 
 -| His I smile, | -] when | rang their | proud -j | hurrah, | 
 
130 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 And the | red ^ | field ^ | was | won ; ^ | ^^ | 
 Then | saw in | death ^ | "^ his | eyelids | close ^ | 
 Calmly, | as to a | night's re- | pose, ^ | 
 
 ^ Like I flowers at | set of | sun. 1 | 11 | ^T 1 
 
 741. 
 Come to the | bridal | chamber, | Death! ^ | 
 
 Come to the | mother, | ^ when she | feels, ^ | 
 1 For the | first ^ | time, ^ | ^ her | first-born's | breath; | 
 H I Come when the | blessed | seals ^ | 
 Which I close the | pestilence | ^ are | broke, ^ | H | 
 1 And I crowded | cities | wail its | stroke ; — 1 | H | 
 Come in con- | sumption's ghastly | form, ^ | 
 
 I The I earthquake | shock, ^ | ^ the | ocean | storm; — | 
 Come when the | heart | beats | high and | warm, ^ | 
 
 1 With I banquet | song, | ^ and | dance, and | wine, ^ | 
 
 II I And I thou art | terrible ! — 1 the | tear, 1 | 
 
 1 The I groan, | 1 the | knell, 1 | 1 the | pall, 1 | ^ 
 
 the I bier, | 
 1 And I all we [ know, | 1 or | dream, or | fear 1 | 
 1 Of I agony, | 1 are | thine. | H | H | 
 
 742. 
 But to the I hero, | 1 when his | sword 1 | 
 
 1 Has I won the | battle | 1 for the | free, | H | 
 1 I Thy voice 1 | sounds like a | prophet's | word, 1 1 H | 
 And in its | hollow | tones are | heard 1 | 
 
 1 The I thanks of | millions | yet to | be. 1 | H | H \ 
 1 Boz- I zaris ! | H | 1 with the | storied | brave 1 | 
 
 Greece | nurtured | 1 in her | glory's time, 1 | H | 
 Rest thee — | H | there is | no | prouder | grave, | 
 
 Even in her | own 1 | proud 1 | clime. | H | H | 
 
 1 We I tell thy | doom | 1 with- | out a | sigh ; 1 | 
 For thou art | Freedom's | now, 1 1 1 and | Fame's ; 1 1 11 1 
 One of the | few, 1 | 1 the im- | mortal | names, | 11 | 
 
 1 That I were not | born to | die. 1 | H | H | 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 131 
 
 743. 
 Antony's oration over c^esar's body. 
 
 Friends, | ^^ | Romans, | ^^ | Countrymen! | ^^ | 
 
 Lend me your | ears; Ml MT | 
 ^ I I come I T to I bury | Caesar, | ^^ | not to | praise | 
 
 him. m m I 
 
 ^ The I evil, | ^ that | men | do, | lives | after them ;\^^\ 
 ^ The I good | ^ is | oft in- | terred | ^ with their | 
 
 bones: | ^^ | 
 So let it I be M with | Cssar! ^ | ^ The | noble | 
 
 Brutus I 
 ^ Hath I told you, | Caesar | ^ was am- | bitious. | ^^ | 
 If it I were so, | it was a | grievous | fault ; | ^^ | 
 ^ And I grievously | ^ hath | Caesar | answered it. | ^^ | 
 Here, | under | leave of | Brutus | ^ and the | rest, | 
 ^ (For I Brutus | ^ is an | honorable | man, | ^"^ | 
 So are they | all, "^ \ all | honorable | men :) M^ | 
 Come I n to I speak ^ in | Caesar's | funeral, m | ^T | 
 
 744. 
 He was my | friend,* | ^^ | faithful | ^ and | just to | 
 me: | T\ I 
 ^ But I Brutus I says | he was am- | bitious ; | ^^ | 
 >^^ I ^ And I Brutus | ^ is an | honorable | man. | ^"^ | 
 
 T\ 1 
 
 He hath | brought | many | captives | home to | Rome, | 
 '^ Whose I ransoms | ^ did the | general | coffers | fill 
 
 m m I 
 
 T Did I this n in I Caesar | seem am- | bitious? m m | 
 When that the | poor have | cried, | "^^ | Caesar hath | 
 
 wept; m I -n I 
 
 ^ Am- I bition | ^ should be | made of | sterner | stuff. | 
 
 * See Number 528, page 77. 
 
132 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 ^ Yet I Brutus | says | ^ he | was am- | bitious; | 
 ^T I ^ And I Brutus | ^ is an | honorable | man. | "^^ | 
 
 T\ I 
 
 ^ You I all did | see, | ^ that, | on the | Lupercal, | 
 ^ I I thrice pre- | sented him | "^ a | kingly | crown ; | 
 ^^ I Which he did | thrice | ^ re- I f'use. | ^T IT Was 
 
 this am- I bition M ^1 I 11 I 
 ^ Yet I Brutus | says | he was am- | bitious ; | "^^ | 
 ^ And I sure, [^ he | is IT an | honorable | man. | "^^ [ 
 
 745. 
 
 ^^ I ^ I I speak not | ^ to dis- | prove | what | Brutus | 
 
 spoke; | 
 ^ But I here | I am to | speak | what I do | know. | ^^ | 
 
 T] I 
 
 '^ You I all did | love him | once ; | ^"^ | not without | 
 
 cause: | ^^ | 
 What I cause with- | holds you, | then, | "^ to | mourn | 
 
 for him? ni m I 
 
 O I judgment, | ^'^ \ Thou art | fled to | brutish | 
 
 beasts, | ^^ | 
 ^ And I men I ^ have | lost their | reason ! m m | 
 
 Bear with me : | 
 ^T I ^ My I heart ^ | is in the | coffin [ there | ^ with 
 
 I Caesar; | 
 ^"^ I And I must | pause ^ | till it | come | back to me. 
 
 \T\\T\\ 
 
 746. 
 ^ But I yesterday, | '^ the | word of | Csesar | might | 
 ^ Have I stood a- | gainst the | world ! | ^"^ | now | lies 
 
 he I there, | 
 *^^ I ^ And I none | so | poor | ^ to | do him | rever- 
 
 ence. Ml ni | 
 O I masters! | ^"^ | If I were dis- | posed to | stir | 
 ^ Your I hearts and | minds | ^ to I mutiny and | rage, | 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 133 
 
 T should do 1 Brutus | wrong, | ^ and | Cassius | ^^ | 
 
 wrong; | 
 ^1^ I Who, I ^ you I all | know, | ^ are | honorable | men. 
 
 \T\\T\\ 
 
 ^ I I will not I do I them | wrong; HT M^ | I | rather 
 
 I choose I 
 ^ To I wrong the | dead, | "^ to | wrong my- | self | ^ 
 
 and I you, | 
 Than I will | wrong | such ^ | honorable | men. | ^^ \ 
 
 747. 
 ^ But I here's a | parchment | ^ with the | seal of | 
 
 Caesar; | 
 ^ I I found it I ^ in his | closet; | ^^ | 'Tis his | will: 
 
 mi 
 
 Let but the | commons | hear | ^ this | testament, | "^^ | 
 *^ (Which, I pardon me, | "^ I | do not | mean to | read,) | 
 *^^ I And they would | go | ^ and | kiss | dead | Caesar's 
 
 I wounds, I 
 ^ And I dip their | napkins | ^ in his | sacred | blood; | 
 ^"^ I Yea, I beg a | hair of him | ^ for | memory, | 
 ^ And I dying, | ^^ | mention it | within their | wills, | 
 ^^ I ^ Be- I queathing it | ^ as a | rich ^ | legacy, | 
 Unto their | issue. M^ Ml | 
 
 748. 
 If you have | tears, | "^ pre- | pare to | shed them | 
 
 now. I -n I -n I 
 
 ^ You I all do I know | this | mantle : | ^"^ | I remem- 
 ber I 
 "^ The I first | time | ever | Caesar | put it | on ; | "^"^ | 
 'Twas on a | summer's | evening, | ^ in his | tent ; | ^*^ | 
 That I day I ^ he I overcame the | Nervii : M^ | "IT | 
 Look ! I ^ in | this | place | ran | Cassius' | dagger | 
 
 through! ni m 1 
 
 See what a | rent | ^ the | envious | Casca | made ! | "^^ 
 
134 mxRODUCTORy lessons. 
 
 Through | this | ^ the | well be- | loved | Brutus | stabbed, 
 
 mi 
 
 ^^ I And as he | plucked his | cursed | steel a- | way | 
 ^T I Mark ^ \ how the | blood of | Caesar | followed it 
 
 m m I 
 
 749. 
 This I ^ was the | most un- | kindest | cut of | all ! | 
 ^^ I ^ For I when the | noble | Caesar | saw | him | stab, | 
 "^ In- 1 gratitude, | "^ more | strong than | traitor's | arms, | 
 Q-uite I vanquished him : | ^"^ | then | burst his | mighty 
 
 heart; | ^^ \ 
 And in his | mantle | ^^ | muffling up his | face, | ^"^ | 
 Even at the | base of | Pompey's | statue, | 
 ^^ I ^ (Which I all the I while | ran | blood,) [ ^^ ] 
 
 great | Csesar | fell. MT MT | 
 Oh 1 what a | fall | ^ was | there, | '^ my | countrymen ! | 
 
 m nil 
 
 Then | I, | "^ and | you, H and | all of us, | fell | down, | 
 Whilst ^ I bloody | treason | flourished | over us. | ^^ | 
 
 11 1 
 
 Oh ! 1 now you | weep ; [ ^^ |.^ and I per- | ceive | ^ you 
 
 I feel I 
 ^ The I dint of | pity ; | H | these | ^ are | gracious | 
 
 drop^. m m I 
 
 Kind I souls; | ^"^ | what, | weep you | ^^ | when you 
 
 but be- I hold | 
 T Our I Caesar's | vesture | wounded ? | H i H 1 Look 
 
 you I here! niMH 
 Here is him- | self, | ^^ | marr'd, | ^ as you | see, | ^ by 
 
 I traitors, m Ml | 
 
 750. 
 Good I friends, | sweet | friends, | "^^ | let me not | 
 stir you | up | 
 ^ To I such a I sudden | flood of | mutiny. | "^"^ | 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 135 
 
 ^^ I They that have | done this | deed, | ^ are | honor- 
 able: I 
 
 ^"^ I What I private | griefs | ^ they | have, | ^ a- | las ! 
 I "^ I I know not, | 
 
 ^ That I made them | do it: | ^'^ | they are | wise, | 
 ^ and I honorable, | 
 
 ^ And I will, ^ I no I doubt, | ^ with | reason | answer 
 
 you. m m I 
 
 751. 
 *^ I I come not, | friends, | ^ to | steal away | ^ your | 
 
 hearts; m | 
 I am I no I orator, | ^ as | Brutus is ; | 
 ^^ I But as you | know me | all, | ^ a | plain | blunt | 
 
 man, { 
 ^ That I love my | friend ; | ^^ | ^ and | that | they | 
 
 know I full I well | 
 ^ That I gave me | public | leave | ^ to | speak of him. 
 
 m m I 
 
 752. 
 
 For I have | neither | wit, | ^ nor | words, | ^ nor | 
 
 worth, n-| I 
 Action, I "^ nor | utterance, | ^ nor the | power of | speech, | 
 T To I stir I men's | blood. | "1"] M I only | speak | 
 
 right I on: m I 
 ^ I I tell you I that | ^ which | you yourselves | '*^ do | 
 
 know; | 
 ^^ I Show you I sweet | Caesar's | wounds, ] ^^ | poor, | 
 
 I poor I dumb | mouths, | 
 T And I bid I them | speak | for me. M'l Ml | But 
 
 were | I | Brutus, | 
 ^ And I Brutus | Antony, | ^^ | there were an | Antony | 
 ^ Would I ruffle | up your | spirits, | ^"^ \ ^ and | put a 
 
 I tongue I 
 
136 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 "^ In I every | wound of | Caesar, | ^\ that should | move | 
 ^ The I stones of | Rome | "^ to | rise in | mutiny. | 
 
 m ni I 
 
 The preceding examples, including both poetry and prose, it is 
 thought, will be sufficient to explain the principle embraced in this 
 lesson, entitled the Measure of Speech. The pupil should endeavor 
 in all his reading exercises, to form the sentences, whether of poetry 
 or prose, into measures, for the purpose of reading with facility and 
 without fatigue. The pauses or rests which occur in the imperfect 
 measures, will afford him an opportunity of taking breath at such in- 
 tervals, that, in the words of Dr. Barber, " reading will cease to be 
 laborious, and the sense will be rendered clear, as far as it is depend- 
 ent on the capital point of the distribution of time, or measure." The 
 principle explained in this lesson, when well understood, and judi- 
 ciously applied, will make the pupil acquainted with the nature of all 
 the different kinds of versification ; for he will perceive that all the 
 varieties of poetry (or verse) are dependent upon the regular succes- 
 sion of the various measures of speech." * 
 
 LESSON XXXVI. 
 
 MANNER OF READING POETRY. 
 
 The division of poetry into verses, addressing themselves to the 
 eye, is often the cause of what is called a " sing song " utterance, which 
 it should be the study of every good reader to avoid. \^See note on 
 page 122.] 
 
 In the last lesson, the attention of the pupil was drawn to the meas- 
 ure OF SPEECH — a subject, which, although it is very important in 
 prose, is doubly so in the reading of poetry or verse, as it determines 
 a question which has long been debated by teachers of the art of read- 
 ing, viz. whether a pause should be made at the end of every line. 
 
 It is maintained by a very respectable writer, that in reading ' blank 
 verse^^ *' we ought to make every line sensible to the ear ; for what " 
 (it is asked by the writer) " is the use of the melody, or for what end 
 has the poet composed in verse, if, in reading his lines, we suppress his 
 
 * A greater variety of exercises for reading, divided into measures, may be 
 found in Dr. Barber's Grammar of Elocution. 
 
 They, wlio have any curiosity to know the manner in which Garrick pro- 
 nounced Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death, are referred to Steele's Prosodia 
 Ralionalis, (edition of 1779, p. 40, et seq.,) where it is divided into measures, 
 and accented. Dr. Barber's method of dividing speech is identical with Mr. 
 Steele's. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 137 
 
 numbers, by omitting the final pause, and degrade them, by our pro- 
 nunciation, into mere prose ? " 
 
 The remarks made in the previous lesson are a sufficient reply to 
 this question. It is there staled that all sentences that are, or can be, 
 read or pronounced, are divisible into measures ; and that the only 
 dillerence there is iw sound between prose and verse is, that verse con- 
 sists of a regular succession of similar measures, while in prose the 
 different kinds of measure occur promiscuously, without any regular 
 succession. Now, if this be the case, as it undoubtedly is, there will 
 be no necessity of a pause at the end of the line, to render the melody 
 sensible to the ear. Indeed, it will be impossible for the reader, who 
 pays proper attention to the measures into which all poetical lines are 
 divided, to conceal the melody which the lines possess. The art of 
 the poet, so far as the harmony is concerned, consists in such an ar- 
 rangement of his measures, as to leave little for the reader to do, in 
 order to convey the melody to the hearer ; and those lines which re- 
 quire ' fiumoring,' in order that the music of the versification may be 
 distinguished, have little title to the name of verse. 
 
 The only direction, therefore, which it is necessary to give the 
 pupil in reading verse is, to endeavor to forget, or rather to disregard, 
 the division of the sentences into lines, and to read with the same in- 
 flections, accent, tone, emphasis, and expression, that he would use 
 in reading prose. 
 
 In addition to the remarks which were made in the last lesson in 
 relation to the pauses caused by imperfect measures of speech, it re- 
 mains to be observed that there is generally a pause, which belongs 
 exclusively to poetry, called the CiEsuRA,* or the Ctesural pause. 
 This pause must always be properly regarded ; and in studying a 
 reading lesson in verse, the pupil must be careful to ascertam where 
 this pause belongs. It is generally made after the fourth, fifth, or 
 sixth syllable in the line ; but it is sometimes found after the third or 
 tlie seventh, and occasionally even after the second or the eighth. 
 
 In the following lines, the place where the caesura, or the ca?sural 
 pause, is to be made, is indicated by a figure, and the parallel lines || ; 
 and in reading them, the pupil will remember to make a slight pause 
 when he comes to the figure. 
 
 753. 
 
 The casura after the 4th syllable. 
 
 The Savior comes, ^ || by ancient bards foretold. 
 
 754. 
 
 TTie ccBsura after the 5th syllable. 
 From storms a shelter, ^ 1| and from heat a shade. 
 
 * The word cotsura means a cut, or division. An attentive observer will 
 not fail to nolice that the beauty and grace of English versification depends 
 much upon the situaliou of the caesura. The poet has it in his power, by 
 diversifying its position, to give his numbers a grateful variety, which ihey 
 would not otherwise possess. They, who would see this subject more fully 
 discussed, will find some valuable remarks in the work of Dr. Carey, entitled 
 "Practical English Prosody;' London ed. 1816, p. 69. 
 
 12* 
 
138 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 755. 
 
 TJie ccDsura after the 6th syllable. 
 
 Exalt thy lofty head, 6 || and lift thine eyes. 
 
 756. 
 
 The ccBsura after the Sd syllable. 
 
 Exploring, 3 \\ till they find their native deep. 
 
 757. 
 
 The cmsura after the 1th syllable. 
 
 Within that mystic circle "^ |1 safety seek. 
 
 758. 
 
 The ccBsura after the 2d syllable. 
 
 Happy, 2 II without the privilege of will. 
 
 759. 
 
 The ccBsura after the 8th syllable. 
 
 In different individuals ^ || we find. 
 
 In some lines, besides the caesura, there is also what is 
 called the demi-ccBsura, or half caesura, at which the pause is 
 very slight, as in the following lines, in which the demi-cae- 
 sura is marked with a single accent, and the caesura with a 
 double accent. 
 
 760. 
 Warms' in the sun," refreshes' in the breeze, 
 Glows ' in the stars, " and blossoms ' in the trees ; 
 Lives ' through all life " ; extends ' through all extent, 
 Spreads' undivided," operates' unspent. 
 
 The pupil will recollect that no pause must be made^ and es- 
 pecially that the falling infection of the voice must not be used 
 at the end of the line, unless the sense requires it. In the 
 following extract, the pause, with the falling infection, occurs 
 in that part of the line indicated by the grave accent. The 
 extract is from the description of the deluge in Paradise Lost. 
 
 761. 
 Meanwhile the south wind rose, and with black wings, 
 Wide hovering, all the clouds together drove 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 139 
 
 From under heaven : the liills, to their supply, 
 Vapor and exhalation dusk and moist 
 Sent up amain : and now the thickened sky 
 Like a dark ceiling stood ; down rushed the rain 
 Impetuous, and continued, till the earth 
 No more was seen ; the floating vessel swam 
 Uplifted, and secure with beaked * prow 
 Rode tilting o'er the waves. 
 
 A Simile, or Comparison, in poetry ^ should he slurred; f 
 that is, it should be read in a lower tone of voice, with less 
 force, and more rapidly. 
 
 In the following lines the simile is contained in Italic 
 letters. 
 
 762. 
 Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! 
 He, like the world, his ready visits pays 
 Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes; 
 Swift on his downy pinions, flies from grief, 
 And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. 
 
 763. 
 Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms; 
 And dear that hill which lifts him from the storms; 
 And, as a child, whom scaring sounds molest. 
 Clings close and closer to his mother's breast, 
 So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, 
 But bind him to his native mountains more. 
 
 764. 
 The skies, like a banner in sunset unrolled, 
 O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold; 
 But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased 
 Till its margin of black touched the zenith and east. 
 
 Like a spirit, it came in the van of a storm ! 
 And the eye, and the heart, hailed its beautiful form, 
 For it looked not severe, like an angel of wrath, 
 But its garment of brightness illumed its dark path. 
 
 * This word, by poetic license, must be pronounced as a dissyllable, beak-ed. 
 1 See Lesson ^,p. 1 13, of this volume, for an explanation of the slur. 
 
^^0 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 765. 
 So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, that moves 
 To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go not, like the quarry slave at nighty 
 Scourged to his dungeon ; but sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 The word verse properly means a turning, and for this reason each 
 line in poetry is a verse. The divisions of a poem, whether they con- 
 sist of four, six, or any other number of verses or lines, are called 
 stanzas. The pupil must be careful not to pause at the end of a 
 stanza, unless the sense is completed. The following are instances in 
 which, as the sense is not completed, the voice must not be suspended 
 at the end of the stanza. 
 
 766. 
 In what rich harmony, what polished lays, 
 Should man address thy throne, when Nature pays 
 Her wild, her tuneful tribute to the sky ! 
 Yes, Lord, she sings thee, but she knows not why. 
 The fountain's gush, the long-resounding shore, 
 The zephyr's whisper, and the tempest's roar, 
 The rustling leaf, in autumn's fading woods. 
 The wintry storm, the rush of vernal floods. 
 The summer bower, by cooling breezes fanned, 
 The torrent's fall, by dancing rainbows spanned 
 The streamlet, gurgling through its rocky glen, 
 The long grass, sighing o'er the graves of men, 
 The bird that crests yon dew-bespangled tree, 
 Shakes his bright plumes, and trills his descant free, 
 The scorching bolt, that, from thine armory hurled, 
 Burns its red path, and cleaves a shrinking world; 
 All these are music to Religion's ear : — 
 Music, thy hand awakes, for man to hear. 
 
 767. 
 Oh, what is human glory, human pride? 
 What are man's triumphs when they brightest seem t 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 141 
 
 What art thou, mighty one! though deified? 
 Methuselah's long pilgrimage, a dream; 
 Our age is but a shade, our life a tale, 
 A vacant fancy, or a passing gale 
 
 Or nothing ! 'Tis a heavy, hollow ball. 
 
 Suspended on a slender, subtile hair, 
 
 And filled with storm winds, thunders, passions, all 
 
 Struggling within in furious tumult there. 
 
 Strange mystery ! man's gentlest breath can shake it, 
 
 And the light zephyrs are enough to break it. 
 
 768. 
 Beneath the aged oak he sleeps ; — 
 
 The angel of his childhood there 
 No watch around his tomb-stone keeps ; 
 
 But, when the evening stars appear. 
 
 The woodman, to his cottage bound. 
 Close to that grave is wont to tread : 
 
 But his rude footsteps echoed round, 
 Break not the silence of the dead. 
 
 769. 
 The 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 history in a nation's eyes, — 
 
 Their lot forbS.de : nor circumscribed alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; — 
 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 4.nd shut the gates of mercy on mankind 1 
 
 LESSON XXXVII. 
 
 MONOTONE. 
 
 In the previous parts of this book, the pupil has been made ac* 
 
 Juaiiited with those modifications of the voice called the rising in- 
 ection, the falling inflection, and the circumflex.* There is another 
 
 * See Lessons 1, 2, and 22. 
 
142 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 modulation of the voice, which, from its intimate connexion with the 
 reading of poetry of a solemn kind, has been reserved for explanation 
 m this place. It is called the Monotone, and consists of a degree of 
 sameness of sound, or tone, in a number of successive words or syl- 
 lables. 
 
 It is very seldom the case that there is a perfect sameness to be ob- 
 served in reading any sentence or part of a sentence. But very 
 little variety of tone, or, in other words, a degree of the monotone, is 
 to be used in reading either prose or verse, which contains elevated 
 descriptions, or emotions of solemnity, sublimity, or reverence. This 
 monotone should generally be a low tone of the voice. Thus, in ad- 
 dressing the Deity, in the following lines, a degree of the monotone 
 is to be used. 
 
 770. 
 
 O Thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
 All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
 Unchanged through time's all devastating flight; 
 Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 
 Being above all beings! Mighty One! 
 Whom none can comprehend and none explore ; 
 Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : 
 Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er — 
 Being whom we call God — and know no more. 
 
 The monotone is also to be used in the following extracts : — 
 
 771. 
 
 High on a throne of royal state, which far 
 Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind ; 
 Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, 
 Showers, on her kings barbaric, pearl and gold, 
 Satan exalted sat. 
 
 772. 
 
 The sky is changed ! and such a change ! O Night, 
 And Storm, and Darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
 Leaps the live thunder! — not from one lone cloud, 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue ; 
 And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud I 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 143 
 
 773. 
 And this is in the night : — most glorious night ! 
 Thou wert not made for slumber ! let me be 
 A sharer in thy fierce and fair delight, — 
 A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
 How the lit lake shines, — a phosphoric sea — 
 And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
 And now, again, 'tis black — and now, the glee 
 Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 
 As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 
 
 774. 
 Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye, 
 With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
 To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
 Things that have made me watchful : the far roll 
 Of your departing voices is the knoll 
 Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
 But where, of ye, O tempests ! is the goal ? 
 Are ye like those within the human breast? 
 Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? 
 
 775. 
 And in the bright blaze of thy festal hall. 
 When vassals kneel, and kindred smile around thee, 
 May ruin'd Bertram's Pledge hiss in thine ear — 
 Joy to the proud dame of Saint Aldobrand, 
 Whilst his corse doth bleach beneath her towers ! 
 
 776. 
 O crested Lochiel, the peerless in might. 
 Whose banners arise on the battlement's height. 
 Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ! 
 Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
 For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood. 
 And a wild mother's scream o'er her famishing brood. 
 
 777. 
 Oh, when he comes, 
 Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme, 
 To heaven ascending from some guilty land, 
 Now ripe for vengeance ; when he comes, array'd 
 
144 INTRODUCTORY LESSON?. 
 
 In all the terrors of Almighty wrath, — 
 Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering arm, 
 And on the miscreants pours destruction down, — 
 Who can abide his coming ? Who can bear 
 His whole displeasure ? 
 
 778. 
 In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep 
 falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made 
 all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face ; 
 the hair of my flesh stood up : it stood still, but I could not 
 discern the form thereof : an image was before mine eyes, there 
 was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, Shall mortal man be 
 more just than God ? shall a man be more pure than his Maker ? 
 
 The monotone may with good effect be introduced in many of the sen- 
 tences contained in the previous pages of this book, especially in Numbers 614 
 and 615,pagel01. As it is the design of the author, in these pages, to furnish 
 lessons * rather than exercises, in reading, the extracts already introduced 
 will be sufficient to impress the principle contained in this lesson. 
 
 LESSON XXXVIII. 
 
 ANALYSIS. 
 
 The rvord ANALvsisf means the separation of the parts of which a thing 
 is composed. 
 
 Every sentence, whether it be a long or a short one, contains one prominent 
 idea, which, by a proper management of the voice, must be brought out into 
 clear and distinct notice. It sometimes happens, especially in very long sen- 
 tences, that the prominent idea is interrupted or obscured by parentheses, 
 descriptions, explanatory remarks, or other expressions, which render il difli- 
 cult for the reader to distinguish the most important part, and give it liiat 
 prominence which it deserves. Herein lies the greatest difficulty in the art 
 of reading. No rule can be given to aid the pupil in the discovery of the prom- 
 inent ideas in his reading lessons. He must here be left to study and reflec- 
 tion. The information, however, that there are such prominent ideas in com- 
 plex sentences, will lead him to endeavor to discover them ; and the practice 
 which he has had in the use of emphasis, slur, expression, and other princi- 
 ples contained in the preceding lessons, will enable him to apply himself to the 
 study of such sentences, with the hope of distinguishing the parts which should 
 be brought into strong light, from those which require to be thrown into the 
 shade. To aid him in the study, a few examples are here introduced. 
 
 779. 
 The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its 
 bed of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, seems with 
 continuous laughter to rejoice in its own being. 
 
 * See preface, p. 5. t See Parker's Exercises in English Composition, p. 23. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSO^'S. 145 
 
 in this sentence, one principal ide.i is expressed, namely, that the 
 rivulet sejul^- forth glad smnids, and urems to rejoice in its own being. 
 This idea must therefore be brought out prominently ; while the ex- 
 pressions tripping o'er its bed of pebbly sards, and leaping dawn ihe 
 rocks, are merely descriptions of the appeara.xe of the river, and need 
 not be so emphatically marked. The same remark must be made 
 with regard to the expression with continuous laughter, which is only 
 an explanation of the manner in which it rejoices. These expressions 
 may be slightly slurred.* 
 
 In reading the sentence, therefore, he will express it as follows, pro- 
 nouncing the parts in Italic letters with less emphatic force than t:ie 
 prominent idea. 
 
 780 
 The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its 
 bed of pebbly sa?ids, or leaping down the rocksy seems with 
 continuous laughter to rejoice in its own being, t 
 
 In the following sentences, all the parts, except the prominent ideas, 
 are printed in luJic letters. The pupil will read them as directed 
 above. 
 
 In order that the pupil may clearly distinguish the prominent parts, 
 he may first read them with the omission of the parts in Italic letters, 
 and afterwards read the whole of each sentence as it stands 
 
 781. 
 There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and 
 awe, with which I looked Aovin from my giddy height on the 
 monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols. Shoals of 
 porpoises tumbling about the bows of the ship ; the grampus 
 slowly heaving his huge form above the surface; or the rave- 
 nous shark, darting like a spectre through the blue waters. 
 
 782. 
 The devout hezxi, penetrated with large and affecting views 
 of the immensity of the works of God, the harmony (f his 
 laws, and the extent of his beneficence, bursts into loud find 
 vocal expressions of praise and adoration; nnd from a full 
 and overflowing sensibility, seeks to expand itself to the ut- 
 most limits of creation. 
 
 In the following sentence, the pupil may read, first, that only which 
 is in capital letters; then all but the Italic; and, thirdly, the wholfj 
 
 * See Lesson 34. 
 
 t This sentence orrurs on the 1 loth page, where it is differently marked. It 
 is here used for illustration only. Some readers may prefer one mplhod, and 
 some another ; for there are probably few who would read any passage in 
 exactly the same manner. 
 
 13 
 
146 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 sentence. He will thus distinguish the various parts of a complex 
 sentence. 
 
 783. 
 CAN HE, who, not satisfied with the wide range of ani- 
 mated existence^ calls for the sympathy of the inanimate crea- 
 tion, REFUSE TO WORSHIP with his fellow-men? 
 
 It may here be remarked, that the most prominent part sometimes 
 consists of a single word, or perhaps of several words, which cannot 
 be separated from the connexion in which they stand, as in the fol 
 lowing example : — 
 
 784. 
 Oh, days of ancient GRANDEUR! are ye GONE? For- 
 ever GONE ? Do these same scenes behold his OFF- 
 SPRING here the HIRELING of a FOE? Oh that I 
 KNEW my FATE! that I could READ the destiny that 
 Heaven has marked for me ! 
 
 785. 
 WHENCE, and WHAT art thou, EXECRABLE shape' 
 That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance 
 Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
 
 To yonder gates? THROUGH THEM I mean to PASS , 
 That be assured, without leave asked of thee : 
 RETIRE, or taste thy FOLLY ; and learn by PROOF, 
 Hell-born ! not to contend with spirits of HEAVEN ! 
 
 786. 
 What means this SHOUTING? I do fear, the people 
 Choose Caesar for their KING. 
 Ay, do you FEAR it? 
 
 Then must I think you WOULD NOT HAVE it so. 
 I would NOT, Cassius; yet I LOVE him well. 
 
 787. 
 And thus, in silent waiting, stood 
 The piles of stone, and piles of wood ; 
 Till DEATH — who, in his vast affairs, 
 Ne'er puts things off, as men in theirs ; 
 And thus, if I the truth must tell. 
 Does his work finally and well — 
 WINKED at our hero as he past, 
 ** Your house is finished, sir, at last; 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 147 
 
 A narrower house — a house of clay — 
 Your palace for another day ! " 
 
 In the analysis of a sentence, with the view to read it correctly, 
 there are generally three things to be considered by the pupil ; name- 
 ly : First, What are the most prominent parts, or those which require 
 emphasis — Secondly, What parts are merely explanatory, and co-iise- 
 quently are to he slurred or thrown into shade — Thirdly, What parts, 
 separated by explanatory, descriptive, or other circumstances, are inli' 
 mutely connected with each other, and must have their intimate connex' 
 ion expressed by strong emphasis, or by slurring the parts which sep- 
 arate them. 
 
 The pupil may analyze the following sentences ; that is to say, he 
 may mark and read those parts or words only which are most prom- 
 inent, and require strong emphasis. He may then mention what parts 
 are merely explanatory, <Jfec. And then he may point out those parts 
 which, though distant from the eye, are closely connected in sense. 
 Lastly, he may read each sentence as it stands, endeavoring to manage 
 the emphasis, slur, and expression, in the manner in which he has 
 heretofore been directed.* 
 
 788. 
 How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 
 Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, 
 To bear aloft its arch'd t and ponderous roof, 
 By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, 
 Looking tranquillity ! It strikes an awe 
 And terror on my aching sight : the tombs 
 And monumental caves of death look cold, 
 And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. 
 
 789. 
 
 Winter! ruler of the inverted year I 
 
 Thy scattered hair with sleet, like ashes, filled, 
 Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
 Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 
 Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
 A sliding car, indebted to no wheels. 
 But urged by storms along its slippery way, 
 
 1 love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,t 
 And dreaded as thou art. 
 
 * It is rerominended that the pupil be required to write a few of these sen- 
 tences in the manner directed above, ujiderscoring with a single line such 
 parts as are to be in Italic letters, wiili a double line such as should be in small 
 capitals, and with three lines sucli as should be in large capitals. See Parker 
 and Fox's Grammar, Part III., page 39. 
 
 t The pupil M'ill ot\en notice in poetry such abbreviations as these, where 
 the apostrophe shows that some letter is left out. [See Lesson 20, page 63.] 
 
148 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 790. 
 
 Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free : 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
 That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 
 And let it circulate through every vein 
 Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power 
 Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 
 
 791. 
 Trifles, light as air, 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
 As proofs of holy writ. 
 
 Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, 
 Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste. 
 But, with a little act upon the blood. 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. 
 
 792. 
 I come no more to make you laugh; things now, 
 That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
 Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe. 
 Such noble scenes, as draw the eye to flow. 
 We now present. Those, that can pity, here 
 May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; 
 The subject will deserve it. 
 
 793. 
 
 Thou hast it now. King, Cawdor, Glaniis, all, 
 As the weird women promised ; and I fear. 
 Thou play'dst most foully for it: yet it was said. 
 It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
 But that myself should be the root and fiither 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) 
 Why, by the verities made good. 
 May they not be my oracles as well, 
 And set me up in hope ? 
 
 Thus arch'd for arched, slijrp'i-y for slippery, seem'st for seemest. These ab- 
 breviations are generally made for ihe purpose of shortening the word, and 
 thereby preserving tlie measure of the verse. But ihey are very seldom allowed 
 in prose. See Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III., No. 207, &c. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 149 
 
 794. 
 Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day, 
 For dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
 But man cannot cover what God would reveal. 
 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
 And coming events cast their shadows before. 
 I tell thee, Culloden's* dread echoes shall ring 
 With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 
 
 795. 
 Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 
 Behold, where lie flies on his desolate path ! 
 Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight : 
 Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 
 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors, 
 Cullodea is lost, and mv country deplores. 
 
 796. 
 Impose upon me whatever hardships you please ; give me 
 nothing but the bread of sorrow to eat; take from me the 
 friends in whom I had placed my confidence; lay me in ihe 
 cold hut of poverty, and on the thorny bed of disease; set 
 death before me in all its terrors; do all this, — only let me 
 trust in my Savior, and I will fear no evil, — I will rise supe- 
 rior to affliction, — I will rejoice in my tribulation. 
 
 797. 
 The Highlands of Scotland are a picturesque, but in gen- 
 eral a melancholy, country. Long tracts of mountainous 
 desert covered with dark heath, and often obscured by misty 
 weather ; narrow valleys, thinly inhabited, and bounded by 
 precipices resounding with the fall of torrents ; a soil so 
 rugged, and a clime so dreary, as in many parts to admit 
 neither the amusements of pasturage, nor the labors of agri- 
 culture; the mournful dashing of waves along the friths and 
 lakes that intersect the country; the portentous noises which 
 every change of the wind, and every increase and diminution 
 of the waters, is apt to raise in a lonely region, full of echoes, 
 and rocks, and caverns; the grotesque and ghastly appear- 
 ance of such a landscape by the light of the moon ; objects 
 like these diffuse a gloom over the fancy, which may be 
 
 * Pronounced Cullod'en's. 
 
150 TNTRODLTTORY LESSONS. 
 
 compatible enough with occasional and social merriment, 
 but cannot fail to tincture the thoughts even of au ordinary 
 native in the hour of silence and solitude. 
 
 798.* 
 
 To be — or not to be — that is the question — 
 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 
 The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 
 Or to take arms against assail t of troubles, 
 
 And, by opposing, end them? — To die, — to sleep, — 
 
 No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 
 The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 
 That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wished. 
 
 799. 
 
 To die ; — to sleep ; — 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the rub ; 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 Must give us pause : There's the respect. 
 That makes calamity of so long life: 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely. 
 The pangs of despised | love, the law's delay. 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear. 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
 But that the dread of something after death, — 
 The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, — puzzles the will; 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have. 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 
 * In reading- this extract, the pupil must recall to mind the remarks made on 
 the 69th pag^e, relating to accent. 
 
 t 111 most of the editions of Shakspeare we read, " to take arms agciinst a 
 sen of troubles 5 " but this expression is a manifest violation of all rhetorical 
 rule. [See Progressive Exercises in English Composition, Lesson 25, p. 49.] 
 The improved reading in this passage is taken from Steele's '' Prosodia Ra 
 tionalis," a work already referred to m a preceding note. 
 
 i See note to No. 761. 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 151 
 
 800. 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 With this regard, tlieir currents turn awry, 
 And lose the name of action. 
 
 LESSON XXXIX. 
 
 Blending of words produced by ac- 
 cented FORCE. 
 
 Under the head of accented forcc^ Mr. Walker, in his 
 Rhetorical Grammar, has noticed the peculiar manner in 
 which words, or parts of different words, are sometimes 
 blended, so as to appear in pronunciation like a single word. 
 Thus the sentence, " Censure is the tax a man pays to the 
 public for being eminent," when it is read with a proper 
 regard to the measure of speech, accent, emphasis, &/C., will 
 appear as if it were written thus : — 
 
 801. 
 
 Censure isthetax amanpays tothepublic 
 
 forbeingeminent. 
 
 It will be needless to insert any extracts for the exercise 
 of the pupil in this principle. The teacher will select from 
 any part of the book such sentences for him to read as will 
 enable him readily to perceive the difference between ac- 
 cented words and accented syllables. 
 
 It may here be remarked, that most kinds of reading are included in 
 the three terms Nakrative, Dkscriptive, and Expressivk ; each 
 of which is respectively characterized by its appropriate degree of ac- 
 cented force ; and it is proper that the pupil, in studying a reading 
 lesson, should endeavor to discern under which head his lesson is in- 
 cluded, in order to adapt his style of reading to the character of the 
 
152 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 piece. On this subject much has been said in the previous lessons of this 
 book. It remains for the pupil, who has gone through these les.sons in 
 course, to endeavor to ap])ly the instructions given him, in all the various 
 kinds of reading in which he may be exercised. If he has a correct ear, 
 be will not fail to oltserve that both the rising and falling inflections of the 
 voice admit of different degrees. These are technically described in Dr. 
 Barber's Grammar of Elocution, and more fully developed in the respec- 
 tive works of Dr. Rush and Mr. Steele, to which reference has already 
 been made. The subject is also particularly noticed in VValker's Rhetor- 
 ical Grammar. In these exercises, it is deemed inexpedient to present any 
 intricate views of the subject ; but, after the statement of a principle, to 
 It-ave the pupil to the guidance of Nature. [See preface and tille-pa^e.] 
 
 LESSON XL. 
 
 IMPROVEMENT OF THE VOICE. 
 
 The voice, like all the other faculties of the body or the mind, is 
 susceptible of great improvement; and under proper management, 
 one that is naturally feeble may be rendered more effective than an- 
 other, which is endowed with great strength. The two most important 
 requisites in a good voice are clearness and strength. In the 
 twenty-fiflh lesson of this book, some exercises are presented with the 
 design to accustom the pupil to distinct articulation. If he has passed 
 over that lesson with little attention, he is advised to return to it; 
 and, by persevering practice, acquire a facility in the pronunciation of 
 those sounds which are represented by the combination of the con- 
 sonants alone. In connexion with this exercise, he is advised to 
 practise the vowel sounds, in the manner which shall presently be 
 pointed out. 
 
 The Sounds of the Vowels are as follows : — 
 
 a as heard in the word 
 
 fate 
 
 
 
 far 
 
 o 
 
 fall 
 
 o 
 
 fat 
 
 u 
 
 me 
 
 u 
 
 met 
 
 u 
 
 pine 
 
 oi 
 
 pin 
 no 
 
 ou 
 
 as heard in the word 
 
 rord 
 
 move 
 
 (( 
 
 nor 
 
 (( 
 
 not 
 
 (( 
 
 tube 
 
 (( 
 
 tub 
 
 (( 
 
 bull 
 
 u 
 
 voice 
 
 « 
 
 sound 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 153 
 
 The Sounds of the Consonants are a^ follows : — 
 
 b 
 
 as in 
 
 bible 
 
 rob 
 
 t 
 
 as in 
 
 tool 
 
 not 
 
 d 
 
 i( « 
 
 dare 
 
 bed 
 
 V 
 
 t( (< 
 
 vine 
 
 have 
 
 f 
 
 (( u 
 
 fate 
 
 brief 
 
 w 
 
 (( u 
 
 wine 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 ffone 
 hand 
 
 brag 
 
 X 
 
 y 
 
 
 example 
 yes 
 
 
 i 
 
 (( <( 
 
 jade 
 kind 
 
 
 z 
 
 (( (( 
 
 zone 
 
 adze 
 
 (( (( 
 
 sick 
 
 ch 
 
 (( (( 
 
 chair 
 
 church 
 
 1 
 
 (( « 
 
 land 
 
 ball 
 
 ng 
 
 (( (( 
 
 long 
 
 
 m 
 
 C< (( 
 
 mine 
 
 him 
 
 sh 
 
 (( u 
 
 shine 
 
 hush 
 
 n 
 
 « (( 
 
 now 
 
 pin 
 
 th 
 
 t( (( 
 
 thou 
 
 
 P 
 
 (( (( 
 
 put 
 
 lip 
 
 th 
 
 aspirate 
 
 thin 
 
 
 q 
 
 (( (( 
 
 quince 
 
 
 wh 
 
 u u 
 
 when 
 
 
 r 
 
 (( (1 
 
 ring 
 
 bar 
 
 zh 
 
 (( (( 
 
 azure 
 
 
 8 
 
 i( « 
 
 since 
 
 kiss 
 
 
 
 
 
 These sounds of the vowels and consonants should be uttered in 
 various ways. 
 
 Ist. Let the pupil practise what is called exploding* them ; that is, 
 let him pronounce each of them in a quick, sudden manner, like the 
 report of a pistol. 
 
 2d. Let him prolong the same sounds, with care, to preserve their 
 purity. 
 
 3d. Let him practise both the abrupt and the prolonged sounds of 
 each, in conjunction with the consonants, and the combination of the 
 consonants presented in Lesson 25. 
 
 4th. Let him practise all the above-mentioned sounds, in each of the 
 
 * " This practice," says Dr. Barber, " will be found a more eflTeotua! method 
 than any blhor of obtaining a strong' and powerful voice — of strengthening 
 such voices as are feeble, and of giving fulness and sirt nglh of tone to all in 
 proportion to their natural capacities.' He adds, immediately after, "The 
 student has not obtained that use of his voice which it is the object of diis 
 table to teach him, until every sound it contains caji be uttered with the sud- 
 denness of the report of fire-arms, without ajiy apparent eflbrt preceding the 
 explosion, with a very high degree of percussive force, and with strength and 
 fulness of tone." Again, he says in another place, " We know tiiat persons 
 with feeble voices have been rendered capable of speaking forcibly ajid im- 
 pressively in public, by a perseverajice in the practice here recommended." 
 — Gram, of Elocution, p. 30. — Dr. Barber's work cannot be too highly recom- 
 mended to all who would pursue this subject scientifically. In this lesson the 
 author has departed in some respects from the arrangement of the vowel 
 sounds, as presented in the tables of Dr. Barber, and adopted that which is 
 contained in the spelling books commonly used. These lessons are designed 
 principally as an introduction to the subject, and not as a full treatise. They 
 who have leisure for a more extended view, are referred to Dr. Barber's 
 Grammar, and to the very able, scientific, and more voluminous work to 
 which reference has been already made — Dr. Rush on " The Philosophy of the 
 Human Voice." Mr. Steele's work, entitled " Prosodia Rationalis," is like- 
 wise well worthy tlie attention of those who would acquire a thorough knowl- 
 edge of the powers and peculiarities of the human voice. 
 
154 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 different pitches or keys of the voice, mentioned in Lesson 27, p. 95 ; 
 and likewise in a whisper. * 
 
 Among the consonants there are two which require particular atten- 
 tion, namely, I and r ; and if there are any letters, the correct and dis- 
 tinct articulation of which distinguish a good from a bad pronuncia- 
 tion, they are these two. 
 
 It is recommended that the pupil be thoroughly exercised in the 
 pronunciation of words which contain these letters, especially the r. 
 This letter has two sounds, called the smooth and the vibrant. The 
 vibrant r is pronounced by what is frequently called rolling the tongue. 
 This sound, when properly made, is one which is highly pleasing to 
 the ear ; but when too much prolonged, it becomes harsh and offensive, 
 and is suited only for a rough or energetic utterance. Dr. Rush says 
 that it " will be agreeable when it consists of one, or at most two or 
 three strokes and rebounds of the tongue." 
 
 The smooth r is that sound which is heard in the words hard^ card^ 
 hard. In such words it savors of affectation or provincialism to sub- 
 stitute the vibrant r 
 
 EXERCISE ON THE SOUNDS OF L AND R. 
 
 802. 
 The lordly lion leaves his lonely lair. 
 
 803. 
 He was long, lean, and lank, and laughed loudly. 
 
 804. 
 How sweetly slow the liquid lay 
 In holy hallelujahs rose! 
 
 805. 
 Let lords and ladies laugh and sing 
 
 As loudly and as light; 
 We beggars, too, can dance, and fling 
 
 Dull care a distant flight. 
 
 806. 
 Ruin seize thee, ruthless king. 
 
 * The importance of clear and distinct utterance will be seen by the follow- 
 ing sentences, in wliich the meaning- depends upon it : 
 
 That lasts till night. 
 
 That last still night. 
 Who ever imagined such a notion to exist ? 
 Who ever imagined such an oceeui to exist ' 
 
INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 155 
 
 807. 
 Around the hearth the crackling fagots blaze. 
 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
 The armed rhinoceros, the Ilyrcan tiger. 
 
 809. 
 The master current of her mind 
 Ran permanent and free. 
 
 Round rugged rocks, rude ragged rascals ran. 
 Lean liquid lays like lightly lulling lakes. 
 
 Aher the pupil has sufficiently practised the utterance of the various 
 sounds of vowels and consonants, both separately and in combination, 
 it is recommended that lie daily exercise himself in reading or speak 
 ing with all his powers of loudness and force. This habit will coa 
 tribute much to the acquisition of strength of voice. But above all, 
 let him remember that distinctness of articulation is ol the utmost im- 
 portance in utterance ; and that a weak voice with this quality can 
 be heard and understood at a much greater distance than a strong one 
 without it. 
 
 Again ; the pupil will find much benefit in the practice of swelling 
 and diminishing the power of his voice. For this purpose, let him be- 
 gin a long sentence softly, slowly, and in a low tone, and gradually 
 swell his voice in pitch, power, and rapidity, till he has attained the 
 utmost extent of those qualities of which it is susceptible ; and then 
 let it descend and fade away by degrees, till it becomes almost imper- 
 ceptible. 
 
 And, lastly, reading with rapidity (simply as an exercise of the voice) 
 will contribute much to the ease and power of utterance. But the 
 pupil must never allow his words to pass from his mouth indistinctly. 
 How rapidly soever he may read, as an exercise, he must be careful 
 to give each syllable and each letter its distinct appropriate sound. 
 
 To these directions for the improvement of the voice may be added 
 -the caution to open the mouth, when speaking, in such a manner as to 
 afford an easy passage for the sound. Many persons have contracted 
 a habit of reading and speaking with the lips compressed in such a 
 manner as entirely to alter the tone of the voice and destroy its dis- 
 tinctness of utterance. This caution must be particularly regarded by 
 all who aim at excellence in the Art of Reading. 
 
 Dr. Rush has described four different kinds of voice ; namely, the 
 Natural, the Falsette, the Whispering, and the Orotund, which 
 he thus describes : ^ 
 
 The Natural voice is that which we employ in ordinary speaking. 
 
 The Falsette is that peculiar voice in which the higher degrees 
 of pitch are made, after the natural voice breaks, or outruns its power. 
 The cry, scream, yell, and all shrillness, are various modes of the 
 falsette. 
 
156 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 The Whispering voice needs no description ; but it may be ob- 
 served that some persons are endowed with such clearness and dis- 
 tinctness in this kind of voice, that they can make themselves heard 
 at a great distance when speaking in this way. 
 
 By the Orotund voice is meant that natural or improved manner 
 of uttering the elements, which exhibits them with a fulness, clearness, 
 strength, smoothness, and a ringing or musical quality, rarely heard in 
 ordinary speech ; but which is never found in its highest excellence, ex- 
 cept through long and careful cultivation. 
 
 In conclusion, it may be stated, that all who aim at excellence as 
 Readers and Speakers, should endeavor to attain this last-described 
 quality of voice.* For their encouragement it may be added, that it 
 has frequently been acquired by those whose voices were naturally 
 weak and ineffective, and that no one, therefore, should despair of 
 the attainment, — for what man has done, man can do. 
 
 * Among tlie refinements in pronuncialion, at which the careful student of 
 the art of rhetorical reading should aim, may be particularly mentioned ihe 
 legitimate sounds of e and i, in such words as earth, mercy, mirth, birth, &c., 
 which are too commonly pronounced as if they were spell urth, murcy, murth, 
 burth. In the word vieHt, the e always receives its proper sound. The same 
 syllable mer, common both to the words merit and mercy, should have the 
 same pronunciation in both words ; and the reader, by carefully noticing this 
 fact, will find litde difficulty in attaining the correct pronunciation of the e, in 
 the words to which reference has been made. The proper sound of the i, like- 
 wise, in the words above mentioned, approaches nearer to the sound of short < 
 than to that of u. 
 
EXERCISES IN RHETORICAL READING. 
 
 EXERCISE I. 
 
 The Structure of Animals. 
 
 Those who were skilful in anatomy among the ancients 
 concluded, from the outward and inward make of a human 
 body, that it was the work of a being transcendently wise 
 and powerful. As the world grew more enlightened in 
 5 this art, their discoveries gave them fresh opportunities of 
 admiring the conduct of Providence in the formation of a 
 human body. Galen was converted by his dissections, 
 and could not but own a Supreme Being upon a survey of 
 his handiwork. 
 
 10 There were, indeed, many parts of which the old anato- 
 mists did not know the certain use ; but as they saw that 
 most of those which they examined were adapted with 
 admirable art to their several functions, they did not ques- 
 tion that those whose uses they could not determine were 
 
 15 contrived with the same wisdom for respective ends and 
 purposes. Since the circulation of the blood has been 
 found out, and many other great discoveries have been 
 made by our modern anatomists, we see new wonders in 
 the human frame, and discern several important uses for 
 
 20 those parts, which uses the ancients knew nothing of. 
 
 In short, the body of man is such a subject as stands 
 the utmost test of examination. Though it appears formed 
 with the nicest wisdom upon the most superficial survey 
 of it, it still mends upon the search, and produces our sur- 
 
 25 prise and amazement in proportion as we pry into it. 
 What I have here said of a human body may be applied 
 to the body of every animal which has been the subject 
 of anatomical observations. 
 
 The body of an animal is an object adequate to our 
 
 30 senses. It is a particular system of Providence, that lies 
 in a narrow compass. The eye is able to command it, 
 and by successive inquiries can search into all its parts. 
 14 
 
158 Parker's exercises in [ex. i. 
 
 Could the body of the whole earth, or indeed the whole 
 universe, be thus submitted to the examination of our 
 senses, were it not too big and disproportioned for our 
 inquiries, too unwieldy for the management of the eye 
 5 and hand, there is no question but it would appear to us 
 as curious and well contrived a frame as that of a human 
 body. We should see the same concatenation and subser- 
 viency, the same necessity and usefulness, the same beauty 
 and harmony in all and every of its parts, as what we 
 
 10 discover in the body of every single animal. 
 
 The more extended our reason is, and the more able to 
 grapple with immense objects, the greater still are those 
 discoveries which it makes of wisdom and providence in 
 the works of the creation. A Sir Isaac Newton, who 
 
 15 stands up as a miracle of the present age, can look through 
 a whole planetary system ; consider it in its weight, num- 
 ber and measure ; and draw from it as many demonstra- 
 tions of infinite power and wisdom as a more confined 
 understanding is able to deduce from the system of a 
 
 20 human body. 
 
 But to return to our speculative anatomy. I shall here 
 consider the fabric and texture of the body of animals in 
 one particular view, which, in my opinion, shows the hand 
 of a thinking and all-wise Being in their formation, with 
 
 25 the evidence of a thousand demonstrations. I think we may 
 lay this down as an incontested principle, that chance never 
 acts in a perpetual uniformity and consistence with itself. 
 If one should always fling the same number with ten 
 thousand dice, or see every throw just five times less, or 
 
 30 five times more in number than the throw which immedi- 
 ately preceded it, who would not imagine there was some 
 invisible power which directed the cast ? 
 
 This is the proceeding which we find in the operations 
 of nature. Every kind of animal is diversified by differ- 
 
 35 ent magnitudes, each of which gives rise to a different 
 species. Let a man trace the dog or lion kind, and he 
 will observe how many of the works of nature are pub- 
 lished, if I may use the expression, in a variety of editions. 
 If we look into the reptile world, or into those diflTerent 
 
 40 kinds of animals that fill the element of water, we meet 
 with the same repetitions among several species, that dif- 
 fer very little from one another but in size and bulk. 
 You find the same creature that is drawn at large copied 
 out in several proportions, and ending in miniature. 
 
EX. I.] RHETORICAL READING 159 
 
 It would be tedious to produce instances of this regular 
 conduct in Providence, as it would be superfluous to those 
 who are versed in the natural history of animals. The 
 magnificent harmony of the universe is such that we may 
 5 observe innumerable divisions running upon the same 
 ground. I might also extend this speculation to the dead 
 parts of nature, in which we may find matter disposed 
 into many similar systems, as well in our survey of stars 
 and planets, as of stones, vegetables, and other sublunary 
 
 10 parts of the creation. 
 
 In a word, Providence has shown the richness of its 
 goodness and wisdom, not only in the production of 
 many original species, but in the multiplicity of descants 
 which it has made on every original species in particular. 
 
 15 But to pursue this thought still further. Every living 
 
 creature, considered in itself, has many very complicated 
 
 parts, that are exact copies of some other parts which it 
 
 possesses, which are complicated in the same manner. 
 
 One eye would have been sufficient for the subsistence 
 
 20 and preservation of an animal ; but in order to better his 
 condition, we see another placed with a mathematical 
 exactness in the same most advantageous situation, and in 
 every particular of the same size and texture. Is it possi- 
 ble for chance to be thus delicate and uniform in her oper- 
 
 25 ations ? Should a million of dice turn up twice together 
 the same number, the wonder would be nothing in com- 
 parison with this. 
 
 But when we see this similitude and resemblance in the 
 arm, the hand, the fingers ; when we see one half of the 
 
 30 body entirely correspond with the other in all those mi- 
 nute strokes, without which a man might have very well 
 subsisted ; nay, when we often see a single part repeated 
 a hundred times in the same body, notwithstanding it 
 consists of the most intricate weaving of numberless fibres, 
 
 35 and these parts differing still in magnitude, as the conven- 
 ience of their particular situation requires ; sure a man 
 must have a strange cast of understanding who does not 
 discover the finger of God in so wonderful a work. 
 
 These duplicates in those parts of the body, without 
 
 40 which a man might have very well subsisted, though not 
 so well as with them, are a plain demonstration of an all- 
 wise Contriver ; as those more numerous copyings, which 
 are found among the vessels of the same body, are evident 
 demonstrations that they could not be the work of chance. 
 
160 Parker's exercises in [ex. n. 
 
 This argument receives additional strength, if we apply 
 it to every animal and insect within our knowledge, 
 as well as to those numberless living creatures that are 
 objects too minute for a human eye ; and if we consider 
 
 5 how the several species in this whole world of life resem- 
 ble one another, in very many particulars, so far as is con- 
 venient for their respective states of existence, it is much 
 more probable that a hundred million of dice should be 
 casually thrown a hundred million of times in the same 
 
 10 number, than that the body of any single animal should 
 be produced by the fortuitous concourse of matter. And 
 that the like chance should arise in innumerable instances, 
 requires a degree of credulity that is not under the direc- 
 tion of common sense. — Spectator. 
 
 EXERCISE II. 
 Philosophy. 
 
 15 "With thee, serene Philosophy, with thee, 
 
 And thy bright garland, let me crown my song! 
 Tutored by thee, hence Poetry exalts 
 Her voice to ages, and informs the page 
 With music, image, sentiment and thought, 
 
 20 Never to die ! the treasure of mankind! 
 Their highest honor, and their truest joy ! 
 
 Without thee what were unenlightened man ? 
 A savage roaming through the woods and wilds, 
 In quest of prey ; and with the unfashioned fur 
 
 25 Rough clad ; devoid of every finer art 
 And elegance of life. 
 
 Nor happiness 
 Domestic, mixed of tenderness and care, 
 Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss, 
 
 30 Nor guardian law were his, — nor various skill 
 To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool 
 Mechanic ; nor the heaven-conducted prow 
 Of navigation bold, that fearless braves 
 
 35 The burning line, or dares the wintry pole. 
 Mother severe of infinite delights ! 
 Nothing, save rapine, indolence and guile, 
 And woes on woes, a still revolving train ! 
 Whose horrid circle had made human life 
 
EX. II.] RHETORICAL READING. 161 
 
 Than non-existence worse ; but, taught by thee, 
 
 Ours are the plans of policy and peace ; 
 
 To live like brothers, and conjunctive all 
 
 Embellish life. 
 5 While thus laborious crowds 
 
 Ply the tough oar. Philosophy directs 
 
 The ruling helm ; or like the liberal breath 
 
 Of potent heaven, invisible, the sail 
 
 Swells out, and bears the inferior world along. 
 10 Nor to this evanescent speck of earth 
 
 Poorly confined, the radiant tracks on high 
 
 Are her exalted range ; intent to gaze 
 
 Creation through ; and, from that full complex 
 
 Of never-ending wonders, to conceive 
 15 Of the Sole Being right, who spoke the word 
 
 And Nature moved complete. 
 
 With inward view, 
 
 Thence on the ideal kingdom swift she turns 
 
 Her eye ; and instant, at her powerful glance, 
 20 The obedient phantoms vanish or appear ; 
 
 Compound, divide, and into order shift, 
 
 Each to his rank, from plain perception up 
 
 To the fair forms of Fancy's fleeting train ; 
 
 To reason, then, deducing truth from truth, 
 25 And notion quite abstract ; where first begins 
 
 The world of spirits, action all, and life 
 
 Unfettered and unmixed. 
 
 But here the cloud 
 
 (So wills eternal Providence) sits deep ; 
 30 Enough for us to know that this dark state. 
 
 In wayward passions lost, and vain pursuits, 
 
 This infancy of being, cannot prove 
 
 The final issue of the works of God, 
 
 By boundless love and perfect wisdom formed, 
 35 And ever rising with the rising mind. ThoTnson, 
 
 EXERCISE m. 
 
 Scale of Beings. 
 
 Though there is a great deal of pleasure in contemplat- 
 ing the material world, — by which I mean that system of 
 bodies into which nature has so curiously wrought the 
 14# 
 
162 Parker's exercises in [ex. ui. 
 
 mass of dead matter, with the several relations that those 
 bodies bear to one another, — there is still, methinks, some- 
 thing more wonderful and surprising-, in contemplations 
 on the world of life ; by which 1 understand, all those 
 
 5 animals with which every part of the universe is fur- 
 nished. The material world is only the shell of the uni- 
 verse ; the world of life are its inhabitants. 
 
 If we consider those parts of the material world which 
 lie the nearest to us, and are therefore subject to our 
 
 10 observations and inquiries, it is amazing to consider the 
 infinity of animals with which they are stocked. Every 
 part of matter is peopled ; every green leaf swarms with 
 inhabitants. There is scarcely a single humor in the 
 body of a man, or of any other animal, in which our 
 
 15 glasses do not discover myriads of living creatures. 
 
 We find even in the most solid bodies, as in marble 
 itself, innumerable cells and cavities, which are crowded 
 with imperceptible inhabitants, too little for the naked eye 
 to discover. On the other hand, if we look into the more 
 
 20 bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers, 
 teeming with numberless kinds of living creatures. We 
 find every mountain and marsh, wilderness and wood, 
 plentifully stocked with birds and beasts ; and every part 
 of matter affording proper necessaries and conveniences 
 
 25 for the livelihood of multitudes which inhabit it. 
 
 The author of " The Plurality of Worlds " draws a 
 very good argument from this consideration, for the peo- 
 pling of every planet ; as indeed it seems very probable, 
 from the analogy of reason, that if no part of matter, 
 
 30 with which we are acquainted, lies waste and useless, 
 those greater bodies, which are at such a distance from 
 us, are not desert and unpeopled; but, rather, that they 
 are furnished with beings adapted to their respective situ- 
 ations. 
 
 35 Existence is a blessing to those beings only which are 
 endowed with perception; and is in a manner thrown 
 away upon dead matter, any further than as it is subser- 
 vient to beings which are conscious of their existence. 
 Accordingly we find, from the bodies which lie under our 
 
 40 observation, that matter is only made as the basis and 
 support of animals, and that there is no more of the one 
 than what is necessary for the existence of the other. 
 
 Infinite Goodness is of so communicative a nature, that 
 it seems to delight in conferring existence upon every de- 
 
EX. m.] RHETORICAL READING. 163 
 
 gree of perceptive being. As this is a speculation, which 
 I have often pursued with great pleasure to myself, 1 shall 
 enlarge further upon it, by considering that part of the 
 scale of beings which comes within our knowledge. 
 
 5 There are some living creatures which are raised but 
 just above dead matter. To mention only that species of 
 shell-fish which is formed in the fashion of a cone, that 
 grows to the surface of several rocks, and immediately 
 dies on being severed from the place where it grew. 
 
 10 There are many other creatures but one remove from 
 these, which have no other sense than that of feeling and 
 taste. Others have still an additional one of hearing; 
 others of smell ; and others of sight. 
 
 It is wonderful to observe by what a gradual progress 
 
 15 the world of life advances, through a prodigious variety 
 of species, before a creature is formed that is complete in 
 all its senses ; and even among these, there is such a dif- 
 ferent degree of perfection, in the sense which one animal 
 enjoys beyond what appears in another, that though the 
 
 20 sense in different animals is distinguished by the same 
 common denomination, it seems almost of a different 
 nature. 
 
 If, after this, we look into the several inward perfections 
 of cunning and sagacity, or what we generally call instinct, 
 
 25 we find them rising, after the same manner, imperceptibly 
 one above another; and receiving additional improve- 
 ments, according to the species in which they are im- 
 planted. This progress in nature is so very gradual, that 
 the most perfect of an inferior species comes very near 
 
 30 to the most imperfect of that which is immediately above it. 
 The exuberant and overflowing goodness of the Su- 
 preme Being, whose mercy extends to all his works, is 
 plainly seen, as I have before hinted, in his having made 
 so very little matter, at least what falls within our knowl- 
 
 35 edge, that does not swarm with life. Nor is his goodness 
 less seen in the diversity, than in the multitude of living 
 creatures. Had he made but one species of animals, 
 none of the rest would have enjoyed the happiness of 
 existence ; he has, therefore, specified^ in his creation, 
 
 40 every degree of life, every capacity of being. 
 
 The whole chasm of nature, from a plant to a man, is 
 filled up with divers kinds of creatures, rising one after 
 another, by an ascent so gentle and easy that the little 
 transitions and deviations from one species to another are 
 
164 Parker's exercises in [ex. nr 
 
 almost insensible. This intermediate space is so well 
 husbanded and managed, that there is scarcely a degree 
 of perception which does not appear in some one part of 
 the world of life. Is the goodness or the wisdom of the 
 
 5 Divine Being more manifested in this his proceeding ? 
 
 There is a consequence, besides those I have already 
 mentioned, which seems very naturally deducible from the 
 foregoing considerations. If the scale of being rises by 
 so regular a progress so high as man, we may, by parity 
 
 10 of reason, suppose, that it still proceeds gradually through 
 those beings which are of a superior nature to him ; since 
 there is infinitely greater space and room for different de- 
 grees of perfection, between the Supreme Being and man, 
 than between man and the most despicable insect. 
 
 15 In this great system of being, there is no creature so 
 wonderful in its nature, and which so much deserves our 
 particular attention, as man ; who fills up the middle 
 space between the animal and the intellectual nature, the 
 visible and the invisible world ; and who is that link in 
 
 20 the chain of being which forms the connexion between 
 both. So that he, who, in one respect, is associated with 
 angels and archangels, and may look upon a being of in- 
 finite perfection as his father, and the highest order of 
 spirits as his brethren, may, in another respect, say to 
 
 25 "corruption, thou art my father," and to the worm, "thou 
 art my mother and my sister." — Addison. 
 
 EXERCISE IV. 
 
 The Teachings of Nature. 
 
 The seasons came and went, and went and came, 
 To teach men gratitude; and, as they passed, 
 Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else 
 
 30 Had stolen unheeded by : the gentle flowers 
 Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness. 
 Talked of humility, and peace, and love. 
 The dews came down unseen at evening tide, 
 And silently their bounties shed, to teach 
 
 35 Mankind unostentatious charity. 
 
 With arm in arm the forest rose on high, 
 And lesson gave of brotherly regard. 
 And on the rugged mountain brow exposed, 
 
EX. v.] RHETORICAL READING. 165 
 
 Bearing the blast alone — the ancient oak 
 
 Stood, liftingr high his mighty arm, and still 
 
 To courage in distress exhorted loud. 
 
 The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze, 
 5 Attuned the heart to melody and love. 
 
 Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept 
 
 Essential love ; and, from her glorious bow, 
 
 Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace, 
 
 With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God 
 10 Of sweetest accent made, she whispered still, 
 
 She whispered to Revenge: — Forgive, forgive! 
 The Sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced 
 
 Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God. 
 
 The Moon awoke, and from her maiden face 
 15 Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth, 
 
 And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens. 
 
 Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked 
 
 Of purity, and holiness, and God. 
 
 In dreams and visions sleep instructed much. 
 20 Day uttered speech to day, and night to night 
 
 Taught knowledge : silence had a tongue : the grave, 
 
 The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each 
 
 A tongue, that ever said — Man ! think of God ! 
 
 Think of thyself! think of eternity! 
 25 Fear God, the thunders said ; fear God, the waves ; 
 
 Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied ; 
 
 Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep. 
 
 And, in the temples of the Holy One — 
 
 Messiah's messengers, the faithful few — 
 30 Faithful 'mong many false — the Bible opened, 
 
 And cried: Repent! repent, ye Sons of Men! 
 
 Believe, be saved. Pollock's Course of Time. 
 
 EXERCISE V. 
 
 English Politeness described by a Native of China. 
 
 The English, in general, seem fonder of gaining the 
 esteem than the love of those with whom they converse. 
 35 This gives a formality to their amusements ; their gayest 
 conversations have something too wise for innocent relaxa- 
 tion ; though in company you are seldom disgusted with 
 the absurdity of a fool, you are seldom lifted into rapture 
 
166 Parker's exercises in [ex. vi. 
 
 by those strokes of vivacity which give instant though not 
 permanent pleasure. 
 
 What they want, however, in gayety they make up in 
 politeness. You smile at hearing me praise the English 
 
 5 for their politeness; you, who have heard very different 
 accounts from the missionaries at Pekin, who have seen 
 such a different behavior in their merchants and seamen at 
 home. But I must still repeat it, the English seem more 
 polite than any of their neighbors ; their great art in this 
 
 10 respect lies in endeavoring, while they oblige, to lessen 
 the force of the favor. Other countries are fond of oblig- 
 ing a stranger, but seem desirous that he should be sensi- 
 ble of the obligation. The English confer their kindness 
 with an appearance of indifference, and give away benefits 
 
 15 with an air as if they despised them. 
 
 Walking, a few days ago, between an Englishman and 
 a Frenchman, into the suburbs of the city, we were over- 
 taken by a heavy shower of rain. I was unprepared, but 
 they had each large coats, which defended them from 
 
 20 what seemed to me a perfect inundation. The English- 
 man, seeing me shrink from the weather, accosted me 
 thus : " Psha, man, what dost shrink at ? Here, take this 
 coat ; I don't want it ; I find it no way useful to me ; I 
 had as lief be without it." 
 
 25 The Frenchman began to show his politeness in turn. 
 " My dear friend," cries he, " why won't you oblige me 
 by making use of my coat ? you see how well it defends 
 me from the rain. I should not choose to part with it to 
 others, but to such a friend as you I could even part with 
 
 30 my skin to do him service." 
 
 From such minute instances as these, most reverend 
 Fum Hoam, I am sensible your sagacity will collect in- 
 struction. The volume of nature is the book of knowl- 
 edge; and he becomes most wise who makes the most 
 
 35 judicious selection. — Goldsmith. 
 
 EXERCISE VI. 
 
 Pleasures of Melancholy. 
 
 Let others love soft summer's evening smiles, 
 As, listening to the distant waterfall. 
 They mark the blushes of the streaky west ; 
 I choose the pale December's foggy glooms. 
 
EX. VII.] RHETORICAL READING. 167 
 
 Then, when the sullen shades of evening close, 
 Where through the room the blindly-glimmering gleam 
 The dying embers scatter, far remote 
 From Mirth's mad shouts, that through the illumined roof 
 
 5 Resound with festive echo, let me sit, 
 
 Blest with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge, 
 Then let my thought contemplative explore 
 This fleeting state of things, the vain delights, 
 The fruitless toils, that still our search elude, 
 
 10 As through the wilderness of life we rove. 
 This sober hour of silence will unmask 
 False Folly's smiles, that, like the dazzling spells 
 Of wily Comus, cheat the unweeting eye 
 With blear illusion, and persuade to drink 
 
 15 That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair 
 Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man. 
 Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught 
 Forget the poisonous dregs that lurk beneath. 
 Few know that elegance of soul refined 
 
 20 Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy 
 
 From Melancholy's scenes than the dull pride 
 Of tasteless splendor and magnificence 
 Can e'er afford. 
 
 Thus Eloise, whose mind 
 
 25 Had languished to the pangs of melting love. 
 More genuine transport found, as on some tomb 
 Reclined she watched the tapers of the dead ; 
 Or through the pillared isles, amid pale shrines 
 Of imaged saints and intermingled graves, 
 
 30 Mused a veiled votaress ; than Flavia feels, 
 As through the mazes of the festive ball. 
 Proud of her conquering channs and beauty's blaze, 
 She floats amid the silken sons of dress. 
 And shines the fairest of the assembled fair. 
 
 T. Wartan. 
 
 EXERCISE VII. 
 
 The Amiable Character of the Patriarch Joseph. 
 
 35 No human character exhibited in the records of Scrip- 
 ture is more remarkable and instructive than that of the 
 patriarch Joseph. He is one whom we behold tried in all 
 the vicissitudes of fortune ; from the condition of a slavp 
 
168 Parker's exercises in [ex. vii. 
 
 rising to be ruler of the land of Egypt ; and in every sta- 
 tion acquiring, by his virtue and wisdom, favor with God 
 and man. When overseer of Potiphar's house, his fidelity 
 was proved by strong temptations, which he honorably 
 
 5 resisted. 
 
 When thrown into prison by the artifices of a false 
 woman, his integrity and prudence soon rendered him 
 conspicuous, even in that dark mansion. When called 
 into the presence of Pharaoh, the wise and extensive plan 
 
 10 which he formed for saving the kingdom from the miseries 
 of impending famine, justly raised him to a high station, 
 wherein his abilities were eminently displayed in the pub- 
 lic service. 
 
 But in his whole history there is no circumstance so 
 
 15 striking and interesting as his behavior to his brethren 
 who had sold him into slavery. The moment in which 
 he made himself known to them was the most critical 
 one of his life, and the most decisive of his character. It 
 is such as rarely occurs in the course of human events, 
 
 20 and is calculated to draw the highest attention of all who 
 are endowed with any degree of sensibility of heart. 
 
 From the whole tenor of the narration, it appears, that 
 though Joseph, upon the arrival of his brethren in Egypt, 
 made himself strange to them, yet, from the beginning, he 
 
 25 intended to discover himself; and studied so to conduct 
 the discovery as might render the surprise of joy com- 
 plete. For this end, by afiected severity, he took measures 
 for bringing down into Egypt all his father's children. 
 They were now arrived there ; and Benjamin among 
 
 30 the rest, who was his younger brother by the same mother, 
 and was particularly beloved by Joseph. Him he threat- 
 ened to detain ; and seemed willing to allow the rest to 
 depart. This incident renewed their distress. They all 
 knew their father's extreme anxiety about the safety of 
 
 35 Benjamin, and with what difficulty he had yielded to his 
 undertaking this journey. 
 
 Should he be prevented from returning, they dreaded 
 that grief would overpower the old man's spirits, and prove 
 fatal to his life. Judah, therefore, who had particularly 
 
 40 urged the necessity of Benjamin's accompanying his broth- 
 ers, and had solemnly pledged himself to their father for 
 his safe return, craved, upon this occasion, an audience of 
 the governor, and gave him a full account of the circum- 
 stances of Jacob's family. 
 
EX. Vn.] RHETORICAL READLNG. 169 
 
 Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic than this 
 discourse of Judah. Little knowing to whom he spoke, 
 he paints, in all the colors of simple and natural eloquence, 
 the distressed situation of the aged patriarch, hastening to 
 
 6 the close of life ; long afflicted for the loss of a favorite 
 son, whom he supposed to have been torn in pieces by a 
 beast of prey ; laboring now under anxious concern about 
 his youngest son, the child of his old age, who alone was 
 left alive of his mother, and whom nothing but the calam- 
 
 JO ities of severe famine could have moved a tender father to 
 send from home, and expose to the dangers of a foreign 
 land. 
 
 " If we bring him not back with us, we shall bring down 
 the gray hairs of thy servant, our father, with sorrow to 
 
 J 5 the grave. I pray thee therefore let thy servant abide, 
 
 instead of the young man, a bondman to our lord. For 
 
 how shall 1 go up to my father, and Benjamin not with 
 
 me ? lest I see the evil that shall come on my father." 
 
 Upon this relation, Joseph could no longer restrain him- 
 
 20 self. The tender ideas of his father, and his father's 
 house, of his ancient home, his country, and his kindred, 
 of the distress of his family, and his own exaltation, all 
 rushed too strongly upon his mind to bear any further con- 
 cealment. " He cried, Cause every man to go out from 
 
 25 me ; and he wept aloud." 
 
 The tears which he shed were not the tears of grief. 
 They were the burst of affection. They were the effu- 
 sions of a heart overflowing with all the tender sensibili- 
 ties of nature. Formerly he had been moved in the same 
 
 30 manner when he first saw his brethren before him. «' His 
 bowels yearned upon them ; he sought for a place where 
 to weep. He went into his chamber ; and then washed 
 his face and returned to them." 
 
 At that period, his generous plans were not completed. 
 
 35 But now, when there was no further occasion for constrain- 
 ing himself, he gave free vent to the strong emotions of 
 his heart. The first minister to the king of Egypt was 
 not ashamed to show that he felt as a man and a brother. 
 " He wept aloud ; and the Egyptians and the house of 
 
 40 Pharaoh heard him." 
 
 The first words which his swelling heart allowed him 
 
 to pronounce are the most suitable to such an affecting 
 
 situation that were ever uttered : — "I am Joseph ; doth 
 
 my father yet live ? " What could he, what ought he, in 
 
 15 
 
170 Parker's exercisj;$ in [ex. vin. 
 
 that impassioned moment, to have said more? This is 
 the voice of nature herself, speaking her own language ; 
 and it penetrates the heart : no pomp of expression ; no 
 parade of kindness ; but strong affection hastening to utter 
 
 5 what it strongly felt. " His brethren could not answer 
 him ; for they were troubled at his presence." Their si- 
 lence is as expressive of those emotions of repentance and 
 shame, which on this amazing discovery filled their breasts 
 and stopped their utterance, as the few words which Jo- 
 
 10 seph speaks are expressive of the generous agitations 
 which struggled for vent within him. 
 
 No painter could seize a more striking moment for dis- 
 playing the characteristical features of the human heart 
 than what is here presented. Never was there a situation 
 
 15 of more tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand, nor, on 
 the other, of more overwhelming confusion and conscious 
 guilt. In the simple narration of the sacred historian, it 
 is set before us with greater energy and higher effect than 
 if it had been wrought up with all the coloring of the 
 
 20 most admired modern eloquence. — Blair. 
 
 EXERCISE VIII. 
 
 The Rainbow. 
 
 The evening was glorious, and light through the trees 
 Played in sunshine, the rain-drops, the birds, and the breeze ; 
 The landscape, outstretching, in loveliness lay 
 On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May. 
 
 25 For the bright queen of spring, as she passed down the 
 vale, 
 Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale ; 
 And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, 
 And fresh in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers. 
 
 30 The skies, like a banner in sunset unrolled. 
 
 O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold ; 
 But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased, 
 'Till its margin of black touched the zenith and east. 
 We gazed on these scenes, while around us they glowed 
 
 35 When a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud ; 
 'T was not like the sun, as at mid-day we view. 
 Nor the moon, that rolls lightly through starlight and blue 
 
EX. VITI.J RHETORICAL READING. 171 
 
 • Like a spirit it came in the van of a storm, 
 
 And the eye and the heart hailed its beautiful form; 
 
 For it looked not severe, like an angel of wrath. 
 
 But its garments of brightness illumed its dark path. 
 > In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood. 
 
 O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood ; 
 
 And river, field, village, and woodland grew bright. 
 
 As conscious they felt and aflibrded delight. 
 
 'T was the bow of Omnipotence, bent in his hand 
 lO Whose grasp at creation the universe spanned ; 
 
 'T was the presence of God, in a symbol sublime, 
 
 His vow from the flood to the exit of time ; 
 
 Not dreadful as when in a whirlwind he pleads. 
 
 When storms are his chariot, and lightning his steeds ; 
 15 The black cloud of vengeance his banner unfurled, 
 
 And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world ; 
 
 In the breath of his presence when thousands expire. 
 
 And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire, 
 
 And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the 
 20 plain, 
 
 And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain. 
 Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one ! 
 
 Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone — the sun; 
 
 A pavilion it seemed, with a deity graced, 
 25 And justice and mercy met there and embraced. 
 A while, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, 
 
 Like love o'er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb; 
 
 Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired, 
 
 As love had just vanished, or hope had expired. 
 30 I gazed not alone on that source of my song. 
 
 To all who beheld it these verses belong ; 
 
 Its presence to all was the path of the Lord ! 
 
 Each full heart expanded, grew warm and adored. 
 Like a visit, the converse of friends, or a day, 
 35 That bow from my sight passed forever away ; 
 
 Like that visit, that converse, that day, to my heart. 
 
 That bow from remembrance can never depart. 
 'T is a picture in memory, distinctly defined, 
 
 With the strong and imperishing colors of mind : 
 40 A part of my being beyond my control. 
 
 Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
172 parker'.s exercises in [ex. EC. 
 
 EXERCISE IX. 
 
 On the Immortality of the Sold. 
 
 I WAS yesterday walking alone, in one of my friends' 
 woods, and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I was rmi- 
 ning over, in my mind, the several arguments that estab- 
 lish this great point, — which is the basis of morality, and 
 
 b the source of all the pleasing hopes and secret joys, that 
 can arise in the heart of a reasonable creature ? I consid- 
 ered those several proofs drawn. 
 
 First, from the nature of the soul itself, and particularly 
 its immateriality ; which, though not absolutely necessary 
 
 10 to the eternity of its duration, has, 1 think, been evinced 
 to almost a demonstration. 
 
 Secondly, from its passions and sentiments ; as, particu- 
 larly, from its love of existence, its horror of annihilation, 
 and its hopes of immortality ; with that secret satisfaction 
 
 15 which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasi- 
 ness which follows upon the commission of vice. 
 
 Thirdly, from the nature of the Supreme Being, whose 
 justice, goodness, wisdom, and veracity, are all concerned 
 in this point. 
 
 20 But among these, and other excellent arguments for 
 the immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the 
 perpetual progress of the soul to its perfection, without a 
 possibility of ever arriving at it ; which is a hint that I do 
 not remember to have seen opened and improved by others 
 
 25 who have written on this subject, though it seems to me 
 to carry a very great weight with it. 
 
 How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the 
 soul, which is capable of immense perfections, and of re- 
 ceiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fall away 
 
 30 into nothing almost as soon as it is created? Are such 
 abilities made for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point 
 of perfection that he can never pass ; in a few years he 
 has all the endowments he is capable of; and were he to 
 live ten thousand more, would be the same thing he is at 
 
 35 present. 
 
 Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplish- 
 ments, — were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable 
 of further enlargements^ — I could imagine she might fall 
 away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihila- 
 
 40 tion. But can we believe a thinking being, that is in a 
 perpetual progress of improvement, and travelling on from 
 
EX. IX.j RHETOKIC.AL llEADING. 173 
 
 perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad 
 into the works of her Creator, and made a few discoveries 
 of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish 
 at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her 
 
 mquines 
 
 Man, considered only in his present state, seems sent 
 into the world merely to propagate his kind. He provides 
 himself with a successor, and immediately quits his post 
 to make room for him. He does not seem born to enjoy 
 
 10 life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not surpris- 
 ing to consider in animals, which are formed for our use, 
 and which can finish their business in a short life. 
 
 The silk-worm, after having spun her task, lays her 
 eggs and dies. But a man cannot take in his full meas- 
 
 15 ure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, 
 establish his soul in virtue, and come to the perfection of 
 his nature, before he is hurried off the stage. Would an 
 infinitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so 
 mean a purpose ? Can he delight in the production of 
 
 20 such abortive intelligences, such short-lived reasonable be- 
 ings ? Would lie give us talents that are not to be exert- 
 ed ? capacities that are never to be gratified ? 
 
 How can we find that wisdom which shines through all 
 his works, in the formation of man, without looking on 
 
 25 this world as only a nursery for the next ; and without 
 believing that the several generations of rational creatures, 
 which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, 
 are only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, 
 and afterwards to be transplanted into a more friendly 
 
 30 climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity ? 
 There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and tri- 
 umphant consideration in religion, than this of the perpet- 
 ual progress which the soul makes towards the perfection 
 of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To 
 
 35 look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength ; 
 to consider that she is to shine forever with new accessions 
 of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; that she will be 
 still adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge ; 
 carries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that am- 
 
 40 bition which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it 
 must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see his cre- 
 ation forever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer 
 to him, by greater degrees of resemblance. 
 
 Methinks this single consideration of the progress of a 
 lb* 
 
174 Parker's exercises in [ex. x. 
 
 finite spirit to perfection will be sufficient to extinguish all 
 envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. 
 That cherub, which now appears as a god to a human 
 soul, knows very well that the period will coTne about in 
 
 5 eternity when the human soul shall be as perfect as he 
 
 himself now is ; nay, when she shall look down upon that 
 
 degree of perfection as much as she now falls short of it. 
 
 It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that 
 
 means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale 
 
 10 of being ; yet he knows that, how high soever the station 
 is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior 
 nature will, at length, mount up to it, and shine forth in 
 the same degree of glory. 
 
 With what astonishment and veneration may we look 
 
 15 into our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of 
 virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfec- 
 tion ! 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 reserve for him. 
 
 20 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 our- 
 selves in these perpetual approaches to Him who is the 
 
 25 standard not only of perfection, but of happiness ! 
 
 Addison. 
 
 EXERCISE X. 
 
 Winter. 
 
 'T IS done ! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, 
 And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. 
 How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! 
 How dumb the tuneful ! horror wide extends 
 30 His desolate domain. 
 
 Behold, fond man ! 
 See here thy pictured life ; pass some few years, — 
 Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength, 
 Thy sober autumn fading into age, — 
 35 And pale concluding winter comes at last, 
 And shuts the scene. 
 
 Ah ! whither now are fled 
 Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes 
 
EX. XI.] RHETORICAL READING. 175 
 
 Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? 
 
 Those restless cares ? those busy, bustling days ? 
 
 Those gay-spent, festive nights ( those veering thoughts. 
 
 Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? 
 5 All are now vanished ! Virtue sole survives, 
 
 Immortal, never-failing friend of man. 
 
 His guide to happiness on high. And see ! 
 
 'T is come, the glorious morn ! the second birth 
 
 Of heaven and earth ! awakening nature hears 
 10 The. new-creating word, and starts to life, 
 
 In every heightened form, from pain and death 
 
 Forever free. 
 
 The great eternal scheme, 
 
 Involving all, and in a perfect whole 
 15 Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, 
 
 To Reason's eye refined clears up apace. 
 
 Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous! now, 
 
 Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 
 
 And Wisdom oft arraigned : see now the cause 
 20 Why unassuming worth in secret lived. 
 
 And died neglected : why the good man's share 
 
 In life was gall and bitterness of soul : 
 
 Why the lone widow and her orphans pined 
 
 in starving solitude ; while Luxury, 
 25 In palaces, lay straining her low thought 
 
 To form unreal wants : why heaven-born truth, 
 
 And moderation fair, wore the red marks 
 
 Of superstition's scourge : why licensed pain, 
 
 That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe, 
 30 Embittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed ! 
 
 Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
 
 Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while. 
 
 And what your bounded view, which only saw 
 
 A little part, deemed evil, is no more : 
 35 The storms of wintry time will quickly pass, 
 
 And one unbounded spring encircle all. Thomson. 
 
 EXERCISE XI. 
 
 Sabbath Exercises. 
 
 Many Christians who feel deeply the importance of 
 spending the Sabbath in a proper manner, find, notwith 
 
176 Parker's exercises in [ex. xi. 
 
 standing all their endeavors, that the sacred hours do at 
 times pass heavily along. Now the Sabbath should be 
 not only the Christian's most profitable, but most happy 
 day. I once knew a young Christian who resolved that 
 
 5 he would pass the whole day in prayer ; but very soon he 
 became exhausted and weary. He, however, persevered 
 through the whole day, with the exception of a few neces- 
 sary interruptions; and when night came, he felt a dead- 
 ness and exhaustion of feeling which he unhappily mis- 
 
 lO took for spiritual desertion. No human mind can, in 
 ordinary cases, sustain such long and intense application 
 to one subject ; there must be variety, to give cheerfulness 
 and to invigorate. Often a conscientious young Christian 
 takes his Bible, resolving to spend the Sabbath in reading 
 
 15 the Bible and in prayer. He perhaps passes an hour or 
 two in this way very pleasantly, and then he feels tired ; 
 he tries to rouse his feelings, and bitterly condemns him- 
 self for unavoidable languor. I have known persons to be 
 greatly disquieted and distrustful of their Christian char- 
 
 20 acter, because they could not pass the whole of the Sab- 
 bath pleasantly in uninterrupted reading of the Bible or in 
 continual prayer. 
 
 There is a wide difTerence between spiritual desertion 
 and mental exhaustion. To avoid this mental exhaustion, 
 
 25 and to keep the spirits animated and cheerful, much vari- 
 ety of pursuit is necessary. Who would be willing to go 
 to church, and have the whole time occupied with a ser- 
 mon, or a prayer, or a hymn ? How few are there who 
 can, with pleasure and profit, listen to a sermon of one 
 
 30 hour's length ! There must be a diversity of exercises to 
 make public worship agreeahle, and there must be diver- 
 sity to give pleasure to private devotion. 
 
 Let the sacred hours of the Sabbath, then, be appropri- 
 ated to a variety of religious employments. Suppose the 
 
 35 case of a young married man. He wishes to pass the 
 Sabbath in a way acceptable to God, and to enjoy his 
 religious duties. He rises in good season in the morning, 
 and commences the day with a short but fervent prayer 
 for the divine blessing ; he then passes the time till break- 
 
 40 fast in reading the Bible. Perhaps, for the sake of variety, 
 he spends a part of the time in reading the devotional 
 portions, and a part in perusing its interesting history. At 
 the breakfast-table, with cheerful countenance and heart, 
 he leads the conversation to religious subjects ; after break- 
 
EX. XI.] RHETORICAL READING. 177 
 
 fast he passes an hour in reading some valuable religious 
 book. Books are so numerous now, that the best practical 
 works upon Christianity are easily obtained by all. Bun- 
 yan's Pilgrim's Progress, Baxter's Saint's Rest, Law's 
 
 5 Serious Call, Doddridge's Rise and Progress, Imitation of 
 Christ, &c., are works of standard merit, and works with 
 which all Christians may and should be acquainted. It 
 is very desirable that the Christian should have on hand 
 some such book, which he will read in course, taking a 
 
 10 moderate portion every day, until he has fiiiished it. 
 
 At length the time arrives for the assembling of his 
 family for morning prayers. He carries his principle, for 
 securing an interesting variety, here. Sometimes he will 
 read religious intelligence from a periodical; sometimes 
 
 15 he reads an interesting narrative from a tract; always 
 taking care to select something which will excite attention. 
 After finishing this, he opens the Bible and selects some 
 appropriate passage and reads it, wnth occasional remarks, 
 intended to deepen the impression upon his own mind, and 
 
 20 upon the minds of those in the circle around him. He 
 then reads a hymn, and after singing a few verses, if the 
 family are able to sing, bows at the family altar in prayer. 
 The variety which he has thus introduced into the exercise 
 has continued to interest the feelings, and no occasion has 
 
 25 been offered for lassitude or tedium. 
 
 He now walks the room for exercise, and reviews the 
 past week ; he thinks of the opportunities to do good which 
 he has neglected, examines his feelings and his conduct, 
 and in ejaculatory prayer seeks forgiveness. When he 
 
 30 enters the place of public worship, his mind is ready for 
 active service there — he unites with his pastor in prayer. 
 When a hymn is read, he attends to the sentiment, and 
 makes melody in heart to God when singing his praises. 
 He listens attentively to the sermon, feeling that the re- 
 
 35 sponsibility of being interested in it comes upon him, and 
 he prays that God will bless it to his own soul, and to the 
 conversion of others. 
 
 Perhaps, in the interval between forenoon and after- 
 noon service, he has a class in the Sabbath -school, or is 
 
 40 himself a member of the Bible class : these duties he per- 
 forms with a sincere desire to do good. After the close 
 of the afternoon services, he retires for secret prayer. He 
 appropriates a proper period to this duty, and presents his 
 own private and personal wants, and the spiritual interests 
 
178 Parker's exercises in [EX.xn. 
 
 of others, in minute detail, to God; — he looks forward, too, 
 to the duties of the week ; he brings before his mind the 
 temptations to which he will be exposed, the opportunities 
 for exerting a Christian influence which he possesses, and 
 
 5 forms his plans of Christian usefulness for the week ; he 
 thinks of some good object which he will try to advance, 
 of some individual whom he will try to lead to the Saviour. 
 He forms his resolutions, and perhaps writes them down, 
 that he may refer to them again the next Sabbath, in the 
 
 10 review of the week. At the appointed hour he assembles 
 his family for evening prayers. A brief reference to the 
 religious exercises of the day, or some interesting narra- 
 tive, followed by the Bible, singing and prayer, again give 
 variety and animation to the exercise ; and when all the 
 
 15 duties of the day are over, as he is retiring to rest, he 
 passes the few moments which remain before slumber has 
 wrapt his senses in forgetfulness in reviewing the duties 
 of the day. The Sabbath has been profitably and happily 
 spent. It has been to him a rich season of improvement 
 
 20 and of enjoyment. He has made a Sabbath day's journey 
 toward heaven ; he has obtained strength to meet the 
 allurements and temptations of life. During the week he 
 looks back upon the Sabbath with pleasure, and when the 
 light of another holy morning dawns upon him, he can 
 
 25 sincerely say, 
 
 " Welcome, delightful morn, 
 Thou day of sacred rest ; 
 I hail thy Kind return — 
 
 Lord, make these moments blest." 
 
 Abbotfs Young Christian. 
 
 EXERCISE XII. 
 The Deserted Village. 
 
 30 Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, 
 
 Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, 
 Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid. 
 And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed ; 
 Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
 
 35 Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 
 How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
 Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 
 How often have I paused on every charm, — 
 The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm 
 
EI. Xn.] RHETORICAL READING. 179 
 
 The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
 
 The decent church that topped the neighboring hill, 
 
 The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 
 
 For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 
 6 How often have I blessed the coming day. 
 
 When toil remitting lent its aid to play. 
 
 And all the village train, from labor free. 
 
 Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ! 
 
 While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
 10 The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
 
 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. 
 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 
 And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 
 
 Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired : 
 15 The dancing pair, that simply sought renown 
 
 By holding out to tire each other down ; 
 
 The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face, 
 
 "While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 
 
 The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 
 20 The matron's glance that would those looks reprove : 
 
 These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, 
 
 With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; 
 
 These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed. 
 
 These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 
 25 Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 
 
 Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 
 
 Amid thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
 
 And desolation saddens all thy green ; 
 
 One only master grasps the whole domain, 
 30 And half a tillage tints thy smiling plain. 
 
 No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
 
 But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; 
 
 Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
 
 The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 
 35 Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 
 
 And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
 Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
 
 And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 
 
 And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
 40 Far, far away thy children leave the land. 
 Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
 
 Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; 
 
 Princes and lords may flourish or may fade ; 
 
 A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 
 
180 PARKEH'S EXERCISES IN [EX. 311, 
 
 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
 
 When once destroyed can never be supplied. 
 A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
 
 When every rood of ground maintained its man ; 
 5 For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 
 
 Just gave what life required, but gave no more ; 
 
 His best companions, innocence and health; 
 
 And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 
 
 But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train 
 10 Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; 
 
 Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 
 
 Unwieldly wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; 
 
 And every want to luxury allied, 
 
 And every pang thnt folly pays to pride. 
 15 Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
 
 Those calm desires that asked but little room. 
 
 Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
 
 Lived in each look, and brightened all the green, — 
 
 These, far departing, seek a kmder shore, 
 20 And rural mirth and manners are no more. 
 
 Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 
 
 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
 
 Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 
 
 Amid thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
 25 And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
 
 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
 
 Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. 
 
 Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 
 In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
 30 In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
 
 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 
 
 Amid these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
 
 To husband out life's taper at the close, 
 
 And keep the flame from wasting by repose ; 
 35 I still had hopes, — for pride attends us still, — 
 
 Amid the swains to show my book-learned skill, 
 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 
 And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; 
 
 And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 
 40 Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 
 
 I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
 
 Here to return — and die at home at last. 
 
 Oh blessed retirement ! friend to life's decline, 
 
 lietreat from care, that never must be mine. 
 
KX. Xn.] RHETORICAL READING. 181 
 
 How blessed is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
 
 A youth of labor with an age of ease ; 
 
 Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
 
 And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
 5 For him no wretches, bom to work and weep, 
 
 Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; 
 
 Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state. 
 
 To spurn imploring famine from the gate; 
 
 But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
 10 Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
 
 Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
 
 While resignation gently slopes the way ; 
 
 And all his prospects brightening to the last. 
 
 His heaven commences ere the world be past. 
 15 Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close. 
 
 Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 
 
 There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
 
 The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
 
 The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
 20 The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; 
 
 The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool. 
 
 The playful children just let loose from school; 
 
 The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, 
 
 And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; 
 25 These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
 
 And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 
 But now the sounds of population fail. 
 
 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. 
 
 No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 
 30 But all the blooming flush of life is fled : 
 
 All but yon widowed, solitary thing. 
 
 That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 
 
 She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. 
 
 To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
 35 To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. 
 
 To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn : 
 
 She only left of all the harmless train. 
 
 The sad historian of the pensive plain. 
 
 Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
 40 And still where many a garden flower grows wild. 
 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose. 
 
 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
 A man he was to all the country dear. 
 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
 16 
 
182 Parker's exercises in [ex. xr 
 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place : 
 
 Unskilful he to fawn or seek for power, 
 
 By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
 5 Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
 
 More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
 His house was known to all the vagrant train : 
 
 He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
 
 The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
 10 Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast ; 
 
 The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
 
 Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed. 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 
 Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 
 15 "Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
 
 Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
 
 Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
 
 And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
 
 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
 20 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 
 Thus, to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
 
 And even his failings leaned to virtue's side; 
 
 But in his duty prompt at every call. 
 
 He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for ail. 
 25 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
 
 To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
 Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
 30 And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, 
 
 The reverend champion stood. At his control, 
 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
 
 And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 
 35 At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
 
 His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
 
 Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway. 
 
 And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
 
 The service past, around the pious man, 
 40 "With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
 
 Even children followed with endearing wile. 
 
 And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile. 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; 
 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 
 
EX. Xn.] RHETORICAL READING. 183 
 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
 As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
 
 5 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 
 Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way. 
 With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
 There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
 
 10 The village master taught his little school : 
 A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
 I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 
 Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
 The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
 
 15 Full well they laughed and counterfeited glee 
 At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
 Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 
 Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
 Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 
 
 20 The love he bore to learning was in fault ; 
 The village all declared how much he knew — 
 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too; 
 Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
 And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. 
 
 25 In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 
 For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; 
 While words of learned length and thundering sound 
 Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 
 And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 
 
 30 That one small head could carry all he knew. 
 But past is all his fame. The very spot 
 Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 
 
 Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 
 
 35 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, 
 Where graybeard mirth and smiling toil retired. 
 Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
 And news much older than their ale went round. 
 Imagination fondly stops to trace 
 
 40 The parlor splendors of that festive place ; 
 
 The whitewashed wall, the nicely-sanded floor,''^ 
 The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; 
 
 * A most beautiful instance of onoTno/opcEia, or sound adapted to the sense. 
 
184 Parker's exercises in [ex. xn. 
 
 The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
 
 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 
 
 The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
 
 The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 
 5 The hearth, except whe;n winter chilled the day, 
 
 With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay ; 
 
 While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, 
 
 Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 
 Vain, transitory splendors ! could not all 
 10 Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? 
 
 Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
 
 An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; 
 
 Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
 
 To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
 15 No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
 
 No more the woodman's ballad, shall prevail ; 
 
 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 
 
 Relax his ponderous strength, and learn to hear; 
 
 The host himself no longer shall be found 
 20 Careful to see the mantling glass go round ; 
 
 Nor the coy maid, half willing to be pressed, 
 
 Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 
 
 Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
 
 These simple blessings of the lowly train; 
 25 To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
 
 One native charm than all the gloss of art ; 
 
 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 
 
 The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; 
 
 Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
 30 Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
 
 But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. 
 
 With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, 
 
 In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. 
 
 The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
 35 And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 
 
 The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 
 
 Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey 
 
 The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
 
 'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
 40 Between a splendid and a happy land. 
 
 Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
 
 And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 
 
 Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound. 
 
 And rich men flock from all the world around. 
 
EX. Xn.] RHETORICAL READING. 185 
 
 Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name, 
 
 That leaves our useful products still the same. 
 Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
 
 Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; 
 5 Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, 
 
 Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 
 
 The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
 
 Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth ; 
 Hie seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
 10 Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; 
 
 Around the world each needful product flies, 
 
 For all the luxuries the world supplies. 
 
 While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all. 
 
 In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 
 15 As some fair female, unadorned and plain, 
 
 Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
 
 Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, 
 
 Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
 
 But when those charms are past — for charms are frail — 
 20 When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
 
 She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
 
 In all the glaring impotence of dress ; — 
 Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed, 
 
 In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed ; 
 25 But, verging to decline, its splendors rise, 
 
 Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
 
 While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 
 
 The mournful peasant leads his humble band; 
 
 And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 
 30 The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 
 
 Where, then, ah ! where shall Poverty reside, 
 
 To escape the pressure of contiguous Pride ? 
 
 If to some common's fenceless limits strayed, 
 
 He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
 85 Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
 
 And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. 
 If to the city sped — what waits him there? 
 
 To see profusion that he must not share ; 
 
 To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
 40 To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 
 
 To see each joy the sons of Pleasure know 
 
 Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
 Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
 
 There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; 
 
186 Parker's exercises in [ex. xii. 
 
 Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp display, 
 
 There the black gibbet glooms beside the way ; 
 
 The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, 
 
 Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train ; 
 5 Tumultuous pleasure crowds the blazing square, 
 
 The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
 Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! 
 
 Sure these denote one universal joy ! 
 
 Are these thy serious thoughts ? — Ah ! turn thine eyes 
 10 Where the poor, houseless, shivering female lies ; 
 
 She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed, 
 
 Has wept at tales of innocence depressed ; 
 Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 
 15 Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled, 
 
 Near her betrayer's door she lays her head. 
 
 And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 
 
 With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 
 
 When idly first, ambitious of the town, 
 20 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 
 
 Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, 
 
 Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
 
 E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 
 
 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 
 25 Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
 
 Where half the convex world intrudes between, 
 
 Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
 
 Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
 
 Far different there from all that charmed before, 
 30 The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 
 
 Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray. 
 
 And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 
 
 Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 
 
 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 
 35 Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 
 
 Where the dark scorpion gathers death around : 
 
 W^here at each step the stranger fears to wake 
 
 The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 
 
 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 
 40 And savage men, more murderous still than they; 
 
 While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies. 
 
 Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
 Far different these from every former scene, 
 
 The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 
 
EX. XnJ RHETORICAL READING. 187 
 
 The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
 
 That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 
 
 Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day, 
 
 That called them from their native walks away ; 
 5 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past. 
 
 Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, 
 
 And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
 
 For seats like these beyond the western main ; 
 
 And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
 10 Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 
 The good old sire the first prepared to go 
 
 To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 
 
 But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
 
 He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
 15 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 
 
 The fond companion of his helpless years, 
 
 Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
 
 And left a lover's for a father's arms. 
 
 With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 
 20 And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose ; 
 
 And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear. 
 
 And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear ; 
 
 While her fond husband strove to lend relief. 
 
 In all the silent manliness of grief. 
 25 Oh, Luxury ! thou cursed by Heaven's decree, 
 
 How ill-exchanged are things like these for thee! 
 
 How do thy potions, with insidious joy. 
 
 Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
 
 Kingdoms by thee to sickly greatness grown, 
 30 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 
 
 At every draught more large and large they grow, 
 
 A bloated mass of rank, unwieldly woe ; 
 
 Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
 
 Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 
 35 E'en now the devastation is begun. 
 
 And half the business of destruction done ; 
 
 E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
 
 I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
 
 Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, 
 10 That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale. 
 
 Downward they move, a melancholy band. 
 
 Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 
 
 Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, 
 
 And kind connubial Tenderness, are there; 
 
188 Parker's exercises in [ex. xni. 
 
 And Piety, with wishes placed above, 
 
 And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. 
 
 And thou, sweet Poetry ! thou loveliest maid, 
 
 Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ! 
 5 Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame. 
 
 To catch the heart, or strike for honest Fame : 
 
 Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
 
 My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 
 
 Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, 
 10 That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; 
 
 Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 
 
 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well. 
 Farewell, and oh I where'er thy voice be tried, 
 
 On Torno's cliflfs or Pambamarca's side, 
 15 Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 
 
 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 
 
 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time. 
 
 Redress the rigors of the inclement clime ; 
 
 And slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain, 
 20 Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
 
 Teach him that states, of native strength possessed, 
 
 Though very poor, may still be very blessed ; 
 
 That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay. 
 
 As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 
 25 While self-dependent power can time defy, 
 
 As rocks resist the billows and the sky. Goldsmith. 
 
 EXERCISE XIII. 
 
 The Joufrney of a Day ; a Picture of Human Life. 
 
 Obidah, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera early 
 m the morning, and pursued his journey through the 
 plains of Indostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest; 
 
 30 he was animated with hope ; he was incited by desire ; 
 he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the 
 hills gradually rising before him. 
 
 As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the 
 morning song of the bird of paradise ; he was fanned by 
 
 35 the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with 
 dew from groves of spices. He sometimes contemplated 
 the towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills ; and 
 sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, 
 
EI. XUI.] RHETORICAL READING. 189 
 
 eldest daughter of the spring : all his senses were grati- 
 fied, and all care was banished from his heart. 
 
 Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, 
 and the increased heat preyed upon his strength ; he then 
 
 5 looked round about him for some more commodious path. 
 He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave 
 its shades as a sign of invitation ; he entered it, and found 
 the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. 
 
 He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling, 
 
 10 but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which ap- 
 peared to have the same direction with the main road ; 
 and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had 
 found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain 
 the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues. 
 
 15 He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without 
 the least remission of his ardor, except that he was some- 
 times tempted to stop by the music of the birds, which the 
 heat had assembled in the shade ; and sometimes amused 
 himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks 
 
 20 on either side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. 
 
 At last, the green path began to decline from its first 
 
 tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled 
 
 with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls. Here 
 
 Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether 
 
 25 it were longer safe to forsake the known and common 
 track; but remembering that the heat was now in its 
 greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, 
 he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed 
 only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the va- 
 
 30 rieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common 
 road. 
 
 Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, 
 though he suspected that he was not gaining ground. 
 This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on 
 
 35 every new object, and give way to every sensation that 
 might soothe or divert him. He listened to every echo ; 
 he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect; he turned 
 aside to every cascade ; and pleased himself with tracing 
 the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees 
 
 40 and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolu- 
 tions. 
 
 In these amusements the hours passed away unaccount- 
 ed; his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he 
 knew not towards what point to travel. He stood pensive 
 
190 PAEKER'S exercises in [ex. XIII. 
 
 and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, 
 yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. 
 While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was 
 overspread with clouds ; the day vanished from before him, 
 
 5 and a sudden tempest gathered round his head. 
 
 He was now roused by his danger to a quick and pain- 
 ful remembrance of his folly; he now saw how happiness 
 is lost when ease is consulted ; he lamented the unmanly 
 impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in the grove. 
 
 10 and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle 
 to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew 
 blacker, and a clap of thunder broke his meditation. 
 
 He now resolved to do what yet remained in his power — 
 to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try to 
 
 15 find some issue where the wood might open into the plain. 
 He prostrated himself on the ground, and recommended 
 his life to the Lord of Nature. He rose with confidence 
 and tranquillity, and pressed on wdth resolution. 
 
 The beasts of the desert were in motion, and on every 
 
 20 hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and 
 ravage and expiration. All the horrors of darkness and 
 solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, 
 and the torrents tumbled from the hills. 
 
 Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the 
 
 25 wild, without knowing whither he was going, or whether 
 he was every moment drawing nearer to safety, or to de- 
 struction". At length, not fear, but labor, began to over- 
 come him ; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, 
 and he was on the point of lying down in resignation to 
 
 30 his fate, when he beheld, through the brambles, the glim- 
 mer of a taper. 
 
 He advanced towards the light, and finding that it pro- 
 ceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at 
 the door, and obtained admission. The old man set be- 
 
 35 fore him such provisions as he had collected for himself, 
 on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude. 
 
 When the repast was over, "Tell me," said the hermit, 
 "by what chance thou hast been brought hither? I have 
 been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wilderness, in 
 
 40 which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related 
 the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment 
 or palliation. 
 
 ^' Son," said the hermit, " let the errors and follies, the 
 dangers and escnpe, of this day, sink deep into thy heart. 
 
EX. XIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 191 
 
 Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a 
 day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigor, and 
 full of expectation ; we set forward with spirit and hope, 
 with gayety and with diligence, and travel on a while in 
 
 5 the direct road of piety towards the mansions of rest. In 
 a short time, we remit our fervor, and endeavor to find 
 some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means 
 of obtaining the same end. 
 
 " We then relax our vigor, and resolve no longer to be 
 
 10 terrified with crimes at a distance ; but rely upon our own 
 constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never 
 to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose 
 in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, and 
 vigilance subsides ; we are then willing to inquire whether 
 
 15 another advance cannot be made, and whether we may 
 
 not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. 
 
 " We approach them with scruple and hesitation ; we enter 
 
 them, but enter timorous and trembling; and always hope 
 
 to pass through them without losing the road of virtue, 
 
 20 which, for a while, we keep in our sight, and to which we 
 purpose to return. 
 
 " But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compli- 
 ance prepares us for another ; we in time lose the happi- 
 ness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual 
 
 25 gratifications. By degrees, we let fall the remembrance 
 of our original intention, and quit the only adequate ob- 
 ject of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in busi- 
 ness, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the 
 labyrinths of inconstancy; till the darkness of old age 
 
 30 begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our 
 way. 
 
 " We then look back upon our lives with horror, with 
 sorrow, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly 
 wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. Happy 
 
 35 are they, my son, who shall learn from thy example not 
 to despair ; but shall remember, that, though the day is 
 past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one 
 effort to be made ; that reformation is ne^er hopeless, nor 
 sincere endeavors ever unassisted; that the wanderer may 
 
 40 at length return after all his errors, and that he who im- 
 plores strength and courage from above shall find danger 
 and difficulty give way before him. 
 
 "Go now, my son, to thy repose ; -aeommit thyself to the 
 care of Omnipotence ; and when the morning calls again 
 
 45 to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life." — Dr. Johnson. 
 
192 Parker's exercises in [ex. xrv 
 
 EXERCISE XIV 
 
 A Summer Morning. 
 
 From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed, 
 Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, 
 In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth. 
 He comes attended by the sultry Hours, 
 5 And ever-fanning breezes on his way ; 
 
 While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring 
 Averts her blushful face ; and earth and skies, 
 All smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. 
 
 w ^ ^ '/^ T^ 
 
 With what an awful, world-revolving power 
 
 10 Were first the unwieldly planets launched along 
 The illimitable void ! thus to remain, 
 Amid the flux of many thousand years, 
 That oft has swept the toiling race of men 
 And all their labored monuments away, 
 
 15 Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course ; 
 To the kind-tempered change of night and day, 
 And of the seasons ever stealing round. 
 Minutely faithful ; such the All-perfect Hand, 
 That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole ! 
 
 20 When now no more the alternate Twins are fired. 
 And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze, 
 Short is the doubtful empire of the night ; 
 And soon, observant of approaching day. 
 The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews, 
 
 25 At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east : 
 Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow ; 
 And, from before the lustre of her face. 
 White break the clouds away. With quickened step, 
 Brown Night retires : young Day pours in apace, 
 
 30 And opens all the lawny prospect wide. 
 
 The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top. 
 Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 
 
 Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine ; 
 And from the bladed field the fearful hare 
 
 35 Limps, awkward; while along the forest glade 
 The wild deer trip, and, often turning, gaze 
 At early passenger. Music awakes 
 The native voice of undissembled joy, 
 And thick around the woodland hymns arise. 
 
 40 Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 
 
EX. XIV.] RHETORICAL READING. 193 
 
 His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; 
 
 And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 
 
 His flock, to taste the verdure of the mom. 
 Falsely luxurious ! will not Man awake, 
 5 And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy 
 
 The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, 
 
 To meditation due and sacred song ? 
 
 For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ? 
 
 To lie in dead oblivion, losing half 
 10 The fleeting moments of too short a life ; 
 
 Total extinction of the enlightened soul ! 
 
 Or else, to feverish vanity alive, 
 
 Wildered, and tossing through distempered dreams ? 
 Who would in such a gloomy state remain 
 15 Longer than Nature craves, when every Muse 
 
 And every blooming pleasure wait without. 
 
 To bless the wildly-devious morning walk ? 
 But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, 
 
 Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 
 20 The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
 
 Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 
 
 Betoken glad. 
 
 Lo ! now, apparent all, 
 
 Aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air, 
 25 He looks in boundless majesty abroad ; 
 
 And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays 
 
 On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, 
 
 High gleaming from afar. 
 
 Prime cheerer, Light ! 
 30 Of all material beings first and best ! 
 
 Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! 
 
 Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapped 
 
 In unessential gloom ! and thou, O Sun ! 
 
 Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom, best seen, 
 35 Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee ? 
 'T is by thy secret, strong, attractive force. 
 
 As with a chain indissoluble bound, 
 
 Thy system rolls entire : from the far bourn 
 
 Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round 
 40 Of thirty years, to Mercury, whose disk 
 
 Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye, 
 
 Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze. 
 Informer of the planetary train ! 
 
 Without whose quickening glance their cumbrous orb* 
 17 
 
194 Parker's exercis£:s l\ [ex. xv. 
 
 Were brute, unlovely mass, inert and dead, 
 And not, as now, the green abodes of life ! 
 How many forms of being wait on thee ! 
 Inhaling spirit; from the unfettered mind, 
 5 By thee sublimed, down to the daily race, 
 The mixing myriads of thy setting beam. 
 
 The vegetable world is also thine, 
 Parent of seasons ! who the pomp precede 
 That waits thy throne, as through thy vast domain, 
 
 10 Annual, along the bright ecliptic road. 
 In world-rejoicing state, it moves sublime. 
 
 Meantime the expecting nations, circled gay 
 With all the various tribes of foodful earth, 
 Implore thy bounty, or send grateful up 
 
 15 A common hymn ; while, round thy beaming car, 
 High seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance 
 Harmonious knit, — the rosy-fingered Hours, — 
 The Zephyrs floating loose, — the timely Rains, 
 Of bloom ethereal, — the light-footed Dews, — 
 
 20 And softened into joy the surly Storms. 
 
 These, in successive turn, with lavish hand. 
 Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower. 
 Herbs, flowers and fruits ; till, kindling at thy touch, 
 From land to land is flushed the vernal year.^ 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 EXERCISE XV. 
 
 The Parable of the Eive Lamb. 
 
 From the Second Book of Samuel, Chapter xii. 
 
 25 And the Lord sent Nathan unto David. And he came 
 unto him, and said unto him, There were two men in one 
 city ; the one rich, and the other poor. The rich man had 
 exceeding many flocks and herds : but the poor man had 
 nothing save one little ewe lamb, which he had bought 
 
 30 and nourished up : and it grew up together with him, and 
 with his children ; it did eat of his own meat, and drank 
 of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him 
 as a daughter. 
 
 * The student who is in search of poetical beauties will probably look in 
 vain, among ancient or modern authors, for a more remarkable instance of the 
 union of beauty and sublimity in imagery, than is presented in the con- 
 cluding portion of this extract. 
 
EX. XVI.J RHETORICAL READING. M5 
 
 And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he 
 
 spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd, to 
 
 dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him ; 
 
 but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man 
 
 5 that was come to him. 
 
 And David's anger was greatly kindled against tne man ; 
 and he said to Nathan, As the Lord liveth, the man that 
 hath done this thing shall surely die. And he shall re- 
 store the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and 
 10 because he had no pity. 
 
 And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man. Thus 
 saith the Lord God of Israel, I anointed thee king over 
 Israel, and I delivered thee out of the hand of Saul. And 
 I gave thee thy master's house, and thy master's wives 
 15 into thy bosom, and gave thee the house of Israel and of 
 Judah ; and if that had been too little, I would moreover 
 have given unto thee such and such things. 
 
 Wherefore hast thou despised the commandment of the 
 Lord, to do evil in his sight ? thou hast killed Uriah the 
 20 Hittite with the sword, and hast taken his wife to be thy 
 wife, and hast slain him with the sword of the children of 
 Ammon. Now therefore the sword shall never depart from 
 thine house; because thou hast despised me, and hast taken 
 the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be thy wife. Thus saith 
 25 the Lord, Behold, I will raise up evil against thee out of 
 thine own house, and I will take thy wives before thine 
 eyes, and give them unto thy neighbor. 
 
 n^ * ^T? •nP <nP Wf 
 
 And David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the 
 Lord. And Nathan said unto David, The Lord also hath 
 30 put away thy sin ; thou shalt not die. Howbeit, because 
 by this deed thou hast given great occasion to the enemies 
 of the Lord to blaspheme, t-he child also that is born unto 
 thee shall surely die. 
 
 And Nathan departed unto his house. 
 
 EXERCISE XVI. 
 
 Meditation. 
 
 35 These are the haunts of Meditation, these 
 
 The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath, 
 Ecstatic, felt ; and, from tliis world retired, 
 
196 PAEKER's exercises in [ex. XVI. 
 
 Conversed with angels and immortal forms, 
 
 On gracious errands bent : to save the fall 
 
 Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice ; 
 
 In waking whispers, and repeated dreams, 
 5 To hint pure thought, and warn the favored soul 
 
 For future trials fated to prepare ; 
 
 To prompt the poet, who, devoted, gives 
 
 His muse to better themes ; to soothe the pangs 
 
 Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast 
 10 (Backward to mingle in detested war. 
 
 And foremost when engaged) to turn the death ; 
 
 An(J, numberless such offices of love. 
 
 Daily and nightly, zealous to perform. 
 
 Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, 
 15 A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dust, 
 
 Or stalk majestic on. Deep roused, I feel 
 
 A sacred terror, a severe delight. 
 
 Creep through my mortal frame ; and thus, methinks 
 
 A voice, than human more, the abstracted ear 
 20 Of fancy strikes : — "Be not of us afraid, 
 
 Poor kindred man ! thy fellow-creatures, we 
 
 From the same parent power our beings drew. 
 
 The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. 
 
 Once some of us, like thee, through stormy life 
 25 Toiled, tempest-beaten, ere we could attain 
 
 This holy calm, this harmony of mind, 
 I Where purity and peace immingle charms. 
 
 Then fear not us ; but with responsive song. 
 
 Amid these dim recesses, undisturbed 
 30 By noisy folly and discordant vice, 
 
 Of Nature sing with us, and Nature's God. 
 
 Here frequent, at the visionary hour 
 
 When musing midnight reigns, or silent noon, 
 
 Angelic harps are in full concert heard, 
 35 And voices chanting from the wood-crowned hill, 
 
 The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade ; 
 
 A privilege bestowed by us, alone, 
 
 On Contemplation, or the hallowed ear 
 
 Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain. Thomso7t. 
 
EX. XVn."| RHETORICAL READING. 197 
 
 EXERCISE XVII. 
 
 Th£ Planetary and Terrestrial Worlds comparatively 
 considered. 
 
 To us, who dwell on its surface, the earth is by far the" 
 most extensive orb that our eyes can anywhere behold : it 
 is also clothed with verdure, distinguished by trees, and 
 adorned with a variety of beautiful decorations ; whereas, 
 5 to a spectator placed on one of the planets, it wears a uni- 
 form aspect; looks all luminous; and no larger than a 
 spot. 
 
 To beings who dwell at still greater distances it entirely 
 disappears. That which we call alternately the morning 
 
 10 and the evening star (as in one part of the orbit she rides 
 foremost in the procession of night, in the other ushers in 
 and anticipates the dawn) is a planetary world. This 
 planet, and the four others that so wonderfully vary their 
 mystic dance, are in themselves dark bodies, and shine 
 
 15 only by reflection ; have fields and seas and skies of their 
 own ; are furnished with all accommodations for animal 
 subsistence, and are supposed to be the abodes of intellect- 
 ual life ; all which, together with our earthly habitations, 
 are dependent on that grand dispenser of divine munifi- 
 
 20 cence, the sun ; receive their light from the distribution 
 of his rays, and derive their comfort from his benign 
 agency. 
 
 The sun, which seems to perform its daily stages through 
 the sky, is in this respect fixed and immovable ; it is the 
 
 25 great axle of heaven, about which the globe we inhabit, 
 and other more spacious orbs, wheel their stated courses. 
 The sun, though seemingly smaller than the dial it illumi- 
 nates, is abundantly larger than this whole earth, on which 
 so many lofty mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll. 
 
 30 A line extending from side to side, through the centre of 
 that resplendent orb, would measure more than eight hun- 
 dred thousand miles ; a girdle formed to go round its cir- 
 cumference would require a length of millions. Were its 
 solid contents to be estimated, the account would overwhelm 
 
 35 our understanding, and be almost beyond the power of 
 language to express. Are we startled at these reports of 
 philosophy ? 
 
 Are we ready to cry out, in a transport of surprise, 
 "How mighty is the Being who kindled so prodigious a 
 
 40 fire, and keeps alive, from age to age, so enormous a mass 
 18* 
 
198 Parker's exercises in [ex. xveu 
 
 of flame ? " Let us attend our philosophical guides, and 
 we shall be brought acquainted with speculations more 
 enlarged and more inflaming. 
 
 This sun, with all its attendant planets, is but a very 
 
 5 little part of the grand machine of the universe ; every 
 star, though in appearance no bigger than the diamond 
 that glitters upon a lady's ring, is really a vast globe, like 
 the sun in size and in glory ; no less spacious, no less 
 luminous, than the radiant source of day. So that every 
 
 10 star is not barely a world, but the centre of a magnificent 
 system ; has a retinue of worlds, irradiated by its beams, 
 and revolving round its attractive influence, all which are 
 lost to our sight in unmeasurable wilds of ether. 
 
 That the stars appear like so many diminutive and 
 
 15 scarcely distinguishable points, is owing to their immense 
 and inconceivable distance. Immense and inconceivable 
 indeed it is, since a ball shot from the loaded cannon, and 
 flying with unabated rapidity, must travel, at this impetu- 
 ous rate, almost seven hundred thousand years, before it 
 
 20 could reach the nearest of these twinkling luminaries. 
 
 While, beholding this vast expanse, I learn my own ex- 
 treme meanness, I would also discover the abject littleness 
 of all terrestrial things. What is the earth, with all her 
 ostentatious scenes, compared with this astonishing grand 
 
 25 furniture of the skies ? what, but a dim speck, hardly per- 
 ceivable in the map of the universe ? 
 
 It is observed by a very judicious writer, that if the sun 
 himself, which enlightens this part of the creation, were 
 extinguished, and all the host of planetary worlds, which 
 
 30 move about him, were annihilated, they would not be 
 missed by an eye that can take in the whole compass of 
 nature, any more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. 
 The bulk of which they consist, and the space which they 
 occupy, are so exceedingly little in comparison of the 
 
 35 whole, that their loss would scarcely leave a blank in the 
 immensity of God's works. 
 
 If, then, not our globe only, but this whole system, be 
 so very diminutive, what is a kingdom, or a country? 
 What are a few lordships, or the so much admired patri- 
 
 40 monies of those who are st3ded wealthy ? When I meas- 
 ure them with my own little pittance, they swell into 
 proud and bloated dimensions : but when I take the uni- 
 verse for my standard, how scanty is their size, how 
 contemptible their figure! They shrink into pompous 
 
 45 nothings. — Addison, 
 
EX. XVIU.] RHETORICAL READING. 199 
 
 EXERCISE XVIII. 
 Quarrel between Roderick Dku and Fitz-James, 
 
 The shades of eve come slowly down, 
 
 The woods are wrapped in deeper brown, 
 
 The owl awakens from her dell, 
 
 The fox is heard upon the fell ; 
 5 Enough remains of glimmering light 
 
 To guide the wanderer's steps aright. 
 
 Yet not enough from far to show 
 
 His figure to the watchful foe. 
 
 With cautious step, and ear awake, 
 10 He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 
 
 And not the summer solstice there 
 ^ Tempered the midnight mountain air. 
 
 But every breeze that swept the wold 
 
 Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 
 15 In dread, in danger, and alone. 
 
 Famished and chilled, through ways unknown, 
 
 Tangled and steep, he* journeyed on ; 
 
 Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 
 
 A watch-fire close before him burned. 
 20 Beside its embers red and clear. 
 
 Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; 
 
 And up he sprung, with sword in hand, — 
 
 " Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand ! " — 
 
 " A stranger." — " What dost thou require ? " — 
 25 " Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 
 
 My life 's beset, my path is lost. 
 
 The gale has chilled my limbs with frost." — 
 " Art thou a friend to Roderick ? " — " No." — 
 
 " Thou darest not call thyself a foe ? " — 
 30 " I dare ! to him and all the band 
 
 He brings to aid his murderous hand." — 
 
 " Bold words ! — but though the beast of game 
 
 The privilege of chase may claim. 
 
 Though space and law the stag we lend, 
 35 Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 
 
 Who ever recked, where, how, or when. 
 
 The prowling fox. was trapped or slain ? 
 
 Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 
 
 Who say thou cam'st a secret spy ! " — 
 
 ♦ Fitz-James. 
 
200 Parker's exercises m [ex. xvin. 
 
 " They do, by heaven ! — C^me Roderick Dhu, 
 
 And of his clan the boldest two, 
 
 And let me but till morning rest, 
 
 I write the falsehood on their crest." — 
 6 " If by the blaze I mark aright, 
 
 Thou bear'st the belt and spur of knight." — 
 
 " Then by these tokens may'st thou know 
 
 Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — 
 " Enough, enough ; sit down and share 
 10 A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 
 
 He gave him of his highland cheer, 
 
 The hardened flesh of mountain deer ; 
 
 Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 
 
 And bade the Saxon share his plaid ; 
 15 He tended him like welcome guest, 
 
 Then thus his further speech addressed : 
 " Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
 
 A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 
 
 Each word against his honor spoke 
 20 Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
 
 Yet more, — upon thy fate, 'tis said, 
 
 A mighty augury is laid. 
 
 It rests with me to wind my horn, — 
 
 Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
 25 It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 
 
 Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand ; 
 
 But, nor for clan nor kindred's cause. 
 
 Will I depart from honor's laws : 
 
 To assail a wearied man were shame, 
 30 And stranger is a holy name ; 
 
 Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 
 
 In vain he never must require. 
 
 Then rest thee here till dawn of day, 
 
 Myself will guide thee on the way, 
 35 O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 
 
 Till past Clan-Alpin's outmost guard, 
 
 As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 
 
 From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — 
 " I take thy courtesy, by heaven, 
 40 As freely as 't is nobly given ! " — 
 
 " Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 
 
 Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 
 
 With that he shook the gathered heath. 
 
 And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 
 
EX. XVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 201 
 
 And the brave foemen, side by sMe, 
 Lay peaceful down, like broth erPtried, 
 And slept until the dawning beam 
 Purpled the mountain and the stream. 
 
 6 That early beam, so fair and sheen, 
 
 Was twinkling through the hazel screen, 
 
 When, rousing at its glimmer red, 
 
 The warriors left their lowly bed, 
 
 Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
 10 Muttered their soldier matins by, 
 
 And then awaked their fire, to steal, 
 
 As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
 That o'er, the Gael=^ around him threw 
 
 His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
 15 And, true to promise, led the way, 
 
 By thicket green and mountain gray. 
 
 A wildering path ! — they winded now 
 
 Along the precipice's brow, 
 
 Commanding the rich scenes beneath, — 
 20 The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
 
 And all the vales between that lie, \ 
 
 Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky; 
 
 Thence, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
 
 Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 
 25 'T was oft so steep, the foot was fain 
 
 Assistance from the hand to gain : 
 
 So tangled oft, that, bursting through. 
 
 Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, — 
 
 That diamond dew, so pure and clear. 
 
 It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 
 30 At length they came where, stern and steep, 
 
 The hill sinks down upon the deep ; 
 
 So toilsome was the road to trace. 
 
 The guide, abating of his pace, 
 35 Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 
 
 And asked Fitz-James by what strange cause 
 
 He sought these wilds ; traversed by few. 
 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu ? 
 " Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, 
 40 Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 
 
 * The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, aad terms the 
 Lowlander, Sasgenach^ or Saxon. 
 
202 Parker's exercises in [ex. ivra. 
 
 Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
 
 " I dreamed not now to claim its aid ; 
 
 When here, but three days' since, I came, 
 
 Bewildered in pursuit of game, 
 5 All seemed as peaceful, and as still, 
 
 As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
 
 Thy dangerous chief was then afar, 
 
 Nor soon expected back from war ; 
 
 Thus said, at least, my mountain guide, 
 10 Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." — 
 " Yet why a second venture try?" — 
 
 " A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
 
 Moves our free course by such fixed cause 
 
 As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
 15 Enough I sought to drive away 
 
 The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 
 
 Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
 
 A knight's free footsteps far and wide ; 
 
 A falcon flown, a grayhound strayed, 
 20 The merry glance of mountain maid : 
 
 Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
 
 The danger's self is lure alone." — 
 " Thy secret keep ; I urge thee not ; 
 
 Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
 25 Say, heard ye nought of lowland war. 
 
 Against Clan-Alpin raised by Mar?" — 
 " No, by my word ; — of bands prepared 
 
 To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
 
 Nor doubt I aught, but when they hear 
 30 This muster of the mountaineer. 
 
 Their pennons will abroad be flung. 
 
 Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." — 
 " Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 
 
 Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
 35 Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
 
 Clan-Alpin's pine in banner brave. 
 
 But, stranger, peaceful since you came. 
 
 Bewildered in the mountain game. 
 
 Whence the bold boast by which you show 
 40 Vich-Alpin's vowed and mortal foe ?" — 
 " Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew 
 
 Nought of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
 
 Save as an exiled, desperate man. 
 
 The chief of a rebellious clan, 
 
EX. XVIII. J RHETORICAL READING. iM^ 
 
 Who, in the regent's court and^j^ht, 
 
 With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight. 
 
 Yet this alone might from his part 
 
 Sever each true and loyal heart." 
 5 Wrathful at such arraignment foul, 
 
 Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl : 
 
 A space he paused, then sternly said, — 
 
 " And heardst thou why he drew his blade ? 
 
 Heardst thou that shameful word and blow 
 10 Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 
 
 What recked the chieftain, if he stood 
 
 On highland heath, or Holy-Rood ? 
 
 He writes such wrong where it is given, 
 
 If it were in the court of heaven ! " — 
 15 " Still was it outrage ; — yet, 't is true, 
 
 Not then claimed sovereignty his due ; 
 
 While Albany, with feeble hand, 
 
 Held borrowed truncheon of command, 
 
 The young king, mewed in Stirling tower, 
 20 Was stranger to respect and power. 
 
 But then thy chieftain's robber life — 
 
 Winning mean prey by causeless strife. 
 
 Wrenching from ruined lowland swain 
 
 His herds and han'est reared in vain — 
 25 Methinks a soul like thine should scorn 
 
 The spoils from such foul foray borne ! " 
 The Gael beheld him grim the while, 
 
 And answered with disdainful smile, — 
 
 " Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
 30 I marked thee send delighted eye 
 
 Far to the south and east, where lay. 
 
 Extended in succession gay. 
 
 Deep waving fields and pastures green. 
 
 With gentle slopes and groves between. 
 35 These fertile plains, that softened vale. 
 
 Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 
 
 The stranger came with iron hand. 
 
 And from our fathers reft the land. 
 
 Where dwell we now ? See rudely swell 
 40 Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
 
 Ask we this savage hill we tread 
 
 For fattened steer or household bread ; 
 
 Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 
 
 And well the mountain might reply, — r 
 
204 Parker's exercises in [ex. xna. 
 
 To you, as to your sires of yore, 
 
 Belong the target and claymore ! 
 
 I give you shelter in my breast, 
 
 Your own good blades must win the rest.* 
 6 Pent in this fortress of the North, 
 
 Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 
 
 To spoil the spoiler as we may. 
 
 And from the robber rend the prey ? 
 
 Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
 10 The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 
 
 While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 
 
 But one along yon river's maze, — 
 
 The Gael, of plain and river heir. 
 
 Shall with strong hand redeem his share. 
 15 Where live the mountain chiefs who hold 
 
 That plundering lowland field and fold 
 
 Is aught but retribution due ? 
 
 Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." 
 Answered Fitz-James, — " And, if I sought 
 20 Think'st thou no other could be brought? 
 
 What deem ye of my path waylaid. 
 
 My life given o'er to ambuscade ? " — 
 " As of a meed to rashness due : 
 
 Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 
 25 I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 
 
 I seek, good faith, a highland maid, — 
 
 Free hadst thou been to come and go ; 
 
 But secret path marks secret foe. 
 Nor yet for this, e'en as a spy, 
 30 Hadst thou unheard been doomed to die, 
 
 Save to fulfil an augury." — 
 
 " Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 
 
 Fresh cause of enmity avow. 
 
 To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
 85 Enough, I am by promise tied 
 
 To match me with this man of pride : 
 
 Twice have I sought Clan-Alpin's glen 
 
 In peace ; but, when I come again, 
 
 I come with banner, brand, and bow, 
 40 As leader seeks his mortal foe ; 
 
 For lovelorn swain, in lady's bower. 
 
 Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 
 
 As I, until before me stand 
 
 This rebel chieftain and his band." 
 
EX. XVin.] RHETORICAL READING. 205 
 
 " Have then thy wish ! " H^vhistled shrill, 
 
 And he was answered from the hill ; 
 
 Wild as the scream of the curlew, 
 
 From crag to crag the signal flew ; 
 5 Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
 
 Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 
 
 On right, on left, above, below, 
 
 Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 
 Ffom shingles gray their lances start, 
 10 The bracken-bush sends forth the dart, 
 
 The rushes and the willow-wand 
 
 Are bristling into axe and brand, 
 
 And every tuft of broom gives life 
 V To plaided warrior armed for strife. 
 
 15 That whistle garrisoned the glen 
 
 At once with full five hundred men. 
 
 As if the yawning hill to heaven 
 
 A subterranean host had given ; 
 
 Watching their leader's beck and will, 
 20 All silent there they stood, and still. 
 
 Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass 
 
 Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass. 
 
 As if an infant's touch could urge 
 
 Their headlong passage down the verge, 
 25 With step and weapon forward flung, 
 
 Upon the mountain side they hung. 
 The mountaineer cast glance of pride 
 
 Along Benledi's living side. 
 
 Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
 30 Full on Fitz- James, — " How say'st thou now ? 
 
 These are Clan-Alpin's warriors true : 
 
 And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu ! " 
 
 Fitz-James was brave : — though to his heart 
 
 The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, 
 35 He manned himself with dauntless air, 
 
 Returned the chief his haughty stare, 
 
 His back against a rock he bore. 
 
 And firmly placed his foot before : 
 
 " Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
 40 From its firm base as soon as I." 
 
 Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 
 
 Respect was mingled with surprise, 
 
 And the stern joy which warriors feel 
 
 In foemen worthy of their steel. 
 18 
 
206 Parker's exercises in [ex. ivin. 
 
 Short space he stood — then waved his hand; 
 
 Down sunk the disappearing band ; 
 
 Each warrior vanished where he stood, 
 
 In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
 5 Sunk brand and spear and bended bow 
 
 In osiers pale and copses low ; 
 
 It seemed as if their mother earth 
 
 Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 
 The wind's last breath had tossed in air 
 10 Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 
 
 The next but swept a lone hill-side, 
 
 Where heath and fern were waving wide ; 
 
 The sun's last glance was glinted back 
 
 From lance and glaive, from targe and jack, — 
 15 The next, all unreflected, shone 
 
 On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 
 
 Fitz- James looked round — yet scarce believed 
 
 The witness that his sight received ; 
 
 Such apparition well might seem 
 20 Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
 
 Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed. 
 
 And to his look the chief replied, 
 
 " Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — 
 
 But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
 25 Thou art my guest ; I pledged my word 
 
 As far as Coilantogle ford : 
 
 Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
 
 For aid against one valiant hand, 
 
 Though on our strife lay every vale 
 30 Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 
 So move we on ; I only meant. 
 
 To show the reed on which you leant, 
 
 Deeming this path you might pursue 
 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 
 35 They moved — I said Fitz-James was brave 
 
 As ever knight that belted glaive ; 
 
 Yet dare not say that now his blood 
 
 Kept on its wont and tempered flood. 
 
 As, following Roderick's strides, he drew 
 40 That seeming lonesome pathway through, 
 
 Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 
 
 With lances, that to take his life 
 
 Waited but signal from a guide 
 
 So late dishonored and defied. 
 
EX, XVIII.] RIIKTORICAL READING. 207 
 
 Ever, by stealth, his eye sougM^ound 
 
 The vanished guardians of the ground, 
 
 And still from copse and heather deep 
 
 Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, 
 5 And in the plover's shrilly strain 
 
 The signal whistle heard again. 
 Nor breathed he free till far behind 
 
 The pass was left ; for then they wind 
 
 Along a wide and level green, 
 10 Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
 
 Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, 
 
 To hide a bonnet or a spear. 
 
 The chief in silence strode before, 
 
 And reached the torrent's sounding shore. 
 15 ^ # ^ # ^ * 
 
 And here his course the chieftain staid, 
 
 Threw down his target and his plaid, 
 
 And to the lowland warrior said : — 
 
 " Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
 
 20 Vich-Alpin has discharged his trust ; 
 
 This murderous chief, this ruthless man, 
 
 This head of a rebellious clan, 
 
 Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, 
 
 Far past Clan-Alpin's outmost guard. 
 25 Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
 
 A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
 
 See, here all vantageless I stand, 
 
 Armed, like thyself, with single brand ; 
 
 For this is Coilantogle ford, 
 30 And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 
 The Saxon paused: — "I ne'er delayed. 
 
 When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
 
 Nay more, brave chief, I vowed thy death : 
 
 Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
 35 And my deep debt for life preserved, 
 
 A better meed have well deserved : 
 Can nought but blood our feud atone ? 
 
 Are there no means ? " — " No, stranger, none ! 
 
 And here, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — 
 40 The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 
 
 For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 
 
 Between the living and the dead : 
 
 * Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 
 
 His party conquers in the strife.' " — 
 
208 Parker's exercises in [ex. xvm. 
 
 " Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 
 
 " The riddle is already read ; 
 
 See yonder brake beneath the cliff, — 
 
 There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 
 5 Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy, 
 
 Then yield to Fate, and not to me ; 
 To James, at Stirling, let us go, 
 
 When, if thou wilt, be still his foe ; 
 
 Or, if the king shall not agree 
 10 To grant thee grace and favor free, 
 
 I plight mine honor, oath and word. 
 
 That, to thy native strength restored. 
 
 With each advantage shalt thou stand 
 
 That aids thee now to guard thy land." 
 15 Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye — 
 
 " Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 
 
 Because a wretched kern ye slew, 
 
 Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
 
 He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
 20 Thou add'st but fuel to my hate. — 
 
 My clansman's blood demands revenge ! — 
 Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
 
 My thought, and hold thy valor light, 
 
 As that of some vain carpet knight, 
 25 Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
 
 And whose best boast is but to wear 
 
 A braid of his fair lady's hair!" — 
 
 " I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 
 
 It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
 30 For I have sworn this braid to stain 
 
 In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
 
 Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, begone ! — 
 
 Yet think not that by thee alone. 
 
 Proud chief ! can courtesy be shown. 
 35 Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
 
 Start at my whistle clansmen stern. 
 
 Of this small horn one feeble blast 
 
 Would fearful odds against thee cast ; 
 
 But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt, 
 40 We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." 
 
 Then each at once his falchion drew. 
 
 Each on the ground his scabbard threw. 
 
 Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 
 
 As what they ne'er might see again ; 
 
EX. XVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 209 
 
 Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
 
 In dubious strife they darkly closed. 
 Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
 
 That on the field his targe he threw, 
 6 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
 
 Had death so often dashed aside ; 
 
 For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
 
 Fitz- James's blade was sword and shield. 
 He practised every pass and ward, 
 10 To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
 
 While less expert, though stronger far. 
 
 The Gael maintained unequal war. 
 ^ Three times in closing strife they stood. 
 
 And thrice the Saxon sword drank blood ; 
 15 No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
 
 The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
 Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 
 
 And showered his blows like wintry rain ; 
 
 And, as firm rock, or castle roof, 
 20 Against the winter shower is proof. 
 
 The foe, invulnerable still. 
 
 Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
 
 Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
 
 Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 
 25 And, backwards borne upon the lee. 
 
 Brought the proud chieftain to his Imee. 
 " Now yield thee, or, by Him who made 
 
 The world, thy heart's blood dies my blade ! " — 
 
 " Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
 30 Let recreant yield who fears to die." 
 
 Like adder darting from his coil. 
 
 Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
 
 Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 
 
 Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung, 
 35 Received, but recked not of a wound. 
 
 And locked his arms his foeman round. — 
 Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
 
 No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
 
 That desperate grasp thy frame might feel 
 40 Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 
 
 They tug, they strain ; — down, down they go, 
 
 The Gael above, Fitz- James below. 
 
 The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed, 
 
 His knee was planted on his breast; 
 18* 
 
210 Parker's exercises in [ex. xix. 
 
 His clotted locks he backward threw, 
 
 Across his brow his hand he drew, 
 
 From blood and mist to clear his sight, 
 
 Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! 
 5 But hate and fury ill supplied 
 
 The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
 
 And all too late the advantage came, 
 
 To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
 
 For, while the dagger gleamed on high, 
 10 Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye ; 
 
 Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
 
 The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
 The struggling foe may now unclasp 
 
 The fainting chief's relaxing grasp ; 
 15 Unwounded from the dreadful close, 
 
 But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 
 He faltered thanks to Heaven for life 
 
 Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife ; 
 
 Next on his foe his look he cast, 
 20 Whose every gasp appeared his last ; 
 
 In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid. — 
 
 " Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid , 
 
 Yet with thy foe must die or live 
 
 The praise that Faith and Valor give." W. Scott 
 
 EXERCISE XIX. 
 Schemes of Life often Illusory. 
 
 25 Omar, the son of Hassan, had passed seventy-five years 
 in honor and prosperity. The favor of three successive 
 califs had filled his house with gold and silver ; and when- 
 ever he appeared, the benedictions of the people proclaimed 
 his passage. 
 
 30 Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. The 
 brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel ; the fragrant 
 flower is passing away in its own odors. The vigor of 
 Omar began to fail; the curls of beauty fell from his. 
 head ; strength departed from his hands, and agility from 
 
 35 his feet. He gave back to the calif the keys of trust, and 
 the seals of secrecy; and sought no other pleasure for the 
 remains of life than the converse of the wise and the 
 gratitude of the good. 
 
EX. XIX.] RHETORICAL RFAUIXCr. 211 
 
 The powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. His 
 chamber was filled by visitants, eager to catch the dictates 
 of experience, and officious to pay the tribute of admira- 
 tion. Caled, the son of the viceroy of Egypt, entered 
 
 5 every day early, and retired late. He was beautiful and 
 eloquent: Omar admired his wit, and loved his docility. 
 " Tell me," said Caled, " thou to whose voice nations 
 have listened, and whose wisdom is known to the extremi- 
 ties of Asia, tell me how I may resemble Omar the prudent. 
 
 10 The arts by which thou hast gained power and preserved 
 it are to thee no longer necessary or useful ; impart to 
 me the secret of thy conduct, and teach me the plan upon 
 which thy wisdom has built thy fortune." 
 
 "Young man," said Omar, "it is of little use to form 
 
 15 plans of life. When I took my first survey of the world, 
 in my twentieth year, having considered the various con- 
 ditions of mankind, in the hour of solitude I said thus to 
 myself, leaning against a cedar, which spread its branches 
 over my head : ' Seventy years are allowed to man ; I 
 
 20 have yet fifty remaining. 
 
 " ' Ten years I will allot to the attainment of knowl- 
 edge, and ten I will pass in foreign countries ; I shall be 
 learned, and therefore shall be honored ; every city will 
 shout at my arrival, and every student will solicit my 
 
 25 friendship. Twenty years thus passed will store my 
 mind with images, which I shall be busy, through the rest 
 of my life, in combining and comparing. I shall revel in 
 inexhaustible accumulations of intellectual riches ; I shall 
 find new pleasures for every moment, and shall never 
 
 30 more be weary of myself. 
 
 " ' I will not, however, deviate too far from the beaten 
 track of life ; but will try what can be found in female 
 delicacy. I will marry a wife beautiful as the Houries, 
 and wise as Zobeide ; with her I will live twenty years 
 
 35 within the suburbs of Bagdat, in every pleasure that 
 wealth can purchase, and fancy can invent. 
 
 "'I will then retire to a rural dwelling; pass my days 
 in obscurity and contemplation ; and lie silently down on 
 the bed of death. Through my life it shall be my settled 
 
 40 resolution, that I will never depend upon the smile of 
 princes ; that I will never stand exposed to the artifices of 
 courts ; I will never pant for public honors, nor disturb 
 my quiet with the aflfairs of state.' Such was my scheme 
 of life, which I impressed indelibly upon my memory. 
 
212 Parker's exercises in [ex. xix. 
 
 " The first part of my ensuing time was to be spent in 
 search of knowledge, and I know not how I was diverted 
 from my design. I had no visible impediments without, 
 nor any ungovernable passions within. I regarded knowl- 
 
 5 edge as the highest honor, and the most engaging pleas- 
 ure ; yet day stole upon day, and month glided after 
 month, till I found that seven years of the first ten had 
 vanished, and left nothing behind them. 
 
 " I now postponed my purpose of travelling ; for why 
 
 10 should I go abroad, while so much remained to be learned 
 at home ? I immured myself for four years, and studied 
 the laws of the empire. The fame of my skill reached 
 the judges : I was found able to speak upon doubtful ques- 
 tions, and was commanded to stand at the footstool of the 
 
 15 calif. I was heard with attention ; I was consulted with 
 confidence, and the love of praise fastened on my heart. 
 
 " I still wished to see distant countries ; listened with 
 rapture to the relations of travellers, and resolved some 
 time to ask my dismission, that I might feast my soul with 
 
 20 novelty ; but my presence was always necessary, and the 
 stream of business hurried me along. Sometimeaj^,! was 
 afraid lest I should be charged with ingratitude ; but I 
 still proposed to travel, and therefore would not confine 
 myself by marriage. 
 
 25 " In my fiftieth year I began to suspect that the time of 
 travelling was past ; and thought it best to lay hold on the 
 felicity yet in my power, and indulge myself in domestic 
 pleasures. But at fifty no man easily finds a woman 
 beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide. I inquired 
 
 30 and rejected, consulted and deliberated, till the sixty-sec- 
 ond year made me ashamed of wishing to marry. I had 
 now nothing left but retirement; and for retirement 1 
 never found a time, till disease forced me from public em- 
 ployment. 
 
 35 " Such was my scheme, and such has been its conse- 
 quence. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, I trifled 
 away the years of improvement; with a restless desire of 
 seeing different countries, I have always resided in the 
 same city ; with the highest expectation of connubial felic- 
 
 40 ity, I have lived unmarried ; and with unalterable resolu- 
 tions of contemplative retirement, I am going to die with- 
 in the walls of Bagdat." — Dr. Johnson. 
 
8X. XX.] RHETORICAL READING. 213 
 
 EXERCISE XX. 
 A Dream. 
 
 1 HAD a dream — a strange, wild dream — 
 
 Said a dear voice at early light ; 
 
 And even yet its shadows seem 
 
 To linger in my waking sight. 
 5 Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew, 
 
 And bright with morn, before me stood; 
 
 And airs, just wakened, softly blew 
 
 On the young blossoms of the wood. 
 Birds sang within the sprouting shade, 
 10 Bees hummed amid the whispering grass. 
 
 And children prattled as they played 
 
 Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass. 
 
 Fast climbed the sun : the flowers were flown, 
 
 There played no children in the glen ; 
 15 For some were gone, and some were grown 
 
 To blooming dames and bearded men. 
 'Twas noon, 'twas summer: I beheld 
 
 Woods darkening in the flush of day, 
 
 And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, 
 20 A mighty stream, with creek and bay. 
 
 And here was love, and there was strife, 
 
 And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries, 
 
 And strong men, struggling as for life, 
 
 With knotted limbs and angry eyes. 
 25 Now stooped the su» — the shades grew thin ; 
 
 The rustling paths were piled with leaves j 
 
 And sun-burnt groups were gathering in, 
 
 From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves. 
 The river heaved with sullen sounds ; 
 30 The chilly winds were sad with moans ; 
 
 Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds 
 
 Grew thick with monumental stones. 
 
 Still waned the day ; the wind that chased 
 
 The jagged clouds blew chillier yet; 
 35 The woods were stripped, the fields were waste. 
 
 The wintry sun was near its set. 
 
 And of the young, and strong, and fair, 
 
 A lonely remnant, gray and weak. 
 
 Lingered and shivered to the air 
 40 Of that bleak shore and water bleak. 
 
214 FARKEr's exercises in [ex. XXL 
 
 Ah ! age is drear, and death is cold ! 
 I turned to thee, for thou wert near, 
 And saw thee withered, bowed and old, ^ 
 And woke all faint with sudden fear. 
 5 'T was thus I heard the dreamer say, 
 
 And bade her clear her clouded brow : 
 " For thou and I, since childhood's day. 
 Have walked in such a dream till now. 
 " Watch we in calmness, as they rise, 
 10 The changes of that rapid dream, 
 
 And note its lessons, till our eyes 
 Shall open in the morning beam." Bryant, 
 
 EXERCISE XXL 
 Ortogrvl ; or, the Va?iity of Riches. 
 
 As Ortogrul, of Basra, was one day wandering along 
 the streets of Bagdat, musing on the varieties of merchan- 
 
 15 dise which the shops opened to his view, and observing 
 the different occupations which busied the multitude on 
 every side, he was awakened from the tranquillity of med- 
 itation by a crowd that obstructed his passage. He raised 
 his eyes, and saw the chief vizier, who, having returned 
 
 20 from the divan, was entering his palace. 
 
 Ortogrul mingled with the attendants ; and being sup- 
 posed to have some petition for the vizier, was permitted 
 to enter. He surveyed the spaciousness of the apartments, 
 admired the walls hung with golden tapestry, and the 
 
 25 floors covered with silken carpets ; and despised the simple 
 neatness of his own little habitation. 
 
 " Surely," said he to himself, " this palace is the seat 
 of happiness ; where pleasure succeeds to pleasure, and 
 discontent and sorrow can have no admission. Whatever 
 
 30 nature has provided for the delight of sense is here spread 
 forth to be enjoyed. What can mortals hope or imagine 
 which the master of this palace has not obtained ? 
 
 " The dishes of luxury cover his table ; the voice of har- 
 mony lulls him in his bowers ; he breathes the fragrance 
 
 35 of the groves of Java, and sleeps upon the down of the 
 cygnets of Ganges. He speaks, and his mandate is 
 obeyed ; he wishes, and his wish is gratified ; all whom 
 he sees obey him, and all whom he hears flatter hiia. 
 
EX. XXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 215 
 
 " How different, oh Ortogrul ! is thy condition, who art 
 doomed to the perpetual torments of unsatisfied desire ; 
 and who hast no amusement in thy power that can with- 
 hold thee from thy own reflections I They tell thee that 
 5 thou art wise ; but what does wisdom avail with poverty ? 
 None will flatter the poor ; and the wise have very little 
 power of flattering themselves. 
 
 '• That man is surely the most wretched of the sons of 
 wretchedness who lives with his own faults and follies 
 10 always before him, and who has none to reconcile him to 
 himself by praise and veneration. I have long sought con- 
 tent, and have not found it; I will from this moment 
 endeavo'r to be rich." 
 
 Full of this new resolution, he shut himself in his cham- 
 
 15 her for six months, to deliberate how he should grow rich. 
 
 He sometimes purposed to offer himself as a counsellor to 
 
 one of the kings in India, and sometimes resolved to dig 
 
 for diamonds in the mines of Golconda. 
 
 One day, after some hours passed in violent fluctuation 
 20 of opinion, sleep insensibly seized him in his chair. He 
 dreamed that he was ranging a desert country, in search 
 of some one that might teach him to grow rich ; and as he 
 stood on the top of a hill, shaded with cypress, in doubt 
 whither to direct his steps, his father appeared on a sudden 
 25 standing before him. 
 
 " Ortogrul," said the old man, " I know thy perplexity ; 
 listen to thy father. Turn thine eye on the opposite moun- 
 tain." Ortogrul looked, and saw a torrent tumbling down 
 the rocks, roaring with the noise of thunder, and scattering 
 30 its foam on the impending woods. " Now," said his father, 
 " behold the valley that lies between the hills." Ortogrul 
 looked, and espied a little well, out of which issued a small 
 rivulet. " Tell me, now," said his father, " dost thou wish 
 for sudden affluence, that may pour upon thee like the 
 35 mountain torrent ; or for a slow and gradual increase, re- 
 sembling the rill gliding from the well ? " 
 
 " Let me be quickly rich," said Ortogrul ; " let the gold- 
 en stream be quick and violent." " Look around thee," 
 said his father, " once again." Ortogrul looked, and per- 
 40 ceived the channel of the torrent dry and dusty ; but fol- 
 lowing the rivulet from the well, he traced it to a wide 
 lake, which the supply, slow and constant, kept always 
 full. He awoke, and determined to §row rich by silent 
 profit, and persevering industry. 
 
216 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxu. 
 
 Having- sold his patrimony, he engaged in merchandise ; 
 and in twenty years purchased lands, on which he raised 
 a house equal in sumptuousness to that of the vizier ; to 
 this mansion he invited all the ministers of pleasure, ex- 
 5 pecting to enjoy all the felicity which he had imagined 
 riches able to afford. Leisure soon made him weary of 
 himself, and he longed to be persuaded that he was great 
 and happy. He was courteous and liberal ; he gave all 
 that approached him hopes of pleasing him, and all who 
 
 10 should please him hopes of being rewarded. Every art 
 of praise was tried, and every source of adulatory fiction 
 was exhausted. 
 
 Ortogrul heard, his flatterers without delight, because he 
 found himself unable to believe them. His own heart told 
 
 15 him its frailties ; his own understanding reproached him 
 with his faults. " How long," said he, with a deep sigh, 
 " have I been laboring in vain to amass wealth, which at 
 last is useless ! Let no man hereafter wish to be rich, 
 who is already too wise to be flattered." — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 EXERCISE XXn. 
 Summer Heat. 
 
 20 All-conquering Heat, oh, intermit thy wrath ! 
 And on my throbbing temples potent thus 
 Beam not so fierce ! incessant still you flow, 
 And still another fervent flood succeeds. 
 Poured on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, 
 
 25 And restless turn, and look around for night ; 
 Night is far off; and hotter hours approach. 
 Thrice happy he, who, on the sunless side 
 Of a romantic mountain, forest-crowned, 
 Beneath the whole-collected shade reclines ; 
 
 30 Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought. 
 
 And fresh bedewed with ever-spouting streams. 
 Sits coolly calm ; while all the world without, 
 Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon. 
 Emblem instructive of the virtuous man, 
 
 35 Who keeps his tempered mind serene and pure, 
 And every passion aptly harmonized. 
 Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed. 
 
 Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets, hail ! 
 
EX. XXIII. J RHETORICAL READING. 217 
 
 Ye lofty pines ! ye venerable oaks ! 
 
 Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep! 
 
 Delicious is your shelter to the soul, 
 
 As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, 
 
 5 Or stream full flowing, that his swelling sides 
 Laves, as he floats along the herbaged brink. 
 Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides , 
 The heart beats glad ; the fresh-expanded eye 
 And ear resume their watch ; the sinews knit ; 
 
 10 And life shoots swift through all the lightened limbs. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 EXERCISE XXIII. 
 
 Oynniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity ^ the Source of 
 Consolation to Good Men. 
 
 I WAS yesterday, about sunset, A\'alking in the open 
 fields, till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first 
 amused myself with all the richness and variety of colors 
 which appeared in the western parts of heaven. In pro- 
 
 15 portion as they faded away and went out, several stars 
 and planets appeared, one after another, till the whole 
 firmament was in a glow. 
 
 The blueness of the ether was exceedingly heightened 
 and enlivened by the season of the year, and the rays of 
 
 20 all those luminaries that passed through it. The galaxy 
 appeared in its most beautiful white. To complete the 
 scene, the full moon rose, at length, in that clouded majes- 
 ty which Milton takes notice of; and opened to the eye a 
 new picture of nature, which was more finely shaded, and 
 
 25 disposed among softer lights, than that which the sun had 
 before discovered to me. 
 
 As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, 
 and taking her progress among the constellations, a thought 
 arose in me, which I believe very often perplexes and dis- 
 
 30 turbs men of serious and contemplative natures. David 
 himself fell into it in that reflection: "When I consider 
 the heavens, the work of thy fingers ; the moon and the 
 stars which thou hast ordained ; what is man, that thou 
 art mindful of him, and the son of man, that thou regard- 
 
 35 est him ! " 
 
 In the same manner, when I considered that infinite host 
 of stars, or, to speak more philosophically, of suns, which 
 19 
 
218 tarker's exercises in [ex. xxm. 
 
 were then shining upon me ; with those innumerable sets 
 of planets or worlds, which were moving round their re- 
 spective suns ; when I still enlarged the idea, and supposed 
 •another heaven of suns and worlds, rising still above this 
 
 5 which I discovered ; and these still enlightened by a supe- 
 rior firmament of luminaries, which are planted at so 
 great a distance that they may appear to the inhabitants 
 of the former as the stars do to me : in short, while I pur- 
 sued this thought, I could not but reflect on that little in- 
 
 10 significant figure which I myself bore amidst the immen- 
 sity of God's works. 
 
 Were the sun which enlightens this part of the crea- 
 tion, with all the host of planetary worlds that move about 
 him, utterly extinguished and annihilated, they would not 
 
 15 be missed, more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. 
 The space they possess is so exceeding little in compari- 
 son of the whole, it would scarcely make a blank in the 
 creation. The chasm would be imperceptible to an eye 
 that could take in the whole compass of nature, and pass 
 
 20 from one end of the creation to the other ; as it is possible 
 there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in 
 creatures which are at present more exalted than our- 
 selves. 
 
 By the help of glasses, we see many stars which we do 
 
 25 not discover with our naked eyes ; and the finer our tele- 
 scopes are, the greater still are our discoveries. 
 
 Huygenius carries this thought so far, that he does not 
 think it impossible there may be stars, whose light has not 
 yet travelled down to us since their first creation. There 
 
 30 is no question that the universe has certain bounds set to 
 it ; but when we consider that it is the work of Infinite 
 Power, prompted by Infinite Goodness, with an infinite 
 space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set any 
 bounds to it ? 
 
 35 To return, therefore, to my first thought — I could not 
 but look upon myself with secret horror, as a being that 
 was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so 
 great a work under his care and superintendency. I was 
 afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of nature, 
 
 40 and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which, 
 in all probability, swarm through all these immeasurable 
 regions of matter. 
 
 In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, 
 I considered that it took its rise from those narrow con- 
 
EI. XXin.J KIIETORICAL READING. 219 
 
 ceptions which we are apt to entertain of the Divine 
 Nature. We ourselves cannot attend to many different 
 objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect 
 some things, we must of course neglect others. This im- 
 
 5 perfection which we observe in ourselves is an imperfec- 
 tion that cleaves, in some degree, to creatures of the 
 highest capacities, as they are creatures ; that is, beings 
 of finite and limited natures. 
 
 The presence of every created being is confined to a 
 
 10 certain measure of space ; and, consequently, his observa- 
 tion is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere 
 in which we move; and act, and understand, is of a wider 
 circumference to one creature than another, according as 
 we rise one above another in the scale of existence. But 
 
 15 the widest of these our spheres has its circumference. 
 
 When, therefore, we reflect on the Divine Nature, we 
 are so used and accustomed to this imperfection in our- 
 selves, that we cannot forbear, in some measure, ascribing 
 it to Him in whom there is no shadow of imperfection. 
 
 20 Our reason, indeed, assures us that his attributes are infi- 
 nite ; but the poorness of our conceptions is such, that it 
 cannot forbear setting bounds to everything it contem- 
 plates, till our reason comes again to our succor, and 
 throws down all those little prejudices which rise in us 
 
 25 unawares, and are natural to the mind of man. 
 
 We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melancholy 
 thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker, in the 
 multiplicity of his works, and the infinity of those objects 
 among which he seems to be incessantly employed, if we 
 
 30 consider, in the first place, that he is omnipresent ; and, 
 in the second, that he is omniscient. 
 
 If we consider him in his omnipresence, his being passes 
 through, actuates, and supports, the whole frame of nature. 
 His creation, in every part of it, is full of him. There is 
 
 35 nothing he has made, which is either so distant, so little, 
 or so inconsiderable, that he does not essentially reside in 
 it. His substance is within the substance of every being, 
 whether material or immaterial, and as intimately present 
 to it as that being is to itself. 
 
 40 It would be an imperfection in him, were he able to 
 move out of one place into another ; or to withdraw him- 
 self from anything he has created, or from any part of 
 that space which he difliised and spread abroad to infinity. 
 In short, to speak of him in the language of the old phi- 
 
220 Parker's exexcises in [ex. xxiv. 
 
 losophers, he is a Being whose centre is everywhere, and 
 his circumference nowhere. 
 
 In the second place, he is omniscient as well as omni- 
 present. His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and natu- 
 
 5 rally flows from his omnipresence. He cannot but be 
 conscious of every motion that arises in the whole mate- 
 rial world, which he thus essentially pervades; and of 
 every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to 
 every part of which he is thus intimately united. 
 
 10 Were the soul separated from the body, and should it 
 with one glance of thought start beyond the bounds of the 
 creation, — should it for millions of years continue its pro- 
 gress through infinite space, with the same activity, — it 
 would still find itself within the embrace of its Creator, 
 
 15 and encompassed by the immensity of the Godhead. 
 
 In this consideration of the Almighty's omnipresence 
 and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. 
 He cannot but regard everything that has being, especial- 
 ly such of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by 
 
 20 him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxie- 
 ty of heart in particular, which is apt to trouble them on 
 this occasion ; for, as it is impossible he should overlook 
 any of his creatures, so we may be confident that he re- 
 gards with an eye of mercy those who endeavor to r,ecom- 
 
 25 mend themselves to his notice, and, in an unfeigned hu- 
 mility of heart, think themselves unworthy that he should 
 be mindful of them. — Addison. 
 
 EXERCISE XXIV. 
 
 Summer Bathing. 
 
 Cheered by the milder beam, the sprightly youth 
 Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth 
 
 30 A sandy bottom shows. A while he stands 
 Gazing the inverted landscape, half afraid 
 To meditate the blue profound below ; 
 Then plunges headlong down the circling flood. 
 His ebon tresses and his rosy cheek 
 
 85 Instant emerge ; and, through the obedient wave, 
 At each short breathing by his lip repelled. 
 With arms and legs according well, he makes, 
 As humor leads, an easy-winding path • 
 
EX. XXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 221 
 
 While, from his polished sides, a dewy light 
 
 Effuses on the pleased spectators round. 
 This is the purest exercise of health, 
 
 The kind refresher of the summer heats ; 
 5 Nor when cold Winter keens the brightening flood, 
 
 Would I weak-shivering linger on the brink. 
 
 Thus life redoubles, and is oft preserved, 
 
 By the bold swimmer, in the swift elapse 
 
 Of accident disastrous. 
 10 Hence the limbs 
 
 Knit into force ; and the same Roman arm, 
 
 That rose victorious o'er the conquered earth, 
 
 First learned, while tender, to subdue the wave. 
 
 Even from the body's purity the mind 
 15 Receives a secret, sympathetic aid. Thomson. 
 
 EXERCISE XXV. 
 
 Scene after a Thunder Shower. 
 
 As from the face of heaven the shattered clouds 
 Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky 
 Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands 
 A purer azure. Through the lightened air 
 
 20 A higher lustre and a clearer calm, 
 
 Diflusive, tremble ; while, as if in sign 
 Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, 
 Set off abundant by the yellow ray, 
 Invests the fields ; and nature smiles revived. 
 
 25 'T is beauty all, and grateful song around, 
 Joined to the low of kine, and numerous bleat 
 Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clovered vale. 
 And shall the hymn be marred by thankless Man. 
 Most favored! who with voice articulate 
 
 30 Should lead the chorus of this lower world ; 
 Shall he, so soon forgetful of the Hand 
 That hushed the thunder, and serenes the sky, 
 Extinguished feel that spark the tempest waked. 
 That sense of powers exceeding far his own, 
 
 35 Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears ? Thomson, 
 19* 
 
222 Parker's exercises in [ex. xivi, 
 
 EXERCISE XXVI. 
 
 Domestic Employment. 
 
 Since Industry is the aliment of contentment and hap- 
 piness, the female sex are privileged in the variety of 
 employments that solicit their attention. These are so 
 diversified in their combinations of amusement with utili- 
 
 5 ty, that no room need be left for the melancholy of a vacant 
 and listless mind. 
 
 Needle-vi^ork, in all its forms of use, elegance and orna- 
 ment, has ever been the appropriate occupation of woman. 
 From the shades of Eden, when its humble process was 
 
 10 but to unite the fig-leaf, to the days when the mother of 
 Sisera looked from her window, in expectation of a " prey 
 of divers colors of needle-work on both sides, meet for the 
 necks of those that take the spoil," down to modern times, 
 when nature's pencil is rivalled by the most exquisite tis- 
 
 15 sues of embroidery, it has been both their duty and their 
 resource. While the more delicate efforts of the needle 
 rank high among accomplishments, its necessary depart- 
 ments are not beneath the notice of the most refined 
 young lady. 
 
 20 To keep her own wardrobe perfectly in order, to pay 
 just regard to economy, and to add to the comfort of the 
 poor, it will be necessary to obtain a knowledge of those 
 inventions by which the various articles of apparel are re- 
 paired, modified and renovated. True satisfaction, and 
 
 25 cheerfulness of spirits, are connected with these quiet and 
 congenial pursuits. 
 
 This has been simply and fortunately expressed by one 
 of our sweetest poets : — 
 
 •* It rains. — What lady loves a rainy day? 
 She loves a rainy day, who sweeps the hearth, 
 And threads the busy needle, or applies 
 The scissors to the torn or thread- bare «leeve ; 
 Who blesses God that she has friends and home ; 
 Who, in the pelting of the storm, will think 
 Of some poor neighbor that she can befriend ; 
 Who trims the lamp at night, and reads aloud, 
 To a young brother, tales he loves to hear ; 
 Such are not sad even on a rainy day." 
 
 The queen of Louis XL of France was a pattern of 
 40 industry to her sex. Surrounding herself with the daugh- 
 ters of the nobility, whom she called her daughters, she 
 was both their teacher and companion, in elegant works 
 
EX. XXVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 223 
 
 of embroidery and tapestry. The churches were adorned 
 with these proofs of their diligence and ingenuity. She 
 considered industry a remedy for a disordered imagina- 
 tion, and a shield against the temptations of a fashionable 
 5 life. 
 
 Hence prudence and modesty marked the manners of 
 that court, where their opposites had once prevailed, and 
 the blooming and elegant train by whom she was attended 
 " bore in their hearts the honor and virtue which she 
 
 10 planted there." 
 
 It has been sometimes urged as an objection against the 
 modern system of female education, that the wide range 
 of science which it comprises turns the attention of the 
 young from household duty, and renders them impatient 
 
 15 of its details and labors. This argument seems to address 
 itself to mothers. It might be in their power to refute it, 
 and to associate in the minds of their daughters, with a love 
 of study, a knowledge of the unpretending pursuits of 
 their own future province. 
 
 20 Maternal affection would naturally prompt the wish to 
 save them from the mistakes and perplexities to which 
 ignorance might in future expose them. Though perhaps 
 little native affinity exists between intellectual pursuits 
 and household cares, they may doubtless be so united as 
 
 25 to relieve each other; and she will give strong proof of the 
 best education and the best regulated mind, who neglects 
 the fewest duties, and despises none. 
 
 Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 
 
 EXERCISE XXVII. 
 Dialogue from the Tragedy of King John. 
 
 [King John instigates Hubert to assassinate Artliur Plantagenet, nephew of King John 
 and rightful heir of the crown of England, usurped by John.] 
 
 K. John. Come hither, Hubert. 
 
 O, my gentle Hubert, 
 
 30 We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh 
 There is a soul counts thee her creditor. 
 And with advantage means to pay thy love : 
 And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
 Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
 
 35 Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say — 
 
 But I will fit it with some better time. 
 
224 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxvn. 
 
 By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed 
 To say what good respect 1 have of thee. 
 
 Hubert. I am much bounden to your majesty. 
 K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet : 
 5 But thou shalt have ; and creep time ne'er so slow, 
 
 Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
 
 I had a thing to say ; but, let it go : 
 
 The sun is in the heaven; and the proud day, 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
 
 10 Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds. 
 
 To give me audience : If the midnight bell 
 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 
 Sound on unto the drowsy race of night : • 
 
 If this same were a church-yard where we stand, 
 
 15 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; 
 
 Or, if that surly spirit, melancholy. 
 Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy, thick; 
 Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, 
 Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
 
 20 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
 
 (A passion hateful to my purposes,) 
 
 Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 
 
 25 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
 Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, 
 I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts 
 
 But ah, I will not : — yet I love thee well; 
 
 And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. 
 30 Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
 Though that my death were adjunct to my act. 
 By heaven, I would do it. 
 
 K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst ? 
 
 Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine 
 
 85 eye 
 
 On yon young boy : I '11 tell thee what, my friend, 
 
 He is a very serpent in my way ; 
 
 And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. 
 
 He lies before me : Dost thou understand me ? 
 
 40 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 Hub. And I '11 keep him so, 
 
 That he shall not offend your majesty. 
 
 K. John. Death ! 
 
 Hub. My lord ? 
 
BX. XXVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 225 
 
 K. John. A grave ! 
 H7ib. He shall not live. 
 K. John. Enough. 
 
 I could be merry, now : Hubert, I love thee 
 
 5 Well. 1 '11 not say what I intend for thee : 
 
 Remember ! Shakspeare. 
 
 EXERCISE XXVin. 
 Scene from the Tragedy of King John. 
 
 [Inlerview of Hubert with Arthur, in which Hubert purposes to fulfil the mtirderoua 
 commission described in the preceding exercise, on which he was sent by King John.] 
 
 Hubert. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand 
 Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
 15 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
 Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
 
 1 Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the 
 
 deed. 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to 't. 
 
 [Exeunt Attenda?its. 
 20 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
 Enter Arthur. 
 Arthur. Good morrow, Hubert. 
 Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 
 
 Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
 25 To be more prince) as may be. — You are sad. 
 Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
 Arth. Mercy on me ! 
 
 Methinks nobody should be sad but I : 
 Yet I remember, when I was in France, 
 30 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
 Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
 So i were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 I should be merry as the day is long ; 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
 35 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him ; 
 Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son ? 
 No, indeed, is 't not ; and I would to heaven 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 40 Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 
226 Parker's exercises in [EX.xxvm. 
 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
 
 Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? You look pale to-day. 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
 5 That I might sit all night, and watch with you. 
 I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. ^ How 
 now, foolish rheum ! [Aside. 
 
 10 Turning dispiteous torture out the door ! 
 I must be brief, lest resolution drop 
 Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
 Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writ ? 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
 15 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ^ 
 Hub. Young boy, I must. 
 Arth. And will you ? 
 
 Hub. And I will. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but 
 20 I knit my handkerchief about your brows, [ache 
 
 (The best I had — a princess wrought it me,) 
 And I did never ask it you again : 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
 25 Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ; 
 
 Saying, What lack you ? and. Where lies your grief? 
 Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
 Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 30 But you at your sick service had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 
 And call it cunning : do, an if you will : 
 If heaven be pleased that you should use me ill. 
 Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes? 
 35 These eyes that never did, nor never shall, 
 So much as frown on you ? 
 
 Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 
 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Ai'th. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it : 
 40 The iron, of itself, though heat red-hot. 
 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench its fiery indignation. 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
 
EX. 3nrvin.] rhetobical reading. 227 
 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eyes. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ? 
 And if an angel should have come to me, 
 And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 5 1 would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's. 
 
 Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 
 
 Reenter Attendants^ with cord^ ironSy ^c. 
 Do as I bid you do. 
 
 Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! My eyes are out, 
 10 Even with the fierce looks of the bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
 Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boisterous-rough ? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 15 Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
 And 1 will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look upon the irons angerly ; 
 Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
 20 Whatever torments you do put me to. 
 
 Hv^. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 
 1 Atten. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. 
 
 [Exeunt AttendaTits 
 Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend : 
 25 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 HvJ>. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
 30 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! that there were but a mote in yours. 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 Then feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
 35 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise ? Go to ; hold your tongue. 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
 Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ' 
 40 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
 So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes : 
 Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
 And would not harm me. 
 
228 Parker's exercises tn [ex. xxn. 
 
 Hub» I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with grief, — 
 Being create for comfort — to be used 
 In undeserved extremes : see else yourself: 
 5 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 
 The breath of heaven hath blown its spirit out, 
 And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
 10 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert ; 
 Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes, 
 And like a dog that is compelled to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that does tarre him on.^ 
 All things that you should use to do me wrong 
 15 Deny their office ; only you do lack 
 
 That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, — 
 Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes, 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes;t 
 20 Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. 0, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace : no more : adieu ! — 
 
 25 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
 1 '11 fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. 
 Will not offend thee. 
 30 Arth. heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Silence : no more. Go closely in with me : 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. \Exewnt. 
 
 EXERCISE XXIX. 
 
 Dialogue from King John, after the supposed assassination of 
 Prince Arthur. 
 
 Hubert. My lord, they say five moons were seen to- 
 night : 
 35 Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
 The other four, in wondrous motion. 
 
 * Set him on. t Owns. 
 
EX. XXIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 229 
 
 K. John. Five moons ? 
 
 Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets 
 
 Do prophesy upon it dangerously : 
 
 Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: 
 5 And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
 
 And whisper one another in the ear ; 
 
 And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist j 
 
 Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, 
 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
 10 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. 
 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 
 Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
 15 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
 
 Told of many thousand warlike French, 
 
 That were embatteled and ranked in Kent : 
 
 Another lean, unwashed artificer 
 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 20 K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these 
 fears ? 
 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 
 
 Thy hand hath murdered him : I had a mighty cause 
 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
 25 Hub. Had none, my lord ! Why, did not you pro- 
 voke me ? 
 K. John. It is the curse of kings to be attended 
 
 By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant 
 
 To break within the bloody house of life : 
 30 And, on the winking of authority, 
 
 To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
 
 Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
 
 More upon humor than advised respect. 
 
 Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 
 35 K. John. Oh, when the last account 'twixt heaven and 
 earth 
 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 
 Witness against us to damnation ! 
 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 40 Makes deeds ill done ! Hadst not thou been by, 
 
 A fellow by the hand of nature marked. 
 
 Quoted, and signed, to do a deed of shame, 
 
 This murder had not come into my mind : 
 
 But, taking note of thy abhorred aspect, 
 20 
 
230 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxix. 
 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 
 
 Apt, liable to be employed in danger, 
 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death : 
 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
 5 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 
 
 Hub. My lord 
 
 K, John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a 
 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed ; [pause, 
 
 Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 10 As bid me tell my tale in express words ; 
 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, 
 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 
 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs. 
 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
 15 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
 
 And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. 
 
 Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
 
 My nobles leave me ; and my state is braved, 
 20 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 
 
 Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
 
 This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
 
 Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
 
 Between my conscience and my cousin's death. 
 25 Hub. Arm you against your other enemies ; 
 
 1 '11 make a peace between your soul and you. 
 
 Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine 
 
 Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand. 
 
 Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
 30 Within this bosom never entered yet 
 
 The dreadful motion of a murderous thought, 
 
 And you have slandered nature in my form ; 
 
 Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, 
 
 Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
 35 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
 
 K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the peers. 
 
 Throw this report on their incensed rage, 
 
 And make them tame to their obedience ! 
 
 Forgive the comment that my passion made 
 40 Upon thy features ; for my rage was blind, 
 
 -And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
 
 Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
 
 O, answer not ; but to my closet bring 
 
 The angry lords, with all expedient haste : 
 45 I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fast. Shakspeare, 
 
EX. XXX.] RHETORICAL READING. 231 
 
 EXERCISE XXX. 
 
 Character of Addison as a Writer. 
 
 As a describer of life and manners, Mr. Addison must 
 be allowed to stand perhaps the first in the first rank. 
 His humor is peculiar to himself; and is so happily dif- 
 fused, as to give the grace of novelty to domestic scenes 
 
 5 and daily occurrences. He never oversteps the modesty 
 of nature, nor raises merriment or wonder by the violation 
 of truth. His figures neither divert by distortion, nor 
 amaze by aggravation. He copies life with so much fidel- 
 ity, that he can hardly be said to invent ; yet his exhi- 
 
 10 bitions have an air so much original, that it is difficult to 
 suppose them not merely the product of imagination. 
 
 As a teacher of wisdom, he may be confidently followed. 
 His religion has nothing in it enthusiastic or superstitious ; 
 he appears neither weakly credulous nor wantonly scepti- 
 
 15 cal ; his morality is neither dangerously lax nor implaca- 
 bly rigid. All the enchantments of fancy, and all the 
 cogency of argument, are employed to recommend to the 
 reader his real interest, the care of pleasing the Author 
 of his being. Truth is shown sometimes as the phantom 
 
 20 of a vision, sometimes appears half-veiled in an allegory, 
 sometimes attracts regard in robes of fancy, and some- 
 times steps forth in the confidence of reason. She wears 
 a thousand dresses, and in all is pleasing. 
 
 His prose is the model of the middle style ; on grave 
 
 25 subjects not formal, on light occasions not grovelling; 
 pure without scrupulosity, and exact without apparent 
 elaboration; always equable, and always easy, without 
 glowing words or pointed sentences. His page is always 
 luminous, but never blazes in unexpected splendor. 
 
 30 It seems to have been his principal endeavor to avoid 
 all harshness and severity of diction ; he is therefore some- 
 times verbose in his transitions and connexions, and some- 
 times descends too much to the language of conversation ; 
 yet if his language had been less idiomatical, it might 
 
 35 have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism. 
 
 What he attempted he performed : he is never feeble, 
 and he did not wish to be energetic ; he is never rapid, 
 and he never stagnates. His sentences have neither 
 studied amplitude nor affected brevity ; his periods, though 
 
 40 not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy. Whoever 
 wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, 
 
232 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxi. 
 
 and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and 
 nights to the volumes of Addison. — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXI. 
 Elegy written in a Country Church-yard. 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 
 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
 5 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds ; 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 10 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. 
 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. 
 15 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap. 
 
 Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
 20 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. 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
 
 Nor busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
 25 No children run to lisp their sire's return. 
 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 
 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
 
 30 How bowed the v^roods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 
 
 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. 
 35 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. 
 
EX. XXXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 
 
 233 
 
 Not you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
 If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 
 Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 5 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 ? 
 
 Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 
 10 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 
 
 But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 
 15 Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 Full many a gem, of purest ray serene. 
 The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 20 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 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. 
 25 The 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 history in a nation's eyes, 
 
 Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 
 30 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; — 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide. 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame ; 
 35 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
 With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
 Their sober wishes never learned to stray : 
 Along the cool, sequestered vale of life 
 40 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 
 
 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. 
 20* 
 
234 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxi. 
 
 Their names, their years, spelled by the unlettered Muse, 
 
 The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
 
 And many a holy text around she strews, 
 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 5 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
 
 This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned ; — 
 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, — 
 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 
 On some fond breast the parting soul relies; 
 10 Some pious drops the closing eye requires : 
 
 Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries ; 
 
 Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. 
 
 For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, 
 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
 15 If, chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 
 Haply, some hoary -headed swain may say, 
 
 " Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn. 
 
 Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, 
 20 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 
 
 " 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 babbles by. 
 25 " Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn. 
 
 Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 
 
 Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, 
 
 Or crazed with care, or crossed with hopeless love. 
 " One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, 
 30 Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 
 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill. 
 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : 
 " The next, with dirges due, in sad array. 
 
 Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. 
 35 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay. 
 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 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, 
 40 And Melancholy marked him for her owti. 
 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send : — 
 
BY. XXXII.] RHETORIC At REAPING. 235 
 
 He gave to misery all he had, — a tear ; 
 
 He gained from Heaven — 'twas all he wished — a friend. 
 
 No further seek his merit to disclose, 
 Nor draw his frailties from their dread abode, — 
 5 (There they, alike, in trembling hope, repose,) 
 The bosom of his father and his God. Gray. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXn. 
 
 Filial Reverence. 
 
 The present state of manners, though not the best pos- 
 sible, has one advantage over that which preceded it : — it 
 is more favorable to a confidential intercourse between chil- 
 
 10 dren and parents than was the starched demeanor of our 
 forefathers ; but there might be a much greater infusion 
 of respect, without any diminution of confidence. 
 
 Filial love, indeed, can never exist in perfection, unless 
 it be founded on a deep sentiment of reverence ; and where 
 
 15 that has not been well cultivated in childhood, it is soon 
 frittered entirely away, by habitual indulgence in disre- 
 ■ spect, flippancy, or rude familiarity. 
 
 The sentiment of reverence is one of the noblest attri- 
 butes of the human mind : to its exercise God has affixed 
 
 20 an exquisite sense of enjoyment ; it operates, in a thou- 
 sand ways, to elevate and embellish the character. Its 
 first development is in the feelings of a child for its pa- 
 rents ; and this is the natural preparation of the mind for 
 its rise to a higher object, even to the Father in heaven. 
 
 25 As the understanding ripens, and this sentiment is cul- 
 tivated, it embraces all that is great and good among men, 
 all that is vast and magnificent in nature and in art ; shed- 
 ding over the character of its possessor an indescribable 
 grace, softening the very tones of the voice, and rendering 
 
 30 it impossible for the manners to be wanting in deference 
 and courtesy towards parents, or teachers, or the aged of 
 any description. 
 
 Where the sentiment of reverence is deficient, a found- 
 ation is wanting for many graceful superstructures ; and 
 
 35 the defect shows itself in various ways, of which the ir- 
 reverent are little aware ; or they would endeavor to sup- 
 ply the deficiency, as a mere matter of taste, if not of 
 principle. Such persons will have unpleasant manners, 
 
236 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxn. 
 
 which no rules of good-breeding will correct ; and as the 
 irreverent state of feeling grows by indulgence in disre- 
 spectful demeanor, they are in danger of becoming bold, 
 reckless, and even impious. 
 
 5 You whom I address are yet young; whatever may 
 have been your education, you are yet young enough to 
 reeducate yourselves ; you have hearts capable of being 
 touched by the beautiful, the true, the sublime. You feel 
 reverence for God and the things that belong to religion ; 
 
 10 but you have not, perhaps, considered how the same sen- 
 timent is connected with other relations in life. 
 
 In all the great moral authors whom you have read, 
 you have found filial piety, and reverence for the aged, 
 treated as indispensable qualities in a virtuous character, 
 
 15 whether heathen or Christian ; but you may never have 
 reflected on the indications which you give of the want 
 of it in your own. If, then, your conscience tells you 
 that you are guilty of those faults of manner which I 
 have described as but too common in our society, you may 
 
 20 be sure that your feelings of reverence need quickening 
 and cultivating ; and if you would escape becoming the 
 harsh, ungraceful character, which grows out of such dp 
 linquency, you must reform your manners. 
 
 It is to be feared that some young ladies think them- 
 
 25 selves excused from the duty of filial reverence, because 
 they are more highly educated than their parents ; they 
 have more knowledge, more refinement; and therefore 
 they may dictate, contradict, and set up their judgments 
 in opposition to their fathers' and mothers' ! But this is a 
 
 30 great mistake : no superiority of culture can change the 
 relation of child and parent, or annul the duties that grow 
 out of it. 
 
 The better your education has been, the more cause for 
 gratitude to those who have procured for you this blessing ; 
 
 35 the higher the culture, the more you are bound to perform 
 well all the duties of life ; the greater your refinement, 
 the more perfect should be your manners towards your 
 parents ; the more your influence is needed in the family, 
 the more important it is that you should not impair it, by 
 
 40 such faults as the uneducated can judge of, as well as the 
 most cultivated. There is, besides, a great meanness in 
 turning against your parents the weapons which their 
 kindness has put into your hands. 
 
 The acquirements of their children often make parents 
 
BX. XXXIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 237 
 
 feel their own deficiencies very painfully ; and nothing but 
 the most respectful behavior, on the part of the offspring, 
 can lessen the mortification, and convince them that, apart 
 from all such adventitious circumstances, they have unde- 
 
 5 niable claims to the love and reverence of their children. 
 
 Nothing can justify the want of respect, in the manners 
 
 of children to parents, of pupils to teachers, of the young 
 
 to the aged ; not even faults of character in the individuals 
 
 claiming such deference and regard. It is due to yourself 
 
 10 to treat the relation with respect ; and the more perfectly 
 proper your manners are, the greater will be your influence. 
 There is nothing, in the whole circle of domestic rela- 
 tions, so lovely, so pure, so honorable to both parties, as 
 the respectful, affectionate, and confidential intercourse of 
 
 15 some young women with their parents. — Mrs. Farrar. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXm. 
 Autu7nn. 
 
 When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, 
 ' And Libra weighs in equal scales the year ; 
 
 From heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook 
 Of parting Summer, a serener blue, 
 
 20 With golden light enlivened, wide invests 
 The happy world. Attempered suns arise, 
 Sweet-beamed, and shedding oft through lucid clouds 
 A pleasing calm ; while broad, and brown, below 
 Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. 
 
 25 Rich, silent, deep, they stand ; for not a gale 
 Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain; 
 A calm of plenty ! till the ruflfied air 
 Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 
 Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky ; 
 
 30 The clouds fly diflferent ; and the sudden sun 
 By fits eflfulgent gilds the illumined field, 
 And black by fits the shadows sweep along. 
 A gayly-checkered, heart-expanding view, 
 Far as the circling eye can shoot around, 
 
 35 Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. 
 
 These are thy blessings, Industry ! rough power ! 
 Whom labor still attends, and sweat, and pain ; 
 Vet the kind source of every gentle art, 
 
238 Parker's exercises in [ex. rom. 
 
 And all the soft civility of life ; 
 
 Raiser of human kind ! by Nature cast, 
 
 Naked and helpless, out amid the woods 
 
 And wilds, to rude, inclement elements ; 
 5 With various seeds of art deep in the mind 
 
 Implanted, and profusely poured around 
 
 Materials infinite ; but idle all. 
 
 Still unexerted, in the unconscious breast, 
 
 Slept the lethargic powers ; corruption still, 
 10 Voracious, swallowed what the liberal hand 
 
 Of bounty scattered o'er the savage year * 
 
 And still the sad barbarian, roving, mixed 
 
 With beasts of prey ; or for his acorn-meal 
 
 Fought the fierce tusky boar ; a shivering wretch ! 
 15 Aghast and comfortless, when the bleak north, 
 
 With Winter charged, let the mixed tempest fly, 
 
 Hail, rain and snow, and bitter-breathing frost : 
 
 Then to the shelter of the hut he fled ; 
 
 And the wild season, sordid, pined away. 
 20 For home he had not ; home is the resort 
 
 Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty; where 
 
 Supporting and supported, polished friends 
 
 And dear relations mingle into bliss. 
 Bi^"; this the rugged savage never felt, 
 25 E'en desolate in crowds ; and thus his days 
 
 Rolled heavy, dark, and unenjoyed along : 
 
 A waste of time ! till Industry approached, 
 
 And roused him from his miserable sloth ; 
 
 His faculties unfolded ; pointed out 
 30 Where lavish Nature the directing hand 
 
 Of Art demanded ; showed him how to raise 
 
 His feeble force by the mechanic powers, 
 
 To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth ; 
 On what to turn the piercing rage of fire ; 
 35 On what the torrent, and the gathered blast ; 
 
 Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe ; 
 
 Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone. 
 
 Till by degrees the finished fabric rose ; 
 
 Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur, 
 40 And wrapped them in the woolly vestment warm, 
 
 Or bright in glossy silk and flowing lawn ; 
 
 With wholesome viands filled his table ; poured 
 
 The generous glass around, inspired to wake 
 
 The life-refining soul of decent wit ; 
 
EX. XXXrV.] RHETORICAL READING. 239 
 
 Nor stopped at barren bare necessity ; 
 But still advancing bolder, led him on 
 To pomp, to pleasure, elegance and grace ; 
 And, breathing high ambition through his soul, 
 5 Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view, 
 
 And bade him be the lord of all below. Thomson, 
 
 EXERCISE XXXIV. 
 
 The First and the Last Dinner. 
 
 Twelve friends, much about the same age, and fixed by 
 their pursuits, their family connexions, and other local 
 interests, as permanent inhabitants of the metropolis, 
 
 10 agreed, one day, when they were drinking wine at the 
 Star and Garter at Richmond, to institute an annual din- 
 ner among themselves, under the following regulations : 
 That they should dine alternately at each others' houses 
 on the first and last day of the year ; and the first bottle 
 
 15 of wine uncorked at the first dinner should be recorked 
 and put away, to be drank by him who should be the last 
 of their number : that they should never admit a new mem- 
 ber ; that, when one died, eleven should meet, and when 
 another died ten should meet, and so on ; and when only 
 
 20 one remained, he should, on these two days, dine by him- 
 self, and sit the usual hours at his solitary table ; but 
 the first time he had so dined, lest it should be the only 
 one, he should then uncork the first bottle, and in the first 
 glass drink to the memory of all who were gone. 
 
 25 Some thirty years had now glided away, and only ten 
 remained ; but the stealing hand of time had written sun- 
 dry changes in most legible characters. Raven locks had 
 become grizzled ; two or three heads had not as many 
 locks as may be reckoned in a walk of half a mile along 
 
 30 the Regent's Canal; one was actually covered with a 
 brown wig ; the crow's feet were visible in the corner of the 
 eye ; good old port and warm Madeira carried it against 
 hock, claret, red Burgundy, and champaigne ; stews, hash- 
 es and ragouts, grew into favor ; crusts were rarely called 
 
 35 for to relish the cheese after dinner ; conversation was less 
 boisterous, and it turned chiefly upon politics and the state 
 of the funds, or the value of landed property ; apologies 
 were made for coming in thick shoes and warm stockings; 
 
240 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxiv. 
 
 the doors and windows were more carefully provided with 
 list and sand-bags ; the fire is in more request ; and a quiet 
 game of whist filled up the hours that were wont to be 
 devoted to drinking, singing, and riotous merriment. 
 5 Two rubbers, a cup of coffee, and at home by eleven 
 o'clock, was the usual cry, when the fifth or sixth glass 
 had gone round after the removal of the cloth. At parting, 
 too, there was now a long ceremony in the hall — button- 
 ing up great coats, tying on woollen comforters, fixing silk 
 
 10 handkerchiefs over the mouth and up to the ears, and 
 grasping sturdy walking-canes to support unsteady feet. 
 
 Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death had indeed 
 been busy. Four little old men, of withered appearance 
 and decrepit walk, with cracked voices, and dim, rayless 
 
 J 5 eyes, sat down, by the mercy of Heaven, (as they tremu- 
 lously declared,) to celebrate, for the fiftieth time, the first 
 day of the year — to observe the frolic compact, which, 
 half a century before, they had entered into at the Star 
 and Garter at Richmond. Eight were in their graves ! 
 
 20 The four that remained stood upon its confines. 
 
 Yet they chirped cheerily over their glass, though they 
 could scarcely carry it to their lips, if more than half full ; 
 and cracked their jokes, though they articulated their 
 words with difficulty, and heard each other with still 
 
 25 greater difficulty. They mumbled, they chattered, they 
 laughed, (if a sort of strangled wheezing might be called 
 a laugh,) and as the wine sent their icy blood in warmer 
 pulses through their veins, they talked of their past as if 
 it were but a yesterday that had slipped by them ; and of 
 
 30 their future as if it were a busy century that lay before 
 them. 
 
 At length came the last dinner ; and the survivor of 
 the twelve, upon whose head fourscore and ten winters 
 had showered their snow, ate his solitary meal. It so 
 
 35 chanced that it was in his house, and at his table, they 
 
 celebrated the first. In his cellar, too, had remained, for 
 
 more than fifty years, the bottle they had then uncorked, 
 
 recorked, and which he was that day to uncork again. 
 
 It stood beside him. With a feeble and reluctant grasp, 
 
 40 he took the " frail memorial " of a youthful vow, and for a 
 moment memory was faithful to her office. She threw 
 open the long vista of buried years ; and his heart travelled 
 through them all. Their lusty and blithesome spring, — 
 their bright and fervid summer, — their ripe and temperate 
 
EX. rXXV.J RHETORICAL READING. 241 
 
 autumn, — their chill, but not too frozen winter. He saw, 
 as in a mirror, one by one, the laughing companions of 
 that merry hour at Richmond had dropped into eternity. 
 He felt the loneliness of his condition, (for he had eschewed 
 5 marriage, and in the veins of no living creature ran a drop 
 of blood whose source was in his own,) and as he drained 
 the glass which he had filled, " to the memory of those 
 who were gone," the tears slowly trickled down the deep 
 furrows of his aged face. 
 
 10 He had thus fulfilled one part of his vow ; and he pre- 
 pared himself to discharge the other, by sitting the usual 
 number of hours at his desolate table. With a heavy 
 heart he resigned himself to the gloom of his own thoughts; 
 a lethargic sleep stole over him — his head fell upon his 
 
 15 bosom — confused images crowded into his mind — he bab- 
 bled to himself — was silent — and when his servant en- 
 tered the room, alarmed by a noise which he heard, he 
 found his master stretched upon the carpet at the foot of 
 the easy-chair, out of which he had slipped in an apoplec- 
 
 20 tic fit. He never spoke again, nor once opened his eyes, 
 though the vital spark was not extinct till the following 
 day. And this was the last dinner. — A^wnymous. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXV. 
 Day. — A Pastoral, in three parts. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 In the barn the tenant cock, 
 Close to Partlett perched on high, 
 25 Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock I) 
 
 Jocund that the morn is nigh. 
 
 Swiftly from the mountain's brow 
 Shadows, nursed by night, retire ; 
 And the peeping sunbeam, now, 
 30 Paints with gold the village spire. 
 
 Philomel forsakes the thorn, 
 Plaintive where she prates at night ; 
 And the lark, to meet the morn. 
 Soars beyond the shepherd's sight. 
 35 From the low-roofed cottage ridge. 
 
 See the chattering swallow spring ; 
 21 
 
242 parkek's exercises in [ex. xxxv 
 
 • 
 
 Darting through the one arched bridge, 
 Quick she dips her dappled wing. 
 Now the pine-tree's waving top 
 Gently greets the morning gale ; 
 5 Kidlings now begin to crop 
 
 Daisies on the dewy dale. 
 
 From the balmy sweets, uncloyed, 
 (Restless till her task be done,) 
 Now the busy bee 's employed 
 10 Sipping dew before the sun. 
 
 Trickling through the creviced rock, 
 Where the limpid stream distils, 
 Sweet refreshment waits the flock, 
 When 't is sun-drove from the hills. 
 15 Colin 's for the promised corn 
 
 (Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) 
 Anxious ; while the huntsman's horn, 
 Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe. 
 
 Sweet ! oh sweet, the warbling throng, 
 20 On the white emblossomed spray ! 
 
 Nature's universal song 
 Echoes to the rising day. 
 
 NOON. 
 
 Fervid on the glittering flood 
 
 Now the noontide radiance glows ; 
 25 Drooping o'er its infant bud. 
 
 Not a dew-drop 's left the rose. 
 By the brook the shepherd dines, 
 
 From the fierce meridian heat 
 
 Sheltered by the branching pines, 
 30 Pendant o'er his grassy seat. 
 
 Now the flock forsakes the glade, 
 
 Where unchecked the sunbeams fall. 
 
 Sure to find a pleasing shade 
 
 By the ivied abbey wall. 
 35 Echo, in her airy round. 
 
 O'er the river, rock and hill. 
 
 Cannot catch a single sound, 
 
 Save the clack of yonder mill. 
 Cattle court the zephyrs bland, 
 40 Where the streamlet wanders cool, 
 
 Or with languid silence stand 
 
 Midway in the marshy pool. 
 
EI. XXXV.J RHETORICAL READING. 243 
 
 But from mountain, dell, of stream, 
 Not a fluttering zephyr springs ; 
 Fearful lest the noontide beam 
 Scorch its soft, its silken wings. 
 5 Not a leaf has leave to stir, 
 
 Nature 's lulled, serene and still; 
 Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur. 
 Sleeping on the heath-clad hill. 
 
 Languid is the landscape round, 
 10 Till the fresh descending shower, 
 
 Grateful to the thirsty ground, 
 Raises every fainting flower. 
 
 Now the hill, the hedge, are green. 
 Now the warblers' throats in tune ; 
 16 Blithesome is the verdant scene. 
 
 Brightened by the beams of noon ' 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 O'er the heath the heifer strays 
 Free (the furrowed task is done ;) 
 Now the village windows blaze, 
 20 Burnished by the setting sun. 
 
 Now he sets behind the hill, 
 Sinking from a golden sky : 
 Can the pencil's mimic skill 
 Copy the refulgent dye ? 
 25 Trudging as the ploughmen go, 
 
 (To the smoking hamlet bound,) 
 Giant-like their shadows grow, 
 Lengthened o'er the level ground. 
 
 Where the rising forest spreads 
 30 Shelter for the lordly dome, 
 
 To their high-built airy beds, 
 See the rooks returning home ! 
 
 As the lark, with varied tune, 
 Carols to the evening loud, 
 35 Mark the mild resplendent moon, 
 
 Breaking through a parted cloud ! 
 
 Now the hermit owlet peeps 
 From the barn or twisted brake, 
 And the blue mist slowly creeps, 
 40 Curling on the silver lake. 
 
 As the trout, in speckled pride, 
 Playful from its bosom springs. 
 
244 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvi. 
 
 To the banks a ruffled tide 
 Verges in successive rings. 
 
 Tripping through the silken grass, 
 O'er the path-divided dale, 
 5 Mark the rose-complexioned lass 
 
 With her well-poised milking-pail ! 
 Linnets with unnumbered notes, 
 And the cuckoo bird with two, 
 Tuning sweet their mellow throats, 
 10 Bid the setting sun adieu. — Cunningham. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXVI. 
 
 Little Paul Dombey^s Introduction into a Select Fashionable 
 School. 
 
 Doctor Blimber's establishment was a great hot-house, 
 in which there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. 
 All the boys blew before their time. No matter what a 
 young gentleman was intended to bear, Doctor Blimber 
 
 15 made him bear to pattern, somehow or other. This was 
 all very pleasant and ingenious, but the system of forcing 
 was attended with its usual disadvantages. There was 
 not the right taste about the premature productions, and 
 they did n't keep well. 
 
 20 The Doctor 'was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, 
 with strings at his knees, and stockings below them. He 
 had a bald head, highly polished; a deep voice; and a 
 chin so very double, that it was a wonder how he ever 
 managed to shave into the creases. He had likewise a 
 
 25 pair of little eyes that were always half shut up, and a 
 mouth that was always half expanded into a grin, as if he 
 had, that moment, posed a boy, and were waiting to convict 
 him from his own lips. 
 
 The Doctor's was a mighty fine house, fronting the sea. 
 
 30 Not a joyful style of house within, but quite the contrary. 
 Sad-colored curtains, whose proportions were spare and 
 lean, hid themselves despondently behind the windows. 
 The tables and chairs were put away in rows, like figures 
 in a sum ; fires were so rarely lighted in the rooms of 
 
 35 ceremony, that they felt like wells, and a visitor represented 
 the bucket ; the dining-room seemed the last place in the 
 world where any eating or drinking was likely to occur; 
 
EX. XXXVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 245 
 
 there was no sound through all the house but the ticking; 
 of a great clock in the hall, which made itself audible in 
 the very garrets ; and sometimes a dull crying of young 
 gentlemen at their lessons, like the murmurings of an as- 
 5 semblage of melancholy pigeons. 
 
 Miss Blimber, too, although a slim and graceful maid, 
 did no soft violence to the gravity of the house. There 
 was no light nonsense about Miss Blimber. She kept her 
 hair short and crisp, and wore spectacles. She was dry 
 
 10 and sandy with working in the graves of deceased lan- 
 guages. None of your live languages for Miss Blimber. 
 They must be dead — stone dead, — and then Miss Blim- 
 ber dug them up like a Ghoule. 
 
 Mrs. Blimber, her mamma, was not learned herself, but 
 
 15 she pretended to be, and that did quite as well. She said 
 at evening parties, that if she could have known Cicero, 
 she thought she could have died contented. It was the 
 steady joy of her life to see the Doctor's young gentlemen 
 go out walking, unlike all other young gentlemen, in the 
 
 20 largest possible shirt collars, and the stiffest possible cravats. 
 It was so classical, she said. 
 
 As to Mr. Feeder, B.A., Doctor Blimber's assistant, he 
 was a kind of human barrel-organ, with a little list of tunes 
 at which he was continually working, over and over again, 
 
 25 without any variation. He might have been fitted up with 
 a change of barrels, perhaps, in early life, if his destiny 
 had been favorable ; but it had not been ; and he had only 
 one, with which, in a monotonous round, it was his occu- 
 pation to bewilder the young ideas of Doctor Blimber's 
 
 30 young gentlemen. 
 
 The young gentlemen were prematurely full of carking 
 anxieties. They knew no rest from the pursuit of stony- 
 hearted verbs, savage noun-substantives, inflexible syntactic 
 passages, and ghosts of exercises that appeared to them in 
 
 35 their dreams. 
 
 Under the forcing system, a young gentleman usually 
 took leave of his spirits in three weeks. He had all the 
 cares of the World on his head in three months. He con- 
 ceived bitter sentiments against his parents or guardians, 
 
 40 in four ; he was an old misanthrope, in five ; envied Quin- 
 tius Curtius that blessed refuge in the earth, in six ; and 
 at the end of the first twelvemonth had arrived at the con- 
 clusion, from which he never afterwards departed, that all 
 the fancies of the poets, and lessons of the sages, were a 
 
246 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvt, 
 
 mere collection of words and grammar, and had no other 
 meaning in the world. But he went on, blow, blow, blow- 
 ing, in the Doctor's hot-house, all the time; and the Doctor's 
 glory and reputation were great, when he took his wintry 
 5 growth home to his relations and friends. 
 
 Upon the Doctor's door-steps, one day, Paul Dombey 
 stood with a fluttering heart, and with his small right hand 
 in his father's. " Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey, exultingly. 
 " This is the way indeed to be Dombey and Son, and have 
 
 10 money. You are almost a man already." — "Almost," 
 returned the child. Even his childish agitation could not 
 master the sly and quaint yet touching look, with which 
 he accompanied the reply. It brought a vague expression 
 of dissatisfaction into Mr. Dombey's face; but the door 
 
 15 being opened, it was quickly gone. 
 
 " Doctor Blimber is at home, I believe ?" said Mr. Dom- 
 bey. The man said yes ; and as they passed in, looked 
 at Paul as if he were a little mouse, and the house were a 
 trap. 
 
 20 The Doctor was sitting in his portentous study, with a 
 globe at each knee, books all round him, Homer over the 
 door, and Minerva on the mantel-shelf. " And how do you 
 do, sir," he said to Mr. Dombey, " and how is my little 
 friend ? " Grave as an organ was the Doctor's speech ; 
 
 25 and when he ceased, the great clock in the hall seemed (to 
 Paul at least) to take him up, and to go on saying, " how, 
 is, my, lit, tie, friend, how, is, my, lit, tie, friend," over and 
 over and over again. 
 
 The little friend being something too small to be seen at 
 
 30 all from where the Doctor sat, over the books on his table, 
 the Doctor made several futile attempts to get a view of 
 him round the legs; which Mr. Dombey perceiving, re- 
 lieved the Doctor from his embarrassment by taking Paul 
 up in his arms, and sitting him on another little table over 
 
 35 against the Doctor, in the middle of the room. 
 
 " Ha ! " said the Doctor, leaning back in his chair, with 
 his hand in his breast. " Now I see my little friend. 
 How do you do, my little friend ? " The clock in the hall 
 would n't subscribe to this alteration in the form of words, 
 
 40 but continued to repeat, " how, is, my, lit, tie, friend, how, 
 is, my, lit, tie, friend I " " Very well, I thank you, sir," 
 returned Paul, answering the clock quite as much as the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Dr. Blimber. " Shall we make a man of 
 
EX. XXXVI. RHETORICAL READING. ^47 
 
 him ?" — " Do you hear, Paul," added Mr. Dombey ; Paul 
 being silent. — " Shall we make a man of him ?" repeated 
 the Doctor. — "I had rather be a child," replied Paul, — 
 " Indeed ! " said the Doctor. " Why ?" 
 5 The child sat on the table looking at him, with a curious 
 expression of suppressed emotion in his face, and beating 
 one hand proudly on his knee, as if he had the rising tears 
 beneath it, and crushed them. But his other hand strayeil 
 a little way the while, a little further — further from him 
 
 10 yet — until it lighted on the neck of Florence. "This is 
 why," it seemed to say, and then the steady look was 
 broken up and gone ; the working lip was loosened ; and 
 the tears came streaming forth. "Never mind," said the 
 Doctor, blandly nodding his head. " Ne-ver mind; we 
 
 15 shall substitute new cares and new impressions, Mr. Dom- 
 bey, very shortly. You would still wish my little friend 
 to acquire — " — "Everything, if you please. Doctor," 
 returned Mr. Dombey, firmly. 
 
 " Yes," said the Doctor, who, with his half-shut eyes, 
 
 20 and his usual smile, seemed to survey Paul with the sort 
 of interest that might attach to some choice little animal 
 he was going to stuff. " Yes, exactly. Ha ! We shall 
 impart a great variety of information to our little friend, 
 and bring him quickly forward, I dare say. I dare say. 
 
 25 Quite a virgin soil, I believe you said, Mr. Dombey ? " 
 
 " Except some ordinary preparation at home, and from 
 this lady," replied Mr. Dombey, introducing Mrs. Pipchin, 
 who instantly communicated a rigidity to her whole mus- 
 cular system, and snorted defiance beforehand, in case the 
 
 30 Doctor should disparage her ; " except so far, Paul has, as 
 yet, applied himself to no studies at all." 
 
 Dr. Blimber inclined his head, in gentle tolerance of such 
 insignificant poaching as Mrs. Pipchin's, and said he was 
 glad to hear it. It was much more satisfactory, he observed, 
 
 35 rubbing his hands, to begin at the foundation. And again 
 he leered at Paul, as if he would have liked to tackle him 
 with the Greek alphabet on the spot. 
 
 " That circumstance, indeed, Doctor Blimber," pursued 
 Mr. Dombey, glancing at his little son, " and the interview 
 
 40 I have already had the pleasure of holding with you, ren- 
 ders any further explanation, and consequently any further 
 intrusion on your valuable time, so unnecessary, that — " 
 " Permit me," said the Doctor, " one moment. Allow me 
 to present Mrs. Blimber and my daughter, who will be 
 
248 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvi. 
 
 associated with the domestic life of our young pilgrim to 
 Parnassus." 
 
 " Mrs. Blimber," for the lady, who had perhaps been in 
 waiting, opportunely entered, followed by her daughter, 
 5 that fair Se-xton in spectacles, " Mr. Dombey. My daugh- 
 ter Cornelia, Mr. Dombey. Mr. Dombey, my love," pur- 
 sued the Doctor, turning to his wife, "is so confiding as 
 to — do you see our little friend ? " Mrs. Blimber, in an 
 excess of politeness, of which Mr. Dombey was the object, 
 
 10 apparently did not, for she was backing against the little 
 friend, and very much endangering his position on the 
 table. But, on this hint, she turned to admire his classical 
 and intellectual lineaments, and turning again to Mr. 
 Dombey, said, with a sigh, that she envied his dear son. 
 
 15 " Like a bee, sir," said Mrs. Blimber, with uplifted eyes, 
 " about to plunge into a garden of the choicest flowers, and 
 sip the sweets for the first time. Virgil, Horace, Ovid, 
 Terence, Plautus, Cicero. What a world of honey have 
 we here ! It may appear remarkable, Mr. Dombey, in one 
 
 20 who is a wife — the wife of such a husband — " — " Hush, 
 hush ! " said Doctor Blimber. " Fie, for shame ! " — " Mr. 
 Dombey will forgive the partiality of a wife," said Mrs. 
 Blimber, with an engaging smile. Mr. Dombey answered 
 " Not at all : " applying those words, it is to be presumed, 
 
 25 to the partiality, and not to the forgiveness. 
 
 " And it may seem remarkable in one who is a mother, 
 also," resumed Mrs. Blimber. — "And such a mother," ob- 
 served Mr. Dombey, bowing, with some confused idea of 
 being complimentary to Cornelia. — " But really," pursued 
 
 30 Mrs. Blimber, " 1 think if I could have known Cicero, and 
 been his friend, and talked with him in his retirement at 
 Tusculum, (beau-ti-ful Tusculum !) I could have died con- 
 tented." 
 
 A learned enthusiasm is so very contagious, that Mr. 
 
 35 Dombey half believed that this was exactly his case ; and 
 even Mrs. Pipchin, who was not, as we have seen, of an 
 accommodating disposition generally, gave utterance to a 
 little sound between a groan and a sigh, as if she would 
 have said that nobody but Cicero could have proved a last- 
 
 40 ing consolation under that failure of the Peruvian mines, 
 but that he indeed would have been a very Davy-lamp of 
 refuge. 
 
 Cornelia looked at Mr. Dombey through her spectacles, 
 as if she would have liked to crack a few quotations with 
 
EI. XXXVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 249 
 
 him from the authority in question. But this design, if 
 she entertained it, was frustrated by a knock at the room- 
 door. "Who is that?" said the Doctor. "Oh! come in, 
 Toots ; come in. Mr. Dombey, sir." Toots bowed. 
 5 " Quite a coincidence !" said Doctor Blimber. " Here we 
 have the beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega. 
 Our head boy, Mr. Dombey." 
 
 The Doctor might have called him their head and 
 shoulders boy, for he was at least that much taller than 
 
 10 any of the rest. He blushed very much at finding himself 
 among strangers, and chuckled aloud. " An addition to 
 our little Portico, Toots," said the Doctor ; " Mr. Dombey's 
 son." Young Toots blushed again ; and finding, from a 
 solemn silence which prevailed, that he was expected to 
 
 15 say something, said to Paul, " How are you ? " in a voice 
 so deep, and a manner so sheepish, that if a lamb had 
 roared it could n't have been more surprising. 
 
 " Ask Mr. Feeder, if you please. Toots," said the Doctor, 
 "to prepare a few introductory volumes for Mr. Dombey's 
 
 20 son, and to allot him a convenient seat for study. My dear, 
 I believe Mr. Dombey has not seen the dormitories." — " If 
 Mr. Dombey will walk up stairs," said Mrs. Blimber, " I 
 shall be more than proud to show him the dominions of 
 the drowsy god." With that, Mrs. Blimber, who was a 
 
 25 lady of great suavity, and a wiry figure, and who wore a 
 cap composed of sky-blue materials, proceeded up stairs 
 with Mr. Dombey and Cornelia. 
 
 While they were gone, Paul sat upon the table, holding 
 Florence by the hand, and glancing timidly from the Doc- 
 
 30 tor round and round the room, while the Doctor, leaning 
 back in his chair, with his hand in his breast as usual, held 
 a book from him at arm's length, and read. There was 
 something very awful in this manner of reading. It was 
 such a determined, unimpassioned, inflexible, cold-blooded 
 
 35 way of going to work. It left the Doctor's countenance 
 exposed to view ; and when the Doctor smiled auspiciously 
 at his author, or knit his brows, or shook his head and 
 made wry faces at him, as much as to say, " Don't tell me, 
 sir ! I know better," it was terrific. 
 
 40 Toots, too, had no business to be outside the door, osten- 
 tatiously examining the wheels in his watch, and counting 
 his half-crowns. But that did n't last long ; for Dr. Blim- 
 ber happening to change the position of his tight plump 
 legs, as if he were going to get up. Toots swiftly vanished, 
 
250 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvi. 
 
 and appeared no more. Mr. Dombey and his conductress 
 were soon heard coming down stairs again, talking all the 
 way ; and presently they reentered the Doctor's study. 
 "I hope, Mr. Dombey," said the Doctor, laying down 
 
 5 his book, "that the arrangements meet your approval." — 
 " They are excellent, sir," said Mr. Dombey. " I think 
 I have now given all the trouble I need, and may take 
 my leave. Paul, my child," — he \^^ent close to him as he 
 sat upon the table. " Good-bye." — " Good-bye, papa." 
 
 10 " I shall see you soon, Paul. You are free on Satur- 
 days and Sundays, you know." — "Yes, papa," returned 
 Paul, looking at his sister. " On Saturdays and Sun- 
 days." — " And you '11 try and learn a great deal here, and 
 be a clever man," said Mr. Dombey ; " won't you ? " — "I '11 
 
 J5 try," returned the child, wearily. — "And you'll soon be 
 grown up, now ! " said Mr. Dombey. — " Oh ! very soon ! " 
 replied the child. 
 
 After patting him on the head, and pressing his small 
 hand again, Mr. Dombey took leave of Dr. Blimber, Mrs. 
 
 20 Blimber, and Miss Blimber, with his usual polite frigidity, 
 and walked out of the study. 
 
 Despite his entreaty that they would not think of stir- 
 ring. Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber all 
 pressed forward to attend him to the hall ; and thus Mrs. 
 
 25 Pipchin got into a state of entanglement with Miss Blim- 
 ber and the Doctor, and was crowded out of the study 
 before she could clutch Florence. To which happy acci- 
 dent Paul stood afterwards indebted for the dear remem- 
 brance, that Florence ran back to throw her arms round 
 
 30 his neck, and that hers was the last face in the doorway : 
 turned towards him with a smile of encouragement the 
 brighter for the tears through which it beamed. 
 
 It made his childish bosom heave and swell when it 
 was gone, and sent the globes, the books, blind Homer, and 
 
 35 Minerva, swimming round the room. But they stopped, 
 all of a sudden ; and then he heard the loud clock in the 
 hall still gravely inquiring, " how, is, my, lit, tie, friend, 
 how, is, my, lit, tie, friend," as it had done before. He 
 sat, with folded hands, upon his pedestal, silently listening. 
 
 40 But he might have answered, " weary, weary ! very lone- 
 ly, very sad." And there, with an aching void in his 
 young heart, and all outside so cold, and bare, and strange, 
 Paul sat as if he had taken life unfurnished, and the up- 
 holsterer were never coming. 
 
EX. XXXVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 251 
 
 EXERCISE XXXVn. 
 
 bame Subject^ continued. — The Dinner Hour. 
 
 Doctor Blimber was already in his place in the dining- 
 room, at the top of the table, with Miss Blimber and Mrs. 
 Blimber on either side oT him. Mr. Feeder, in a black 
 coat, was at the bottom. Paul's chair was next to Miss 
 
 5 Blimber; but it being found, when he sat in it, that his 
 eyebrows were not much above the level of the table-cloth, 
 some books were brought in from the Doctor's study, on 
 which he was elevated, and on which he always sat from 
 that time — carrying them in and out himself on after 
 
 10 occasions, like a little elephant and castle. 
 
 Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner began. 
 There was some nice soup ; also roast meat, boiled meat, 
 vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every young gentleman had 
 a massive silver fork, and a napkin ; and all the arrange- 
 
 15 ments were stately and handsome. In particular, there 
 was a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave 
 quite a winy flavor to the table beer ; he poured it out so 
 superbly. 
 
 Nobody spoke, unless spoken to, except Dr. Blimber, 
 
 20 Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber, who conversed occasion- 
 ally. Whenever a young gentleman was not actually 
 engaged with his knife and fork or spoon, his eye, with 
 an irresistible attraction, sought the eye of Dr. Blimber, 
 Mrs. Blimber, or Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. 
 
 25 Toots appeared to be the only exception to this rule. He 
 sat next Mr. Feeder on Paul's side of the table, and fre- 
 quently looked behind and before the intervening boys to 
 catch a glimpse of Paul. 
 
 Only once during dinner was there any conversation 
 
 30 that included the young gentlemen. It happened at the 
 epoch of the cheese, when the Doctor, having taken a 
 glass of port wine, and hemmed twice or thrice, said : 
 
 "It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Romans — " 
 At the mention of this terrible people, their implacable 
 
 35 enemies, every young gentleman fastened his gaze upon 
 the Doctor, with an assumption of the deepest interest. 
 One of the number, who happened to be drinking, and who 
 caught the Doctor's eye glaring at him through the side 
 of his tumbler, left off so hastily that he was convulsed 
 
 40 for some moments, and in the sequel ruined Dr. Blimber's 
 point. 
 
252 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxrvii. 
 
 " It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder," said the Doctor, begin- 
 ning again slowly, " that the Romans, in those gorgeous 
 and profuse entertainments of which we read in the days 
 of the emperors, when luxury had attained a height un- 
 
 5 known before or since, and when whole provinces were 
 ravaged to supply the splendid means of one imperial 
 banquet — " Here the offender, w^ho had been swelling 
 and straining, and waiting in vain for a full stop, broke 
 out violently. 
 
 10 *' Johnson," said Mr. Feeder, in a low, reproachful voice, 
 " take some water." The Doctor, looking very stern, 
 made a pause until the water was brought, and then re- 
 sumed : — " And when, Mr. Feeder — " But Mr. Feeder, 
 who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who 
 
 15 knew that the Doctor would never come to a period be- 
 fore the young gentlemen until he had finished all he 
 meant to say, could n't keep his eyes oflT Johnson; and 
 thus was caught in the fact of not looking at the Doctor, 
 who consequently stopped. 
 
 20 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Feeder, reddening. 
 " I beg your pardon. Doctor Blimber." — " And when," 
 said the Doctor, raising his voice, " when, sir, as we read, 
 and have no reason to doubt — incredible as it may ap- 
 pear to the vulgar of our time — the brother of Vitellius 
 
 25 prepared for him a feast, in which were served, of fish, 
 two thousand dishes — " — " Take some w^ater, Johnson — 
 dishes, sir," said Mr. Feeder. — " Of various sorts of fowl, 
 five thousand dishes," — " Or try a crust of bread," said 
 Mr. Feeder. — 
 
 30 " And one dish," pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his 
 voice still higher, as he looked all round the table, " called, 
 from its enormous dimensions, the Shield of Minerva, 
 and made, among other costly ingredients, of the brains 
 of pheasants — " — " Ow, ow, ow!" (from Johnson.) — 
 
 35 " Woodcocks," — " Ow, ow, ow ! " — " The sounds of the 
 
 fish called scari," — "You'll burst some vessel in your 
 
 head," said Mr. Feeder. " You had better let it come." — 
 
 " And the spawn of the lamprey, brought from the 
 
 Carpathian Sea," pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice ; 
 
 40 " when we read of costly entertainments such as these, 
 and still remember that we have a Titus," — " What would 
 be your mother's feelings if you died of apoplexy ? " said 
 Mr. Feeder. — "A Domitian," — " And you 're blue, you 
 know," said Mr. Feeder. — "A Nero, a Tiberius, a Cali- 
 
EX. XXXVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 253 
 
 gula, a Heliogabalus, and many more," pursued the Doc- 
 tor; "it is, Mr. Feeder — if you are doing me the honor 
 to attend — remarkable ; very remarkable, sir — " 
 
 But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst 
 5 at that moment into such an overwhelming fit of cough- 
 ing, that, although both his immediate neighbors thumped 
 him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself held a glass of 
 water to his lips, and the butler walked him up and down 
 several times between his o\vn chair and the sideboard, 
 10 like a sentry, it was full five minutes before he was mod- 
 erately composed. Then ^ere was a profound silence. 
 
 " Gentlemen" said Doctor Blimber, " rise for grace I 
 Cornelia, lift Dombey down," — nothing of whom but his 
 scalp was accordingly seen above the table-cloth. " John- 
 15 son will repeat to me to-morrow morning, before breakfast, 
 without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first 
 epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume 
 our studies, Mr. Feeder, in half an hour." 
 
 The young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. Mr. Feed- 
 20 er did likewise. During the half hour, the young gentle- 
 men, broken into pairs, loitered arm-in-arm up and down 
 a small piece of ground behind the house, or endeavored 
 to kindle a spark of animation in the breast of Briggs. 
 But nothing happened so vulgar as play. Punctually at 
 25 the appointed time, the gong was sounded, and the studies, 
 under the joint auspices of Doctor Blimber and Mr. Feed- 
 er, were resumed. 
 
 As the Olympic game of lounging up and down had 
 been cut shorter than usual that day, on Johnson's ac- 
 30 count, they all went out for a walk before tea. Even 
 Briggs (though he had n't begun yet) partook of this dis- 
 sipation ; in the enjoyment of which he looked over the 
 cliff two or three times darkly. Doctor Blimber accom- 
 panied them ; and Paul had the honor of being taken in 
 35 tow by the Doctor himself : a distinguished state of things, 
 in which he looked very little and feeble. 
 
 Tea was served in a style no less polite than the dinner ; 
 and after tea, the young gentlemen, rising and bowing as 
 before, withdrew to fetch up the unfinished tasks of that day, 
 40 or to get up the already looming tasks of to-morrow. In the 
 mean time Mr. Feeder withdrew to his own room ; and Paul 
 sat in a corner, wondering whether Florence was thinking 
 of him, and what they were all about at Mrs. Pipchin's. 
 
 At eight o'clock or so, the gong sounded again for 
 22 
 
254 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxix. 
 
 prayers in the dining-room, where the butler afterwards 
 presided over a side table, on which bread and cheese and 
 beer were spread for such young gentlemen as desired to 
 partake of those refreshments. The ceremonies concluded 
 5 by the Doctor's saying, " Gentlemen, we will resume our 
 studies at seven to-morrow ; " and then, for the first time, 
 Paul saw Cornelia Blimber's eye, and saw that it was upon 
 him. When the Doctor had said these words, "Gentle- 
 men, we will resume our studies at seven to-morrow," the 
 10 pupils bowed again and went to bed. — Dickens. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXVIII. 
 
 Oratcyr Puff. 
 
 Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice, 
 The one squeaking thus, and the other down so ; 
 In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, 
 For one half was B alt. and the rest G below. 
 15 Oh ! oh ! orator Puff, 
 
 One voice for one orator 's surely enough. 
 But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, 
 So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, 
 That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, 
 J20 " My voice is for war," asked him, which of them, pray? 
 Oh! oh! &c. 
 Reeling homewards, one evening, top heavy with gin. 
 And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown. 
 He tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, 
 25 " Sinking fund," the last words as his noddle came down. 
 Oh! oh! &c. 
 " Ah ! me," he exclaimed, in his he and she tones, 
 " Help me out — help me out — I have broken my bones !" 
 " Help you out ! " said a Paddy who passed, " what a bother ! 
 30 Why, there 's two of you there ; can't vou help one another ? " 
 Oh ! oh ! &c. ' T. Moore. 
 
 EXERCISE XXXIX. 
 
 Soliloquy of Dick the Apprentice. 
 
 Thus far we run before the wind. — An apothecary ! — 
 Make an apothecary of me ! — What ! cramp my genius 
 
EX. XL.J RHETORICAL READING. 255 
 
 over a pestle and mortar ! or mew me up in a shop, with 
 an alligator stuffed, and a beggarly account of empty- 
 boxes ! To be culling simples, and constantly adding to 
 the bills of mortality ! — No ! no ! It will be much better 
 5 to be pasted up in capitals, " The part of Romeo by a 
 young gentleman, who never appeared on any stage be- 
 fore ! " My ambition fires at the thought. But hold ; 
 
 mayn't I run some chance of failing in my attempt? 
 Hissed — pelted — laughed at — not admitted into the 
 
 10 green room ; — that will never do — down, busy devil, 
 down, down ! Try it again — loved by the women — envied 
 by the men — applauded by the pit, clapped by the galle- 
 ry, admired by the boxes. " Dear colonel, is n't he a 
 charming creature? — My Lord, don't you like him of all 
 
 15 things? — Makes love like an angel! — What an eye he 
 has! — Fine legs! — I shall certainly go to his benefit." 
 — Celestial sounds! — And then I '11 get in with all the 
 painters, and have myself put up in every print shop — 
 in the character of Macbeth ! " This is a sorry sight." 
 
 20 {Stands an attitude.) In the character of Richard, " Give 
 me another horse ! Bind up my wounds ! " This will do 
 rarely. — And then I have a chance of getting well mar- 
 ried. — Oh glorious thought! I will enjoy it, though but 
 in fancy. But what 's o'clock ? It must be almost nine. 
 
 25 I '11 away at once; this is club night — the spouters are 
 all met — little think they I 'm in town — they '11 be sur- 
 prised to see me — oflf I go ; and then for my assignation 
 with my master Gargle's daughter. 
 
 Limbs, do your office, and support me well ; 
 Bear me to her, then fail me if^ you can. 
 
 EXERCISE XL. 
 
 Facetious History of John Gilpin. 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown ; 
 A train-band captain eke was he, of famous London town. [been 
 John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, — "Though wedded we have 
 These twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. 
 
 35 '* To-morrow is our wedding-day, and we shall then repair 
 Unto the Bell at Edmonton, all in a chaise and pair. 
 My sister and my sister's child, myself and children three, 
 Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride on horseback after we." 
 He soon replied, — "I do admire of woman-kind but one; 
 
 40 And you are she, my dearest dear, therefore it shall be done. 
 I am a linen draper bold, as all the world doth know j 
 And my good friend, Tom Calender, will lend his horse to go." 
 
256 Parker's exercises in [ex. xl. 
 
 Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, — " That 's well said, and, for that wine is dear, 
 We will be furnished with our own, which is so bright and clear. 
 John Gilpin kissed his loving wife; o'erjoyed was he to find, 
 That, though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. 
 5 The morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet Avas not allowed 
 To drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud. 
 So three doors off the chaise was staid, where they did all get in — 
 Six precious souls ; and all agog to dash through thick and thin. 
 Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks so 
 10 glad ; 
 
 The stones did rattle underneath, as if Cheapside were mad. 
 John Gilpin, at his horse's side, seized fast the flowing mane, 
 And up he got in haste to ride, but soon came down again. 
 For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, 
 15 When, turning round his face, he saw three customers come in. 
 So down he came; for loss of time, although it grieved him sore. 
 Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would grieve him still much 
 more. 
 'T was long before the customers were suited to their mind, 
 20 When Betty screamed into his ears — " The wine is left behind ! " 
 '' Good lack ! " quoth he ; " yet bring it me ; my leathern belt likewise, 
 In which I bear my trusty sword when I do exercise." 
 
 Now Mrs. Gilpin — careful soul — had two stone bottles found, 
 To hold the liquor which she loved, and keep it safe and sound. 
 25 Each bottle had two curling ears, through which the belt he drew; 
 He hung one bottle on each side, to make his balance true. 
 Then, over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe, 
 His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did throw. 
 Now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, 
 30 Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, with caution and good heed. 
 But, finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet, 
 The snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat. 
 So " fair and softly," John did cry, but John he cried in vain ; 
 The trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb or rein. 
 35 So stooping down, as he needs must who cannot sit upright. 
 
 He grasped the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might. 
 Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, away went hat and wig ; 
 He little dreamt, when he set out, of running such a rig. 
 The horse, who never had before been handled in this kind, 
 40 Affrighted fled : and, as he flew, left all the world behind. 
 
 The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, like streamers long and gay ; 
 Till loop and button failing both, at last it flew away. 
 
 Then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung; 
 A bottle swinging at each side, as has been said or sung. 
 45 The dogs did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows all ; 
 And every soul cried out, "Well done!" as loud as they could bawl. 
 Away went Gilpin — who but he? his fame soon spread around — 
 " He carries weight ! — he rides a race ! — 't is for a thousand pound." 
 And still as fast as he drew near, 't was wonderful to view, 
 DO How, in a trice, the turnpike men their gates wide open threw. 
 And now as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, 
 The bottles twain behind his back, were shattered at a blow. 
 Down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen. 
 And made his horse's flanks to smoke, as he had basted been. 
 
II. XL.] RHETORICAL READING. 257 
 
 But Still he seemed to carry weight, with leathern girdle braced; 
 For still the bottle necks were left, both dangling at his waist. 
 Thus all through merry Islington those gambols he did play, 
 And till he came unto the wash of Edmonton so gay. 
 5 And there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way, 
 Just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play. 
 At Edmonton, his loving wife, from the balcony, spied 
 Her tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride. 
 
 " Stop, stop, John Gilpin, here 's the house !" they all at once did cry ; 
 10 " The dinner waits, and we are tired ! " Said Gilpin, — " So am I ! " 
 But ah, his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there : 
 For why ? — his owner had a house full ten miles off, at Ware. 
 
 So like an arrow swift he dew, shot by an archer strong ; 
 So he did fly — which brings me to the middle of my song. 
 15 Away went Gilpin out of breath, and sore against his will, 
 Till at his friend's, Tom Calender's, his horse at last stood still. 
 
 Tom Calender, surprised to see his friend in such a trim, 
 Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him : 
 " "What news, what news ? — the tidings tell ; make haste and tell 
 20 me all ! 
 
 Say, why bare-headed are you come, or why you come at all ? " 
 
 Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke ; 
 And thus unto Tom Calender in merry strains he spoke : — 
 " I come because your horse would come ; and if I well forbode, 
 25 My hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road," 
 
 Tom Calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin. 
 Returned him not a single word, but to the house went in. [hind, 
 Whence straight he came with hat and wig, — a wig that drooped be- 
 A hat not much the worse for wear ; each comely in its kind. 
 30 He held them up, and, in his turn, thus showed his ready wit : — 
 " My head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit. 
 But let me scrape the dirt away that hangs about your face ; 
 And stop and eat — for well you may be in a hungry case ! " 
 
 Said John — " It is my wedding-day ; and folks would gape and 
 35 stare, 
 
 If wife should dine at Edmonton, and I should dine at Ware." 
 
 Then speaking to his horse, he said, " I am in haste to dine ; 
 
 'T was tor your pleasure you came here, you shall go back for mine." 
 
 Ah ! luckless word, and bootless boast, for which he paid full dear ; 
 40 For, while he spoke, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear : 
 Whereat his horse did snort, as if he heard a lion roar ; 
 And galloped off with all his might, as he had done before. 
 
 Away went Gilpin — and away went Gilpin's hat and wig ; 
 He lost them sooner than at first : for why ? — they were too big. 
 45 Now Gilpin's wife, when she had seen her husband posting down 
 Into the country far away, she pulled out half a crown ; 
 
 And thus unto the youth she said that drove them to the Bell, 
 " This shall be yours, when you back bring my husband safe and well." 
 The youth did ride, and soon they met ; he tried to stop John's horse, 
 50 By seizing fast the flowing rein ; but only made things worse : 
 
 For, not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done; 
 He thereby frighted Gilpin's horse, and made him faster run. 
 Away went Gilpin — and away went post-boy at his heels; 
 The post-boy's horse right glad to miss the lumber of the wheels. 
 22* 
 
25S Parker's exercises m [ex. xli. 
 
 Six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
 With post-boy scampering in the rear, they raised the hue-and-cry. 
 " Stop thief! — stop thief! — a highwayman ! " not one of them was 
 mute, 
 5 So they, and all that passed that way, soon jomed in the pursuit. 
 But all the turnpike gates again flew open in short space j 
 The men still thinking, as before, that Gilpin rode a race : 
 And so he did, and won it, too ; for he got first to town ; 
 Nor stopped till where he first got up he did again get down. 
 10 Now let us sing — " Long live the king, and Gilpin, long live he ! " 
 And when he next does ride abroad, may I be there to see ! 
 
 Cawper. 
 
 EXERCISE XLI. 
 
 The Departure of the Gypsies from Ellangowan. 
 
 It was in a hollow way, near the top of a steep ascent 
 upon the verge of the Ellangowan estate, that Mr. Bertram 
 met the gypsy procession. "Four or five men formed 
 
 15 the advanced guard, wrapped in long, loose great coats, 
 that hid their tall, slender figures, as the large slouched 
 hats, drawn over their brows, concealed their wild features, 
 dark eyes, and swarthy faces. Two of them carried long 
 fowling-pieces, one wore a broad-sword without a sheath, 
 
 20 and all had the Highland dirk, though they did not wear 
 that weapon openly or ostentatiously. 
 
 Behind them followed the train of laden asses, and small 
 carts, or tumblers, as they were called in that country, on 
 which were laid the decrepid and the helpless, the aged 
 
 25 and infant part of the exiled community. The women in 
 their red cloaks and straw hats, the elder children with 
 bare heads and bare feet, and almost naked bodies, had the 
 immediate care of the little caravan. The road was nar- 
 row, running between two broken banks of sand, and Mr. 
 
 30 Bertram's servant rode forward, smacking his whip with an 
 air of authority, and motioning to their drivers to allow 
 free passage to their betters. 
 
 His signal was unattended to. He then called to the 
 men who lounged idly on before, " Stand to your beasts' 
 
 36 heads, and make room for the laird to pass." — " He shall 
 have his share of the road," answered a male gypsy from 
 under his slouched and large-brimmed hat, and without 
 raising his face, " and he shall have no more ; the high- 
 way is as free to our cuddies as to his geldings." 
 
 40 The tone of the man being sulky, and even menacing, 
 
EX. XLI.] RHETORICAL READING. 259 
 
 Mr. Bertram thought it best to put his dignity into his 
 pocket, and pass by the procession quietly, upon such space 
 as they chose to leave for his accommodation, which was 
 narrow enough. To cover with an appearance of indif- 
 5 ference his feeling of the want of respect with which he 
 was treated, he addressed one of the men, as he passed 
 him, without any show of greeting, salute, or recognition, 
 — " Giles Baillie," he said, " have you heard that your 
 son Gabriel is well ? " (the question respecting the young 
 
 10 man who had been pressed.) 
 
 " If I had heard otherwise," said the old man, looking 
 up with a stern and menacing countenance, " you should 
 have heard it too." And he plodded his way, tarrying no 
 further question. When the laird had pressed onward 
 
 15 with difficulty among a crowd of familiar faces, — in which 
 he now only read hatred and contempt, but which had on 
 all former occasions marked his approach with the rever- 
 ence due to that of a superior being, — and had got clear of 
 . the throng, he could not help turning his horse and looking 
 
 20 back to mark the progress of the march. The group 
 would have been an excellent subject for the pencil of 
 Colotte. The van had already reached a small and 
 stunted thicket, which was at the bottom of the hill, and 
 which gradually hid the line of march until the last strag- 
 
 25 glers disappeared. 
 
 His sensations were bitter enough. The race, it is true, 
 which he had thus summarily dismissed from their ancient 
 place of refuge, was idle and vicious ; but had he endeav- 
 ored to render them otherwise ? They were not more 
 
 30 irregular characters now than they had been while they 
 were admitted to consider themselves as a sort of subor- 
 dinate dependants of his family; and ought the circum- 
 stance of his becoming a magistrate to have made at once 
 such a change in his conduct towards them ? Some means 
 
 35 of reformation ought at least to have been tried, before send- 
 ing seven families at once upon the wide world, and de- 
 priving them of a degree of countenance which withheld 
 them at least from atrocious guilt. 
 
 There was also a natural yearning of heart upon parting 
 
 40 with so many known and familiar faces ; and to this feel- 
 ing Godfrey Bertram was peculiarly accessible, from the 
 limited qualities of his mind, which sought its principal 
 amusements among the petty objects around him. 
 
 As he was about to turn his horse's head to pursue his 
 
260 Parker's exercises in [ex. xli. 
 
 journey, Meg Merrilies, who had lagged behind the troops, 
 unexpectedly presented herself. She was standing upon one 
 of those high banks, which, as we before noticed, overhung 
 the road ; so that she was placed considerably higher than 
 5 Ellangowan, even though he was on horseback ; and her 
 tall figure, relieved against the clear blue sky, seemed 
 almost of supernatural height We have noticed that 
 there was in her general attire, or rather in her mode of 
 adjusting it, somewhat of a foreign costume, artfully adopt- 
 
 10 ed, perhaps, for the purpose of adding to the effect of her 
 spells and predictions, or perhaps from some traditional 
 notions respecting the dress of her ancestors. On this 
 occasion, she had a large piece of red cotton cloth rolled 
 about her head in the form of a turban, from beneath which 
 
 15 her dark eyes flashed with uncommon lustre. 
 
 Her long and tangled black hair fell in elf locks from 
 the folds of this singular head gear. Her attitude was that 
 of a sybil in frenzy, as she stretched out, in her right hand, 
 a sapling bough which seemed just pulled. " I '11 be sworn," 
 
 20 said the groom, " she has been cutting the young ashes in 
 the Dukit Park." The laird made no answer, but contin- 
 ued to look at the figure which was thus perched above his 
 path. 
 
 " Ride your ways," said the gypsy, " ride your ways, 
 
 25 Laird of Ellangowan — ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram ! 
 This day have ye quenched seven smoaking hearths ; — 
 see if the fire in your ain parlor burn the blyther for that ! 
 Ye have riven the thack off seven cottar houses ; — look 
 if your ain roof-tree stand the faster ! Ye may stable your 
 
 30 stirks in the shealings at Derncleugh ; — see that the hare 
 does not couch on the hearthstane at Ellangowan ! Ride 
 your ways, Godfrey Bertram ! — what do ye glowr after 
 our folk for ? There 's thirty hearts there, that wad hae 
 wanted bread ere ye had wanted sunkets, and spent their 
 
 35 life-blood ere ye had scratched your finger, — yes, there 's 
 thirty yonder, from the auld wife of an hundred to the 
 babe that was born last week, that ye hae turned out o' 
 their bits o' bields, to sleep with the toad and the black- 
 cock in the muirs ! Ride your ways, Ellangowan ! Our 
 
 40 bairns are hinging at our weary backs ; — look that your 
 braw cradle at hame be the fairer spread up ! — Not that I 
 am wishing ill to little Harry, or to the babe that 's yet to be 
 born — God forbid, and make them kind to the poor, and 
 better folk than their father ! — And now, ride e'en your 
 
EX. XLU.] RHETORICAL READLVG. 261 
 
 ways, for these are the last words ye '11 ever hear Meg 
 Merrilies speak, and this is the last reise that I '11 ever cut 
 in the bonny woods of Ellangowan." 
 
 So saying, she broke the sapling she held in her hand, 
 5 and flung it into the road. Margaret of Anjou, bestowing 
 on her triumphant foes her keen-edged malediction, could 
 not have turned from them with a gesture more proudly 
 contemptuous. The laird was clearing his voice to speak, 
 and thrusting his hand in his pocket to find half a crown ; 
 
 10 the gypsy waited neither for his reply nor his donation, 
 but strode down the hill to overtake the caravan. 
 
 Ellangowan rode pensively home ; and it was remarka- 
 ble that he did not mention this interview to any of his 
 family. The groom was not so reserved : he told the story 
 
 15 at great length to a full audience in the kitchen, and con- 
 cluded by swearing, that " if ever the devil spoke by the 
 mouth of a woman, he had spoken by that of Meg Merri- 
 lies that blessed day." — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 EXERCISE XLII. 
 Spring. 
 
 Come, gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness, come, 
 
 20 And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud. 
 While music wakes around, veiled in a shower 
 Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 
 
 O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts 
 With unaffected grace, or walk the plain 
 
 25 With innocence and meditation joined 
 In soft assemblage, listen to my song. 
 Which thy own Season paints ; when Nature all 
 Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. 
 And see where surly Winter passes off", 
 
 30 Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts : 
 His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill. 
 The shattered forest, and the ravaged vale ; 
 While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, 
 Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, 
 
 35 The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. 
 As yet the trembling year is unconfirmed, 
 And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze. 
 Chills the pale mom, and bids his driving sleets 
 
262 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlii. 
 
 Deform the day delightless . so that scarce 
 The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulfed, 
 To shake the sounding marsh ; or from the shore 
 The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, 
 5 And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. 
 At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun. 
 And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more 
 The expansive atmosphere is cramped with cold ; 
 But, full of life and vivifying soul, 
 
 10 Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin, 
 Fleecy and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven. 
 
 Forth fly the tepid airs : and unconfined, 
 Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 
 Joyous, the impatient husbandman perceives 
 
 15 Kelenting Nature, and his lusty steers 
 
 Drives from their stalls to where the well-used plough 
 Lies in the furrow, loosened from the frost. 
 There unrefusing, to the harnessed yoke 
 They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil 
 
 20 Cheered by the simple song and soaring lark. 
 Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share 
 The master leans, removes the obstructing clay, 
 Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. 
 While through the neighboring fields the sower stalks, 
 
 25 With measured step ; and liberal throws the grain 
 Into the faithful bosom of the ground : "^ 
 
 The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. 
 Be gracious, Heaven ! for now laborious man 
 Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow ! 
 
 30 Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend ! 
 And temper all, thou world-reviving sun. 
 Into the perfect year ! Nor ye who live 
 In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride. 
 Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear : 
 
 35 Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 
 To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height 
 Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. 
 In ancient times, the sacred plough employed 
 The kings and awful fathers of mankind : 
 
 40 And some, with whom compared your insect tribes 
 Are but the beings of a summer's day. 
 Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm 
 Of mighty war ; then, with unwearied hand, 
 Disdaining little delicacies, seized 
 
 45 The plough, and greatly independent lived. Thomson. 
 
EX. XLIII.] RHETORICAL KEAULXG. 263 
 
 EXERCISE XLIII. 
 
 Address of the Massachusetts Legislature^ Feb. 1797, to 
 George Washington, President of tJie United States^ on 
 his retiring from ojffke. 
 
 Sm, — As you have announced to the people of the 
 United States your intention to retire from the cares and 
 decline the honors of public life, the Legislature of Mas- 
 sachusetts deem it a becoming duty, to express their sen- 
 5 timents, and those of their constituents, on this interesting 
 event. 
 
 It is not an opinion that our public testimony of your 
 merits can be necessary to the lustre of your reputation, 
 or the serenity of your repose, which prompts us to join 
 
 10 the general voice of America in applauding your great 
 and glorious services ; but we are excited to this measure 
 by a wish to exhibit a powerful inducement to the love of 
 our country, and to transmit to future times a record of the 
 gratitude of our republic. 
 
 15 As the able and heroic general, who led our armies to 
 victory and our country to independence, or as an enlight- 
 ened and patriotic magistrate, under whose administration 
 the United States have enjoyed peace and prosperity, your 
 conduct has furnished a great and brilliant example of in- 
 
 20 tegrity, fortitude, and wisdom. 
 
 We trust that the pacific system which you have pur- 
 sued with regard to the foreign relations of the country 
 will be as completely justified by its eventual success, as 
 it is by the maxims of equity and prudence ; and we in- 
 
 25 dulge the hope, that this system will not be discontinued, 
 and that its beneficial effects will not be confined to Amer- 
 ica, but will tend to discredit, among the nations of the 
 world, that false and barbarous policy which sacrifices the 
 public good at the shrine of resentment and ambition. 
 
 JO When this effect shall take place, the cause of human- 
 ity will have derived a precious advantage from the exam- 
 ple you have given, that moderation is the basis of true 
 dignity, and that those laurels which are reared in sun- 
 shine and peace are beyond comparison fairer than those 
 
 35 which are fertilized by the tears and blood of a people. 
 
 We receive your address to your fellow-citizens, upon 
 the occasion of your intended retirement from your civil 
 situation, with the same sentiments of respect and emo- 
 tions of gratitude which were inspired by that which 
 
264 Parker's exercises in [ex. xliii. 
 
 terminated your military career ; sensible that it discloses 
 an intelligent view of their political interests, and discov- 
 ers that affectionate zeal for their future welfare which 
 marks the character of their common friend. 
 5 Whilst, in behalf of our country, we lament the neces- 
 sity which deprives her of your services in public life, we 
 cannot deny that so many years of anxious toil for her 
 interests give you the best title to that repose which you 
 have long so ardently wished to enjoy. 
 
 10 You will retire, covered with glory and followed with 
 the blessings of your fellow-citizens ; — whose honor and 
 happiness it will be, that whilst you have deserved well of 
 your country, that country has never ceased to cherish a 
 grateful and admiring sense of your worth. 
 
 15 Our fervent prayers for your health and enjoyment will 
 go with you into the retreats of private life ; may you live 
 to be full of years, and satisfied with beholding the pros- 
 perity of your country ; and when you shall be called from 
 the present scene, may that beneficent Being, who has 
 
 20 made you the happy instrument of so much good to man- 
 kind, admit you to those rewards, in a future state, which 
 this world cannot bestow. 
 
 Boston Centinel, March Sth, 1797. 
 
 EXERCISE XLm. — Continued. 
 President Washington's Reply to the Senators representing 
 the Ccmimonwealth of Massachusetts hi the Congress of 
 the United States. 
 
 Gentlemen, — The sentiments expressed in the address 
 you have delivered to me, from the Senate and House of 
 
 25 Representatives of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, — 
 sentiments as honorable to them as to me, — have excited 
 the most grateful emotions. Whatever services I have 
 rendered to my country, in its general approbation I have 
 received an ample reward. Having nothing in view but 
 
 30 to vindicate its rights, secure its liberty, and promote its 
 happiness, I might expect the most efficient aid and sup- 
 port in the exertions of able and upright men, and in the 
 general spirit of my fellow-citizens. All this I have ex- 
 perienced, and our united efforts have resulted in our 
 
 35 independence, peace, and prosperity. And I entertain the 
 
EX. XLFV.J RHETORICAL READING. 265 
 
 pleasing hope, that the intelligence and superior infornia- 
 tion of my fellow-citizens, enabling them to discern their 
 true interests, will lead them to the successive choice of 
 wise and virtuous men to watch over, protect and promote 
 
 5 them, who, while they pursue those maxims of modera- 
 tion, equity and prudence, which will entitle our country 
 to perpetual peace, will cultivate that fortitude and dignity 
 of sentiment which are essential to the maintenance of 
 our liberty and independence. 
 
 10 Should it please God, according to the prayers of your 
 constituents, to grant me health and long life, my greatest 
 enjoyment will be to behold the prosperity of my country ; 
 and the affection and attachment of my fellow-citizens, 
 through the whole period of my public employments, will 
 
 15 be the subject of my most agreeable recollections : — while 
 a belief, which the affecting sentiments of the people of 
 Massachusetts, expressed by their Senate and House of 
 Representatives, with those of my fellow-citizens in gen- 
 eral, have inspired, that I have been the happy instrument 
 
 20 of much good to my country and to mankind, will be a 
 source of unceasing gratitude to Heaven. 
 
 Feb. 24, 1797. G. Washington. 
 
 EXERCISE XLIV. 
 
 Trout Fishing. 
 
 Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 
 Swelled with the vernal rains, is ebbed away, 
 25 And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream 
 Descends the billowy foam : now is the time, 
 While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, 
 To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly, 
 The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, 
 30 Snatched from the hoary steed the floating line, 
 And all thy slender watery stores prepare. 
 
 But let not on thy hook the tortured worm 
 Convulsive twist in agonizing folds ;^ 
 Which, by rapacious hunger swallowed deep, 
 35 Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast 
 Of the weak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch, 
 Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. 
 
 When with his lively ray the potent sun 
 Has pierced the streams, and roused the fiony race, 
 23 
 
266 Parker's exercises in [ex. xliv. 
 
 Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair ; 
 Chief should the western breezes curling play, 
 And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. 
 High to their fount, this day, amid the hills, 
 5 And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brook. 
 The next, pursue their rocky-channeled maze 
 Down to the river, in whose ample wave 
 Their little naiads love to sport at large. 
 
 Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 
 
 10 Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils 
 Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank 
 Reverted plays in undulating flow. 
 There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly; 
 And, as you lead it round in artful curve, 
 
 15 With eye attentive mark the springing game. 
 Straight as above the surface of the flood 
 They wanton rise, or, urged by hunger, leap. 
 Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook ; 
 Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, 
 
 20 And to the shelving shore slow dragging some, 
 With various hand proportioned to their force. 
 
 If yet too young, and easily deceived, 
 A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, 
 Him, piteous of his youth and the short space 
 
 25 He has enjoyed the vital light of heaven, 
 Soft disengage, and back into the stream 
 The speckled captive throw. But should you lure 
 From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 
 Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook, 
 
 30 Behoves you then to ply your finest art. 
 
 Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly; 
 And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 
 The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 
 At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun 
 
 35 Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death, 
 With sullen plunge. At once he darts along, 
 Deep struck, and runs out all the lengthened line 
 Then seeks the furthest ooze, the sheltering weed, 
 The caverned bank, his old secure abode ; 
 
 40 And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, 
 Indignant of the guile. 
 
 With yielding hand, 
 That feels him still, yet to his furious course 
 Gives way, you, now retiring, following now 
 
EX. XLV.] RHETORICAL READING. 267 
 
 Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage : 
 
 Till, floating broad upon his breathless side, 
 
 And to his fate abandoned, to the shore 
 
 You gayly drag your unresisting prize. Thomson. 
 
 EXERCISE XLV. 
 
 On CorntenimeTd. 
 
 5 Contentment produces, in some measure, all those ef- 
 fects which the alchemist usually ascribes to what he calls 
 the philosopher's stone; and if it does not bring riches, it 
 does the same thing, by banishing the desire of them. If 
 it cannot remove the disquietudes arising out of a man's 
 
 10 mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them. 
 It has, indeed, a kindly influence on the soul of man, in 
 respect of every being to whom he stands related. 
 
 It extinguishes all murmur, repining and ingratitude, 
 towards that Being who has allotted him his part to act 
 
 15 in this world. It destroys all inordinate ambition, and 
 every tendency to corriiption, with regard to the commu- 
 nity wherein he is placed. It gives sweetness to his con- 
 versation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts. 
 Among the many methods which might be made use of 
 
 20 for the acquiring of this virtue, I shall only mention the 
 two following. First of all, a man should always consid- 
 er how much he has more than he wants ; and secondly, 
 how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. 
 First of all, a man should always consider how much 
 
 25 he has more than he wants. I am wonderfully pleased 
 with the reply which Aristippus made to one who con- 
 doled with him upon the loss of a farm : " Why," said 
 he, " I have three farms still, and you have but one ; so 
 that I ought rather to be afllicted for you than you for 
 
 30 me." On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to con- 
 sider what they have lost than what they possess; and 
 to fix their eyes upon those who are richer than them- 
 selves, rather than on those who are under greater difli- 
 culties. 
 
 35 All the real pleasures and conveniences of life lie in a 
 narrow compass; but it is the humor of mankind to be 
 always looking forward, and straining after one who has 
 got the start of them in wealth and honor. For this 
 
268 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlv. 
 
 reason, as none can be properly called rich who have not 
 more than they want, there are few rich men, in any of 
 the politer nations, but among the middle sort of people, 
 who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and have 
 5 more wealth than they know how to enjoy. Persons of 
 a higher rank live in a kind of splendid poverty ; and are 
 perpetually wanting, because, instead of acquiescing in the 
 solid pleasures of life, they endeavor to outvie one another 
 in shadows and appearances. 
 
 10 Men of sense have at all times beheld with a great 
 deal of mirth this silly game that is playing over their 
 heads; and, by contracting their desires, they enjoy all 
 that secret satisfaction which others are always in quest 
 of. The truth is, this ridiculous chase after imaginary 
 
 15 pleasures cannot be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great 
 source of those evils which generally undo a nation. Let 
 a man's estate be what it may, he is a poor man if he 
 does not live within it ; and naturally sets himself to sale 
 to any one who can give him his price. 
 
 20 When Pittacus, after the death of his brother, who had 
 left him a good estate, was offered a great sum of money 
 by the King of Lydia, he thanked him for his kindness, 
 but told him he had already more by half than he knew 
 what to do with. In short, content is equivalent to wealth, 
 
 25 and luxury to poverty; or, to give the thought a more 
 agreeable turn, " Content is natural wealth," says Socrates ; 
 to which I shall add. Luxury is artificial poverty. 
 
 I shall therefore recommend to the consideration of 
 those who are always aiming at superfluous and imagin- 
 
 30 ary enjoyments, and who will not be at the trouble of con- 
 tracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion the phi- 
 losopher, namely, " That no man has so much care as he 
 who endeavors after the most happiness." 
 
 In the second place, every one ought to reflect how 
 
 35 much more unhappy he might be than he really is. The 
 former consideration took in all those who are sufficiently 
 provided with the means to make themselves easy ; this 
 regards such as actually lie under some pressure or mis- 
 fortune. These may receive great alleviation from such a 
 
 40 comparison as the unhappy person may make between 
 himself and others : or between the misfortune which he 
 suffers, and greater misfortunes which might have befallen 
 him. 
 
 I like the story of the honest Dutehman, who, upon 
 
EX. XLV,] RHETORICAL READING. 269 
 
 breaking his leg by a fall from the mainmast, told the 
 standers by it was a great mercy that it was not his neck. 
 To which, since I am got into quotations, give me leave to 
 add the saying of an old philosopher, who, after having 
 5 invited some of his friends to dine with him, was ruffled 
 by a person that came into the room in a passion, and 
 threw down the table that stood before them : " Every 
 one," says he, "has his calamity; and he is a happy man 
 that has no greater than this." 
 
 10 We find an instance to the same purpose in the life of 
 Doctor Hammond, written by Bishop Fell. As this good 
 man was troubled with a complication of distempers, when 
 he had the gout upon him, he used to thank God that it 
 was not the stone ; and when he had the stone, that he had 
 
 15 not both these distempers on him at the same time. 
 
 I cannot conclude this essay without observing, that 
 there never was any system, besides that of Christianity, 
 which could effectually produce in the mind of man the 
 virtue I have been hitherto speaking of. 
 
 20 In order to make us contented with our condition, many 
 of the present philosophers tell us that our discontent only 
 hurts ourselves, without being able to make any alteration 
 in our circumstances ; others, that whatever evil befalls us 
 is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which superior 
 
 25 beings themselves are subject ; while others very gravely 
 tell the man who is miserable that it is necessary he 
 should be so, to keep up the harmony of the universe ; and 
 that the scheme of Providence would be troubled and per- 
 verted were he otherwise. 
 
 30 These, and the like considerations, rather silence than 
 satisfy a man. They may show him that his discontent 
 is unreasonable, but they are by no means sufficient to 
 relieve it. They rather give despair than consolation. In 
 a word, a man might reply to one of these comforters, as 
 
 35 Augustus did to his friend who advised him not to grieve 
 for the death of a person whom he loved, because his grief 
 could not fetch him again : " It is for that very reason," 
 said the emperor, " that I grieve." 
 
 On the contrary, religion bears a more tender regard to 
 
 40 human nature. It prescribes to every miserable man the 
 means of bettering his condition ; nay, it shows him that 
 the bearing of his afflictions as he ought to do will natu- 
 rally end in the removal of them. It makes him easy 
 here, because it can make him happy hereafter. — Addison, 
 23* 
 
270 patiker's exercises in [ex. xlvi. 
 
 EXERCISE XLVI. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter ! 
 (Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea;) 
 No pearl ever lay under Oman's green water 
 More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. 
 5 Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 
 
 How light was thy heart till love's witchery came, 
 Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing, 
 And hushed all its music and withered its frame ! 
 But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, 
 10 Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 
 Of her who lies sleeping among the pearl islands. 
 With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb. 
 
 And still, when the merry date season is burning, 
 And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, 
 15 The happiest there, from their pastime returning, 
 At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 
 
 The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses 
 Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, 
 Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses, 
 20 She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 
 
 Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero ! forget thee, — 
 Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, 
 Close, close by the side of that hero she '11 set thee, 
 Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart. 
 25 Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy pillow 
 
 With everything beauteous that grows in the deep ; 
 Each flower of the rock, and each gem of the billow, 
 Shall sweeten thy bed, and illumine thy sleep. 
 Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 
 30 That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; 
 
 With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber 
 We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept. 
 
 We '11 dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 
 And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 
 85 Will seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling, 
 And gather their gold to strew o'er thy bed. 
 
 Farewell — farewell — until pity's sweet fountain 
 Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
 They '11 weep for the chieftain who died on that mountain, 
 40 They '11 weep for the maiden who sleeps in this wave. 
 
 T. Mocrre, 
 
EX. XLVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 271 
 
 EXERCISE XLVII. 
 
 The HUl of Science. 
 
 In that season of the year, when the serenity of the sky, 
 the various fruits which cover the ground, the discolored 
 foliage of the trees, and all the sweet but fading graces 
 of inspiring autumn, open the mind to benevolence, and 
 5 dispose it for contemplation, I was wandering in a beauti- 
 ful and romantic country, till curiosity began to give way 
 to weariness ; and I sat down on the fragment of a rock 
 overgrown with moss, where the rustling of the falling 
 leaves, the dashing of waters, and the hum of the distant 
 
 10 city, soothed my mind into a most perfect tranquillity; 
 and sleep insensibly stole upon me, as I was indulging the 
 agreeable reveries which the objects around me naturally 
 inspired. 
 
 I immediately found myself in a vast extended plain, in 
 
 15 the middle of which arose a mountain higher than I had 
 before any conception of. It was covered with a multi- 
 tude of people, chiefly youth ; many of whom pressed for- 
 ward with the liveliest expression of ardor in their coun- 
 tenance, though the way was in many places steep and 
 
 20 diflicult. 
 
 I observed that those who had but just begun to climb 
 the hill thought themselves not far from the top ; but as 
 they proceeded, new hills were continually rising to their 
 view ; and the summit of the highest they could before 
 
 25 discern seemed but the foot of another, till the mountain 
 at length appeared to lose itself in the clouds. 
 
 As I was gazing on these things with astonishment, a 
 friendly instructor suddenly appeared : " The m.ountain 
 before thee," said he, " is the Hill of Science. On the top 
 
 30 is the temple of Truth, whose head is above the clouds, 
 and a veil of pure light covers her face. Observe the pro- 
 gress of her votaries ; be silent and attentive." 
 
 After I had noticed a variety of objects, I turned my 
 eye towards the multitudes who were climbing the steep 
 
 35 ascent ; and observed amongst them a youth of a lively 
 look, a piercing eye, and something fiery and irregular in 
 all his motions. His name was Genius. He darted like 
 an eagle up the mountain, and left his companions gazing 
 after him with envy and admiration ; but his progress was 
 
 40 unequal, and interrupted by a thousand caprices. 
 
 When Pleasure warbled in the valley, he mingled in her 
 
272 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlvit. 
 
 train. When Pride beckoned towards the precipice, he 
 ventured to the tottering edge. He delighted in devious 
 and untried paths, and made so many excursions from the 
 road, that his feebler companions often outstripped him. 
 5 I observed that the Muses beheld him with partiality; but 
 Truth often frowned, and turned aside her face. 
 
 While Genius was thus wasting his strength in eccentric 
 flights, I saw a person of very different appearance, named 
 Application. He crept along with a slow and unremitting 
 
 10 pace, his eyes fixed on the top of the mountain, patiently 
 removing every stone that obstructed his way, till he saw 
 most of those below him who had at first derided his slow 
 and toilsome progress. 
 
 Indeed, there were few who ascended the hill with equal 
 
 15 and uninterrupted steadiness ; for, besides the difficulties 
 of the way, they were continually solicited to turn aside, 
 by a numerous crowd of appetites, passions and pleasures, 
 whose importunity, when once complied with, they became 
 less and less able to resist : and though they often returned 
 
 20 to the path, the asperities of the road were more severely 
 felt ; the hill appeared more steep and rugged ; the fruits, 
 which were wholesome and refreshing, seemed harsh and 
 ill-tasted; their sight grew dim, and their feet tript at 
 every little obstruction. 
 
 25 I saw with some surprise that the Muses, whose busi- 
 ness was to cheer and encourage those who were toiling 
 up the ascent, would often sing in the bowers of Pleasure, 
 and accompany those who were enticed away at the call 
 of the Passions. They accompanied them, however, but 
 
 30 a little way; and always forsook them when they lost 
 sight of the hill. The tyrants then doubled their chains 
 upon the unhappy captives, and led them away, without 
 resistance, to the cells of Ignorance, or the mansions of 
 Misery. 
 
 35 Amongst the innumerable seducers who were endeav- 
 oring to draw away the votaries of Truth from the path 
 of Science, there was one, so little formidable in her ap- 
 pearance, and so gentle and languid in her attempts, that 
 I should scarcely have taken notice of her, but for the 
 
 40 numbers she had imperceptibly loaded with her chains. 
 Indolence, (for so she was called,) far from proceeding to 
 open hostilities, did not attempt to turn their feet out of 
 the path, but contented herself with retarding their pro- 
 gress; and the purpose she could not force them to aban- 
 
 45 don, she persuaded them to delay. 
 
EX. XLVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 273 
 
 Her touch had a power like that of the torpedo, which 
 withered the strength of those who came within its influ- 
 ence. Her unhappy captives still turned their faces tow- 
 ards the temple, and always hoped to arrive there ; but the 
 
 5 ground seemed to slide from beneath their feet, and they 
 found themselves at the bottom before they suspected 
 they had changed their place. 
 
 •• The placid serenity which at first appeared in their 
 countenance changed by degrees into a melancholy lan- 
 
 10 guor, which was tinged with deeper and deeper gloom as 
 they glided down the stream of Insignificance ; a dark and 
 sluggish water, which is curled by no breeze, and enlight- 
 ened by no murmur, till it falls into a dead sea, where 
 startled passengers are awakened by the shock, and the 
 
 15 next moment buried in the gulf of Oblivion. 
 
 Of all the unhappy deserters from the paths of Science, 
 none seemed less able to return than the followers of Indo- 
 lence. The captives of Appetite and Passion would often 
 seize the moment when their tyrants were languid or 
 
 20 asleep, to escape from their enchantment ; but the domin- 
 ion of Indolence was constant and unremitted, and seldom 
 resisted, till resistance was in vain. 
 
 After contemplating these things, I turned my eyes tow- 
 ards the top of the mountain, where the air was always 
 
 25 pure and exhilarating, the path shaded with laurels and 
 
 evergreens, and the effulgence which beamed from the 
 
 face of Science seemed to shed a glory round her votaries. 
 
 Happy, said I, are they who are permitted to ascend the 
 
 mountain ! But while I was pronouncing this exclama- 
 
 30 tion with uncommon ardor, I saw, standing beside me, a 
 form of diviner features, and a more benign radiance. 
 " Happier," said she, " are they whom Virtue conducts to 
 the mansions of Content ! " 
 
 " What ! " said I, " does Virtue then reside in the vale ?" 
 
 35 " I am found," said she, " in the vale, and I illuminate the 
 mountain. I cheer the cottager at his toil, and inspire the 
 sage at his meditation. I mingle in the crowd of cities, 
 and bless the hermit in his cell. I have a temple in every 
 heart that owns my influence, and to him that wishes for 
 
 40 me I am already present. Science may raise thee to emi- 
 nence ; but I alone can guide thee to felicity ! " 
 
 While Virtue was thus speaking, I stretched out my 
 arms towards her, with a vehemence which broke my slum- 
 ber. The chill dews were falling around me, and the 
 
274 Parker's exercises in [ex. XLvm. 
 
 shades of evening stretched over the landscape. I hastened 
 homeward, and resigned the night to silence and medita- 
 tion. — Aikin. 
 
 EXERCISE XLVm. 
 
 The Passions. — An Ode. 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was young", 
 6 While yet in early Greece she sung, 
 
 The passions oft, to hear her shell. 
 Thronged around her magic cell, 
 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
 Possessed beyond the Muse's painting. 
 
 10 By turns they felt the glowing mind 
 
 Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined; 
 
 Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, 
 Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. 
 From the supporting myrtles round 
 
 15 They snatched her instruments of sound, 
 
 And, as they oft had heard apart 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
 Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 20 First Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 
 
 Amid the chords bewildered laid ; 
 And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
 Even at the sound himself had made. 
 Next Anger rushed : his eyes on fire, 
 
 25 In lightnings owned his secret stings : 
 
 In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 
 And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 
 
 With woful measures, wan Despair — 
 Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled : 
 
 30 A solemn, strange and mingled air ; 
 
 'Twas sad by fits — by starts 'twas wild. 
 
 But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
 What was thy delighted measure ? 
 Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
 
 35 And bade the lovely scene at distance hail ! 
 
 Still would her touch the strain prolong. 
 And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
 She called on Echo still through all her song 
 
EX. XLVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 275 
 
 And where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 
 A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close : 
 
 And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 
 And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, 
 5 Revenge impatient rose. 
 
 He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down ; 
 
 And, with a withering look, 
 
 The war-denouncing trumpet took. 
 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
 10 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe : 
 And ever and anon he beat 
 
 The doubling drum, with furious heat ; 
 
 And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
 
 Dejected Pity, at his side, 
 15 Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
 
 Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien ; 
 
 While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting Irom 
 his head. 
 Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fixed ; 
 20 Sad proofs of thy distressful state. 
 
 Of diiTerent themes the veering song was mixed : 
 
 And now, it courted Love ; now, raving, called on Hate. 
 With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
 
 Pale Melancholy sat retired; 
 25 And from her wild sequestered seat, 
 
 In notes by distance made. more sweet. 
 
 Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul. 
 And dashing soft, from rocks around, 
 
 Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
 30 Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 
 
 Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, 
 
 (Round a holy calm diffusing. 
 
 Love of peace and lonely musing,) 
 
 In hollow murmurs died away. 
 35 But, O, how altered was its sprightlier tone, 
 
 When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
 
 Her bow across her shoulder slung. 
 
 Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 
 
 Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung. 
 40 The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. 
 
 The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 
 
 Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen. 
 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
 
 Brown Exercise rejoiced to Lear ; 
 45 And Sport leapt up and seized his beechen spear. 
 
276 Parker's exercises in [ex. xux. 
 
 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial ; 
 He, with viny crown advancing, 
 First to the lively pipe his hand addressed; 
 But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
 6 Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
 
 They would have thought who heard the strain 
 They saw in Tempo's vale her native maids, 
 Amid the festal-sounding shades. 
 To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 
 10 While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings. 
 
 Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round, 
 (Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,) 
 And he, amidst his frolic play. 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 15 Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 
 
 Collins. 
 
 EXERCISE XLIX. 
 
 Adaptation of Christianity to the Intellectiial Wants of Man. 
 
 Christianity is adapted to the intellect, because it puts 
 it in possession of a higher kind of knowledge than nature 
 can give. It solves questions of a different order, and 
 those, too, which man, as an intellectual being, most needs 
 
 20 to have solved. 
 
 There are plainly two classes of questions which we 
 may ask concerning the works of God ; and concerning 
 one of these philosophy is profoundly silent. One class 
 respects the relation of the difierent parts of a constituted 
 
 25 whole to each other and to that whole. ' The other respects 
 the ultimate design of the whole itself. 
 
 In the present state of science, questions of the first class 
 can generally be answered with a good degree of satisfac- 
 tion. Man existing, the philosopher can tell the number 
 
 30 of bones, and muscles, and blood-vessels, and nerves, in 
 his body, and the uses of all these. He may, perhaps, tell 
 how the stomach digests, and the heart beats, and the 
 glands secrete ; but of the great purpose for which man 
 himself was made he can know nothing. 
 
 35 But this knowledge Christianity gives. It attributes to 
 God a purpose worthy of him ; one that satisfies the 
 intellect and the heart ; and the knowledge of this must 
 modify our views of all history, and of the whole drama 
 
KX. XLIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 277 
 
 of human life. It gives us a new stand-point, from which 
 we see everything in different relations and proportions. 
 We had seen the river before on which we were sailing; 
 now we see the ocean. 
 5 Entirely different must be the relation of man to God, 
 both as an intellectual and a practical being, when he 
 knows his plans and can intelligently cooperate with him. 
 He now comes, in the language of our Saviour, into the 
 relation of a friend. Surely no one can think lightly of 
 
 10 the influence of this on the intellect. 
 
 From the arguments now stated we infer that Chris- 
 tianity is adapted to the intellect; and these arguments are 
 confirmed by fact. No book, not nature itself, has ever 
 waked up intellectual activity like the Bible. On the bat- 
 
 15 tie-field of truth, it has ever been around this that the con- 
 flict has raged. What book besides ever caused the writing 
 of so many other books ? Take from the libraries of Chris- 
 tendom all those which have sprung, I will not say indi- 
 rectly, but directly, from it, — those written to oppose, or 
 
 20 defend, or elucidate it, — and how would they be dimin- 
 ished I 
 
 The very multitude of infidel books is a witness to the 
 power with which the Bible stimulates the intellect. Why 
 do we not see the same amount of active intellect coming up 
 
 25 and dashing and roaring around the Koran ? And the result 
 of this activity is such as we might anticipate. The gen- 
 eral intellectual, as well as moral, superiority of Christian 
 nations, and that, too, in proportion as they have had a 
 pure Christianity, stands out in too broad a sunlight to be 
 
 30 questioned or obscured. 
 
 Wherever the word of God has really entered, it has 
 given light — light to individuals, light to communities. 
 It has favored literature ; and by means of it alone has 
 society been brought up to that point at which it has been 
 
 35 able to construct the apparatus of physical science, and to 
 carry its investigations to the point which they have now 
 reached. 
 
 The instruments of a well-furnished astronomical observ- 
 atory presuppose accumulations of wealth, and the exist- 
 
 40 ence of a class of arts, and of men, that could be the prod- 
 uct only of Christian civilization. Accordingly, we find, 
 whatever may be said of literature, that physical science, 
 except in Christian countries, has after a time either be- 
 come stationary, or begun to recede ; and there is no rea- 
 24 
 
278 Parker's exercises in [ex. l. 
 
 son for supposing that the path of indefinite progress 
 which now Jies before it could have been opened except in 
 connection with Christianity. 
 
 Individual men, who reject Christianity, and yet live 
 
 5 within the general sphere of its influence, may distinguish 
 
 themselves in science ; they have done so ; but it has been 
 
 on grounds and conditions furnished by that very religion 
 
 which they have rejected. 
 
 Christianity furnishes no new faculties, no direct power 
 
 10 to the intellect, but a general condition of society favorable 
 to its cultivation ; and it is not to be wondered at, if, in 
 such a state of things, men who seek intellectual distinc- 
 tion solely, rejecting the moral restraints of Christianity, 
 should distinguish themselves by intellectual effort. 
 
 15 But if there is this adaptation of Christianity to the in- 
 tellect, ought not they who are truly Christians to distin- 
 guish themselves above others in literature and science ? 
 This does not follow. Up to a certain point, Christianity 
 in the heart will certainly give clearness and strength to 
 
 20 the intellect ; and cases are not wanting in which the in- 
 tellectual powers have been surprisingly roused through 
 the action of the moral nature, and of the affections, 
 awakened by the religion of Christ. 
 
 But when we consider that the change produced by 
 
 25 Christianity is a moral change ; that the objects it presents 
 are moral objects ; that it presents this world as needing 
 not so much to be enlightened in the more abstract sci- 
 ences, or to be delighted with the refinements of literature, 
 as to be rescued from moral pollution, and to be won back 
 
 30 to God ; — perhaps we ought not to be surprised if it has 
 caused many to be absorbed in labors of an entirely dif- 
 ferent kind, who would otherwise have trodden the high- 
 est walks of science. — Presidejit Hopkins. 
 
 EXERCISE L. 
 
 Hymn on the Seasons. 
 
 These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
 35 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 ; 
 
EX. L.] RHETORICAL READING. 279 
 
 Echo the mountains round : the forest smiles ; 
 
 And every sense and every heart is joy. 
 
 Then comes Thy glory "in the Summer months, 
 
 With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun 
 5 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, 
 
 Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
 10 And spreads a common feast for all that live. 
 
 In Winter awful Thou, with clouds and storms 
 
 Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled. 
 
 Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing. 
 
 Riding sublime, Thou bidst the world adore, 
 15 And humblest Nature with Thy northern blast. 
 
 Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, 
 
 Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
 
 Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, 
 
 Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
 20 Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 
 
 And all so forming an harmonious whole. 
 
 That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
 
 But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
 
 Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand, 
 25 That, ever busy, wheels the silent sphere ; 
 
 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 ; 
 30 And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
 
 With transport touches all the springs of life. 
 Nature, attend ! join, every living soul 
 
 Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
 
 In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
 35 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. 
 40 And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar. 
 
 Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven 
 
 The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
 
 His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 
 
 And let me catch it as I muse along. 
 
280 Parker's exercises in [ex. i 
 
 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, — 
 5 Sound His stupendous praise : whose greater voice 
 Or bids you roar or bids your roarings 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. 
 
 10 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, eflfase your mildest beams, 
 
 15 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, 
 
 20 On Nature write with every beam His praise. 
 
 The thunder rolls : 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 lowe, 
 
 25 Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns. 
 And his linsuflfering kingdom yet will come. 
 
 Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 
 Bursts from the groves ! and when the restless day, 
 Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
 
 30 Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 
 
 The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. 
 
 Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles. 
 At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 
 Crown the great hymn ; in swarming cities vast, 
 
 35 Assembled men, to the deep organ join 
 
 The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 
 At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; 
 And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
 In one united ardor rise to heaven. 
 
 40 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. 
 Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. 
 
EX. ll] rhetorical reading. 281 
 
 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, — 
 5 Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, 
 And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 
 
 Should fate command me to the furthest verge 
 Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, 
 Rivers unknown to song ; where first the sun 
 
 10 Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
 
 Flames on the Atlantic isles ; 't is nought 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. 
 
 15 When even 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 cannot go 
 Where Universal Love not smiles around, 
 
 20 Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 
 From seeming Evil still educing Good, 
 And better thence again, and better still, 
 In infinite progression. But I lose 
 Myself in Him, in Light ineflJable ! 
 
 25 Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 EXERCISE LI. 
 The Blind Man restored to Sight, 
 
 [From the Gospel of St. John, Chap. 9.] 
 
 And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind 
 from his birth. And his disciples asked him, saying, 
 Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was 
 bom blind ? 
 30 Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his 
 parents : but that the works of God should be made man- 
 ifest in him. I must work the works of him that sent 
 me, while it is day : the night cometh when no man can 
 work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of 
 35 the world. 
 
 When he had thus spoken, he spat on the ground, and 
 made clay of the spittle, and he anointed the eyes of the 
 2^* 
 
282 Parker's exercises in [ex. li. 
 
 blind man with the clay, and said unto him, Go, wash in 
 the pool of Siloam, (which is, by interpretation, Sent.) 
 He went his way, therefore, and washed, and came seeing. 
 The neighbors, therefore, and they which before had 
 5 seen him that he was blind, said, Is not this he that sat 
 and begged ? Some said, This is he : others said, He is 
 like him : but he said, I am he. 
 
 Therefore said they unto him, How were thine eyes 
 opened? He answered and said, A man that is called 
 
 10 Jesus made clay, and anointed mine eyes, and said unto 
 me. Go te the pool of Siloam, and wash : and I went and 
 washed, and I received sight. Then said they unto him, 
 Where is he ? He said, I know not. 
 
 They brought to the Pharisees him that aforetime was 
 
 15 blind. And it was the Sabbath-day when Jesus made the 
 clay, and opened his eyes. Then again the Pharisees 
 also asked him how he had received his sight. He said 
 unto them. He put clay upon mine eyes, and I washed, 
 and do see. Therefore said some of the Pharisees, This 
 
 20 man is not of God, because he keepeth not the Sabbath- 
 day. Others said, How can a man that is a sinner do 
 such miracles ? 
 
 And there was a division among them. They say unto 
 the blind man again, What sayest thou of him, that he 
 
 25 hath opened thine eyes ? He said. He is a prophet. 
 
 But the Jews did not believe concerning him, that he 
 had been blind, and received his sight, until they called 
 the parents of him that had received his sight. And they 
 asked them, saying. Is this your son, whom ye say was 
 
 30 born blind? How then doth he now see ? His parents 
 answered them and said. We know that this is our son, 
 and that he was born blind : but by what means he now 
 seeth, we know not; or who hath opened his eyes, we 
 know not : he is of age, ask him : he shall speak for 
 
 35 himself. 
 
 These words spake his parents, because they feared the 
 Jews : for the Jews had agreed already, that if any man 
 did confess that he was Christ, he should be put out of the 
 synagogue. Therefore said his parents. He is of age; 
 
 40 ask him. 
 
 Then again called they the man that was blind, and 
 said unto him. Give God the praise ; we know that this 
 man is a sinner. He answered and said. Whether he be 
 a sinner or no, I know not : one thing I know, that, where- 
 
 45 as I was blind, now I see. 
 
BZ. Ln.] RHETORICAL READING. 283 
 
 Then said they to him again, What did he to thee? 
 How opened he thine eyes? He answered them, I have 
 told you already, and ye did not hear : wherefore would 
 ye hear it again ? will ye also be his disciples ? Then 
 5 they reviled him, and said, Thou art his disciple ; but we 
 are Moses' disciples. We know that God spake unto 
 Moses ; as for this fellow, we know not from whence he is. 
 The man answered and said unto them. Why, herein is 
 a marvellous thing, that ye know not from whence he is, 
 
 10 and yet he hath opened mine eyes. Now we know that 
 God heareth not sinners: but if any man be a worshipper 
 of God, and doeth his will, him he heareth. Since the 
 world began was it not heard that any man opened the 
 eyes of one that was born blind. If this man were not 
 
 15 of God, he could do nothing. 
 
 They answered and said unto him, Thou wast altogeth- 
 er born in sins, and dost thou teach us ? And they cast 
 him out. Jesus heard that they had cast him out : and 
 when he had found him, he said unto him. Dost thou be- 
 
 20 lieve on the Son of God ? He answered and said, Who 
 is he, Lord, that I might believe on him ? And Jesus said 
 unto him. Thou hast both seen him, and it is he that 
 talketh with thee. And he said, Lord, I believe. And 
 he worshipped him. 
 
 25 And^ Jesus said, For judgment I am come into this 
 world ; that they which see not might see, and that they 
 which see might be made blind. And some of the Phar- 
 isees which were with him heard these words, and said 
 unto him. Are we blind also ? Jesus said unto them, If 
 
 30 ye were blind, ye should have no sin : but now ye say, 
 We see ; therefore your sin remaineth. 
 
 EXERCISE Ln. 
 Picture of a Distinguished Poet. 
 
 Admire the goodness of Almighty God ! 
 He riches gave. He intellectual strength 
 To few, and therefore none commands to be 
 35 Or rich, or learned ; nor promises reward 
 Of peace to these. On ail He moral worth 
 Bestowed ; and moral tribute asked from all. 
 
 And who that could not pay ? who born so poor. 
 
284 Parker's lessons in [ex. ui 
 
 Of intellect so mean, as not to know 
 
 What seemed the best ; and, knowing, might not do ? 
 
 As not to know what God and conscience bade, 
 
 And what they bade not able to obey ? 
 5 And he who acted thus fulfilled the law 
 
 Eternal, and its promise reaped of peace ; 
 
 Found peace this way alone : who sought it else, 
 
 Sought mellow grapes beneath .the icy pole ; 
 
 Sought blooming roses on the cheek of death ; 
 10 Sought substance in a world of fleeting shades. 
 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, 
 15 And reputation, and luxurious life. 
 
 Yet, not content with ancestorial name, 
 
 Or to be known because his fathers were, 
 
 He on this height hereditary stood. 
 
 And gazing higher, purposed in his heart 
 20 To take another step. 
 
 Above him seemed 
 
 Alone the mount of song — the lofty seat 
 
 Of canonized bards ; and thitherward. 
 
 By nature taught, and inward melody, 
 25 In prime of youth he bent his eagle eye. 
 
 No cost was spared. What books he wished, he read 
 
 What 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, 
 30 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. 
 
 Then travel came, and took him where he wished ; 
 
 He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp ; 
 35 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, 
 40 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, 
 45 Thither he went, and meditated there. 
 
EX. LU.] RHETORICAL READING. 285 
 
 He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. 
 As some vast river of unfailing source, 
 Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed, 
 And oped new fountains in the human heart. 
 5 Where fancy halted, weary in her flight. 
 In other men, his fresh as morning rose. 
 And sgared untrodden heights, and seemed at home, 
 Where angels bashful looked. 
 
 Others, though great, 
 
 10 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. 
 
 With Nature's self 
 
 15 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 Appenines, 
 
 20 And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend ; 
 And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 
 In sportive twist — the lightning's fierj'^ wing, 
 Which as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 
 Marching upon the storm in vengeance seemed — 
 
 25 Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung 
 His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. 
 
 Suns, moons and stars, and clouds, his sisters were ; 
 Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds and storms. 
 His brothers — younger brothers, whom he scarce 
 
 30 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; 
 
 35 All that was hated, and all that was dear; 
 
 All that was hoped, all that was feared by man, — 
 He tossed about, as tempest-withered leaves. 
 Then smiling, looked upon the wreck he made. 
 With terror now he froze the cowering blood ; 
 
 40 And now dissolved the heart in tenderness : 
 
 Yet would not tremble, would not weep, himself; 
 
 * This allusion to a line of Lord Byron's Apostrophe to the Ocean plainly 
 indicates that the poet had h.im clearly in view, in this description. The sub- 
 sequent lines also allude to passages in "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." 
 
286 Parker's lessons in [ex. mi 
 
 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 
 5 To desolation swept, retired in pride, 
 
 Exulting in the glory of his might, 
 
 And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought. ^ 
 As some fierce comet of tremendous size. 
 
 To which the stars did reverence as it passed, 
 10 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 
 15 He looked, which down from higher regions came, 
 
 And perched it there, to see what lay beneath. 
 
 The nations gazed, and wondered much, and praised. 
 
 Critics before him fell in humble plight ; 
 
 Confounded fell, and made debasing signs 
 20 To catch his eye ; and stretched and swelled themselves 
 
 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, 
 25 And gave abundant sport to after days. 
 
 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. 
 30 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 
 35 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 : 
 40 And all his sympathies in being died. 
 
 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 moulder in the winds and rains of heaven : 
 
EX. Llll.] RHETORICAL REAiJu* j 287 
 
 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 ; 
 5 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 seemed ashamed to groan. Poor man ! 
 
 Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help. 
 10 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. 
 15 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 
 20 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 ! 
 
 Pollock's Course of Titm, 
 
 EXERCISE Lin. 
 
 The Grotto of Antiparos. 
 
 Of all the subterraneous caverns now known, the grotto 
 25 of Antiparos is the most remarkable, as well for its extent 
 as for the beauty of its sparry incrustations. This cele- 
 brated cavern was first explored by one Magni, an Italian 
 traveller, about one hundred years ago, at Antiparos, an 
 inconsiderable island of the Archipelago. 
 30 " Having been informed," says he, " by the natives of 
 Paros, that, in the little island of Antiparos, which lies 
 about two miles from the former, a gigantic statue was to 
 be seen at the mouth of a cavern in that place, it was re- 
 solved that we (the French consul and himself) should 
 35 pay it a visit. 
 
 " In pursuance of this resolution, after we had landed 
 
288 Parker's lessons in [ex. lui. 
 
 on the island, and walked about four miles through the 
 midst of beautiful plains, and sloping woodlands, we at 
 length came to a little hill, on the side of which yawned a 
 most horrid cavern, which, by its gloom, at first struck us 
 5 with terror, and almost repressed curiosity. Kecovering 
 the first surprise, however, we entered boldly, and had not 
 proceeded above twenty paces, when the supposed statue 
 of the giant presented itself to our view. 
 
 " We quickly perceived that what the ignorant natives 
 
 10 had been terrified at as a giant was nothing more than a 
 sparry concretion, formed by the water dropping from the 
 roof of the cave, and by degrees hardening into a figure, 
 which their fears had formed into a monster. Incited by 
 this extraordinary appearance, we were induced to proceed 
 
 15 still further, in quest of new adventures, in this subterra- 
 nean abode. 
 
 " As we proceeded, new wonders offered themselves ; the 
 spars, formed into trees and shrubs, presented a kind of 
 petrified grove ; some white, some green ; and all reced- 
 
 20 ing in due perspective. They struck us with the more 
 amazement, as we knew them to be mere productions of 
 nature, who, hitherto in solitude, had, in her playful mo- 
 ments, dressed the scene as if for her own amusement. 
 " We had as yet seen but a few of the wonders of the 
 
 25 place ; and we were introduced only into the portico of 
 this amazing temple. In one corner of this half-illumin- 
 ated recess, there appeared an opening of about three feet 
 wide, which seemed to lead to a place totally dark, and 
 which one of the natives assured us contained nothing 
 
 30 more than a reservoir of water. 
 
 " Upon this information, we made an experiment, by 
 throwing down some stones, which rumbling along the 
 sides of the descent for some time, the sound seemed at 
 last quashed in a bed of water. In order, however, to be 
 
 35 more certain, we sent in a Levantine mariner, who, by 
 the promise of a good reward, ventured, with a flambeau 
 in his hand, into this narrow aperture. 
 
 " After continuing within it for about a quarter of an 
 hour, he returned, bearing in his hand some beautiful pieces 
 
 40 of white spar, which art could neither equal nor imitate. 
 Upon being informed by him that the place was full of 
 these beautiful incrustations, I ventured in with him, about 
 fifty paces, anxiously and cautiously descending, by a steep 
 and dangerous way. 
 
EX. LIII.J RHETORICAL READING. 289 
 
 "Finding, however, that we came to a precipice which 
 led into a spacious amphitheatre, (if I may so call it,) still 
 deeper than any other part, we returned, and b^ing pro- 
 vided with a ladder, flambeau, and other things to expedite 
 
 5 our descent, our whole company, man by man, ventured 
 into the same opening ; and, descending one after another, 
 we at last saw ourselves all together in the most magnifi- 
 cent part of the cavern. 
 
 "Our candles being now all lighted up, and the whole 
 
 10 place completely illuminated, never could the eye be pre- 
 sented with a more glittering or a more magnificent scene. 
 The whole roof hung with solid icicles, transparent as 
 glass, yet solid as marble. 
 
 " The eye could scarcely reach the lofty and noble ceil- 
 
 15 ing ; the sides were regularly formed with spars ; and the 
 whole presented the idea of a magnificent theatre, illum- 
 inated with an immense profusion of lights. The floor 
 consisted of solid marble ; and, in several places, magnifi- 
 cent columns, thrones, altars, and other objects, appeared, 
 
 20 as if nature had designed to mock the curiosities of art. 
 
 " Our voices, upon speaking or singing, were redoubled 
 to an astonishing loudness ; and upon the firing of a gun, 
 the noise and reverberations were almost deafening. In 
 the midst of this grand amphitheatre rose a concretion of 
 
 25 about fifteen feet high, that, in some measure, resembled 
 an altar ; from which, taking the hint, we caused mass to 
 be celebrated there. The beautiful columns that shot up 
 round the altar appeared like candlesticks; and many 
 other natural objects represented the customary ornaments 
 
 30 of this rite. 
 
 " Below even this spacious grotto, there seemed another 
 cavern ; down which I ventured, with my former mariner, 
 and descended about fifty paces, by means of a rope. I at 
 last arrived at a small spot of level ground, where the bot- 
 
 35 torn appeared diflJerent from that of the amphitheatre, be- 
 ing composed of soft clay, yielding to the pressure, and in 
 which I thrust a stick to the depth of six feet. 
 
 " In this, however, as above, numbers of the most beau- 
 tiful crystals were formed ; one of which, particularly, 
 
 40 resembled a table. Upon our egress from this amazing 
 cavern, we perceived a Greek inscription upon a rock at 
 the mouth, but so obliterated by time that we could not 
 read it distinctly. It seemed to import that one Antipater, 
 in the time of Alexander, had come hither ; but whether 
 25 
 
290 Parker's exercises in [ex. liv. 
 
 he penetrated into the depths of the cavern, he does not 
 think fit to inform us." This account of so beautiful and 
 striking a scene may serve to give us some idea of the 
 subterraneous wonders of nature. — Goldsmith. 
 
 EXERCISE LIV. 
 
 The Past. 
 
 5 Thou unrelenting Past ! 
 
 Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, 
 And fetters sure and fast 
 Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 
 Far in thy realm withdrawn, 
 10 Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, ^ 
 And glorious ages gone 
 Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 
 
 Childhood, with all its mirth. 
 Youth, manhood, age, that draws us to the ground 
 15 And last, man's life on earth, 
 
 Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 
 
 Thou hast my better years. 
 Thou hast my earlier friends — the good, the kind. 
 Yielded to thee with tears — 
 20 The venerable form, the exalted mind. 
 My spirit yearns to bring 
 The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, 
 And struggles hard to wring 
 Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. 
 25 In vain ; — thy gates deny 
 
 All passage, save to those who hence depart ; 
 Nor to the streaming eye 
 
 Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart. 
 In thy abysses hide 
 30 Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee 
 Earth's wonder and her pride 
 Are gathered, as the waters to the sea ; 
 
 Labors of good to man, 
 Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, — 
 35 Love, that 'midst grief began, 
 
 And grew with years and faltered not in death. 
 
 Full many a mighty name 
 Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered ; 
 
EX. LV.] RHETORICAL READING. 291 
 
 With thee are silent fame, 
 
 Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 
 
 Thine for a space are they — 
 Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last ; 
 5 Thy gates shall yet give way, 
 
 Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past! 
 
 All that of good and fair 
 Has gone into thy womb from earliest time 
 Shall then come forth to wear 
 10 The glory and the beauty of its prime. 
 They have not perished — no ! 
 Kind words, remembered voices, once so sweet, 
 Smiles, radiant long ago. 
 And features, the great soul's apparent seat. 
 15 All shall come back ; each tie 
 
 Of pure affection shall be knit again ; 
 Alone shall Evil die, 
 
 And Sorrow dwell a prisoner, in thy reign. 
 And then shall I behold 
 20 Him by whose kind paternal side I sprung, 
 And her, who, still and cold. 
 Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young. 
 
 Bryant, 
 
 LESSON LV. 
 
 Extract from an Oration pronounced by the Speaker of the 
 House of Representatives of the United States , July ^th, 
 1848, on the occasion of laying the corner-stone of the 
 NatioTial Monument to the memoi'y of Washington. 
 
 Fellow-citizens : — While we thus commend the char- 
 acter and example of Washington to others, let us not 
 
 25 forget to imitate it ourselves. I have spoken of the pre- 
 cise period which we have reached in our own history, as 
 well as in that of the world at large, as giving something 
 of peculiar interest to the proceedings in which we are 
 engaged. 
 
 30 I may not, I will not, disturb the harmony of the scene 
 before me by the slightest allusion of a party character. 
 The circumstances of the occasion forbid it ; the associa- 
 tions of the day forbid it ; the character of him in whose 
 honor we are assembled forbids if ; my own feelings revolt 
 
 35 from it. But I may say, I must say, and every one within 
 
Parker's exercises in [ex. lv. 
 
 the sound of my voice will sustain me in saying, that 
 there has been no moment since Washington himself was 
 among us, when it was more important than at this mo- 
 ment, that the two great leading principles of his policy 
 5 should be remembered and cherished. 
 
 Those principles were, first, the most complete, cordial, 
 and indissoluble union of the states ; and, second, the most 
 entire separation and disentanglement of our own country 
 from all other countries. Perfect union among ourselves, 
 
 10 perfect neutrality towards others, and peace, peace, domes- 
 tic peace and foreign peace, as the result ; this was the 
 chosen and consummate policy of the father of his country. 
 But above all, and before all, in the heart of Wash- 
 ington, was the union of the states ; and no opportunity 
 
 15 was ever omitted by him to impress upon his fellow- 
 citizens the profound sense which he entertained of its 
 vital importance at once to their prosperity and their 
 liberty. 
 
 In that incomparable address in which he bade farewell 
 
 20 to his countrymen at the close of his presidential service, 
 he touched upon many other topics with the earnestness 
 of a sincere conviction. He called upon them, in solemn 
 terms, to " cherish public credit ;" to " observe good faith 
 and justice towards all nations," avoiding both " inveterate 
 
 25 antipathies and passionate attachments " towards any ; to 
 mitigate and assuage the unquenchable fire of party spirit, 
 " lest, instead of warming, it should consume ;" to abstain 
 from "characterizing parties by geographical distinc- 
 tions ;" " to promote institutions for the general diflfusion 
 
 30 of knowledge ;" to respect and uphold " religion and mo- 
 rality; those great pillars of human happiness, those 
 firmest props of the duties of men and of citizens." 
 
 But what can exceed, what can equal, the accumulated 
 intensity of thought and of expression with which he calls 
 
 35 upon them to cling to the union of the states. " It is of 
 infinite moment," says he, in language which we ought 
 never to be weary of hearing or of repeating, " that you 
 should properly estimate the immense value of your Na- 
 tional Union to your collective and individual happiness ; 
 
 40 that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, immovable 
 attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to think and 
 speak of it as of the palladium of your political safety and 
 prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous 
 anxiety ; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a 
 
EX. LY. RHETORICAL READING. 293 
 
 suspicion that it can, in any event, be abandoned ; and 
 indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every 
 attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the 
 rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together 
 5 the various parts." 
 
 The Union, the Union in any event, was thus the senti- 
 ment of Washington. The Union, the Union in any 
 event, — let it be our sentiment this day ! 
 
 Yes, to-day, fellow-citizens, at the very moment when 
 
 10 the extension of our boundaries and the multiplication of 
 our territories are producing, directly and indirectly, among 
 the different members of our political system, so many 
 marked and mourned centrifugal tendencies, let us seize 
 this occasion to renew to each other our vows of alle- 
 
 15 giance and devotion to the American Union, and let us 
 recognize in our common title to the name and the fame 
 of Washington, and in our common veneration for his 
 example and his advice, the all-sufficient centripetal power, 
 which shall hold the thick clustering stars of our confed- 
 
 20 eracy in one glorious constellation forever! Let the 
 column which we are about to construct be at once a 
 pledge and an emblem of perpetual union ! Let the found- 
 ations be laid, let the superstructure be built up and 
 cemented, let each stone be raised and riveted, in a spirit 
 
 25 of national brotherhood! And may the earliest ray of 
 the rising sun — till that sun shall set to rise no more — 
 draw forth from it daily, as from the fabled statue of 
 antiquity, a strain of national harmony, which shall 
 strike a responsive chord in every heart throughout the 
 
 30 republic! 
 
 Proceed, then, fellow-citizens, with the work for which 
 you have assembled ! Lay the comer-stone of a monu- 
 ment which shall adequately bespeak the gratitude of the 
 whole American people to the illustrious father of his 
 
 35 country ! Build it to the skies ; you cannot outreach the 
 loftiness of his principles ! Found it upon the massive 
 and eternal rock ; you cannot make it more enduring than 
 his fame ! Construct it of the peerless Parian marble ; 
 you cannot make it purer than his life ! Exhaust upon it 
 
 40 the rules and principles of ancient and of modern art; 
 
 you cannot make it more proportionate than his character ! 
 
 But let not your homage to his memory end here. 
 
 Think not to transfer to a tablet or a column the Iribute 
 
 which is due from yourselves. Just honor to Washing- 
 
 25=*= 
 
294 Parker's exercises in [ex. lvi. 
 
 ton can only be rendered by observing his precepts and 
 imitating his example. Similitudine decoremus. He has 
 built his own monument. We, and those who come after 
 us in successive generations, are its appointed, its privi- 
 5 leged guardians. This wide-spread republic is the true 
 monument to Washington. Maintain its independence. 
 Uphold its constitution. Preserve its Union. Defend its 
 liberty. Let it stand before the world in all its original 
 strength and beauty, securing peace, order, equality and 
 
 10 freedom, to all within its boundaries, and shedding light 
 and hope and joy upon the pathway of human liberty 
 throughout the world, — and Washington needs no other 
 monument. Other structures may fitly testify our vener- 
 ation for him ; this, this alone, can adequately illustrate 
 
 15 his services to mankind. 
 
 Nor does he need even this. The republic may perish ; 
 the wide arch of our ranged union may fall ; star by star 
 its glories may expire ; stone after stone its columns and 
 its capitol may moulder and crumble; all other names 
 
 20 which adorn its annals may be forgotten ; but as long as 
 human hearts shall anywhere pant, or human tongues 
 shall anywhere plead, for a true, rational, constitutional 
 liberty, those hearts shall enshrine the memory, and those 
 tongues shall prolong the fame, of George Washington ! 
 
 Hon. R. C. Winthrop. 
 
 EXERCISE LVI. 
 Winter Scenes. 
 
 25 See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year, 
 Sullen and sad, with all his rising train — 
 Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, 
 ' These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought, 
 And heavenly musing. 
 
 30 Welcome, kindred glooms ! 
 
 Congenial horrors, hail ! with frequent foot. 
 Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life, 
 When nursed by careless. Solitude I lived, 
 And sung of Nature with unceasing joy, 
 
 85 Pleased have I wandered through your rough domain ; 
 Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure ; 
 Hea^ the winds roar, and the big torrent burst ; 
 
EX. LVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 295 
 
 Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brewed, 
 In the grim evening sky. 
 
 Thus passed the time, 
 Till through the lucid chambers of the south 
 5 Looked out the joyous spring, — looked out, and smiled. 
 
 T^ TT 'ff tP 'T? tIP 
 
 Now when the cheerless empire of the sky 
 
 To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields. 
 
 And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year ; 
 
 Hung o'er the furthest verge of heaven, the sun 
 10 Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day. 
 
 Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot 
 
 His struggling rays, in horizontal lines, 
 
 Through the thick air ; as, clothed in cloudy storm, 
 
 Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky; 
 15 And, soon descending, to the long, dark night, 
 
 Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns. 
 Nor is the night unwished ; while vital heat, 
 
 Light, life and joy, the dubious day forsake. 
 
 Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast, 
 20 Deep-tinged and damp, and congregated clouds, 
 
 And all the vapory turbulence of heaven. 
 
 Involve the face of things. 
 
 Thus Winter falls, 
 
 A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world, 
 25 Through Nature shedding influence malign, 
 
 And rouses up the seeds of dark disease. 
 
 The soul of man dies in him, loathing life. 
 
 And black with more than melancholy views. 
 The cattle droop ; and o'er the furrowed land, 
 30 Fresh from the plough, the dun-discolored flocks, 
 
 XJntended spreading, crop the wholesome root. 
 
 Along the woods, along the moorish fens. 
 
 Sighs the sad Genius of the coming storm : 
 
 And up among the loose disjointed cliflTs, 
 35 And fractured mountains wild, the brawling brook 
 
 And cave presageful send a hollow moan. 
 
 Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear. 
 Then comes the father of the tempest forth. 
 
 Wrapped in black glooms. First joyless rains obscure 
 40 Drive through the minghng skies with vapor foul, 
 
 Dash on the mountain's brow and shake the woods, 
 
 That grumbling wave below. 
 
296 Parker's exercises in [ex. lvi. 
 
 The unsightly plain 
 Lies a brown deluge ; as the low-bent clouds 
 Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still 
 Combine, and, deepening into night, shut up 
 5 The day's fair face. 
 
 The wanderers of heaven 
 Each to his home retire ; save those that love 
 To take their pastime in the troubled air. 
 Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. 
 
 10 The cattle from the untasted fields return. 
 
 And ask, with meaning low, their wonted stalls, 
 Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. 
 Thither the household feathery people crowd, — 
 The crested cock, with all his female train, 
 
 15 Pensive and dripping; while the cottage hind 
 Hangs o'er the enlivening blaze, and taleful there 
 Recounts his simple frolic ; much he talks. 
 And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows 
 Without, and rattles on his humble roof. 
 
 20 Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swelled, 
 And the mixed ruin of its banks o'erspread. 
 At last the roused-up river pours along : 
 Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes. 
 From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild, 
 
 25 Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far; 
 Then o'er the sanded valley floating spreads. 
 Calm, sluggish, silent; till again, constrained 
 Between two meeting hills, it bursts away. 
 Where rocks and woods o'erhang the turbid stream; 
 
 30 There, gathering triple force, rapid and deep. 
 
 It boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders through. 
 
 Nature ! great parent ! whose unceasing hand 
 Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year, 
 How mighty, how majestic, are thy works ! 
 
 35 With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul, 
 That sees astonished, and astonished sings ! 
 Ye too, ye winds ! that now begin to blow 
 With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you. 
 Where are your stores, ye powerful beings ! say 
 
 40 Where your a'erial magazines reserved. 
 To swell the brooding terrors of the storm ? 
 In what far distant region of the sky. 
 Hushed in deep silence, sleep ye when 't is calm ? 
 When from the pallid sky the sun descends, 
 
EX. LVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 297 
 
 With many a spot, that o'er his glaring orb 
 
 Uncertain wanders, stained ; red fiery streaks 
 
 Begin to flush around. The reeling clouds 
 
 Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet 
 5 Which master to obey : while rising slow, 
 
 Blank, in the leaden-colored east, the moon 
 
 Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. 
 Seen through the turbid, fluctuating air, 
 
 The stars obtuse emit a shivered ray ; 
 10 Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom, 
 
 And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. 
 
 Snatched in short eddies, plays the withered leaf; 
 
 And on the flood the dancing feather floats. 
 With broadened nostrils to the sky upturned, 
 15 The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale. 
 
 E'en as the matron, at her nightly task. 
 
 With pensive labor draws the flaxen thread, 
 
 The wasted taper and the crackling flame 
 
 Foretell the blast. 
 20 But chief the plumy race, 
 
 The tenants of the sky, its changes speak. 
 
 Retiring from the downs, where all day long 
 
 They picked their scanty fare, a blackening train 
 
 Of clamorous rooks thick urge their weary flight, 
 25 And seek the closing shelter of the grove ; 
 
 Assiduous, in his bower, the wailing owl 
 
 Plies his sad song. 
 
 The cormorant on high 
 
 Wheels from the deep, and screams along the land. 
 30 Loud shrieks the soaring hern ; and with wild wing 
 
 The circling sea-fowl cleave the flaky clouds. 
 
 Ocean, unequal pressed, with broken tide 
 
 And blind commotion heaves ; while from the shore, 
 
 Eat into caverns by the restless wave, 
 35 And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice, 
 
 That solemn sounding bids the world prepare. 
 Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, 
 
 And hurls the whole precipitated air 
 
 Down in a torrent. On the passive main 
 40 Descends the ethereal force, and with strong gust 
 
 Turns from its bottom the discolored deep. 
 
 Through the black night that sits immense around, 
 
 Lashed into foam, the fierce conflicting brine 
 
 Seems o'er a thousand raging waves to bum. 
 
298 RHETORICAL READING. [EX. LVI. 
 
 Meantime, the mountain billows, to the clouds 
 
 In dreadful tumult swelled, surge above surge, 
 
 Burst into chaos with tremendous roar, 
 
 And anchored navies from their station drive, 
 5 Wild as the winds, across the howling waste 
 
 Of mighty waters : now the inflated wave 
 
 Straining they scale, and now impetuous shoot 
 
 Into the secret chambers of the deep. 
 
 The wintry Baltic thundering o'er their head. 
 10 Emerging thence again, before the breath 
 
 Of full-exerted heaven they wing their course, 
 
 And dart on distant coasts ; if some sharp rock 
 
 Or shoal insidious break not their career. 
 
 And in loose fragments fling them floating round. 
 15 Nor less at land the loosened tempest reigns. 
 
 The mountain thunders ; and its sturdy sons 
 
 Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. 
 
 Lone on the midnight steep, and all aghast, 
 
 The dark, wayfaring stranger breathless toils, 
 20 And, often falling, climbs against the blast. 
 
 Low waves the rooted forest, vexed, and sheds 
 
 What of its tarnished honors yet remain ; 
 
 Dashed down, and scattered, by the tearing wind's 
 
 Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. 
 25 Thus struggling through the dissipated grove, 
 
 The whirling tempest raves along the plain ; 
 
 And on the cottage thatched, or lordly roof. 
 
 Keen-fastening, shakes them to the solid base. 
 
 Sleep frighted flies ; and round the rocking dome, 
 30 For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. 
 
 # # # # # # 
 
 Huge uproar lords it wide. The clouds, commixed 
 
 With stars swift gliding, sweep along the sky. 
 
 All Nature reels. Till Nature's King, who oft 
 35 Amid tempestuous darkness dwells alone. 
 
 And on the wings of the careering wind 
 
 Walks dreadfully serene, commands a calm ; 
 
 Then, straight, air, sea and earth, are hushed at once 
 As yet 't is midnight deep. The weary clouds, 
 40 Slow-meeting, mingle into solid gloom. 
 
 Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep. 
 
 Let me associate with the serious Night, 
 
 And Contemplation, her sedate compeer ; 
 
EX. Lvn.] Parker's exercises in 299 
 
 Let me shake off the intrusive cares of day, 
 
 And lay the meddling senses all aside. 
 Where now, ye lying vanities of life ! 
 
 Ye ever-tempting, ever-cheating train ! 
 5 Where are you now ? and what is your amount ? — 
 
 Vexation, disappointment, and remorse : 
 
 Sad, sickening thought ! and yet, deluded man, 
 
 A scene of crude disjointed visions past, 
 
 And broken slumbers, rises, still resolved, 
 10 With new-flushed hopes, to run the giddy round 
 Father of light and life ! Thou Good Supreme ! 
 
 O, teach me what is good ! teach me Thyself ! 
 
 Save me from folly, vanity and vice, 
 
 From every low pursuit I and feed my soul 
 15 With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure ; 
 
 Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss I TJumison. 
 
 EXERCISE LVn. 
 The Punishment of a lAar. 
 
 From the 2nd Book of Kings, Chapter V. 
 
 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 
 
 20 was also a mighty man in valor, but he was a leper. 
 
 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 
 
 25 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. 
 
 And the King of Syria said. Go to, go, and I will send 
 
 a letter unto the King of Israel. And he departed, and 
 
 30 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 mayst recover him of his 
 
 35 leprosy. 
 
 And it came to pass, when the King of Israel had read 
 
^00 RIIETOKICAL READING. [EX. LVtl. 
 
 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 ? 
 let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a 
 prophet in Israel. 
 
 10 So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, 
 and stood at th*e 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. 
 
 15 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 Aba- 
 na and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the 
 
 20 waters of Israel? may I not wash in them, and be clean? 
 So he turned and went away in a rage. 
 
 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 
 
 25 then, when he saith to thee. Wash and be clean. Then 
 went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, 
 according to the saying of the man of God : and his flesh 
 came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was 
 clean. 
 
 30 And he returned to the man of God, he and all his 
 company, and came and stood before him : and he said. 
 Behold, 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 servant. But he said, As the Lord liveth, before 
 
 35 whom I stand, I will receive none. And he urged him to 
 take it ; but he refused. 
 
 And Naaman said. Shall there not then, I pray thee, be 
 given to thy servant two mules' burden of earth ? for thy 
 servant will henceforth offer neither burnt-offering nor sac- 
 
 40 rifice unto other gods, but unto the Lord. In this thing 
 the Lord pardon thy servant, that when my master goeth 
 into the house of Rimmon to worship there, and he leaneth 
 on my hand, and I bow myself in the house of Rimmon : 
 when I bow down myself in the house of Rimmon, the 
 
EX. LVni.] RHETORICAL READING. 301 
 
 Lord pardon thy servant in this thing. And he said unto 
 him, Go in peace. So he departed from him a little way. 
 But Gehazi, the servant of Elisha the man of God, said. 
 Behold, my master hath spared Naaman this Syrian, in 
 5 not receiving- at his hands that which he brought : but as 
 the Lord liveth, 1 will run after him, and take somewhat 
 of him. So Gehazi followed after Naaman. 
 
 And when Naaman saw him running after him, he 
 lighted down from the chariot to meet him, and said. Is all 
 
 10 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 proph- 
 ets : give them, 1 pray thee, a talent of silver, and two 
 changes of garments. 
 
 15 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 
 
 20 bestowed them in the house : and he let the men go, and 
 they departed. But he went in, and stood before his 
 master. 
 
 And Elisha said unto him. Whence comest thou, Ge- 
 hazi ? And he said. Thy servant went no whither. And 
 
 25 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 
 
 30 Naaman shall cleave unto thee and unto thy seed forever. 
 And he went out from his presence a leper as white as 
 snow. 
 
 EXERCISE LVIII. 
 
 Reflections occasioned by a Man's perishing in a SnoW'Storm, 
 
 As thus the snows arise ; and foul, and fierce, 
 All Winter drives along the darkened air; 
 35 In his own loose revolving fields, the swain 
 Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend, 
 Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, 
 Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain : 
 Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 
 26 
 
302 Parker's exercises in [ex. lviii. 
 
 Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on 
 
 From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; 
 
 Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, 
 
 Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home 
 5 Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth 
 
 In many a vain attempt. 
 
 How sinks his soul ! 
 
 What black despair, what horror fills his heart ! 
 
 When for the dusky spot, which fancy feigned 
 10 His tufted cottage rising through the snow, 
 
 He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 
 
 Far from the track and blessed abode of man ! 
 
 While round him night resistless closes fast, 
 
 And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 
 15 Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 
 
 Then throng the busy shapes into his mind 
 
 Of covered pits, unfathomably deep, 
 
 A dire descent ! beyond the power of frost ! 
 
 Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, 
 20 Smoothed up with snow ; and, what is land, unknown ; 
 
 What water, of the still unfrozen spring, 
 
 In the loose marsh or solitary lake. 
 
 Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 
 These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks 
 25 Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift. 
 
 Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death. 
 
 Mixed with the tender anguish Nature shoots 
 
 Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, — 
 
 His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. 
 30 In vain for him the officious wife prepares 
 
 The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ; 
 
 In vain his little children, peeping out 
 
 Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, 
 
 With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! 
 35 Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, 
 
 Nor friends, nor sacred home. 
 
 On every nerve 
 
 The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 
 
 And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, 
 40 Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse. 
 
 Stretched out, and bleaching in the northern blast. 
 Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud. 
 
 Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround ; 
 
 They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 
 
EX. LIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 303 
 
 And wanton, often cruel, riot waste ; 
 Ah ! little think they, while they dance along, 
 How many feel, this very moment, death, 
 And all the sad variety of pain ! 
 5 How many sink in the devouring- flood. 
 Or more devouring flame ! How many bleed. 
 By shameful variance betwixt man and man ! 
 How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms , 
 Shut from the common air, and common use 
 
 10 Of their own limbs ! How many 'drink the cup 
 Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
 Of misery ! Sore pierced by wintry winds, 
 How many shrink into the sordid hut 
 Of cheerless poverty ! How many shake 
 
 15 With all the fiercer tortures of the mind. 
 Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ; 
 Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, 
 They furnish matter for the tragic Muse ! 
 
 E'en in the vale where Wisdom loves to dwell, 
 
 20 With friendship, peace, and contemplation joined, 
 How many, racked with honest passions, droop 
 In deep retired distress ! How many stand 
 Around the death-bed of their dearest friends. 
 And point the parting anguish ! 
 
 25 Thought fond Man 
 
 Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills. 
 That one incessant struggle render life, — 
 One scene of toil, of sufliering, and of fate, — 
 Vice in his high career would stand appalled, 
 
 30 And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think ; 
 The conscious heart of Charity would warm. 
 And her wide wish Benevolence dilate ; 
 The social tear would rise, the social sigh : 
 And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, 
 
 35 Refining still, the social passions work. Thomson. 
 
 EXERCISE LIX. 
 
 CdUisthenes^ Reproof of CleoiVs Flattery to Alexander. 
 
 If the king were present, Cleon, there would be no need 
 of my answering to what you have just proposed. He 
 would himself reprove you for endeavoring to draw him 
 
804 Parker's exercises in [ex. lx. 
 
 into an imitation of foreign absurdities, and for bringing 
 envy upon him by such unmanly flattery. 
 
 As he is absent, I take upon me to tell you, in his name, 
 that no praise is lasting, but what is rational ; and that 
 
 5 you do what you can to lessen his glory, instead of adding 
 to it. Heroes have never among us been deified, till after 
 their death ; and whatever may be your way of thinking, 
 Cleon, for my part, I wish the king may not, for many 
 years to come, obtain that honor. 
 
 10 You have mentioned, as precedents of what you pro- 
 pose, Hercules and Bacchus. Do you imagine, Cleon, that 
 they were deified over a cup of wine ? and are you and I 
 qualified to make gods ? Is the king, our sovereign, to 
 receive his divinity from you and me, who are his subjects ? 
 
 15 First try your power, whether you can make a king. It 
 is surely easier to make a king than a god ; to give an 
 earthly dominion, than a throne in heaven. I only wish 
 that the gods may have heard without offence the arro- 
 gant proposal you have made of adding one to their num- 
 
 20 ber ; and that they may still be so propitious to us as to 
 grant the continuance of that success to our afTairs with 
 which they have hitherto favored us. 
 
 For my part, I am not ashamed of my country ; nor do 
 I approve of our adopting the rites of foreign nations, or 
 
 25 learning from them how we ought to reverence our kings. 
 To receive laws or rules of conduct from them, what is it 
 but to confess ourselves inferior to them ? 
 
 EXERCISE LX. 
 
 Rural Felicity. 
 
 O, knew he but his happiness, of men 
 The happiest he, who, far from public rage, 
 
 30 Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, 
 Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life. 
 
 What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, 
 Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd 
 Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused? 
 
 35 Vile intercourse ! what though the glittering robe 
 Of every hue reflected light can give. 
 Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold. 
 The pride and gaze of fools ! oppress him not ? 
 
EX. LX.] RHETORICAL READING. 305 
 
 What though, from utmost land and sea purveyed, 
 
 For him each rarer tributary life 
 
 Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps 
 
 With luxury and death ? What though his bowl 
 5 Flames not with costly juice ; nor sunk in beds, 
 
 Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, 
 
 Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state ? 
 What though he knows not those fantastic joys 
 
 T^^at still amuse the wanton, still deceive • 
 10 A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain ; 
 
 Their hollow moments undelighted all ? 
 
 Sure peace is his ; a solid life, estranged 
 
 To disappointment, and fallacious hope : 
 
 Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, 
 15 In herbs and fruits. 
 
 Whatever greens the Spring, 
 
 When heaven descends in showers ; or bends the bough 
 
 When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams ; 
 
 Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies 
 20 Concealed, and fattens with the richest sap : 
 
 These are not wanting; nor the milky drove. 
 
 Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ; 
 
 Nor bleating mountains ; nor the chide of streams. 
 
 And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere 
 25 Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, 
 
 Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ; 
 
 Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, 
 
 Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear. 
 Here too dwells simple Truth ; plain Innocence ; 
 30 Unsullied Beauty ; sound unbroken Youth, 
 
 Patient of labor, with a little pleased ; 
 
 Health ever blooming; unambitious Toil, 
 
 Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease. 
 
 Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, 
 35 And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave. 
 
 Let such as deem it glory to destroy 
 
 Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek; 
 
 Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, 
 
 The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry. 
 40 Let some, far distant from their native soil 
 
 Urged or by want or hardened avarice, 
 
 Find other lands beneath another sun. 
 
 Let this through cities work his eager way, 
 
 By legal outrage and established guile, 
 26=*^= 
 
306 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxi. 
 
 The social sense extinct ; and that ferment 
 
 Mad into tumult the seditious herd, 
 
 Or melt them down to slavery. Let these 
 
 Insnare the wretched in the toils of law, 
 5 Fomenting discord, and perplexing right, 
 
 An iron race ! and those of fairer front. 
 
 But equal inhumanity, in courts. 
 
 Delusive pomp and dark cabals, delight; 
 
 Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile, 
 10 And tread the weary labyrinth of state. 
 
 While he, from all the stormy passions free 
 
 That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, 
 
 At distance safe, the human tempest roar, 
 
 AVrapped close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, 
 15 The rage of nations, and the crush of states, 
 
 Move not the man who, from the world escaped, 
 
 In still retreats, and flowery solitudes, 
 
 To Nature's voice attends, from month to month 
 
 And day to day, through the revolving year : 
 20 Admiring, sees her in her every shape : 
 
 Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart ; 
 
 Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. 
 
 Thomson, 
 
 EXERCISE LXI. 
 
 Hollars Address to the Peruvians. 
 
 My brave associates ! partners of my toils, my feelings 
 and my fame ! Can Rolla's words add vigor to the virtu- 
 
 25 ous energies which inspire your hearts? — No, — you 
 have judged as I have the foulness of the crafty plea by 
 which these bold invaders would delude ye. Your gener- 
 ous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which 
 in a war like this can animate their minds and ours. 
 
 30 They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for 
 plunder and extended rule ; — we — for our country, our 
 altars and our homes ! They follow an adventurer whom 
 they fear, and obey a power which they hate ; — we serve 
 a country which we love, a God whom we adore. 
 
 35 Where'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their 
 progress ; where'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns 
 their friendship. They boast they come but to improve 
 our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke 
 
EX. LXII.] RHETORICAL READTNG. 307 
 
 of error. Yes, — they will give enlightened freedom to our 
 minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice 
 and pride ! 
 
 They offer us their protection ; — yes, such protection 
 
 5 as vultures give to lambs, — covering and devouring them ! 
 
 They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited 
 
 and proved, for the desperate chance of something better 
 
 which they promise. 
 
 Be our plain answer this : The throne we honor is the 
 
 10 people's choice; the laws we reverence are our brave 
 fathers' legacy ; the faith we follow teaches us to live in 
 bonds of charity with all mankind, and die — with hope 
 of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this ; and 
 tell them, too, we seek no change, and least of all such 
 
 15 change as they would bring us ! — Sheridan. 
 
 EXERCISE LXn. 
 
 Oft in the Stilly Night. 
 
 Oft in the stilly night, 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
 
 Fond memory brings the light 
 
 Of other days around me ; 
 20 The smiles, the tears, of boyhood's years, 
 
 The words of love then spoken. 
 
 The eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone, 
 
 The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
 
 Thus in the stilly night, &c. 
 25 When I remember all 
 
 The friends so linked together, 
 
 I've seen around me fall. 
 
 Like leaves in winter weather, 
 
 I feel like one, who treads alone 
 30 Some banquet-hall deserted. 
 
 Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, 
 
 And all but he departed. 
 
 Thus in the stilly night, &c. T. Moore. 
 
308 Parker's exercises in [ex. Lxm 
 
 EXERCISE LXIII. 
 
 Extract from a Speech of Lord Mansfield, in the British 
 Parliament, in the year 1770. 
 
 My Lords, — I come now to speak upon what, indepu, 
 I would have gladly avoided, had I not been particularly 
 pointed at for the part I have taken in this bill. It has 
 been said by a noble lord on my left hand, that I likewise 
 am running the race of popularity. 
 
 5 If the noble lord means by popularity that applause 
 bestowed by after ages on good and virtuous actions, I 
 have long been struggling in that race ; to what purpose 
 all-trying time can alone determine : but if the noble 
 lord means that mushroom popularity that is raised with- 
 
 10 out merit and lost without crime, he is much mistaken in 
 his opinion. I defy the noble lord to point out a single 
 action of my life, where the popularity of the times ever 
 had the smallest influence on my determinations. 
 
 I thank God I have a more permanent and steady rule 
 
 15 for my conduct, — the dictates of my own breast. Those 
 that have foregone that pleasing adviser, and given up 
 their mind to be the slave of every popular impulse, I sin- 
 cerely pity ; I pity them still more, if their vanity leads 
 them to mistake the shouts of a mob for the trumpet of 
 
 20 fame. Experience might inform them, that many who 
 have been saluted with the huzzas of a crowd one day 
 have received their execrations the next ; and many, who, 
 by the popularity of their times, have been held up as 
 spotless patriots, have, nevertheless, appeared upon the 
 
 25 historian's page, when truth has triumphed over delusion, 
 the assassins of liberty. 
 
 Why, then, the noble lord can think I am ambitious of 
 present popularity, that echo of folly and shadow of re- 
 nown, I am at a loss to determine. 
 
 30 Besides, I do not know that the bill now before your 
 lordships will be popular: it depends much upon the 
 caprice of the day. It may not be popular to compel peo- 
 ple to pay their debts ; and in that case, the present must 
 be a very unpopular bill. It may not be popular neither 
 
 35 to take away any of the privileges of Parliament ; for I 
 very well remember, and many of your lordships may 
 remember, that not long ago the popular cry was for the 
 extension of privilege ; and so far did they carry it at 
 that time, that it was said that the privilege protected 
 
EX. LHV.] RHETORICAL READING. 309 
 
 members even in criminal actions ; nay, such was the 
 power of popular prejudices over weak minds, that the 
 very decisions of some of the courts were tinctured with 
 that doctrine. 
 
 5 It was undoubtedly an abominable doctrine ; I thought 
 so then, and think so still : but, nevertheless, it was a pop- 
 ular doctrine, and came immediately from those who are 
 called the friends of liberty; how deservedly, time will 
 show. True liberty, in my opinion, can only exist when 
 
 10 justice is equally administered to all ; to the king, and to 
 the beggar. 
 
 Where is the justice, then, or where is the law, that 
 protects a member of Parliament, more than any other 
 man, from the punishment due to his crimes ? The laws 
 
 15 of this country allow of no place, nor any employment, to 
 be a sanctuary for crimes ; and where I have the honor to 
 sit as judge, neither royal favor nor popular applause shall 
 ever protect the guilty. 
 
 I have now only to beg pardon for having employed so 
 
 20 much of your lordships' time; and I am sorry a bill, 
 fraught with so many good consequences, has not met 
 with an abler advocate ; but I doubt not your lordships' 
 determination will convince the world, that a bill, calcu- 
 lated to contribute so much to the equal distribution of jus- 
 
 25 tice as the present, requires with your lordships but very 
 little support. 
 
 EXERCISE LXIV. 
 
 An Address to the Deity. 
 
 O Thou ! whose balance does the mountains weigh ; 
 Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey ; 
 Whose breath can turn those watery worlds to fiame, 
 
 30 That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame ; 
 Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls, 
 And on the bounty of thy goodness calls. 
 
 ! give the winds all past offence to sweep, 
 To scatter wide, or bury in the deep ! 
 
 35 Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see, 
 And wholly dedicate my soul to thee I 
 Reign o'er my will ; my passions ebb and flow 
 At thy command, nor human motive know ! 
 
310 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxiv. 
 
 If anger boil, let anger be my praise, 
 
 And sin the graceful indignation raise. 
 
 My love be warm to succor the distressed, 
 
 And lift the burden from the soul oppressed. 
 5 O, may my understanding ever read 
 
 This glorious volume which thy wisdom made ! 
 
 May sea and land, and earth and heaven, be joined, 
 
 To bring the eternal Author to my mind ! 
 When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll, 
 10 May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul! 
 
 When earth 's in bloom, or planets proudly shine, 
 
 Adore, my heart, the Majesty divine ! 
 
 Grant I may ever, at the morning ray. 
 
 Open with prayer the consecrated day ; 
 15 Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise. 
 
 And with the mounting sun ascend the skies ; 
 
 As that advances, let my zeal improve, 
 
 And glow with ardor of consummate love ; 
 
 Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun 
 20 My endless worship shall be still begun ! 
 
 And oh ! permit the gloom of solemn night 
 
 To sacred thought may forcibly invite. 
 
 When this world 's shut, and awful planets rise. 
 
 Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies ! 
 25 Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight, 
 
 And show all nature in a milder light : 
 
 How every boisterous thought in calm subsides ; 
 
 How the smoothed spirit into goodness glides ! 
 Oh how divine ! to tread the milky way, 
 30 To the bright palace of the Lord of Day ; 
 
 His court admire, or for his favor sue. 
 
 Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew ; 
 
 Pleased to look down and see the world asleep, 
 
 While I long vigils to its Founder keep ! 
 35 Canst thou not shake the centre ? Oh control, 
 
 Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul ; 
 
 Thou, who canst still the raging of the flood, 
 
 Restrain the various tumults of my^blood; 
 
 Teach me with equal firmness to sustain 
 40 Alluring pleasure and assaulting pain. 
 
 O may I pant for thee in each desire ! 
 
 And with strong faith foment the holy fire ! 
 
 Stretch out my soul in hope, and grasp the prize 
 
 Which in eternity's deep bosom lies ! 
 
EX. LTV.] RHETORICAL READING. 311 
 
 At the great day of recompense, behold, 
 Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold ! 
 Then wafted upward to the blissful seat, 
 From age to age my grateful song repeat ; 
 5 My Light, my Life, my God, my Saviour see. 
 
 And rival angels in the praise of thee I Young. 
 
 EXERCISE LXV. 
 
 Cause of Differences in Opinion. 
 
 It is characteristic of the human mind not to be willing 
 to wait long in suspense on any question presented to it 
 for decision. When any new question or new subject 
 
 10 comes before us, we grasp hastily at the little information 
 in regard to it within our immediate reach, and then hurry 
 to a decision. We are not often willing to wait to consid- 
 er whether the subject is fairly within the grasp of our 
 powers, and whether all the facts which are important to 
 
 15 a proper consideration of it are before us. We decide at 
 
 once. It is not pleasant to be in suspense. Suspense 
 
 implies ignorance, and to admit ignorance is humiliating. 
 
 Hence most persons have a settled belief upon almost 
 
 every question which has been brought before them. In 
 
 20 expressing their opinions they mention things which they 
 believe, and things which they do not believe ; but very 
 few people have a third class of questions, which they ac- 
 knowledge to be beyond their grasp, so that in regard to 
 them they can neither believe nor disbelieve, but must 
 
 25 remain in suspense. 
 
 Now this is the secret of nine tenths of the difference 
 of opinion, and of the sharp disputes by which this world 
 is made so noisy a scene. Men jump at conclusions be- 
 fore they distinctly understand the premises ; and as each 
 
 30 one sees only a part of what he ought to see before form- 
 ing his opinion, it is not surprising that each should see a 
 different part, and should consequently be led to different 
 results. They then fall into a dispute, each presenting his 
 own partial view, and shutting his eyes to that exhibited 
 
 35 by his opponent. 
 
 Some of the mistakes which men thus fall into are mel- 
 ancholy ; others only ludicrous. Some European traveller 
 showed a map of the world to a Chinese philosopher. The 
 
312 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxvi. 
 
 philosopher looked at it a few moments, and then turned, 
 
 with proud and haughty look, and said to the bystanders, 
 
 " This map is entirely wrong ; the English know nothing 
 
 of geography. They have got China out upon one side 
 
 5 of the world, whereas it is, in fact, exactly in the middle." 
 
 Multitudes of amusing stories are related by travellers 
 
 of the mistakes and misconceptions and false reasonings 
 
 of semi-barbarous people, about the subjects of European 
 
 science and philosophy. They go to reasoning at once, 
 
 10 and fall into the grossest errors ; but still they have much 
 
 more confidence in their silly speculations than in any 
 
 evidence which their minds are capable of receiving. 
 
 Abbott, 
 
 EXERCISE LXVI. 
 The Last Rose of Summer. 
 
 'T IS the last rose of summer, 
 
 Left blooming alone ; 
 15 All her lovely companions 
 
 Are faded and gone ; 
 
 No flower of her kindred. 
 
 No rose-bud, is nigh, 
 
 To reflect back her blushes, 
 20 Or give sigh for sigh ! 
 
 1 1 '11 not leave thee, thou lone one ! 
 
 To pine on the stem ; 
 
 Since the lovely are sleeping, 
 
 Go, sleep thou with them ; 
 25 Thus kindly I scatter 
 
 Thy leaves o'er thy bed, 
 
 Where thy mates of the garden 
 
 Lie scentless and dead. 
 So soon may I follow ; 
 30 When friendships decay. 
 
 And from Love's shining circle 
 
 The gems drop away ! 
 
 When true hearts lie withered, 
 
 And fond ones are flown, 
 35 Oh ! who would inhabit 
 
 This bleak world alone ? T. Moore. 
 
EX. LXVU.] RHETORICAL READING. 313 
 
 EXERCISE LXVIl. 
 
 On the Importance of Order in the Distribution of Time. 
 
 Time we ought to consider as a sacred trust, committed 
 to us by God ; of which we are now the depositories, and 
 are to render an account at the last. That portion of it 
 which he has allotted to us is intended partly for the con- 
 5 cerns of this world, partly for those of the next. Let each 
 of these occupy, in the distribution of our time, that space 
 which properly belongs to it. 
 
 Let not the hours of hospitality and pleasure interfere 
 with the discharge of our necessary affairs ; and let not 
 
 10 what we call necessary affairs encroach upon the time 
 which is due to devotion. To everything there is a season, 
 and a time for every purpose under heaven. If we delay 
 till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day, we overcharge 
 the morrow with a burden which belongs not to it. We 
 
 15 load the wheels of time, and prevent them from carrying 
 us along smoothly. 
 
 He who every mornmg plans the transactions of the day, 
 and follows out that plan, carries on a thread which will 
 guide him through the labyrinth of the most busy life. 
 
 JiO The orderly arrangement of his time is like a ray of light, 
 which darts itself through all his affairs. But where no 
 plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered 
 merely to the chance of incidents, all things lie huddled 
 together in one chaos, which admits neithep of distribution 
 
 25 nor review. 
 
 The first requisite for introducmg order into the man- 
 agement of time is to be impressed with a just sense of 
 its value. Let us consider well how much depends upon 
 it, and how fast it flies away. The bulk of men are in 
 
 30 nothing more capricious and inconsistent than in their 
 
 appreciation of time. When they think of it as the 
 
 measure of their continuance on earth, they highly prize 
 
 it, and with the greatest anxiety seek to lengthen it out. 
 
 But when they view it in separate parcels, thc)'^ appear 
 
 35 to hold it in contempt, and squander it with inconsiderate 
 profusion. While they complain that life is short, they 
 are often wishing its different periods at an end. Covetous 
 of e\QTy other possession, of time only they are prodigal. 
 They allow every idle man to be master of this property, 
 
 40 and make every frivolous occupation welcome that can 
 help them to consume it 
 27 
 
314 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxviii. 
 
 Among those who are so careless of time, it is not to be 
 expected that order should be observed in its distribution. 
 But, by this fatal neglect, how many materials of severe 
 and lasting regret are they laying up in store for them- 
 5 selves ! The time which they suffer to pass away in the 
 midst of confusion, bitter repentance seeks afterwards in 
 vain to recall. What was omitted to be done at its proper 
 moment, arises to be the torment of some future season. 
 Manhood is disgraced by the consequences of neglected 
 
 10 youth. Old age, oppressed by cares that belonged to a 
 former period, labors under a burden not its own. At the 
 close of life, the dying man beholds with anguish that his 
 days are finishing, when his preparation for eternity is 
 hardly commenced. Such are the effects of a disorderly 
 
 15 waste of time, through not attending to its value. Every- 
 thing in the life of such persons is misplaced. Nothing is 
 performed aright, from not being performed in due season. 
 But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time 
 takes the proper method of escaping those manifold evils. 
 
 20 He is justly said to redeem the time. By proper manage- 
 ment he prolongs it. He lives much in little space ; more 
 in a few years than others do in many. He can live to 
 God and his own soul, and at the same time, attend to all 
 the lawful interests of the present world. He looks back 
 
 25 on the past, and provides for the future. 
 
 He catches and arrests the hours as they fly. They are 
 marked down for useful purposes, and their memory re- 
 mains. Whereas those hours fleet by the man of confu- 
 sion like a shadow. His days and years are either blanks, 
 
 *J0 of which he has no remembrance, or they are fiUed up 
 with so confused and irregular a succession of unfinished 
 transactions, that though he remembers he has been busy, 
 yet he can give no account of the business which has 
 employed him. — Blair. 
 
 EXERCISE LXVm. 
 
 The Katydid. 
 
 35 I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice, 
 
 Wherever thou art hid. 
 Thou testy little dogmatist, 
 Thou pretty Katydid ' 
 
EX. LXVm.] KIIKTORICAL KEADLNG. 31ft 
 
 Thou 'mindest me of gentlefolks, — 
 
 Old gentlefolks are they, — 
 
 Thou say'st an undisputed thing 
 
 In such a solemn way. 
 5 Thou art a female. Katydid ! 
 
 I know it by the trill 
 
 That quivers through thy piercing notes, 
 
 So petulant and shrill. 
 
 I think there is a knot of you 
 10 Beneath the hollow tree, — 
 
 A knot of spinster Katydids, — 
 
 Do Katydids drink tea ? 
 
 Oh, tell me where did Katy live, 
 
 And what did Katy do ? 
 15 And was she very fair and young, 
 
 And yet so wicked too ? 
 
 Did Katy love a naughty man. 
 
 Or kiss more cheeks than one ? 
 
 I warrant Katy did no more 
 20 Than many a Kate has done. 
 
 Dear me I I '11 tell you all about 
 
 My fuss with little Jane, 
 
 And Ann, with whom I used to walk 
 
 So often down the lane, 
 25 And all that tore their locks of black. 
 
 Or wet their eyes of blue, — 
 
 Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid, 
 
 What did poor Katy do ? 
 
 Ah no I the living oak shall crash, 
 30 That stood for ages still. 
 
 The rock shall rend its mossy base, 
 
 And thunder down the hill, 
 
 Before the little Katydid 
 
 Shall add one word, to tell 
 35 The mystic story of the maid 
 
 Whose name she knows so well. 
 Peace to the ever-murmuring race ! 
 
 And when the latest one 
 
 Shall fold in death her feeble wings, 
 40 Beneath the autumn sun, 
 
 Then shall she raise her fainting voice, 
 
 And lift her drooping lid, 
 
 And then the child of future years 
 
 Shall learn what Katy did. O. W. Holmes. 
 
)16 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [eX. LXIX. 
 
 EXERCISE LXIX. 
 
 Conclusion of an Address to President Washington, in 
 allusion to his retiring from office. 
 
 Sir, while we entertain a grateful conviction that your 
 wise, firm, and patriotic administration has been signally 
 conducive to the success of the present form of government, 
 we cannot forbear to express the deep sensations of regret 
 5 with which we contemplate your intended retirement from 
 office. 
 
 As no other suitable occasion may occur, we cannot suf- 
 fer the present to pass without attempting to disclose some 
 of the emotions which it cannot fail to awaken. 
 
 10 The gratitude and admiration of your countrymen are 
 still drawn to the recollection of those resplendent virtues 
 and talents which were so eminently instrumental to the 
 achievement of the Revolution, and of which that glorious 
 event will ever be the memorial. Your obedience to the 
 
 15 voice of duty and your country, when you quitted reluct- 
 antly, a second time, the retreat you had chosen, and first 
 accepted the presidency, afforded a new proof of the de- 
 votedness of your zeal in its service, and an earnest of the 
 patriotism and success which has characterized your admin- 
 
 20 istration. As the grateful confidence of the citizens in the 
 virtues of their chief magistrate has essentially contributed 
 to that success, we persuade ourselves that the millions 
 whom we represent participate with us in the anxious 
 solicitude of the present occasion. 
 
 25 Yet we cannot be unmindful that your moderation and 
 magnanimity, twice displayed by retiring from your exalted 
 stations, aflford examples no less rare and instructive to 
 mankind than valuable to a republic. 
 
 Although we are sensible that this event, of itself, 
 
 30 completes the lustre of a character already conspicuously 
 unrivalled by the coincidence of virtue, talents, success, 
 and public estimation, yet we conceive we owe it to you, sir, 
 and still more emphatically to ourselves, and to our nation, 
 (of the language of whose hearts we presume to think 
 
 35 ourselves at this moment the faithful interpreters,) to ex- 
 press the sentiments with which it is contemplated. 
 
 The spectacle of a free and enlightened nation offering 
 by its representatives the tribute of unfeigned approbation 
 to its first citizen, however novel and interesting it may be, 
 
 40 derives all its lustre (a lustre which accident or enthusiasm 
 
EX. LXX.] RHETORICAL READING. 317 
 
 coula not bestow, and which adulation would tarnish,) 
 from the transcendent merit of which it is the voluntary- 
 testimony. 
 
 May you long enjoy that liberty which is so dear to 
 
 5 you, and to which your name will ever be so dear. May 
 your own virtues and a nation's prayers obtain the happiest 
 sunshine for the decline of your days, and the choicest of 
 future blessings. For our country's sake, for the sake of 
 republican liberty, it is our earnest wish that your example 
 
 10 may be the guide of your successors, and thus, after being 
 the ornament and safeguard of the present age, become 
 the patrimony of our descendants. — Fisher Ames. 
 
 EXERCISE LXX. 
 The Frost. 
 
 The Frost looked forth one still, clear night, 
 
 And whispered, " Now I shall be out of sight ; 
 15 So, through the valley, and over the height, 
 
 In silence I '11 take my way. 
 
 I will not go on like that blustering train — 
 
 The wind, and the snow, the hail and the rain, 
 
 Who make so much bustle and noise in vain ; 
 20 But I '11 be as busy as they." 
 
 Then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest 
 
 He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed 
 
 In diamond beads ; and over the breast 
 
 Of the quivering lake he spread 
 25 A coat of mail, that it need not fear 
 
 The downward point of many a spear, 
 
 That he hung on its margin far and near, 
 
 Where a rock could rear its head. 
 
 He went to the windows of those who slept, 
 30 And over each pane like a fairy he crept ; 
 
 Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, 
 
 By the light of the moon were seen 
 
 Most beautiful things ; there were flowers and trees ; 
 
 There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees ; 
 35 There were cities, with temples and towers ; and these 
 
 All pictured in silver sheen. 
 
 But he did one thing that was hardly fair, — 
 
 He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there 
 
 That all had forgotten for him to prepare, 
 21* 
 
318 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [EX. T.TTT. 
 
 " Now just to set them thinking, 
 I '11 bite this basket of fruit," said he ; 
 " This costly pitcher I '11 burst in three ; 
 And the glass of water they 've left for me 
 5 Shall ' tchick,' to tell them I 'm drinking." 
 
 H. F, Gould. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXI. 
 
 Character of Lord Chatham. 
 
 The secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had 
 not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the 
 features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. 
 His august mind overawed majesty, and one of his sover- 
 
 10 eigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence, that he 
 conspired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his 
 superiority. 
 
 No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious politics, 
 no idle contest for ministerial victories, sunk him to the 
 
 15 vulgar level of the great: but overbearing, persuasive, 
 and impracticable, his object was England, his ambition 
 was fame. Without dividing, he destroyed party ; with- 
 out corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France 
 sunk beneath him. With one hand he smote the house 
 
 20 of Bourbon, and wielded in the other the democracy of 
 England. 
 
 The sight of his mind was infinite ; and his schemes 
 were to affect, not England, not the present age only, but 
 Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by 
 
 25 which these schemes were accomplished; always season- 
 able, always adequate, the suggestions of an understand- 
 ing animated by ardor, and enlightened by prophecy. 
 
 The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and in- 
 dolent were unknown to him. No domestic difficulties, 
 
 30 no domestic weakness, reached him ; but aloof from the 
 sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, 
 he came occasionally into our system, to counsel and to 
 decide. 
 
 A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so au- 
 
 35 thoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the treasury 
 trembled at the name of Pitt through all her classes of 
 venality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found 
 defects in this statesman, and talked much of the incon- 
 
EX. LXXIl.] RHETORICAL READING. 319 
 
 sistency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victo- 
 ries ; but the history of his country and the calamities of 
 the enemy answered and refuted her. 
 
 Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his elo- 
 
 5 quence was an era in the senate, peculiar and spontane- 
 ous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinct- 
 ive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the 
 splendid conflagration of Tully ; it resembled sometimes 
 the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. 
 
 10 Like Murray, he did not conduct the understanding 
 through the painful subtilty of argumentation ; nor was 
 he, like Townshend, forever on the rack of exertion ; but 
 rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point 
 by the flashings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, 
 
 15 were felt, but could not be followed. 
 
 Upon the whole, there was in this man something that 
 could create, subvert, or reform; an understanding, a 
 spirit, and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, 
 or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the 
 
 20 wilderness of free minds with unbounded authority; some- 
 thing that could establish or overwhelm empire, and strike 
 a blow in the world that should resound through the uni- 
 verse. — Grattan. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXn. 
 
 CardiTial Wolsey and Cromwell. 
 
 Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ' 
 25 This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost. 
 And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 30 His greatness is a ripening, nips his shoot — 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured. 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 These many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride 
 35 At length broke under me ; and now has left me. 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
 Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye ! 
 I feel my heart new opened. Oh how wretched 
 
320 Parker's exercises in [ex. Lxxn. 
 
 Is that poor man who hangs on princes' favors ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
 That sweet regard of princes, and his ruin. 
 More pangs and fears than war or women have ; 
 5 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 
 Never to hope again. [Enter Cromwell.) 
 
 Why, how now, Cromwell ? 
 
 Cromwell. I have no power to speak, sir. 
 Wol. What! amazed 
 10 At my misfortunes ? Can thy spirit wonder 
 A great man should decline ? Nay, if you weep, 
 I 'm fallen indeed. 
 
 Crom. How does your grace ? 
 ^Wol Why, well; 
 15 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
 I know myself now, and I feel within me 
 A peace above all earthly dignities ; 
 A still and quiet conscience. The king has eased me. 
 I humbly thank his grace : and, from these shoulders, 
 20 These ruined pillars, out of pity taken 
 A load would sink a navy, too much honor. 
 Oh, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 't is a burden, 
 Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven! 
 
 Crom. I 'm glad your grace has made that right use of it. 
 25 Wol. I hope I have. I 'm able now, methinks. 
 Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, 
 To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
 Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
 What news abroad ? 
 oO Crom. The heaviest and the worst 
 Is your displeasure with the king. 
 Wol. God bless him ! 
 
 Crom.. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
 Lord Chancellor in your place. 
 
 35 Wol. That 's somewhat sudden 
 
 But he 's a learned man. May he continue 
 Long in his highness' favor, and do justice. 
 For truth's sake and his conscience ; that his bones. 
 When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
 40 May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept over him ! 
 What more ? 
 
 Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome ; 
 Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Wol. That 's news, indeed ! 
 
EX. LXXn.] RHETORICAL READING. 321 
 
 Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 
 Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
 This day was viewed in open as his queen, 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 
 5 Only about her coronation. 
 
 Wol. There was the weight that pulled me down, O 
 Cromwell ! 
 The king has gone beyond me : all my glories 
 In that one woman I have lost forever. 
 
 10 No sun shall ever usher forth my honors. 
 Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
 Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ! 
 I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
 To be thy lord and master ; seek the king — 
 
 15 (That sun I pray may never set !) — I 've told him 
 What and how true thou art : he will advance thee : 
 Some little memory of me will stir him 
 (I know his noble nature) not to let 
 Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, 
 
 20 Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
 For thine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. O my lord ! 
 Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master? 
 
 25 Bear witness all ye that have not hearts of iron. 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord! 
 The king shall have my service ; but my prayers, 
 Forever and forever, shall be yours. 
 
 Wol. Cromwell — I did not think to shed a tear 
 
 30 In all my miseries — but thou hast forced me. 
 
 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman 
 
 Let 's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 
 And when I am forgotten, as I shall be. 
 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 
 35 Of me must more be heard — say then, I taught thee • 
 Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 
 
 40 Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me. 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 
 By that sin fell the angels : how can man, then, 
 (Though the image of his Maker,) hope to win by it? 
 Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that wait thee * 
 
 45 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 
322 Parker's exercises in [ex. Lxxm. 
 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 Thy God's and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 
 
 5 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king 
 
 And prithee lead me in 
 
 There take an inventory of all I have : 
 To the last penny, 't is the king's. My robe, 
 And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
 10 I dare now call my own. Cromwell, CromweU 
 Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
 I served my king, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies ! 
 Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
 15 Wol. So I have. Farewell 
 
 The hopes of court ! — My hopes in heaven do dwell. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 EXERCISE LXXIII. 
 Resurrection. 
 
 From 1 Corinthians, Chapter XV. 
 
 Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel whicn 
 I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and 
 wherein ye stand ; by which also ye are saved, if ye keep 
 
 20 in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have 
 believed in vain. 
 
 For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also 
 received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the 
 scriptures ; and that he was buried, and that he rose again 
 
 25 the third day, according to the scriptures ; and that he was 
 seen of Cephas, then of the twelve. After that he was 
 seen of above five hundred brethren at once ; of whom the 
 greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen 
 asleep. 
 
 30 After that he was seen of James ; then of all the apos- 
 tles ; and last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born 
 out of due time. For I am the least of the apostles, that 
 I am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted 
 the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what 
 
 35 I am ; and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not 
 in vain ; but I labored more abundantly than they all : yet 
 not I, but the grace of God which was with me. There- 
 
EX. LXXIII.J RHETORICAL READING. 323 
 
 fore, whether it were I or they, so we preach, and so ye 
 believed. 
 
 Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, 
 how say some among you that there is no resurrection of 
 5 the dead ? But if there be no resurrection of the dead, 
 then is Christ not risen. And if Christ be not risen, then 
 is our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain. Yea, 
 and we are found false witnesses of God ; because we have 
 testified of God that he raised up Christ : whom he raised 
 
 10 not up, if so be that the dead rise not. For if the dead 
 rise not, then is not Christ raised : and if Christ be not 
 raised, your faith is vain ; ye are yet in your sins. Then 
 they also which are fallen asleep in Christ are perished. 
 If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all 
 
 15 men most miserable. 
 
 But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the 
 first fruits of them that slept. For since by man came 
 death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. 
 For as in Adam all die, even so is Christ shall all be made 
 
 20 alive. 
 
 But every man in his own order : Christ the first fruits ; 
 afterward they that are Christ's at his coming. Then 
 Cometh the end, when he shall have delivered up the king- 
 dom to God, even the Father ; when he shall have put 
 
 25 down all rule, and all authority, and power. For he must 
 reign, till he hath put all enemies under his feet. The 
 last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. For he hath 
 put all things under his feet. 
 
 But when he saith, all things are put under him, it is 
 
 30 manifest that he is excepted which did put all things under 
 
 him. And when all things shall be subdued unto him, 
 
 then shall the Son also himself be subject unto him that 
 
 put all things under him, that God may be all in all. 
 
 Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, 
 
 35 if the dead rise not at all ? why are they then baptized for 
 the dead ? and why stand we in jeopardy every hour ? I 
 protest by your rejoicing, which I have, in Christ Jesus 
 our Lord, I die daily. If after the manner of men I have 
 fought with beasts, at Ephesus, what advantageth it me 
 
 40 if the dead rise not ? let us eat and drink ; for to-morrow 
 we die. 
 
 Be not deceived ; evil communications corrupt good man- 
 ners. Awake to righteousness, and sin not ; for some have 
 not the knowledge of God. I speak this to your shame. 
 
324 pakker's exercises tn [ex. Lxxm. 
 
 But some man will say, How are the dead raised up ? 
 and with what body do they come ? Thou fool, that which 
 thou sowest is not quickened, except it die. And that 
 which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall 
 5 be, but bare grain ; it may chance of wheat, or of some 
 other grain : but God giveth it a body as it ha-th pleased 
 him, and to every seed his own body. 
 
 All flesh is not the same flesh : but there is one kind of 
 flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and 
 
 10 another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bod- 
 ies terrestrial : but the glory of the celestial is one, and the 
 glory of the terrestrial is another. 
 
 There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the 
 moon, and another glory of the stars : for one star diflereth 
 
 15 from another star in glory. So also is the resurrection of 
 the dead : it is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorrup- 
 tion : it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory : it is sown 
 m weakness, it is raised in power : it is sown a natural 
 body, it is raised a spiritual body. 
 
 20 There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. 
 And so it is written. The first man Adam was made a liv- 
 ing soul, the last Adam was made a quickening spirit. 
 Howbeit, that was not first which is spiritual, but that 
 which is natural; and afterward that which is spiritual. 
 
 25 The first man is of the earth, earthy; the second man is 
 the Lord from heaven. As is the earthy, such are they 
 also that are earthy ; and as is the heavenly, such are they 
 also that are heavenly. And as we have borne the image 
 of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly. 
 
 30 Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot 
 inherit the kingdom of God ; neither doth corruption inherit 
 incorruption. Behold, I show you a mystery : We shall 
 not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in 
 the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump ; for the trumpet 
 
 35 shall sound ; and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and 
 we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on 
 incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. 
 
 So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, 
 and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall 
 
 40 be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is 
 swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting ? 
 O grave, where is thy victory ? The sting of death is sin, 
 and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God 
 which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
EX. LXXrV.] RHETORICAL READING. 325 
 
 Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmov- 
 able, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch 
 as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the Lord. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXIV. 
 Selfishness Reproved. 
 
 Has God, thou fool ! worked solely for thy good, 
 5 Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food ? 
 
 Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn. 
 
 For him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn. 
 
 Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings ? 
 
 Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. 
 10 Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? 
 
 Loves of his own, and raptures, swell the note. 
 
 The bounding steed you pompously bestride 
 
 Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. 
 
 Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain ? 
 15 The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain. 
 
 Thine the full harvest of the golden year ? 
 
 Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer. 
 
 The hog that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call. 
 
 Lives on the labors of this lord of all. 
 20 Know, Nature's children all divide her care j 
 
 The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear. 
 
 While man exclaims, " See all things for my use ! 
 
 " See man for mine ! " replies a pampered goose 
 
 And just as short of reason he must fall 
 25 Who thinks all made for one, not one for all. 
 
 Grant that the powerful still the weak control 
 
 Be man the wit and tyrant of the whole : 
 
 Nature that tyrant checks ; he only knows, 
 
 And helps another creature's wants and woes. 
 30 Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, 
 
 Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove ? 
 
 Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings ? 
 
 Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings ? 
 
 Man cares for all : to birds he gives his woods, 
 35 To beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods ; 
 
 For some his interest prompts him to provide. 
 
 For more his pleasures, yet for more his pride. 
 
 All feed on one vain patron, and enjoy 
 
 The extensive blessing of his luxury. 
 28 
 
326 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv 
 
 That very life his learned hunger craves 
 He saves from famine, from the savage saves ; 
 Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast ; 
 And, till he ends the being, makes it blest : 
 5 Which sees no more the stroke, nor feels the pain, 
 Than favored man by touch ethereal slain. 
 The creature had his feast of life before ; 
 Thou too must perish, when thy feast is o'er ! Pope. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXV. 
 
 Extract from an Address delivered before the New England 
 Society in the City of New Ycrrk, Dec. 23, 1839. 
 
 Let me not be thought, in this allusion and others like 
 
 10 it in which I have already indulged, to slight the claims 
 of the Virginia colony, or to do designed injustice to its 
 original settlers. There are laurels enough growing wild 
 upon the graves of Plymouth, without tearing a leaf 
 from those of Jamestown. New England does not require 
 
 15 to have other parts of the country cast into shade, in order 
 that the brightness of her own early days may be seen and 
 admired. Least of all, would any son of New England be 
 found uttering a word in wanton disparagement of " our 
 noble, patriotic, sister colony, Virginia," as she was once 
 
 20 justly termed by the patriots of Faneuil Hall. 
 
 There are circumstances of peculiar and beautiful cor- 
 respondence in the careers of Virginia and New England, 
 which must ever constitute a bond of sympathy, affection 
 and pride, between their children. Not only did they form 
 
 25 respectively the great northern and southern rallying-points 
 of civilization on this continent — not only was the most 
 friendly competition, or the most cordial cooperation, as 
 circumstances allowed, kept up between them during their 
 early colonial existence — but who forgets the generous 
 
 30 emulation, the noble rivalry, with which they continually 
 challenged and seconded each other in resisting the first 
 beginnings of British aggression, in the persons of their 
 James Otises and Patrick Henrys ? 
 
 W^ho forgets, that, while that resistance was first brought 
 
 35 to a practical test in New England at Lexington and Con- 
 cord and Bunker Hill, fortune, as if resolved to restore the 
 balance of renown between the two, reserved for the York- 
 
EX. LXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 327 
 
 town of Virginia the last crowning victory of independ- 
 ence ? Who forgets that, while the hand by which the 
 original declaration of that independence was drafted was 
 furnished by Virginia, the tongue by which the adoption 
 
 5 of that instrument was defended and secured was supplied 
 by New England — a bond of common glory, upon which 
 not death alone seemed to set his seal, but Deity, I had 
 almost said, to affix an immortal sanction, when the spirits 
 by which that hand and tongue were moved were caught 
 
 10 up together to the clouds on the same great day of the 
 Ration's jubilee. 
 
 Nor let me omit to allude to a peculiar distinction 
 which belongs to Virginia alone. It is her preeminent 
 honor and pride, that the name which the whole country 
 
 15 acknowledges as that of a Father she can claim as that 
 of a son — a name at which comparison ceases — to which 
 there is nothing similar, nothing second — a name com- 
 bining in its associations all that was most pure and godly 
 in the nature of the pilgrims, with all that was most brave 
 
 20 and manly in the character of the patriots — a name above 
 every name in the annals of human liberty ! 
 
 But I cannot refrain from adding, that not more does 
 the fame of Washington surpass that of every other public 
 character which America or the world at large has yet 
 
 25 produced, than the New England colony, in its origin and 
 its influences, its objects and its results, excels that from 
 which Washington was destined to proceed. 
 
 In one point, indeed, and that, it is true, a point of no 
 inconsiderable moment, the colonies of Jamestown and 
 
 30 Plymouth were alike. Both were colonies of English- 
 men; — and in running down the history of our country 
 from its first colonization to the present hour, I need hardly 
 say that no single circumstance can be found which has 
 exercised a more propitious and elevating influence upon 
 
 35 its fortunes than the English origin of its settlers. 
 
 Not to take up time in discussing either the abstract 
 adaptation of the Anglo-Saxon character to the circum- 
 stances of a new country, or its relative capacity for the 
 establishment and enjoyment of free institutions, — the 
 
 40 most cursory glance at the comparative condition, past or 
 present, of those portions of the new world which were 
 planted by other nations is amply sufficient to illustrate 
 this idea. Indeed, our own continent aflfords an illustra- 
 tion of it impressed upon us anew by recent events in the 
 
328 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv. 
 
 Canadian colonies, which renders any reference to the 
 other entirely superfluous. The contrast between the 
 social, moral and intellectual state of the two parts of 
 North America which were peopled respectively by Eng- 
 5 lishmen and Frenchmen has been often alluded to. But 
 a comparison of their political conditions exhibits differ- 
 ences still more striking. 
 
 Go back to the period immediately preceding the stamp 
 act, and survey the circumstances of the two portions of 
 
 10 country, as they then existed. Both are in a state of 
 colonial dependence on Great Britain. But the one has 
 just been reduced to that state by force of arms. 
 
 Its fields and villages have just been the scenes of the 
 pillage and plunder which always march in the train ot 
 
 15 conquest ; the allegiance of their owners has been vio- 
 lently transferred to new masters as the penalty of defeat; 
 and, to keep alive the more certainly the vindictive 
 feelings which belong to the bosoms of a vanquished peo- 
 ple, and to frustrate the more entirely the natural influ- 
 
 20 ences of time and custom in healing up the wounds which 
 such a subjugation has inflicted, the laws of their con- 
 querors are enacted and administered in a strange tongue, 
 and one which continually reminds them that the yoke 
 under which they have passed is that of a nation towards 
 
 25 which they have an hereditary hatred. 
 
 The people of the other portion, on the contrary, owe 
 their relation to the common sovereign of them both, to 
 nothing but their own natural and voluntary choice — feel 
 towards the nation over which he presides nothing but the 
 
 30 attachment and veneration of children towards the parent 
 of their pride, and are bound to it by the powerful ties of a 
 common history, a common language, and a common blood. 
 Tell me, now, which of the two will soonest grow impatient 
 of its colonial restraint, soonest throw ofl' its foreign subor- 
 
 35 dination, and soonest assert itself free and independent? 
 
 And what other solution can any one suggest to the 
 
 problem presented by the fact as it exists — the very 
 
 reverse of that which would thus ha^e been predicted — 
 
 what other clue can any one offer to the mystery, that 
 
 40 the French colonies should have remained, not entirely 
 quietly, indeed, but with only occasional returns of inef- 
 fectual throes and spasms, up to this very hour, in a polit- 
 ical condition which everything would seem to have 
 conspired to render loathsome and abhorrent — while the 
 
EX. LXXV.J RHETORICAL HEADING. 
 
 :]29 
 
 English colonies, snapping alike every link either of love 
 or of power, breaking every bond both of affection and 
 authority, resolved themselves into an independent nation 
 half a century ago, — what other explanation, I repeat, can 
 5 any one give to this paradox fulfilled, than that which 
 springs from a consideration of the comparative capacities 
 for self-improvement and self-government of the races by 
 which they were planted ? 
 
 A common history, a common language, a common 
 
 10 blood, were, indeed, links of no ordinary strength, between 
 the Atlantic colonies and the mother country. But that 
 language was the language in which Milton had sung, 
 Pym pleaded, and Locke reasoned; that blood was the 
 blood which Hampden had poured out on the plain of 
 
 15 Chalgrove, and in which Sidney and Russell had weltered 
 on the block of martyrdom ; and that history had been 
 the history of toiling, struggling, but still-advancing liberty, 
 for a thousand years. 
 
 Such links could only unite the free. They lost their 
 
 20 tenacity in a moment when attempted to be recast on the 
 forge of despotism and employed in the service of oppres- 
 sion ; nay, the brittle fragments into which they were 
 broken in such a process were soon moulded and tempered 
 and sharpened into the very blades of a triumphant resist- 
 
 25 ance. 
 
 What more effective instruments, what more powerful 
 incitements, did our fathers enjoy, in their revolutionary 
 struggle, than the lessons afforded them in the language, 
 the examples held up to them in the history, the principles, 
 
 30 opinions and sensibilities, flowing from the hearts and 
 vibrating through the veins, which they inherited from the 
 very nation against which they were contending ! 
 
 Yes, let us not omit, even on this day, when we com- 
 memorate the foundation of a colony which dates back its 
 
 35 origin to British bigotry and British persecution — even in 
 this connection, too, when we are speaking of that contest 
 for liberty which owed its commencement to British 
 oppression and British despotism — to express our gratitude 
 to God, that old England was, still, our mother country, 
 
 40 and to acknowledge our obligations to our British ances- 
 tors for the glorious capabilities which they bequeathed 
 us. 
 
 But with the single exception that both emigrated from 
 England, the colonies of Jamestown and Plymouth had 
 29^ 
 
330 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv. 
 
 nothing in common, and to all outward appearances the 
 former enjoyed every advantage. The two companies, as 
 it happened, though so long an interval elapsed between 
 their reaching America, left their native land within about 
 5 a year of each other ; but under what widely different cir- 
 cumstances did they embark ! 
 
 The former set sail from the port of the metropolis, in a 
 squadron of three vessels, under an experienced com- 
 mander, under the patronage of a wealthy and powerful 
 
 10 corporation, and with an ample patent from the crown. 
 
 The latter betook themselves to their solitary bark, by 
 stealth, under cover of the night, and from a bleak and 
 desert heath in Lincolnshire, while a band of armed horse- 
 men, rushing down upon them before the embarkation was 
 
 15 completed, made prisoners of all who were not already on 
 board, and condemned husbands and wives, and parents 
 and children, to a cruel and almost hopeless separation. 
 
 Nor did their respective arrivals on the American shores, 
 though divided by a period of thirteen years, present a less 
 
 20 signal contrast. The Virginia colony entered the harbor 
 of Jamestown about the middle of May, and never could 
 that lovely Queen of Spring have seemed lovelier than 
 when she put on her flowery kirtle and her wreath of 
 clusters, to welcome those admiring strangers to the enjoy- 
 
 25 ment of her luxuriant vegetation. 
 
 There were no Mayflowers for the Pilgrims, save the 
 name, written, as in mockery, on the stern of their treach- 
 erous ship. They entered the harbor of Plymouth on the 
 shortest day in the year, in this last quarter of Decem- 
 
 30 ber, — and when could the rigid Winter-King have looked 
 more repulsive, than when, shrouded with snow and 
 crowned with ice, he admitted those shivering wanderers 
 within the realms of his dreary domination ? 
 
 But mark the sequel. From a soil teeming with every 
 
 35 variety of production for food, for fragrance, for beauty, for 
 profit, the Jamestown colonists reaped only disappointment, 
 discord, wretchedness. Having failed in the great object 
 of their adventure — the discovery of gold — they soon grew 
 weary of their condition, and within three years after their 
 
 40 arrival are found on the point of abandoning the country. 
 
 Indeed, they are actually embarked, one and all, with 
 
 this intent, and are already at the mouth of the river, 
 
 when, falling in with new hands and fresh supplies which 
 
 have been sent to their relief, they are induced to return 
 
 45 once more to their deserted village. 
 
EX. LXrV.] RHETORICAL READING. '^^l 
 
 But even up to the very year in which the pilgrims 
 landed, ten years after this renewal of their designs, they 
 " had hardly become settled in their minds," had hardly 
 abandoned the purpose of ultimately returning to Eng- 
 5 land ; and their condition may be illustrated by the fact, 
 that in 1619, and again in 1621, cargoes of young women, 
 (a commodity of which there was scarcely a sample in the 
 whole plantation — and would to God that all the traffic 
 in human flesh on the Virginian coast, even at this early 
 
 10 period, had been as innocent in itself and as beneficial in 
 
 its results ! — ) were sent out by the corporation in London 
 
 and sold to the planters for wives, at from one hundred and 
 
 twenty to one hundred and fifty pounds of tobacco apiece ! 
 
 Nor was the political condition of the Jamestown colony 
 
 15 much in advance of its social state. The charter under 
 which they came out contained not a single element of 
 popular liberty, and secured not a single right or franchise 
 to those who lived under it. 
 
 And, though a gleam of freedom seemed to dawn upon 
 
 20 them in 1619, when they instituted a Colonial Assembly 
 and introduced the representative system for the first time 
 into the new world, the precarious character of their 
 popular institutions, and the slender foundation of their 
 popular liberties, at a much later period, even as far down 
 
 25 as 1671, may be understood from that extraordinary declar- 
 ation of Sir William Berkeley, then Governor of Virginia, 
 to the Lords Commissioners : — "I thank God, there are 
 no free schools nor printing, and I hope we shall not 
 have these hundred years; for learning has brought 
 
 30 disobedience and heresy and sects into the world, and 
 printing has divulged them and libels against the best 
 government. God keep us from both." 
 
 But how was it with 4he pilgrims ? From a soil of 
 comparative barrenness, they gathered a rich harvest of 
 
 35 contentment, harmony and happiness. Coming to it for 
 no purpose of commerce or adventure, they found all they 
 sought — religious freedom — and that made the wilderness 
 to them like Eden, and the desert as the garden of the 
 Lord. 
 
 40 Of quitting it, from the very hour of their arrival, 
 they seem never once to have entertained, or even con- 
 ceived, a thought. The first foot that leaped gently but 
 fearlessly on Plymouth rock was a pledge that there would 
 be no retreating — tradition tells us that it was the foot 
 
332 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv. 
 
 of Marj' Chilton. They have brought their wives and 
 their little ones with them ; and what other assurance could 
 they give that they have come to their home ? 
 
 And accordingly they proceed at once to invest it with 
 5 all the attributes of home, and to make it a free and a 
 happy home. The compact, of their own adoption, under 
 which they landed, remained the sole guide of their gov- 
 ernment for nine years ; and though it was then superseded 
 by a charter from the corporation within whose limits they 
 
 10 had fallen, it was a charter of a liberal and comprehensive 
 character, and under its provisions they continued to lay 
 broad and deep the foundations of civil freedom. 
 
 The trial by jury was established by the pilgrims within 
 three years after their arrival, and constitutes the appro- 
 
 15 priate opening to the first chapter of their legislation. The 
 education of their children, as we have seen, was one of 
 their main motives for leaving Holland, and there is abun- 
 dant evidence that it was among the earliest subjects of 
 their attention ; while the planters of Massachusetts, who 
 
 20 need not be distinguished from the planters of Plymouth 
 for any purposes of this comparison, founded the college at 
 Cambridge in 1636 — set up a printing press at the same 
 place in 1639, which " divulged," in its first workings, at 
 least, nothing more libellous or heretical than a psalm-book 
 
 25 and an almanac — and as early as 1647 had instituted, by 
 an ever memorable statute, that noble system of New 
 England free schools, which constitutes at this moment 
 the best security of liberty wherever liberty exists, and its 
 best hope wherever it is still to be established. 
 
 30 It would carry me far beyond the allowable limits of this 
 address, if, indeed, I have not already exceeded them, to 
 contrast in detail the respective influences upon our coun- 
 try, and, through it, upon the world, of these two original 
 colonies. The elements for such a contrast I have already 
 
 35 suggested, and I shall content myself with only adding 
 further upon this point the recent and very remarkable tes- 
 timony of two most intelligent French travellers, whose 
 writings upon the United States have justly received such 
 distinguished notice on both sides the Atlantic. 
 
 40 " I have already observed," says De Tocqueville, that 
 " the origin of the American settlements may be looked 
 upon as the first and most efficacious cause to which the 
 present prosperity of the United States may be attributed. 
 *: # # When I reflect upon the consequences of this pri- 
 
EX. LXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 333 
 
 mary circumstance, methinks I see the destiny of America 
 embodied in the first Puritan who landed on these shores, 
 just as the human race was represented by the first man." 
 " If we wished," says Chevalier, " to form a single type, 
 5 representing the American character of the present moment 
 as a single whole, it would be necessary to take at least 
 three-fourths of the Yankee race and to mix it with hardly 
 one-fourth of the Virginian." 
 
 But the Virginia type was not complete when it first 
 
 10 appeared on the coast of Jamestown, and I must not omit, 
 before bringing these remarks to a conclusion, to allude to 
 one other element of any just comparison between the two 
 colonies. 
 
 The year 1620 was unquestionably the great epoch of 
 
 15 American destinies. Within its latter half were included 
 the two events which have exercised incomparably the 
 most controlling influence on the character and fortunes of 
 our country. At the very time the Mayflower, with its 
 precious burden, was engaged in its perilous voyage to 
 
 20 Plymouth, another ship, far otherwise laden, was approach- 
 ing the harbor of Virginia. 
 
 It was a Dutch man-of-war, and its cargo consisted in 
 part of twenty slaves, which were subjected to sale on their 
 arrival, and with which the foundations of domestic slavery 
 
 25 in North America were laid. 
 
 I see those two fate-freighted vessels, laboring under the 
 divided destinies of the same nation, and striving against 
 the billows of the same sea, like the principles of good and 
 evil advancing side by side on the same great ocean of 
 
 30 human life. 
 
 I hear from the one the sighs of wretchedness, the 
 groans of despair, the curses and clankings of struggling 
 captivity, sounding and swelling on the same gale which 
 bears only from the other the pleasant voices of prayer and 
 
 35 praise, the cheerful melody of contentment and happiness, 
 the glad, the glorious " anthem of the free." 
 
 Oh, could some angel arm, like that which seems to 
 guide and guard the pilgrim bark, be now interposed to 
 arrest, avert, dash down and overwhelm, its accursed com- 
 
 10 peer ! But it may not be. They have both reached in 
 safety the place of their destination. Freedom and Slavery, 
 in one and the same year, have landed on these American 
 shores. And American liberty, like the victor of ancient 
 Rome, is doomed — let us hope not forever — to endure 
 
334 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv. 
 
 the presence of a fettered captive as a companion in her 
 car of triumph ! 
 
 TP tP •a' ^ -TV- ^ 
 
 It has been suggested, gentlemen, by one of the French 
 travellers whose opinions I have just cited, that though the 
 5 Yankee has set his mark on the United States during the 
 last half century, and though " he still rules the nation," 
 that yet the physical labor of civilization is now nearly 
 brought to an end, the physical basis of society entirely 
 laid, and that other influences are soon about to predomi- 
 
 10 nate in rearing up the social superstructure of our nation. 
 
 I hail the existence of this association, and of others like 
 
 it in all parts of the Union, bound together by the noble 
 
 cords of " friendship, charity, and mutual assistance," as a 
 
 pledge that New England principles, whether in ascen- 
 
 15 dency or under depression in the nation at large, will never 
 stand in need of warm hearts and bold tongues to cherish 
 and vindicate them. 
 
 But, at any rate, let us rejoice that they have so long 
 pervaded the country and prevailed in her institutions. 
 
 20 Let us rejoice that the basis of her society has been laid 
 by Yankee arms. Let us rejoice that the corner-stone of 
 our republican edifice was hewn out from the old, original, 
 primitive, Plymouth quarry. 
 
 In what remains to be done, either in finishing or in 
 
 25 ornamenting that edifice, softer and more pliable materials 
 may, perhaps, be preferred; the New England granite 
 may be thought too rough and unwieldy ; the architects 
 may condemn it, the builders may reject it; but still, 
 still, it will remain the deep and enduring foundation, not 
 
 30 to be removed without undermining the whole fabric. 
 
 A-nd should that fabric be destined to stand, even when 
 bad government shall descend upon it like the rains, and 
 corruption come round about it like the floods, and faction, 
 discord, disunion and anarchy, blow and beat upon it like 
 
 85 the winds, — as God grant it may stand forever ! — it will 
 still owe its stability to no more effective earthly influence 
 than that it was founded on Pilgrim Rock. 
 
 Hon. E. C. Winthrop. 
 
EX. LXXVII.] UHETORICAL READING. 335 
 
 EXERCISE LXXVI. 
 Description of Mob, Queen of the Fairies. 
 
 She is the fancy's midwife : and she comes 
 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
 
 Drawn with a team of Httle atomies, 
 5 Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep ; 
 
 Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs ; 
 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
 
 The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
 
 The collar 's of the moonshine's watery beams ; 
 10 Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; 
 
 Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat ; 
 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. 
 
 Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, 
 
 Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers. 
 15 And in this state she shallops, night by night, 
 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love : 
 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 
 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream : 
 
 And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
 20 Tickling the parson as he lies asleep : 
 
 Then dreams he of another benefice. 
 
 Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck ; 
 
 And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, 
 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades ; 
 25 Of healths five fathoms deep : and then, anon. 
 
 Drums in his ears ; at which he starts and wakes ; 
 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two — 
 
 And sleeps again. Shakspeare. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXVII. 
 
 Progress of Freedom, 
 
 Various have been the efforts in the old world at pop- 
 30 ular forms of government, but, from some cause or other, 
 they have failed ; and however time, a wider intercourse, 
 a greater familiarity with the practical duties of represent- 
 ation, and, not least of all, our own auspicious example, 
 may prepare the European mind for the possession of re- 
 35 publican freedom, it is very certain that, at the present 
 moment, Europe is not the place for republics. 
 
*^36 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxvu. 
 
 The true soil for these is our own continent, the new 
 world, the last of the three great geographical divisions 
 of which we have spoken. This is the spot on which the 
 beautiful theories of the European philosopher — who 
 
 5 had risen to the full freedom of speculation, while action 
 was controlled — have been reduced to practice. The 
 atmosphere here seems as fatal to the arbitrary institutions 
 of the old world as that has been to the democratic 
 forms of our own. It seems scarcely possible that any 
 
 10 other organization than these latter should exist here. 
 
 In three centuries from the discovery of the country, the 
 various races by which it is tenanted — some of them from 
 the least liberal of the European monarchies — have, with 
 few exceptions, come into the adoption of institutions of a 
 
 15 republican character. Toleration, civil and religious, has 
 been proclaimed, and enjoyed to an extent unknown since 
 the world began, throughout the wide borders of this vast 
 continent. Alas for those portions which have assumed 
 the exercise of these rights without fully comprehending 
 
 20 their import ! who have been intoxicated with the fumes 
 of freedom, instead of drawing nourishment from its living 
 principle ! 
 
 It was fortunate, or, to speak more properly, a providen- 
 tial thing, that the discovery of the new world was post- 
 25 poned to the precise period when it occurred. Had it 
 taken place at an earlier time — during the flourishing 
 period of the feudal ages, for example — the old institu- 
 tions of Europe, with their hallowed abuses, might have 
 been ingrafted on this new stock, and, instead of the fruit 
 
 30 of the tree of life, we should have furnished only varie- 
 ties of a kind already far exhausted and hastening to 
 decay. 
 
 But, happily, some important discoveries in science, 
 and, above all, the glorious Reformation, gave an electric 
 
 35 shock to the intellect, long benumbed under the influence 
 of a tyrannical priesthood. It taught men to distrust 
 authority, to trace effects back to their causes, to search for 
 themselves, and to take no guide but the reason which God 
 had given them. It taught them to claim the right of 
 
 40 free inquiry as their inalienable birthright, and, with free 
 inquiry, freedom of action. The sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries were the period of the mighty struggle 
 between the conflicting elements of religion, as the eigh- 
 teenth and nineteenth have been that of the great contest 
 
 45 for civ^l liberty. 
 
EX. LXXVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 337 
 
 It was in the midst of this universal ferment, and in 
 consequence of it, that these shores were first peopled by 
 our Puritan ancestors. Here they found a world where 
 they might verify the value of those theories which had 
 6 been derided as visionary, or denounced as dangerous, in 
 their own land. All around was free — free as nature 
 herself: the mighty streams rolling on in their majesty, 
 as they had continued to roll from the creation ; the for- 
 ests, which no hand had violated, flourishing in primeval 
 
 10 grandeur and beauty — their only tenants the wild animals, 
 or the Indians, nearly as wild, scarcely held together by 
 any tie of social polity. 
 
 Nowhere was the trace of civilized man or of his curi- 
 ous contrivances. Here was no Star Chamber nor Court 
 
 15 of High Commission ; no racks, nor jails, nor gibbets ; no 
 feudal tyrant, to grind the poor man to the dust on which 
 he toiled ; no Inquisition, to pierce into the thought, and 
 to make thought a crime. The only eye that was upon 
 them was the eye of Heaven. 
 
 20 True, indeed, in the first heats of suffering enthusiasm, 
 they did not extend that charity to others which they 
 claimed for themselves. It was a blot on their characters, 
 but one which they share in common with most reformers. 
 The zeal requisite for great revolutions, whether in church 
 
 25 or state, is rarely attended by charity for difference of 
 opinion. Those who are willing to do and to suffer bmve- 
 ly for their own doctrines attach a value to them which 
 makes them impatient of opposition from others. 
 
 The martyr for conscience' sake cannot comprehend the 
 
 30 necessity of leniency to those who denounce those truths 
 for which he is prepared to lay down his own life. If he 
 set so little value on his own life, is it natural he should 
 set more on that of others ? The Dominican, who dragged 
 his victims to the fires of the Inquisition in Spain, freely 
 
 35 gave up his ease and his life to the duties of a missionary 
 among the heathen. The Jesuits, who suffered martyrdoiii 
 among the American savages in the propagation of theii 
 faith, stimulated those very savages to their horrid niassa 
 cres of the Protestant settlements of New England. GoU 
 
 40 has not often combined charity with enthusiasm. When 
 he has done so, he has produced his noblest work — a 
 More, or a Fenelon. 
 
 But if the first settlers were intolerant in practice, they 
 brought with them the living principle of freedom, which 
 29 
 
338 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxviii. 
 
 would survive when their generation had passed away. 
 They could not avoid it; for their coming here was in 
 itself an assertion of that principle. They came for con- 
 science' sake — to worship God in their own way. Free- 
 5 dom of political institutions they at once avowed. Every 
 citizen took his part in the political scheme, and enjoyed 
 all the consideration of an equal participation in civil priv- 
 ileges : and liberty in political matters gradually brought 
 with it a corresponding liberty in religious concerns. 
 
 10 In their subsequent contest with the mother country 
 they learned a reason for their faith, and the best manner 
 of defending it. Their liberties struck a deep root in the 
 soil, amid storms which shook but could not prostrate 
 them. It is this struggle with the mother country, this 
 
 15 constant assertion of the right of self-government, this ten- 
 dency — feeble in its beginning, increasing with increasing 
 age — towards republican institutions, which connects the 
 colonial history with that of the Union, and forms the 
 true point of view from which it is to be regarded. 
 
 W. H. Prescott, 
 
 EXERCISE LXXVIII. 
 
 The Meeting of the Waters. 
 
 20 There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
 As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; 
 Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart. 
 Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. 
 Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene 
 25 Her purest of crystal, the brightest of green ; 
 'T was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill, 
 Oh ! no — it was something more exquisite still. 
 
 'T was that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, 
 Who made each dear scene of enchantment more dear, 
 30 And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, 
 When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 
 
 Sweet vale of Ovoca ! how calm could I rest 
 In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best. 
 Where the storms which we feel in this cold world should 
 35 cease. 
 
 And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace ! 
 
 T. Mo(yre, 
 
BX. LXXIX.] RHETOKICAL READING. 339 
 
 EXERCISE LXXIX. 
 
 Extracts from the Inaugural Address of the Mayor of 
 Boston. 
 
 Our municipal charter requires that the mayor shall 
 communicate to the two bmnches of the City Council 
 such information, and recommend such measures, as may 
 promote the improvement and substantial interests of 
 5 Boston. It is not becoming that I should enter even upon 
 this minor and incipient duty without tendering, as 1 now 
 do, through you, to my fellow-citizens, my grateful acknowl- 
 edgments for the confidence with which they have seen 
 fit to honor me. 
 
 10 At present, all that I can offer in exchange for an un- 
 sought and unexpected demonstration of popular favor, is 
 the solemn promise that I will faithfully devote whatever 
 energies I possess to the promotion of the public welfare, 
 unswayed by any other considerations or influence than 
 
 15 my deliberate convictions of right. 
 
 I am fully aware that in the discharge of my official 
 duties I must come in collision with the interests, the 
 prejudices, the passions, of a greater or less number of 
 my constituents, and am perfectly content to abide the re- 
 
 20 suit. Such has been the fortune of all my predecessors, 
 and I cannot expect to fare better than they. 
 
 Much as I value the good will and love of the people 
 among whom I have dwelt these thirty winters, yet, if it 
 happen that, in consequence of pursuing the course which 
 
 25 my judgment and conscience may approve, my adminis- 
 tration should fail to be acceptable to the popular majority, 
 I shall retire to private life with far more pleasure than I 
 experience in assuming the responsibilities of office. 
 
 Boston and its environs, within a radius of five miles, 
 
 30 contains at least two hundred and ten thousand inhabit- 
 ants. The city proper has about one hundred and thirty 
 thousand inhabitants, with an assessed valuation of one 
 hundred and sixty-seven millions of dollars. So large an 
 accumulation of people and wealth on a single spot, within 
 
 35 a region of our country so little favored by nature, could 
 hardly have been anticipated. 
 
 The sterile soil, the rugged surface, the stern climate, 
 and the want of navigable streams, in New England, would 
 seem to have rendered it improbable that it would ever be 
 
 40 considerably peopled, or that any great commercial mart 
 
340 parkee's exercises in [ex. lxxix. 
 
 should arise within its borders. It would seem that 
 such would exist only within the more central or south- 
 erly portions of the Union, under more genial skies, and 
 in the vicinity of the great natural routes of intercom- 
 5 munication. 
 
 But the resolution and intelligent industry of our fathers 
 surmounted every obstacle. The region, sneeringly stig- 
 matized as having no natural productions for export but 
 " granite and ice," now teems with three millions of the 
 
 10 children of freedom, abounding in the comforts of civil- 
 ized life — and its metropolis ranks with the great cities 
 of the globe. 
 
 It is to be borne in mind also, that that metropolis be- 
 came an important city long before science and art had 
 
 15 cut in sunder the hills, elevated the vales, and spanned 
 the running waters, to unite her commerce in easy and 
 rapid communication with more favored climes. If our 
 people could achieve a position so prominent while desti- 
 tute of any of the facilities of intercourse with the inte- 
 
 20 rior with which the cities of the sunny South are so 
 abundantly blessed, what may we not expect of the future 
 destiny of Boston, now that her iron highways, extending 
 in all directions, bring her into convenient proximity with 
 every section of the land ? 
 
 25 They who could effect so much under the most repel- 
 ling circumstances may be depended upon to avail them- 
 selves to the full of their new and ample advantages. 
 The long winter of New England isolation is broken, — 
 she warms and flourishes in friendly and thrifty inter- 
 
 30 course with the luxuriant West; and it is not too much to 
 anticipate that the day will come, when there will be no 
 greater or more prosperous city upon the American conti- 
 nent than the City of the Pilgrims. 
 
 This view of the prospects of Boston leads me to speak 
 
 35 of our schools, — education being the true basis of our 
 institutions, and the real secret of New England progress 
 and power. Our schools are believed never to have been 
 more deserving of confidence and support than at the 
 present time. 
 
 40 There are now in the city, sustained at the public 
 charge, one hundred and eighty-eight schools, with nine- 
 teen thousand and sixty-four pupils in attendance. There 
 has been expended from the treasury for these schools, 
 within the past year, three hundred and forty-six thou- 
 
EX. LXXIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 341 
 
 sand five hundred and seventy-two dollars, including the 
 amount paid on account of new edifices. There is no 
 expense which the people of Boston more willingly incur 
 than that which is necessary for the support of the pub- 
 5 lie schools; but it cannot be their intention to authorize 
 unnecessary outlays for this, or any other object what- 
 ever. 
 
 With this conviction, I cannot but regret what appears 
 to me to have been the extraordinary cost of erecting 
 10 some of the newer school-houses. The splendor of the 
 edifice is no guarantee for the education of the pupil ; who 
 is as efficiently fitted for the great duties of life in the 
 older and less pretending seminaries of the city as in the 
 magnificent structures of the present period. 
 
 J^ ^ TT Tf tF •?<• -W^ 
 
 The erring and abandoned should be treated as children 
 of our common Father ; but society should not be expected 
 to furnish costly accommodations for those who set its 
 authority at naught. A prison should never be built with 
 
 20 reference to show. It were better that it should be screened 
 from observation, rather than elicit encomiums upon its 
 architecture. In appearance, it can never be other than 
 a melancholy monument of the infirmities of our race; 
 and it is not wise to whiten or garnish the sepulchre of 
 
 25 shame. 
 
 *n* ^F 'fF ?nF 'Tt* ^r 
 
 During the year whose advent we gratefully salute this 
 morning, we are charged with duties of no ordinary re- 
 sponsibility. The action neither of the state nor national 
 
 30 governments bears with such immediate and sensible effects 
 upon the happiness of the great family whom we represent 
 as the conduct of their civic fathers. For our stewardship, 
 brief though it be, we shall surely be held to account here 
 and hereafter. Let us seek light and wisdom from on 
 
 35 high. Let our supplication be, like that inscribed upon 
 the escutcheon of Boston, in the classic characters of a 
 distant age, — As God was to our fathers, so may he be 
 unto us. — Hon. John P. Bigelow. 
 29* 
 
842 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxi. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXX. 
 Adam^s Description of his First State of Comciotisness 
 
 As new waked from soundest sleep, 
 
 Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, 
 
 In balmy sweat ; which with his beams the sun 
 
 Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed. 
 5 Straight toward heaven my wondering eyes I turned, 
 
 And gazed a while the ample sky ; till, raised 
 
 By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung. 
 
 As thitherward endeavoring, and upright 
 
 Stood on my feet. 
 10 About me round I saw 
 
 Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, 
 
 And liquid lapse of murmuring streams ; by these, 
 
 Creatures that lived and moved, and walked or flew; 
 
 Birds on the branches warbling ; all things smiled 
 15 With fragrance, and with joy my heart o'erflowed. 
 Myself I then perused, and limb by limb 
 
 Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran 
 
 With supple joints, as lively vigor led : 
 
 But who 1 was, or where, or from what cause, 
 20 Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake , 
 
 My tongue obeyed, and readily could name 
 
 Whate'er I saw. 
 
 " Thou sun," said I, " fair light ! 
 
 And thou enlightened earth, so fresh and gay ! 
 25 Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods and plains, 
 
 And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell. 
 
 Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here !" Milton. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXI. 
 
 Halifax. 
 
 Among the statesmen of the age of Charles II., Halifax 
 
 was, in genius, the first. His intellect was fertile, subtle, 
 
 30 and capacious. His polished, luminous, and animated 
 
 eloquence, set off by the silver tones of his voice, was the 
 
 delight of the House of Lords. 
 
 His conversation overflowed with thought, fancy, and 
 
 wit. His political tracts well deserve to be studied for 
 
 35 their literary merit, and fully entitle him to a place among 
 
EX. LXXXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 343 
 
 English classics. To the weight derived from talents so 
 great and various, he united all the influence which belongs 
 to rank and ample possessions. 
 
 Yet he was less successful in politics than many who 
 5 enjoyed smaller advantages. Indeed, those intellectual 
 peculiarities which make his writings valuable frequently 
 impeded him in the contests of active life. For he always 
 saw passing events, not in the point of view in which they 
 commonly appear to one who bears a part in them, but in 
 10 the point of view in which, after the lapse of many years, 
 they appear to the philosophic historian. 
 
 With such a turn of mind, he could not long continue 
 to act cordially with any body of men. All the prejudices, 
 all the exaggerations, of both the great parties in the state, 
 15 moved his scorn. He despised the mean arts and unrea- 
 sonable clamors of demagogues. He despised still more 
 the Tory doctrines of divine right and passive obedience. 
 He sneered impartially at the bigotry of the Churchman 
 and the bigotry of the Puritan. He was equally unable to 
 20 comprehend how any man should object to saints' days and 
 surplices, and how any man should persecute any other 
 man for objecting to them. 
 
 In temper he was what, in our time, is called a conserv- 
 ative. In theory he was a republican. Even when his 
 25 dread of anarchy and his disdain for vulgar delusions led 
 him to side for a time with the defenders of arbitrary 
 power, his intellect was always with Locke and Milton. 
 Indeed, his jests upon hereditary monarchy were sometimes 
 such as would have better become a member of the Calf's 
 30 Head Club than a privy councillor of the Stuarts. 
 
 In religion he was so far from being a zealot, that he was 
 called by the uncharitable an atheist : but this imputation 
 he vehemently repelled ; and in truth, though he some- 
 times gave scandal by the way in which he exerted his 
 35 rare powers both of argumentation and of ridicule on seri- 
 ous subjects, he seems to have been by no means unsus- 
 ceptible of religious impressions. 
 
 He was the chief of those politicians whom the two 
 
 great parties contemptuously called Trimmers. Instead 
 
 40 of quarrelling with this nickname, he assumed it as a title 
 
 of honor, and vindicated, with great vivacity, the dignity 
 
 of the appellation. 
 
 Everything good, he said, trims between extremes. The 
 temperate zone trims between the climate in which men 
 
344 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxi. 
 
 are roasted and the climate in which they are frozen. The 
 English Church trims between the Anabaptist madness 
 and the Papist lethargy. The English constitution trims 
 between Turkish despotism and Polish anarchy. Virtue 
 5 is nothing but a just temper between propensities, any one 
 of which, if indulged to excess, becomes vice. Nay, the 
 perfection of the Supreme Being himself consists in the 
 exact equilibrium of attributes, none of which could pre- 
 ponderate without disturbing the whole moral and physical 
 
 10 order of the world. 
 
 Thus Halifax was a trimmer on principle. He was also 
 a trimmer by the constitution both of his head and of his 
 heart. His understanding was keen, sceptical, inexhausti- 
 bly fertile in distinctions and objections ; his taste refined ; 
 
 15 his sense of the ludicrous exquisite ; his temper placid and 
 forgiving, but fastidious, and by no means prone either to 
 malevolence or to enthusiastic admiration. 
 
 Such a man could not long be constant to any band of 
 political allies. He must not, however, be confounded with 
 
 20 the vulgar crowd of renegades.* For though, like them, he 
 passed from side to side, his transition was always in the 
 direction opposite to theirs. He had nothing in common 
 with those who fly from extreme to extreme, and who 
 regard the party which they have deserted with an animos- 
 
 25 ity far exceeding that of consistent enemies. 
 
 His place was between the hostile divisions of the com- 
 munity, and he never wandered far beyond the frontier of 
 either. The party to which he at any moment belonged 
 was the party which, at that moment, he liked least, be- 
 
 30 cause it was the party of which, at that moment, he had 
 the nearest view. He was therefore always severe upon 
 his violent associates, and was always in friendly relations 
 with his moderate opponents. 
 
 Every faction, in the day of its insolent and vindictive 
 
 35 triumph, incurred his censure, and every faction, when 
 vanquished and persecuted, found in him a protector. To 
 his lasting honor it must be mentioned, that he attempted 
 to save those victims whose fate has left the deepest stain 
 both on the Whig and on the Tory name. 
 
 40 He had greatly distinguished himself in opposition, and 
 had thus drawn on himself the royal displeasure, which 
 was indeed so strong that he was not admitted into the 
 council of thirty without much difficulty and long alterca- 
 tion. As soon, however, as he had obtained a footing at 
 
EX. LXXXn.] RHETORICAL READING. 345 
 
 court, the charms of his manner and of his conversation 
 made him a favorite. 
 
 He was seriously alarmed by the violence of the public 
 discontent. He thought that liberty was for the present 
 5 safe, and that order and legitimate authority were in dan- 
 ger. He therefore, as was his fashion, joined himself to 
 the weaker side. Perhaps his conversion was not wholly 
 disinterested. For study and reflection, though they had 
 emancipated him from many vulgar prejudices, had left 
 
 10 him a slave to vulgar desires. 
 
 Money he did not want ; and there is no evidence that 
 he ever obtained it by any means which, in that age, even 
 severe censors considered as dishonorable ; but rank and 
 power had strong attractions for him. He pretended, in- 
 
 15 deed, that he considered titles and great offices as baits 
 which could allure none but fools, that he hated business, 
 pomp and pageantry, and that his dearest wish was to 
 escape from the bustle and glitter of Whitehall to the 
 quiet woods which surrounded his ancient hall at Rufford ; 
 
 20 but his conduct was noi a little at variance with his profes- 
 sions. In truth, he wished to command the respect at once 
 of courtiers and of philosophers; to be admired for attaining 
 high dignities, and to be at the same time admired for 
 despising them. — Macaulay. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXn. 
 Description of Eve's first finding herself on Earth. 
 
 25 That day I oft remember, when from sleep 
 f first awaked, and found myself reposed. 
 Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where 
 And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. 
 Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound 
 
 30 Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 
 Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved. 
 Pure as the expanse of heaven ; I thither went 
 With unexperienced thought, and laid me down 
 On the green bank, to look into the clear 
 
 35 Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. 
 As I bent down to look, just opposite 
 A shape within the watery gleam appeared, 
 Bending to look on me : I started back, 
 
346 Parker's exercises in [ex. T,Tncni 
 
 It started back : but pleased I soon returned, 
 Pleased it returned as soon, with answering looks 
 Of sympathy and love : there I had fixed 
 Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, 
 5 Had not a voice thus warned me : — 
 
 What thou seest, 
 What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; 
 With thee it came and goes ; but follow me, 
 And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 
 
 10 Thy coming, and thy soft embraces, he 
 
 Whose image thou art ; him thou shalt enjoy 
 Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear 
 Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called 
 Mother of human race. 
 
 15 What could I do, 
 
 But follow straight, invisibly thus led ? 
 Till I espied thee, fair indeed, and tall, 
 Under a plantain, yet methought less fair, 
 Less winning soft, less amiably mild, 
 
 20 Than that smooth, watery image : back I turned ; 
 Thou following, criedst aloud, Return, fair Eve; 
 Whom fliest thou ? whom thou fliest, of him thou art, 
 His flesh, his bone ; to give thee being I lent 
 Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart, 
 
 25 Substantial life, to have thee by my side 
 Henceforth an individual solace dear ; 
 Part of my soul, I seek thee, and thee claim, 
 My other half. With that thy gentle hand 
 Seized mine ^ I yielded : and from that time see 
 
 30 How beauty is excelled by manly grace, 
 
 And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. MUton. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXIII. 
 
 The Cant of Criticism. 
 
 And how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last night ? 
 O, against all rule, my lord ; most ungrammatically ! 
 Betwixt the substantive and adjective (which should agree 
 35 together, in number, case, and gender) he made a breach 
 thus — stopping as if the point wanted settling. And after 
 the nominative case (which your lordship knows should 
 govern the verb) he suspended his voice in the epilogue, a 
 
EX. LXXXIV.] RHETORICAL READING. 347 
 
 dozen times, three seconds and three-fifths, by a stop- 
 watch, my lord, each time — 
 
 Admirable grammarian ! — But, in suspending his voice 
 was the sense suspended likewise ? Did no expression of 
 5 attitude or countenance fill up the chasm ? Was the eye 
 silent ? Did you narrowly look ? 
 
 I looked only at the stop-watch, my lord. 
 
 Excellent observer ! And what of this new book the 
 whole world makes such a rout about ? 
 10 Oh ! 't is out of all plumb, my lord, — quite an irregular 
 thing ! not one of the angles at the four comers was a 
 right angle. I had my rule and compasses, my lord, in 
 my pocket. 
 
 Excellent critic ! 
 15 And, for the epic poem your lordship bid me look at, — 
 upon taking the length, breadth, height, and depth of it, 
 and trying them at home upon an exact scale of Bossu's 
 
 — 'tis out, my lord, in every one of its dimensions. 
 Admirable connoisseur! And did you step in to take a 
 
 20 look at the grand picture in your way back ? 
 
 'T is a melancholy daub, my lord ; not one principle 
 of the pyramid in any one group ! — And what a price ! 
 
 — for there is nothing of the coloring of Titian — the ex- 
 pression of Rubens — the grace of Raphael — the purity 
 
 25 of Dominichino — the corregiescity of Correggio — the 
 learning of Poussin — the airs of Guido — the taste of the 
 Carrichis — or the grand contour of Angelo ! 
 
 Grant me patience ! — Of all the cants which are canted 
 in this canting world — though the cant of hypocrisy may 
 
 30 be the worst — the cant of criticism is the most torment- 
 ing ! 1 would go fifty miles on foot, to kiss the hand of 
 
 that man whose generous heart will give up the reins of 
 his imagination into his author's hands — be pleased, he 
 knows not why and cares not wherefore. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXIV. 
 
 Hotspur^ s Account of the Fop. 
 
 35 My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
 
 But I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 
348 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxv. 
 
 Came there a certain lord ; neat, trimly dressed ; 
 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reaped, 
 
 Showed like a stubble land at harvest home. 
 He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
 6 And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 
 A pouncet-box, which, ever and anon, 
 
 He gave his nose 
 
 And still he smiled and talked : 
 
 And, as the soldiers bare dead bodies by, 
 10 He called them " untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility." 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 
 He questioned me ; amongst the rest, demanded 
 15 My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. 
 
 I then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled 
 
 To be so pestered with a popinjay, 
 
 Out of my grief and my impatience. 
 
 Answered neglectingly — I know not what — 
 20 He should or should not ; for he made me mad, 
 
 To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet. 
 
 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman. 
 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (heaven save the mark !) 
 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 25 Was parmacity for an inward bruise ; 
 
 And that it was great pity (so it was) 
 
 This villanous saltpetre should be digged 
 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 
 
 Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed 
 30 So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns — 
 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
 
 I answered indirectly, as I said ; 
 
 And I beseech you, let not his report 
 35 Come current for an accusation 
 
 Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Shakspeare. 
 
 LESSON LXXXV. 
 
 Extract from an Address delivered before the Boston Mer- 
 cantile Library Associatio7i, Oct., 1845. 
 
 Commerce has, in all ages, been the most formidable 
 antagonist of war. That great struggle for the mastery. 
 
EX. LXXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 349 
 
 which has been going on, almost from the earliest syllable 
 of recorded time, upon the theatre of Human life, and 
 which has been variously described and denominated, 
 according to the aspect in which it has been regarded, or 
 5 the object with which it was discussed — now as a strug- 
 gle between aristocracy and democracy, and now as be- 
 tween the few and the many — has been little more than 
 a struggle between the mercantile and the martial spirit. 
 For centuries, and cycles of centuries, the martjal spirit 
 
 10 has prevailed. The written history of the world is one 
 long bloody record of its triumph. And it cannot have 
 escaped any one, how, during the periods of its sternest 
 struggles, it has singled out the commercial spirit as its 
 most formidable foe. 
 
 15 Look at ancient Sparta, for example ; the state which, 
 more than any other, was organized upon a purely war 
 principle ; though, to the credit of its founder be it spoken, 
 with the view of defending its own territories, and not of 
 encroaching upon the dominions of others. What was the 
 
 20 first great stroke of policy adopted by the Lacedaemonian 
 lawgiver to secure the supremacy of the martial spirit ? 
 What did he primarily aim to accomplish by his extraor- 
 dinary enactments in relation to food, currency, education, 
 honesty and labor, of all sorts ? 
 
 25 A Lacedaemonian, happening to be at Athens when the 
 court was sitting, was informed of a man who had just 
 been fined for idleness. " Let me see the person," ex- 
 claimed he, " who has been condemned for keeping up his 
 dignity ! " What was the philosophy of the black broth, the 
 
 30 iron money, the consummate virtue of successful theft, the 
 sublime dignity of idleness? It was the war system, 
 intrenching itself, where alone it could be safe, on the 
 ruins of commerce ! The annihilation of trade, and all 
 its inducements, and all its incidents — the extermination 
 
 35 of the mercantile spirit, root and branch — this was the 
 only mode which the sagacious Lycurgus could devise for 
 maintaining the martial character of Sparta. 
 
 Plato, who knew something of the practical value of 
 commerce, if it be true that it was by selling oil in Egypt 
 
 40 that he was enabled to defray the expenses of those travels 
 and studies by which he prepared himself to be one of the 
 great lights of the world, bore witness to the wise adapta- 
 tion of this policy to the end to be accomplished, when he 
 declared that in a well regulated commonwealth the 
 30 
 
850 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxv. 
 
 citizens should not engage in commerce, because they 
 would be accustomed to find pretexts for justifying conduct 
 so inconsistent with what was manly and becoming, as 
 would relax the strictness of the military spirit ; adding, 
 5 that it had been better for the Athenians to have continued 
 to send annually the sons of seven of their principal 
 citizens to be devoured by the Minotaur, than to have 
 changed their ancient manners, and become a maritime 
 power. 
 
 10 It is this irreconcilable hostility between the mercantile 
 and the martial spirit which has led heroes, in all ages, to 
 despise and deride the pursuits of trade — from the heroes 
 of the Homeric age of ancient Greece, with whom a pirate 
 is said to have been a more respected character than a 
 
 15 merchant, to him of modern France, who could find no 
 severer sarcasm for his most hated foes than to call them 
 " a nation of shopkeepers." 
 
 The madman of Macedonia, as he is sometimes called, 
 but to whom, by one having occasion for military talents, 
 
 20 might well have been applied the remark of George the 
 Second, in reference to General Wolfe, that he wished, if 
 Wolfe were mad, he could have bitten some of the rest 
 of his generals — after he had overrun almost the whole 
 habitable earth, did, indeed, in despair of finding any more 
 
 25 dominions on the land to conquer, turn to the sea, to obtain 
 fresh opportunity for gratifying his insatiate ambition. 
 
 He projected a voyage for his fleet, from the Indus to 
 the mouth of the Euphrates. Commercial views are 
 sometimes regarded as having mingled with the ambition 
 
 30 which prompted this undertaking. It has been called the 
 first event of general importance to mankind in the his- 
 tory of commerce and navigation, and has been thought 
 worthy of being commemorated, on the page of its learned 
 historian, by a medallion, on which the head of its heroic 
 
 35 projector is illuminated by the proud inscription, " aperiavi 
 terras gentibus.^^ 
 
 Let us transport ourselves, gentlemen, for an instant, 
 to a region recently rendered familiar by the events of 
 Afghanistan and Scinde ; and, turning back the page of 
 
 40 history for a little more than two thousand years, catch a 
 glimpse of the character and circumstances of this memora- 
 ble voyage, 
 
 Alexander, it seems, is at first sorely puzzled to find 
 any one willing to assume the hazardous dignity of leading 
 
EX. LXXXV.] TIHETORICAL READING. 351 
 
 such an expedition. At length, Nearchua, a Cretan, is 
 pressed into the service, and is duly installed as admiral 
 of the fleet. Two thousand transports and eighty ^lleys, 
 of thirty oars each, are laboriously fitted out, and the hero 
 5 accompanies them in person, in a perilous passage, down 
 the Indus to the ocean. 
 
 He approaches the mighty element, not in that mood 
 of antic and insolent presumption which other madmen 
 before and since have displayed on similar occasions. He 
 
 10 throws no chains upon it, as Xerxes is narrated to have 
 done, a century and a half earlier. He orders no host of 
 spearmen to charge upon it, as Caligula did, three or four 
 centuries afterwards. 
 
 He does not even venture to try the effect of his impe- 
 
 15 rial voice, in hushing its stormy billows, and bidding its 
 proud waves to stay themselves at his feet, as Canute did, 
 still a thousand years later. On the contrary, he humbles 
 himself before its sublime presence — he offers splendid 
 sacrifices, and pours out rich libations to its divinities, 
 
 20 and puts up fervent prayers for the success and safety of 
 his fleet. 
 
 Nearchus is then directed to wait two months for a 
 favorable monsoon. But a revolt of certain savage tribes 
 in the neighborhood compels him to anticipate its arrival, 
 
 25 and he embarks and enters upon his voyage. At the end 
 of six days, — two of which, however, were passed at anchor, 
 — the fleet had advanced rather more than nine miles ! 
 After digging away a bar at the mouth of the Indus, a 
 little more progress is made, and a sandy island reached, 
 
 30 on which all hands are indulged with a day's rest. 
 
 Again the anchors are weighed, but soon again the 
 violence of the winds suspends all operations ; the whole 
 host are a second time landed, and remain upon shore for 
 four-and-twenty days. Once more the voyage is renewed ; 
 
 35 but once more the winds rage furiously ; two of the gal- 
 leys and a transport are sunk in a gale, and their crews 
 are seen swimming for their lives. 
 
 A third time all hands disembark and fortify a camp. 
 The long-expected monsoon at length sets in, and they 
 
 40 start afresh, and with such accelerated speed as to accom- 
 plish thirty-one miles in the first twenty-four hours. But 
 then, a four days' battle with the natives far more than 
 counterbalances this unlooked-for speed. Soon after, 
 however, a pilot is fallen in with, who engages to conduct 
 
 45 them to the Persian Gulf. 
 
352 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxv. 
 
 Under his auspices, they venture for the first time to 
 sail by night, when they can have the benefit of the land 
 breeze, and when the rowers, relieved from the heat of the 
 sun, can exert themselves to better advantage. And now 
 5 they are making almost twice as many miles in the twenty- 
 four hours as before, when lo ! a new trouble arrests their 
 course. Huge columns of water are seen thrown up into 
 the air before them. The explanation of the pilot, that 
 they are but the sportful spoutings of a huge fish, only adds 
 
 10 to their alarm. If such be his sport, what must his wrath 
 be ? All hands drop their oars in a panic ! 
 
 The admiral, however, exhorts them to dismiss their 
 fears, and directs them, when a whale advances towards 
 them, to bear down upon it bravely, and scare it from their 
 
 15 path with shouts, and dashing of oars, and sounding of 
 trumpets ! The entrance of the Persian Gulf, a distance 
 of about six hundred miles, is at length reached ; the first 
 and most difficult stage of the enterprise is accomplished ; 
 and the admiral, having hauled all his vessels ashore, and 
 
 20 fortified them by a double intrenchment, proceeds to give 
 the joyful tidings to his imperial master, who has kept 
 along at no great distance from him on the coast, and they 
 unite in offering the sacrifices of thanksgiving to Jupiter, 
 Apollo, Hercules, Neptune, and I know not how many other 
 
 25 deities of land, air, and ocean ! 
 
 Such is a summary sketch of this first event of general 
 importance to mankind in the history of navigation ; an 
 event which, though its details may excite the laughter of 
 a Nantucket or New Bedford whaleman, or even of a 
 
 .•to Marblehead or a Barnstable sailor boy, was counted among 
 the gravest and grandest exploits of that unrivalled hero 
 of antiquity, who took Achilles for his model, and could 
 not sleep without Aristotle's copy of the Iliad under his 
 pillow. 
 
 35 If any commercial views are justly ascribed to the pro- 
 jector of such an expedition, it furnishes an early and 
 striking illustration of the idea, which the general current 
 of history has since confirmed, that the mercantile and 
 martial spirits were never to be the subjects of reconcilia- 
 
 40 tion and compromise, nor commerce destined to be seen 
 yoked to the car, and decorating the triumph, of military 
 ambition. 
 
 At all events, it supplies an amusing picture of the nav- 
 igation of those early days, and shows how poorly provided 
 
EX. LXXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 353 
 
 and appointed was the mercantile spirit of antiquity for its 
 great mission of civilization and peace. Transports and 
 triaconters, skimming along the coast without a compass, 
 and propelled by oarsmen who were panic-stricken at the 
 5 spouting of a whale, were not the enginery by which com- 
 merce was to achieve its world-wide triumphs. 
 
 And it was another admiral than Nearchus, not yielding 
 himself reluctantly to the call of an imperious sovereign, 
 but prompted by the heroic impulses of his own breast, 
 
 10 and offering up his prayers and oblations at another shrine 
 than that of Jupiter or Neptune, who, in a still far distant 
 age, was to open the world to the nations, give the com- 
 mercial spirit sea-room, and lend the original impulse to 
 those great movements of navigation and trade by which 
 
 15 the whole face of society has been transformed. 
 
 Well might the mail-clad monarchs of the earth refuse 
 their countenance to Columbus, and reward his matchless 
 exploit with beggary and chains. He projected, he accom- 
 plished that, which, in its ultimate and inevitable conse- 
 
 20 quences, was to wrest from their hands the implements of 
 their ferocious sport — to break their bow and snap their 
 spear in sunder, and all but to extinguish the source of 
 their proudest and most absolute prerogative. 
 
 " No kingly conqueror, since time began 
 S6 The long career of ages, hath to man 
 
 A scope so ample given for Trade's bold range. 
 
 Or caused on earth's wide stage such rapid, mighty change." 
 
 From the discovery of the new world, the mercantile 
 spirit has been rapidly gaining upon its old antagonist; 
 
 30 and the establishment upon these shores of our own repub- 
 lic — whose Union was the immediate result of commercial 
 necessities, whose independence found its original impulse 
 in commercial oppressions, and of whose constitution the 
 regulation of commerce was the first leading idea — may 
 
 35 be regarded as the epoch at which the martial spirit finally 
 lost a supremacy which, it is believed and trusted, it can 
 never re-acquire. 
 
 Yes, it is commerce which is fast exorcising the fell 
 spirit of war from nations which it has so long been tearing 
 
 40 and rending. The merchant may, indeed, almost be seen 
 at this moment summoning the rulers of the earth to his 
 counting-desk, and putting them under bonds to keep the 
 peace. 
 
 30* 
 
354 
 
 PACKER S EXERCISES IN. 
 
 Upon what do we ourselves rely, to counteract the influ- 
 ence of the close approximation of yonder flaming planet 
 to our sphere ? Let me rather say, (for it is not in our 
 stars, but in ourselves, that we are to look for the causes 
 5 which have brought the apprehensions of war once more 
 home to our hearts,) upon what do we rely, to save us from 
 the bloody arbitrament of questions of mere territory and 
 boundary, into which our own arbitrary and ambitious 
 views would plunge us ? 
 
 10 To what do we look to prevent a protracted strife with 
 Mexico, if not to arrest even the outbreak of hostilities — 
 but to the unwillingness of the great commercial powers 
 that the trade of the West Indies and of the Gulf should 
 be interrupted ? Why is it so confidently pronounced that 
 
 15 Great Britain will never go to war with the United States 
 for Oregon ? Why, but that trade has created such a Si- 
 amese ligament between the two countries that every blow 
 upon us would be but as a blow of the right arm upon the 
 left? Why, but that in the smoke-pipe of every steamer 
 
 20 which brings her merchandise to our ports, we see a calu- 
 met of peace, which her war-chiefs dare not extinguish ? 
 
 Commerce has, indeed, almost realized ideas which the 
 poet, in his wildest fancies, assumed as the very standard 
 of impossibility. We may not " charm ache with air, or 
 
 25 agony with words ; " but may we not " fetter strong mad- 
 ness with a cotton thread ? " Yes, that little fibre, which 
 was not known as a product of the North American soil 
 when our old colonial union with Great Britain was dis- 
 solved, has already been spun, by the ocean-moved power- 
 
 30 loom of international commerce, into a thread which may 
 fetter forever the strong madness of war ! 
 
 Hon. R. C. Winthrop. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXVI. 
 
 Soliloquy of Claudius [Hamlefs Uncle) on the Murder of 
 his Brother. 
 
 Oh ! my oflence is rank : it smells to heaven ! 
 It hath the primal, eldest curse upon 't ! — 
 A brother's murder I — Pray I cannot, 
 35 Though inclination be as sharp as 't will ; 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
 
EX. LXXXVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 355 
 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
 
 And both neglect. 
 
 What if this cursed hand 
 5 Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ! 
 
 Is there not min enough in the sweet heavens 
 
 To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy, 
 
 But to confront the visage of offence ? 
 
 And what 's in prayer, but this two-fold force ; — 
 10 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 
 
 Or pardoned, being down? — Then I'll look up. 
 My fault is past. But, oh ! what form of prayer 
 
 Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ? 
 
 That cannot be, since I am still possessed 
 15 Of those effects for which I did the murder — 
 
 My crown, my own ambition and my queen. 
 
 May one be pardoned and retain the offence ? 
 
 In the corrupted currents of this world, 
 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
 20 And oft 't is seen, the wicked prize itself 
 
 Buys out the laws. But 't is not so above. 
 
 There is no shuffling : there the action lies 
 
 In its true nature, and we ourselves compelled, 
 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 25 To give in evidence. 
 
 What then ? what rests ? — 
 
 Try what repentance can — what can it not ? — 
 
 Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? — 
 
 Oh wretched state ! Oh bosom black as death ! — 
 30 Oh limed soul, that, struggling to be free. 
 
 Art more engaged ! — Help, angels ! — Make assay ! 
 
 Bow, stubborn knees ! and heart, with strings of steel, 
 
 Be soft as sinews of a new-born babe ! 
 
 All may be well. Shakspeare. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXVn. 
 
 Charity. 
 
 [13th Chapter of 1st Corinthians.] 
 
 35 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, 
 and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a 
 tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, 
 
356 Parker's exercises in [ex. Lxxxvni. 
 
 and understand all mysteries and all knowledge; and 
 though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, 
 and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow 
 all my goods tg feed the poor, and though I give my body 
 5 to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. 
 
 Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth not ; 
 charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not be- 
 have itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily 
 provoked, thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but 
 10 rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all 
 things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. 
 
 Charity never faileth ; but whether there be prophecies, 
 they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall 
 cease ; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 
 15 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when 
 that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part 
 shall be done away. 
 
 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as 
 
 a child, I thought as a child : but when I became a man, 
 
 20 I put away childish things. For now we see through a 
 
 glass, darkly ; but then face to face : now I know in part ; 
 
 but then shall 1 know even as also I am known. 
 
 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three ; but 
 the greatest of these is charity. 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXVm. 
 Farewell. 
 
 25 Farewell ! but whenever you welcome the hour, 
 Which awakens the night song of mirth in your bower, 
 Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, 
 And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
 His griefs may return ; not a hope may remain, 
 
 30 Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain, 
 But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw 
 Its enchantments around him, while lingering with you. 
 
 And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up 
 To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, 
 
 35 Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 
 
 My soul, happy friends ! shall be with you that night ; - 
 Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles, 
 And return to me, beaming all o'er with vour smiles ! — 
 
EX. LXXXIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 357 
 
 Too blest, if it tells me, that, 'mid the gay cheer, 
 
 Some kind voice had murmured, " I wish he were here ! " 
 
 Let fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy, 
 Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy ; 
 5 And which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
 To bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
 Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! — 
 Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — 
 You may break, you may ruin, the vase if you will, 
 10 But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 
 
 T. Mo&re, 
 
 EXERCISE LXXXIX. 
 
 English Travellers. 
 
 In the present age of high literary activity, travellers 
 make not the least important demands on public attention, 
 and their lucubrations, under whatever name — Rambles, 
 Notices, Incidents, Pencillings — are nearly as important 
 
 15 a staple for the " trade " as novels and romances. A book 
 of travels, formerly, was a very serious affair. The trav- 
 eller set out on his distant journey with many a solemn 
 preparation, made his will, and bade adieu to his friends 
 like one who might not again return. If he did return, 
 
 20 the results were imbodied in a respectable folio, or at least 
 quarto, well garnished with cuts, and done up in a solid 
 form, which argued that it was no fugitive publication, but 
 destined for posterity. 
 
 All this is changed. The voyager nowadays leaves 
 
 25 home with as little ceremony and leave-taking as if it 
 were for a morning's drive. He steps into the bark that 
 is to carry him across thousands of miles of ocean, with 
 the moral certainty of returning in a fixed week, almost 
 at a particular day. Parties of gentlemen and ladies go 
 
 30 whizzing along in their steamships over the track which 
 cost so many weary days to the Argonauts of old, and run 
 over the choicest scenes of classic antiquity, scattered 
 through Europe, Asia, and Africa, in less time than it 
 formerly took to go from one end of the British isles to 
 
 35 the other. 
 
 The Cape of Good Hope, so long the great stumbling- 
 block to the navigators of Europe, is doubled, or the Red 
 Sea coasted, in the same way, by the fashionable tourist, 
 
358 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxix. 
 
 — who glides along the shores of Arabia, Persia, Afghan- 
 istan, Bombay, and Hindostan, further than the furthest 
 limits of Alexander's conquests — before the last leaves of 
 the last new novel which he has taken by the way are 
 5 fairly cut. The facilities of communication have, in fact, 
 so abridged distances, that geography, as we have hitherto 
 studied it, may be said to be entirely reformed. Instead 
 of leagues, we now compute by hours, and we find our- 
 selves next-door neighbors to those whom we had looked 
 
 10 upon as at the antipodes. 
 
 The consequence of these improvements in the means 
 of intercourse is, that all the world goes abroad, or, at 
 least, one half is turned upon the other. Nations are so 
 mixed up by this process that they are in some danger of 
 
 15 losing their idiosyncrasy ; and the Egyptian and the 
 Turk, though they still cling to their religion, are becom- 
 ing European in their notions and habits more and moro 
 every day. 
 
 The taste for pilgrimage, however, it must be owned, 
 
 20 does not stop with the countries where it can be carried 
 on with such increased facility. It has begotten a nobler 
 spirit of adventure, something akin to what existed in the 
 fifteenth century, when the world was new, or newly dis- 
 covering, and a navigator who did not take in sail, like 
 
 25 the cautious seamen of Knickerbocker, might run down 
 some strange continent in the dark ; for in these times of 
 dandy tourists and travel-mongers, the boldest achieve- 
 ments, that have hitherto defied the most adventurous 
 spirits, have been performed: the Himmaleh Mountains 
 
 30 have been scaled, the Niger ascended, the burning heart 
 of Africa penetrated, the icy Arctic and Antarctic explored, 
 and the mysterious monuments of the semi-civilized races 
 of Central America have been thrown open to the public 
 gaze. It is certain that this is a high-pressure age, and 
 
 35 every department of science and letters, physical and men- 
 tal, feels its stimulating influence. 
 
 No nation, on the whole, has contributed so largely to 
 these itinerant exhibitions as the English. Uneasy, it 
 would seem, at being cooped up in their little isle, they 
 
 40 sally forth in all directions, swarming over the cultivated 
 and luxurious countries of the neighboring continent, or 
 sending out stragglers on other more distant and formida- 
 ble missions. Whether it be that their soaring spirits are 
 impatient of the narrow quarters which nature has as- 
 
EX. Lxxxix.J khp:torical heading. 359 
 
 signed them, or that there exists a supernumerary class of 
 idlers, who, wearied with the monotony of home, and the 
 same dull round of dissipation, seek excitement in strange 
 scenes and adventures ; or whether they go abroad for the 
 5 sunshine, of which they have heard so much but seen so 
 little — whatever be the cause, they furnish a far greater 
 number of tourists than all the world besides. We Amer- 
 icans, indeed, may compete with them in mere locomotion, 
 for our familiarity with magnificent distances at home 
 
 10 makes us still more indifferent to them abroad ; but this 
 locomotion is generally in the way of business, and the 
 result is rarely shown in a book, unless, indeed, it be the 
 ledger. 
 
 Yet John Bull is, on many accounts, less fitted than 
 
 15 most of his neighbors for the duties of a traveller. How- 
 ever warm and hospitable in his own home, he has a cold 
 reserve in his exterior, a certain chilling atmosphere, which 
 he carries along with him, that freezes up the sympathies 
 of strangers, and which is only to be completely thawed 
 
 20 by long and intimate acquaintance. But the traveller has 
 no time for intimate acquaintances. He must go forward, 
 and trust to his first impressions, for they will also be his 
 last. 
 
 Unluckily, it rarely falls out that the first impressions 
 
 25 of honest John are very favorable. There is too much 
 pride, not to say hauteur, in his composition, which, with 
 the best intentions in the world, will show itself in a way 
 not particularly flattering to those who come in contact 
 with him. He goes through a strange nation, treading on 
 
 30 all their little irritable prejudices, shocking their self-love 
 and harmless vanities — in short, going against the grain, 
 and roughing up everything by taking it the wrong way. 
 Thus he draws out the bad humors of the people among 
 whom he moves, sees them in their most unamiable and 
 
 35 by no means natural aspect — in short, looks on the wrong 
 side of the tapestry. What wonder if his notions are 
 somewhat awry as to what he sees ! There are, it is true, 
 distinguished exceptions to all this : English travellers, 
 who cover the warm heart — as warm as it is generally 
 
 40 true and manly — under a kind and sometimes cordial 
 manner ; but they are the exceptions. The Englishman 
 undoubtedly appears best on his own soil, where his na- 
 tional predilections and prejudices, or, at least, the intima- 
 tion of them, are somewhat mitigated in deference to his 
 
 45 guest. 
 
360 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxix. 
 
 Another source of the disqualification of John Bull as 
 a calm and philosophic traveller is the manner in which 
 he has been educated at home ; the soft luxuries by which 
 he has been surrounded from his cradle have made luxu- 
 5 ries necessaries, and, accustomed to perceive all the ma- 
 chinery of life glide along as noiselessly and as swiftly as 
 the foot of Time itself, he becomes morbidly sensitive to 
 every temporary jar or derangement in the working of it. 
 In no country, since the world was made, have all the 
 
 10 appliances for mere physical, and, we may add, intellectu- 
 al indulgence, been carried to such perfection as in this 
 little island nucleus of civilization. Nowhere can a man 
 get such returns for his outlay. The whole organization 
 of society is arranged so as to minister to the comforts of 
 
 15 the wealthy ; and an Englishman, with the golden talis- 
 man in his pocket, can bring about him genii to do his 
 bidding, and transport himself over distances with a 
 thought, almost as easy as if he were the possessor of 
 Aladdin's magic lamp, and the fairy carpet of the Arabian 
 
 20 Tales. 
 
 When he journeys over his little island, his comforts 
 and luxuries cling as close to him as round his own fire- 
 side. He rolls over roads as smooth and well-beaten as 
 those in his own park ; is swept onward by sleek and well- 
 
 25 groomed horses, in a carriage as soft and elastic, and quite 
 as showy, as his own equipage ; puts up at inns that may 
 vie with his own castle in their comforts and accommoda- 
 tions, and is received by crowds of obsequious servants, 
 more solicitous, probably, even than his own, to win his 
 
 30 golden smiles. In short, wherever he goes, he may be 
 said to carry with him his castle, park, equipage, estab- 
 lishment. The whole are in movement together. He 
 changes place, indeed, but changes nothing else. For 
 travelling, as it occurs in other lands — hard roads, harder 
 
 35 beds, and hardest fare — he knows no more of it than if 
 he had been passing from one wing of his castle to the 
 other. 
 
 All this, it must be admitted, is rather an indifferent 
 preparation for a tour on the continent. Of what avail 
 
 40 is it that Paris is the most elegant capital, France the 
 most enlightened country, on the European terra firma, 
 if one cannot walk in the streets without the risk of being 
 run over for want of a trottoir, nor move on the roads 
 without being half smothered in a lumbering vehicle, 
 
EX. LXXXIX.J RHETORICAL READING. 361 
 
 dragged by ropes, at the rate of five miles an hour ? Of 
 what account are the fine music and paintings, the archi- 
 tecture and art, of Italy, when one must shiver by day for 
 want of carpets and sea-coal fires, and be thrown into a 
 5 fever at night by the active vexations of a still more tor- 
 menting kind ? The galled equestrian might as well be 
 expected to feel nothing but raptures and ravishment at 
 the fine scenery through which he is riding. It is prob- 
 able he will think much more of his own petty hurts than 
 
 10 of the beauties of nature. A travelling John Bull, if his 
 skin is not otf, is at least so thin-skinned that it is next 
 door to being so. 
 
 If the European neighborhood affords so many means 
 of annoyance to the British traveller, they are incalculably 
 
 15 multiplied on this side of the water, and that, too, under 
 circumstances which dispose him still less to charity in his 
 criticisms and constructions. On the continent he feels he 
 is among strange races, born and bred under different reli- 
 gious and political institutions, and, above all, speaking 
 
 20 different languages. He does not necessarily, therefore, 
 measure them by his peculiar standard, but allows them 
 one of their own. The dissimilarity is so great in all the 
 main features of national polity and society, that it is hard 
 to institute a comparison. 
 
 25 Whatever be his contempt for the want of progress and 
 perfection in the science of living, he comes to regard 
 them as a distinct race, amenable to different laws, and 
 therefore licensed to indulge in different usages, to a cer- 
 tain extent, from his own. If a man travels in China, he 
 
 30 makes up his mind to chop-sticks. If he should go to the 
 moon, he would not be scandalized by seeing people walk 
 with their heads under their arms. He has embarked on 
 a different planet. It is only in things which run parallel 
 to those in his own country that a comparison can be insti- 
 
 35 tuted, and charity too often fails where criticism begins. 
 Unhappily, in America, the Englishman finds these 
 points of comparison forced on him at every step. He 
 lands among a people speaking the same language, pro- 
 fessing the same religion, drinking at the same fountains 
 
 40 of literature, trained in the same occupations of active life. 
 The towns are built on much the same model with those 
 in his own land. The brick houses, the streets, the " side- 
 walks," the in-door arrangements, all, in short, are near 
 enough on the same pattern to provoke a comparison. Ala« 
 31 
 
362 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxix. 
 
 for the comparison ! The cities sink at once into mere 
 provincial towns ; the language degenerates into a pro- 
 vincial patois ; the manners, the fashions, down to the cut 
 of the clothes, and the equipages, all are provincial. The 
 
 5 people, the whole nation — as independent as any, cer- 
 tainly, if not, as our orators fondly descant, the best and 
 most enlightened upon earth — dwindle into a mere British 
 colony. 
 
 The traveller does not seem to understand that he is 
 
 10 treading the soil of the new world, where everything is 
 new, where antiquity dates, but from yesterday, where the 
 present and the future are all and the past nothing, where 
 hope is the watchword and " Go ahead ! " the principle 
 of action. He does not comprehend that when he sets 
 
 15 foot on such a land he is no longer to look for old hered- 
 itary landmarks, old time-honored monuments and institu- 
 tions, old families that have vegetated on the same soil 
 since the Conquest. He must be content to part with the 
 order, and something of the decorum, incident to an old 
 
 20 community, where the ranks are all precisely and punctil- 
 
 ) iously defined, where the power is deposited by prescrip- 
 tive right in certain privileged hands, and where the great 
 mass have the careful obsequiousness of dependents, look- 
 ing for the crumbs that fall. 
 
 25 He is now among a new people, where everything is in 
 movement, all struggling to get forward, and where, though 
 many go adrift in their wild spirit of adventure, and a 
 temporary check may be sometimes felt by all, the great 
 mass still advances. He is landed on a hemisphere where 
 
 30 fortunes are to be made, and men are employed in getting, 
 not in spending — a difference which explains so many of 
 the discrepancies between the structure of our own society 
 and habits and those of the old world. To know how to 
 spend is itself a science ; and the science of spending and 
 
 35 that of getting are rarely held by the same hand. 
 
 In such a state of things, the whole arrangement of soci- 
 ety, notwithstanding the apparent resemblance to that in 
 his own country, and its real resemblance in minor points, 
 is reversed. The rich proprietor, who does nothing but 
 
 40 fatten on his rents, is no longer at the head of the scale, as 
 in the old world. The man of enterprise takes the lead 
 in a bustling community, where action and progress, or at 
 least change, are the very conditions of existence. The 
 upper classes — if the term can be used in a complete 
 
EX. LXXXlX.j RHETORICAL READING. 363 
 
 democracy — have not the luxurious finish and accommo- 
 dations to be found in the other hemisphere. The hum- 
 bler classes have not the poverty-stricken, cringing spirit 
 of hopeless inferiority. The pillar of society, if it want 
 5 the Corinthian capital, wants also the heavy and superflu- 
 ous base. Every man not only professes to be, but is 
 practically, on a footing of equality with his neighbor. The 
 traveller must not expect to meet here the deference, or 
 even the courtesies, which grow out of distinction of castes. 
 
 10 This is an awkward dilemma for one whose nerves 
 have never been jarred by contact with the profane ; who 
 has never been tossed about in the rough and tumble of 
 humanity. It is little to him that the poorest child in the 
 community learns how to read and write ; that the poorest 
 
 15 man can have ; — what Henry the Fourth so good-naturedly 
 wished for the humblest of his subjects — a fowl in his 
 pot every day for his dinner ; that no one is so low but 
 that he may aspire to all the rights of his fellow-men, and 
 find an open theatre on which to display his own peculiar 
 
 20 talents. 
 
 As the tourist strikes into the interior, difficulties of all 
 sorts multiply, incident to a raw and unformed country. 
 The comparison with the high civilization at home becomes 
 more and more unfavorable, as he is made to feel that in 
 
 25 this land of promise it must be long before promise can 
 become the performance of the old world. And yet, if he 
 would look beyond the surface, he would see that much 
 here too has been performed, however much may be 
 wanting. He would see lands over which the wild Indian 
 
 SO roamed as a hunting-ground teeming with harvests for the 
 consumption of millions at home and abroad; forests, 
 which have shot up, ripened and decayed, on the same 
 spot ever since the creation, now swept away to make 
 room for towns and villages, thronged with an industrious 
 
 35 population; rivers, which rolled on in their solitudes, 
 undisturbed except by the wandering bark of the savage, 
 now broken and dimpled by hundreds of steamboats, 
 freighted with the rich tribute of a country rescued from 
 the wilderness. 
 
 40 He would not expect to meet the careful courtesies of 
 polished society in the pioneers of civilization, whose mis- 
 sion has been to recover the great continent from the bear 
 and the buffalo. He would have some charity for their 
 ignorance of the latest fashions of Bond-street, and their 
 
364 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxix. 
 
 departure, sometimes, even from what, in the old country, is 
 considered as the decorum, and, it may be, decencies of 
 life. But not so ; his heart turns back to his own land, 
 and closes against the rude scenes around him ; for he 
 5 finds here none of the soft graces of cultivation, or the hal- 
 lowed memorials of an early civilization ; no gray, weather- 
 beaten cathedrals, telling of the Normans; no Gothic 
 churches in their groves of venerable oaks ; no moss-cov- 
 ered cemeteries, in which the dustof his fathers has been 
 
 10 gathered since the time of the Plantagenets ; no rural 
 cottages, half smothered with roses and honeysuckles, inti- 
 mating that even in the most humble abodes the taste for 
 the beautiful has found its way ; no trim gardens, and 
 fields blossoming with hawthorn hedges and miniature 
 
 15 culture; no ring fences, enclosing well-shaven lawns, 
 woods so disposed as to form a picture of themselves, 
 bright threads of silvery water, and sparkling fountains. 
 
 All these are wanting, and his eyes turn with disgust 
 from the wild and rugged features of nature, and all her 
 
 20 rough accompaniments — from man almost as wild ; and 
 his heart sickens as he thinks of his own land, and all its 
 scenes of beauty. He thinks not of the poor, who leave 
 that land for want of bread, and find in this a kindly 
 welcome, and the means of independence and advancement 
 
 25 which their own denies them. 
 
 He goes on, if he be a splenetic Sinbad, discharging his 
 sour bile on everybody that he comes in contact with, thus 
 producing an amiable ripple in the current as he proceeds, 
 that adds marvellously, no doubt, to his own quiet and 
 
 30 personal comfort. If he have a true merry vein and 
 hearty good nature, he gets on, laughing sometimes in his 
 sleeve at others, and cracking his jokes on the unlucky 
 pate of Brother Jonathan, who, if he is not very silly — 
 which he very often is — laughs too, and joins in the jest, 
 
 35 though it may be somewhat at his own expense. 
 
 It matters little whether the tourist be Whig or Tory in 
 his own land ; if the latter, he returns, probably, ten times 
 the conservative that he was when he left it. If Whig, or 
 even Radical, it matters not ; his loyalty waxes warmer 
 
 40 and warmer with every step of his progress among the 
 republicans ; and he finds that practical democracy, shoul- 
 dering and elbowing its neighbors as it "goes ahead," 
 is no more like the democracy which he has been accus- 
 tomed to admire in theory, than the real machinery, with 
 
 45 its smell, smoke, and clatter, under full operation, is like 
 
EX. XC.J RHETORICAL READLNG. 365 
 
 the pretty toy which he sees as a model in the Patent 
 Office at Washington. — W. H. Prescott. 
 
 EXERCISE XC. 
 
 Speak Gently. 
 
 Speak gently ! it is better far 
 To rule by love than fear ; 
 6 Speak gently ! let not harsh words mar 
 
 The good we might do here. 
 
 Speak gently ! Love doth whisper low 
 The vows that true hearts bind, 
 And gently Friendship's accents flow, 
 10 Affection's voice is kind. 
 
 Speak gently to the little child, — 
 Its love be sure to gain, — 
 Teach it in accents soft and mild, — 
 It may not long remain. 
 16 Speak gently to the aged one, 
 
 Grieve not the care-worn heart ; 
 The sands of life are nearly run — 
 Let such in peace depart. 
 
 Speak gently to the young, for they 
 20 Will have enough to bear ; 
 
 Pass through this life as best they may, 
 'T is full of anxious care. 
 
 Speak gently, kindly, to the poor, 
 Let no harsh tones be heard ; 
 25 They have enough they must endure 
 
 Without an unking word. 
 
 Speak gently to the erring ; know 
 They may have toiled in vain ; 
 Perchance unkindness made them so, — 
 30 Oh ! win them back again ; — 
 
 Speak gently ! He who gave his life 
 To bend man's stubborn will, 
 When elements were in fierce strife 
 Said to them, " Peace, be still ! " 
 35 Speak gently ! 't is a little thing 
 
 Dropped in the heart's deep well, 
 The good, the joy, which it may bring, 
 Eternity shall teU. 
 31# 
 
366 Parker's exercises in [ex. xci. 
 
 EXERCISE XCI. 
 
 Extract of a Speech in the Senate of the United States, dis- 
 avoimng a National- Hostility to Great Britain. 
 
 Mr. President, we must distinguish a little. That 
 there exists in this country an intense sentiment of nation- 
 ality ; a cherished energetic feeling and consciousness of 
 our independent and separate national existence ; a feeling 
 5 that we have a transcendent destiny to fulfil, which we 
 mean to fulfil ; a great work to do, which we know how 
 to do, and are able to do ; a career to run, up which we 
 hope to ascend, till we stand on the steadfast and glittering 
 summits of the world ; a feeling, that we are surrounded 
 
 10 and attended by a noble historical group of competitors 
 and rivals, the other nations of the earth, all of whom we 
 hope to overtake, and even to distance ; — such a senti- 
 ment as this exists, perhaps, in the character of this 
 people. 
 
 15 And this I do not discourage ; I do not condemn. It is 
 easy to ridicule it. But, "grand, swelling sentiments" 
 of patriotism, no wise man will despise. They have their 
 uses. They help to give a great heart to a nation ; to 
 animate it for the various conflicts of its lot ; to assist it 
 
 20 to work out for itself a more exceeding weight, and to fill 
 a larger measure of glory. But, sir, that among these 
 useful and beautiful sentiments, predominant among them, 
 there exists a temper of hostility towards this one particu- 
 lar nation, to such a degree as to amount to a habit, a 
 
 25 trait, a national passion — to amount to a state of feeling 
 which " is to be regretted," and which really threatens 
 another war — this I earnestly and confidently deny. I 
 would not hear your enemy say this. 
 
 Sir, the indulgence of such a sentiment by the people 
 
 30 supposes them to have forgotten one of the counsels of 
 Washington. Call to mind the ever seasonable wisdom 
 of the Farewell Address : " The nation which indulges 
 towards another an habitual hatred, or an habitual fond- 
 ness, is, in some degree, a slave. It is a slave to its ani- 
 
 35 mosity, or to its affection, either of which is sufficient to 
 lead it astray from its duty and its interest." 
 
 No, sir! no, sir! We are above all this. Let the 
 Highland clansman, half naked, half civilized, half blinded 
 by the peat-smoke of his cavern, have his hereditary enemy 
 
 40 and his hereditary enmity, and keep the keen, deep, and 
 
EX. XCI.] RHETORICAL READING. 367 
 
 precious hatred, set on fire of hell, alive if he can ; let the 
 North American Indian have his, and hand it down from 
 father to son, by Heaven knows what symbols of alligators, 
 and rattle-snakes, and war-clubs, smeared with vermilion 
 5 and entwined with scarlet ; let such a country as Poland, 
 — cloven to the earth, the armed heel on the radiant fore- 
 head, her body dead, her soul incapable to die, — let her 
 remember the "wrongs of days long past;" let the lost 
 and wandering tribes of Israel remember theirs — the man- 
 
 10 liness and the sympathy of the world may allow or pardon 
 this to them ; — but shall America, young, free, prosperous, 
 just setting out on the highway of heaven, " decorating 
 and cheering the elevated sphere she just begins to move 
 in, glittering like the morning star, full of life and joy," 
 
 15 shall she be supposed to be polluting and corroding her 
 noble and happy heart, by moping over old stories of stamp 
 act, and tea tax, and the firing of the Leopard upon the 
 Chesapeake in a time of peace ? 
 
 No, sir ! no, sir I a thousand times no ! Why, I pro- 
 
 20 test I thought all that had been settled. I thought two 
 wars had settled it all. What else was so much good 
 blood shed for, on so many more than classical fields of 
 revolutionary glory ? For what was so much good blood 
 more lately shed, at Lundy's Lane, at Fort Erie, before 
 
 25 and behind the lines at New Orleans, on the deck of the 
 Constitution, on the deck of the Java, on the lakes, on 
 the sea, but to settle exactly these "wrongs of past 
 days ? " 
 
 And have we come back sulky and sullen from the 
 
 30 very field of honor ? For my country, I deny it. The 
 senator^ says that our people still remember these " former 
 scenes of wrong, with, perhaps, too deep" a sensibility; 
 and that, as I interpret him, they nourish a " too exten- 
 sive" national enmity. How so? If the feeling he 
 
 35 attributes to them is moral, manly, creditable, how comes 
 it to be too deep? and if it is immoral, unmanly, and 
 unworthy, why is it charged on them at all ? 
 
 Is there a member of this body, who would stand up in 
 any educated, in any intelligent and right-minded circle 
 
 40 which he respected, and avow that, for his part, he must 
 acknowledge, that, looking back through the glories and 
 the atonement of two wars, his views were full of ill blood 
 to England ; that in peace he could not help being her 
 
 ♦ Mr. Buchanan, of Pennsylvania. 
 
368 Parker's exercises in [ex. xcii. 
 
 enemy; that he could not pluck out the deep-wrought 
 convictions and "the immortal hate" of the old times? 
 Certainly, not one. And then, sir, that which we feel 
 would do no honor for ourselves shall we confess for our 
 5 country ? 
 
 Mr. President, let me say, that in my judgment this 
 notion of a national enmity of feeling towards Great Brit- 
 ain, belongs to a past age of our history. My younger 
 countrymen are unconscious of it. They disavow it. 
 10 That generation, in whose opinions and feelings the 
 actions and the destiny of the next are unfolded, as the 
 tree in the germ, do not at all comprehend your meaning, 
 nor your fears, nor your regrets. 
 
 We are born to happier feelings. We look to England 
 15 as we look to France. We look to them, from our new 
 world, — not unrenowned, yet a new world still, — and 
 the blood mounts to our cheeks; our eyes swim; our 
 voices are stifled with emulousness of so much glory ; their 
 trophies will not let us sleep : but there is no hatred at all ; 
 20 no hatred — no barbarian memory of wrongs, for which 
 brave men have made the last expiation to the brave. 
 
 Hon. Rufus Ckoate. 
 •— ♦ 
 
 EXERCISE XCn. 
 Tim Bird let loose in Eastern Skies. 
 
 The bird, let loose in eastern skies,^ 
 
 When hastening fondly home, 
 
 Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 
 25 Where idle warblers roam. 
 
 But high she shoots through air and light, 
 
 Above all low delay, 
 
 Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 
 
 Nor shadow dims her way. 
 30 So grant me, God, from every care 
 
 And stain of passion free, 
 
 Aloft, through virtue's purer air, 
 
 To hold my course to thee ! 
 
 No sin to cloud — no lure to stay 
 35 My soul, as home she springs : — 
 
 Thy sunshine on her joyful way, 
 
 Thy freedom in her wings ! T. Moore. 
 
 * The carrier pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in ord^i 
 to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined. 
 
EX. XCIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 369 
 
 EXERCISE XCni. 
 The Prodigal So7i. 
 
 From The Goapel According to St. Luke, Chapter XV. 
 
 Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners 
 for to hear him. And the Pharisees and scribes mur- 
 mured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth 
 with them. 
 5 And he spake this parable unto them, saying", What 
 man of you having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, 
 doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and 
 go after that which he has lost, until he find it ? And 
 when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, 
 
 10 rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth to- 
 gether his friends and neighbors, saying unto them, Re- 
 joice with me ; for I have found my sheep which was lost. 
 I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over 
 one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine 
 
 15 just persons which need no repentance. 
 
 Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she 
 lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the 
 house, and seek diligently till she find it ? And when she 
 hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbors 
 
 20 together, saying, Rejoice with me ; for I have found the 
 piece which I had lost. Likewise, I say unto you. There 
 is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner 
 that repenteth. 
 
 And he said, A certain man had two sons : and the 
 
 25 younger of them said to his father. Father, give me the 
 portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto 
 them his living. And not many days after, the younger 
 son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far 
 country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. 
 
 30 And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine 
 in that land ; and he began to be in want. 
 
 And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that 
 country ; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. 
 And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks 
 
 35 that the swine did eat ; and no man gave unto him. 
 
 And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired 
 servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, 
 and I perish with hunger ! I will arise and go to my 
 father, and will say unto him. Father, I have sinned 
 
 40 against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy 
 
370 Parker's exercises in [ex. xcrv. 
 
 to be called thy son : make me as one of thy hired ser- 
 vants. 
 
 And he arose, and came to his father. But when he 
 was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had com- 
 5 passion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. 
 And the son said unto him. Father, I have sinned against 
 heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be 
 called thy son. 
 
 But the father said to his servants. Bring forth the best 
 
 10 robe, and put it on him ; and put a ring on his hand, and 
 shoes on his feet : and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill 
 it ; and let us eat, and be merry : for this my son was dead, 
 and is alive again ; he was lost, and is found. And they 
 began to be merry. 
 
 15 Now his elder son was in the field : and as he came and 
 drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And 
 he called one of the servants and asked what these things 
 meant. And he said unto him. Thy brother is come ; and 
 thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath re- 
 
 20 ceived him safe and sound. 
 
 And he was angry, and would not go in ; therefore came 
 his father out, and entreated him. And he answering, 
 said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, 
 neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment ; and 
 
 25 yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry 
 with my friends : but as soon as this thy son wa^ come, 
 which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast 
 killed for him the fatted calf. 
 
 And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me ; and 
 
 30 all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make 
 merry, and be glad : for this thy brother was dead, and is 
 alive again ; and was lost, and is found. 
 
 EXERCISE XCIV. 
 
 Go where Glory waits Thee. 
 
 Go where glory waits thee, 
 But while fame elates thee, 
 35 Oh, still remember me. 
 
 When the praise thou meetest 
 To thine ear is sweetest, 
 Oh, then remember me. 
 
EX. XCV.] RHETORICAL READING. 37l 
 
 Other arms may press thee, 
 
 Dearer friends caress thee, — 
 
 All the joys that bless thee 
 
 Sweeter far may be ; 
 5 But when friends are nearest, 
 
 And when joys are dearest, 
 
 Oh, then remember me. 
 When at eve thou rovest, 
 
 By the star thou lovest, 
 10 Oh, then remember me. 
 
 Think, when home retumingf. 
 
 Bright we Ve seen it burning ; 
 
 Oh, thus remember me. 
 
 Oft as summer closes, 
 
 16 When thine eye reposes 
 
 On its lingering roses. 
 
 Once so loved by thee. 
 
 Think of her who wove them, 
 
 Her who made thee love them ; 
 20 Oh, then remember me. 
 
 When around thee, dying. 
 
 Autumn leaves are lying, 
 
 Oh, then remember me. 
 
 And, at night, when gazing 
 25 On the gay hearth blazing. 
 
 Oh, still remember me. 
 
 Then, should music, stealing 
 
 All the soul of feeling. 
 
 To thy heart appealing, 
 30 Draw one tear from thee ; 
 
 Then let memory bring thee 
 
 Strains I used to sing thee ; — 
 
 Oh, then remember me. T. Moore, 
 
 EXERCISE XCV. 
 
 HamleVs Advice to the Players. 
 
 Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you ; 
 
 35 trippingly, on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many 
 
 of the players do, I had as lief the town-crier had spoke 
 
 my lines. And do not saw the air too much with your 
 
 hand ; but use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, 
 
372 Parker's exercises in [ex. xcvl 
 
 and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must 
 acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth- 
 ness. Oh ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robusteous, 
 periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, 
 
 5 to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, 
 are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and 
 noise. Pray, you avoid it. 
 
 Be not too tame neither : but let your own discretion be 
 your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the 
 
 10 action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not 
 the modesty of nature : for anything so overdone is from 
 the purpose of playing, whose end is — to hold, as it were, 
 the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, 
 scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the 
 
 15 time his form and pressure. 
 
 Now, this overdone, or come tardy of, though it makes 
 the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; 
 the censure of one of which must, in your allowance, o'er- 
 weigh a whole theatre of others. Oh ! there be players 
 
 20 that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that 
 highly, that, neither having the accent of Christian, nor 
 the gait of Christian, pagan nor man, have so strutted and 
 bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journey- 
 men had made men, and not made them well ; they imi- 
 
 25 tated humanity so abominably. — Shakspeare. 
 
 EXERCISE XCVL 
 Milton's Lamentation for the Loss of his Sight. 
 
 Hail, holy light ! offspring of heaven first-born ! 
 
 Or, of the eternal, coetemal beam ! 
 
 May I express thee unblamed ? Since God is light, 
 
 And never but in unapproached light 
 30 Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee. 
 
 Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 
 
 Or, hear'st thou, rather, pure ethereal stream, 
 
 Whose fountain who shall tell ? 
 
 Before the sun, 
 35 Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 
 
 Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
 
 The rising world of waters dark and deep. 
 
 Won from the void and formless infinite. 
 
BX. XCVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 373 
 
 Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 
 Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
 In that obscure sojourn ; while in my flight, 
 Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 
 5 With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 
 I sung of Chaos and eternal Night ; 
 Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
 The dark descent, and up to reiiscend. 
 Though hard and rare. 
 
 10 Thee I revisit safe, 
 
 And feel thy sovereign vital lamp ; but thou 
 Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
 To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
 So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 
 
 15 Or dim suffusion veiled. 
 
 Yet not the more 
 Cease I to wander where the muses haunt. 
 Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
 Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
 
 20 Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
 
 That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
 Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
 Those other two, equalled with me in fate. 
 So were I equalled with them in renown ! 
 
 "26 Blind Thamaris, and blind Mseonides ; 
 
 And Tyresias, and Phyneus, prophets old: — 
 Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 
 Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 
 Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid, 
 
 30 Tunes her nocturnal note. 
 
 Thus with the year 
 Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
 Day, or the sweet approach of even or mom, 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
 
 35 Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine : 
 But cloud instead, and ever-during dark, 
 Surrounds me : from the cheerful ways of men 
 Cut off', and, for the book of knowledge fair. 
 Presented with an universal blank 
 
 40 Of nature's works, to me expunged and razed. 
 And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out. 
 
 So much the rather, thou, celestial light. 
 Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
 Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thence 
 32 
 
374 Parker's exercises in [ex. xcvn 
 
 Purge and disperse ; that I may see and tell 
 
 Of things invisible to mortal sight. Milton, 
 
 EXERCISE xcvn. 
 
 Intellectual Improvement. 
 
 The great mass of mankind consider the intellectual 
 powers as susceptible of a certain degree of development 
 6 in childhood, to prepare the individual for the active duties 
 of life. This degree of progress they suppose to be made 
 before the age of twenty is attained, and hence they talk 
 of an education being finished ! 
 
 Now, if a parent wishes to convey the idea that his 
 
 10 daughter has closed her studies at school, or that his son 
 has finished his preparatory professional course, and is 
 ready to commence practice, there is perhaps no strong 
 objection to his using of the common phrase, that the 
 education is finished ; but in any general or proper use of 
 
 15 language, there is no such thing as a finished education. 
 The most successful student that ever left a school, or took 
 his degree at college, never arrived at a good place to stop, 
 in his intellectual course. 
 
 In fact, the further he goes the more desirous will he feel 
 
 20 to go on ; and if you wish to find an instance of the great- 
 est eagerness and interest with which the pursuit of knowl- 
 edge is prosecuted, you will find it undoubtedly in the case 
 of the most accomplished and thorough scholar that the 
 country can furnish, one who has spent a long life in study, 
 
 25 and who finds that the further he goes the more and more 
 widely does the boundless field of intelligence open before 
 him. 
 
 Give up, then, at once, all idea of finishing your educa- 
 tion. The sole object of the course of discipline at any 
 
 30 literary institution, in our land, is not to finish, but just to 
 show you how to begin ; to give you an impulse and a 
 direction upon that course which you ought to pursue with 
 unabated and uninterrupted ardor as long as you have 
 being. 
 
 35 It is unquestionably true, that every person, whatever 
 are his circumstances or condition in life, ought at all times 
 to be making some steady eflforts to enlarge his stock of 
 knowledge, to increase his mental powers, and thus to ex- 
 
EX. XCVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 375 
 
 pand the field of his intellectual vision. I suppose most 
 of my readers are convinced of this, and are desirous, if 
 the way can only be distinctly pointed out, of making such 
 efforts. 
 5 In fact, no inquiry is more frequently made by intelligent 
 young persons than this : — " What course of reading shall 
 I pursue ? What books shall I select, and what plan in 
 reading them shall I adopt ? " These inquiries I now pro- 
 pose to answer. The objects of study are of several kinds ; 
 
 10 some of the most important I shall enumerate. 
 
 To increase our intellectual powers. — Every one knows 
 that there is a difference of ability in different minds, but 
 it is not so distinctly understood that every one's abilities 
 may be increased or strengthened by a kind of culture 
 
 15 adapted expressly to this purpose ; — I mean a culture 
 which is intended not to add to the stock of knowledge, 
 but only to increase intellectual power. 
 
 Suppose, for example, that when Robinson Crusoe on 
 his desolate island had first found Friday the savage, he 
 
 20 had said to himself as follows : — " This man looks wild 
 and barbarous enough ; he is to stay with me and help me 
 in my various plans ; but he could help me much more 
 effectually if he were more of an intellectual being and 
 less of a mere animal. Now I can increase his intellectual 
 
 25 power by culture, and 1 will. But what shall I teach him ? " 
 
 On reflecting a little further upon the subject, he would 
 
 say to himself as follows : — "I must not always teach him 
 
 things necessary for him to know in order to assist me in 
 
 my work, but I must try to teach him to think for himself. 
 
 30 Then he will be far more valuable as a servant than if he 
 has to depend upon me for everything he does." 
 
 Accordingly, some evening when the two, master and 
 man, have finished the labors of the day, Robinson is 
 walking upon the sandy beach, with the wild savage by 
 
 35 his side, and he concludes to give him his first lesson in 
 mathematics. He picks up a slender and pointed shell, 
 and with it draws carefully a circle upon the sand. 
 "What is that? " says Friday. " It is what we call a cir- 
 cle," says Robinson. " I want you now to come and stand 
 
 40 here, and attentively consider what I am going to tell you 
 about it." 
 
 Now Friday has, we will suppose, never given his seri- 
 ous attention to anything, or rather he has never made a 
 serious mental effort upon any subject for five minutes at 
 
376 Parker's exercises in ]^ex. xcvii. 
 
 a tiute in his life. The simplest mathematical principle is 
 a complete labyrinth of perplexity to him. He comes up 
 and looks at the smooth and beautiful curve which his 
 master has drawn in the sand with a gaze of stupid amaze- 
 5 ment. 
 
 " Now listen carefully to what I say," says Robinson, 
 " and see if you can understand it. Do you see this little 
 point I make in the middle of the circle ? " Friday says 
 he does, and wonders what is to come from the magic 
 
 10 character which he sees before him. " This," continues 
 Robinson, " is a circle, and that point is the centre. Now, 
 if I draw lines from the centre in any direction to the out- 
 side, these lines will all be equal." 
 
 So saying, he draws several lines. He sets Friday to 
 
 15 measuring them. Friday sees that they are equal, and is 
 pleased from two distinct causes ; one, that he has success- 
 fully exercised his thinking powers, and the other, that he 
 has learned something which he never knew before. 
 
 I wish now that the reader would understand that Rob- 
 
 20 inson does not take this course with Friday because he 
 wishes him to understand the nature of the circle. Sup- 
 pose we were to say to him, " Why did you choose such a 
 lesson as that for your savage ? You can teach him 
 much more useful things than the properties of the circle. 
 
 25 What good will it do him to know how to make circles ? 
 Do you expect him to draw geometrical diagrams for you, 
 or to calculate and project eclipses ? " 
 
 "No," Robinson would reply; "I do not care to make 
 Friday understand the properties of the circle. But I 
 
 30 would have him to be a thinking being; and if I can induce 
 him to think half an hour steadily and carefully, it is of no 
 consequence upon what subject his thoughts are employed. 
 I chose the circle because that seemed easy and distinct — 
 suitable for the first lesson. I do not know that he will 
 
 35 ever have occasion to make use of the fact, that the radii 
 of a circle are equal, as long as he shall live — but he will 
 have occasion for the power of patient attention and thought, 
 which he acquired while attempting to understand that 
 subject." 
 
 40 This would unquestionably be sound philosophy, and a 
 savage who should study suah a lesson on the beach of his 
 own wild island would forever after be less of a savage 
 than before. The effect upon his mental powers of one 
 single effort like that would last; and a series of such 
 
EX. XCVni.] RHETORICAL READING. 377 
 
 efforts would transform him from a fierce and ungovernable, 
 but stupid animal, to a cultivated and intellectual man. 
 
 Thus it is with all education. One great object is to 
 increase the powers, and this is entirely distinct from the 
 5 acquisition of knowledge. Scholars very often ask, when 
 pursuing some difficult study, " What good will it do me 
 to know this ? " But that is not the question. They ought 
 to ask, " What good will it do me to learn it ? What effect 
 upon my habits of thinking, and upon my intellectual powers, 
 
 10 will be produced by the efforts to examine and to conquer 
 these difficulties ? " 
 
 A very fine example of this is the study of conic sections, 
 a difficult branch of the course of mathematics pursued in 
 college ; a study which, from its difficulty and its apparent 
 
 15 uselessness, is often very unpopular in the class pursuing 
 it. The question is very often asked, " What good will it 
 ever do us in after-life to understand all these mysteries of 
 the parabola, and the hyperbola, and the ordinates, and 
 abscissas, and asymtotes ? " 
 
 20 The answer is, that the knowledge of the facts which 
 you acquire will probably do you no good whatever. That 
 is not the object, and every college officer knows full well 
 that the mathematical principles which this science demon- 
 strates are not brought into use in after-life by one scholar 
 
 25 in ten. But every college officer, and every intelligent 
 student who will watch the operations of his own mind 
 and the influences which such exercises exert upon it, 
 knows equally well that the study of the higher mathe- 
 matics produces an effect in enlarging and disciplining the 
 
 30 intellectual powers, which the whole of life will not oblit- 
 erate. 
 
 Do not shrink, then, from difficult work in your efforts at 
 intellectual improvement. You ought, if you wish to se- 
 cure the greatest advantage, to have some difficult work, 
 
 35 that you may acquire habits of patient research, and in- 
 crease and strengthen your intellectual powers. — J. Abbott. 
 
 EXERCISE XCVm. 
 
 The World compared to a Stage. 
 
 All the world 's a stage ; 
 And all the men and women merely players. 
 32* 
 
378 Parker's exercises in [ex. xcix- 
 
 They have their exits and their entrances ; 
 
 And one man, in his time, plays many parts, 
 
 His acts being seven ages. 
 
 At first, the infant; 
 5 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 
 
 And then the whining school-boy ; with his satchel 
 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail, 
 
 Unwillingly, to school. And then, the lover; 
 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
 10 Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a soldier ; 
 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard ; 
 
 Jealous in honor ; sudden and quick in quarrel ; 
 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 
 Even in the cannon's mouth. 
 15 And then, the justice; 
 
 With fair round belly, with good capon lined ; 
 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut ; 
 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
 
 And so he plays his part. 
 20 The sixth age shifts 
 
 Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; 
 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
 
 His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
 
 For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
 25 Turning again towards childish treble, pipes 
 
 And whistles in his sound. 
 
 Last scene of all, 
 
 That ends this strange, eventful history, 
 
 Is second childishness and mere oblivion ; 
 30 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 EXERCISE XCIX. 
 
 Woman. 
 
 The first and necessary relation of woman is that of 
 daughter. From this relation numerous duties arise, for 
 the performance of which every woman should be edu- 
 cated. A daughter is the natural companion, friend and 
 35 stay, of her parents. A man leaves his father and mother, 
 and marries into the family of his wife. But hi our own 
 and other free countries, a woman, whether single or mar- 
 ried, more frequently remains with her earliest affections 
 in or near the mansion of her parents. 
 
EX. XCIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 379 
 
 It is to her that they naturally look for the tender affec- 
 tions which will soothe them in their declining years. It 
 is for her to temper the rough winds of adversity, and ren- 
 der brighter the sunshine of prosperity. She is their com- 
 5 forter, physician, and nurse. When their voice has become 
 tremulous, and their eye dim with age, and the stores of 
 memory have been closed, it is for her to bring forth the 
 pleasures of consolation, to make the sound of gladness 
 still be heard in their dwelling, and to fill it with a cheer- 
 
 10 ful, and — if she have been rightly educated — a holy 
 light. 
 
 I need not speak particularly of the relation of the sister : 
 not that I undervalue the importance of her duties ; but 
 because I believe that the woman who is well educated for 
 
 15 the more important ones of daughter and wife cannot fail 
 to be a faithful sister and friend. We have merely time to 
 glance at the numerous duties of the mistress of a family. 
 Enter the humblest dwelling under the prudent manage- 
 ment of a discreet and well-educated female, and observe 
 
 20 the simplicity and good taste which pervade it. The wise 
 mistress has nothing gaudy in her dress or furniture ; for 
 she is above the silly ambition of surpassing her neighbors 
 in show. Her own best ornaments are cheerfulness and 
 contentment ; and those of her house are neatness, good 
 
 25 order and cleanliness, which make a plain house and mod- 
 est apartments seem better than they are. 
 
 She has not the selfish vanity which would make her 
 strive to appear above her circumstances. She knows 
 what are, and what ought to be, the expenses of her fam- 
 
 30 ily ; and she is not ashamed of her economy. It gives her 
 the means of being liberal in her charity ; and hers is a 
 charity which reaches round the earth, and embraces the 
 poor and unfortunate everywhere. 
 
 Her domestics, if she have any, look to her for advice 
 
 35 in doubt, and counsel in difficulties ; they respect her judg- 
 ment, for she has shown herself wise and disinterested ; 
 they see that she cares for them, and they have felt her 
 sympathy in their sorrows : in return, they make her inter- 
 est their own, anticipate her wishes, and show the willing- 
 
 40 ness of their service by their cheerful alacrity. 
 
 She knows the virtue of pure air, and the excellence of 
 scrupulous cleanliness ; she can judge of the qualities of 
 wholesome food, and knows how easily it may be poisoned 
 by careless or unskilful cooking. Her knowledge and care 
 
380 Parker's exercises in [ex. c. 
 
 shine in the happy and healthful faces of her children. No 
 harsh sounds are heard in her dwelling ; for her gentleness 
 communicates itself to all around her. 
 
 Her husband hastens home ; and whatever may have 
 5 been his fortune abroad, enters his house with a cheerful 
 step. He has experienced the pleasure of seeing kind 
 faces brightening at his approach ; and, contented with 
 what he finds at home, has no inducement to seek for 
 happiness abroad. Nor is she satisfied with consulting 
 10 the present gratification of those around her. By her ex- 
 ample and gentle influence, she leads them onward to what 
 is better and more enduring hereafter. Few know the 
 noiseless and real happiness which such a woman sheds 
 around her, as if she were the sun of a little world. 
 
 George B. Emerson. 
 
 EXERCISE C. 
 ^^ Passing Away" 
 
 15 Was it the chime of a tiny bell. 
 
 That came sa sweet to my dreaming ear, — 
 Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell, 
 That he winds on the beach so mellow and clear, 
 When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, 
 
 20 And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep, 
 She dispensing her silvery light. 
 And he, his notes as silvery quite. 
 While the boatman listens and ships his oar, 
 To catch the music that comes from the shore ? — 
 
 25 Hark ! the notes on my ear that play 
 
 Are set to words ; — as they float they say, 
 " Passing away ! passing away ! " 
 
 Bat no ! it was not a fairy's shell 
 Blown on the beach so merry and clear ; 
 
 30 Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell, 
 Striking the hour, that filled my ear, 
 As I lay in my dream ; yet was it a chime 
 That told of the flow of the stream of time. 
 For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung, 
 
 35 And a plump little girl for a pendulum swung ; 
 (As you 've sometimes seen, in a little ring 
 That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing ;) 
 
EX. C] RHETORICAL READING. 381 
 
 And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, 
 And as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, 
 " Passing away ! passing away ! " 
 
 O, how bright were the wheels, that told 
 5 Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow ! 
 And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold. 
 Seemed to point to the girl below. 
 And lo ! she had changed ; — in a few short hours 
 Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers, 
 
 10 That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung 
 This way and that, as she dancing swung 
 In the fulness and grace of womanly pride, 
 That told me she soon was to be a bride : — 
 Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, 
 
 15 In the same sweet voice I heard her say, 
 " Passing away ! passing away ! " 
 
 While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade 
 Of thought, or care, stole softly over, 
 Like thafby a cloud in a summer day made, 
 
 20 Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. 
 The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush 
 Had something lost of its brilliant blush ; 
 And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels, 
 That marched so calmly round above her, 
 
 25 Was a little dimmed, — as when evening steals 
 
 Upon noon's hot face : — yet one could n't but love her, 
 For she looked like a mother, whose first babe lay, 
 Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day ; — 
 And she seemed, in the same silver tone, to say, 
 
 30 " Passing away ! passing away ! " 
 
 While yet I looked, what a change there came ! 
 Her eye was quenched, and her cheek was wan : 
 Stooping and staffed was her withered frame. 
 Yet just as busily swung she on ; 
 
 35 The garland beneath her had fallen to dust ; 
 The wheels above her were eaten with rust ; 
 The hands, that over the dial swept, 
 Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they kept. 
 And still there came that silver tone 
 
 40 From the shrivelled lips of the toothless crone, — 
 (Let me never forget till my dying day 
 The tone or the burden of her lay !) 
 " Passing away .' passing away I " Pierpont, 
 
382 Parker's exercises in [ex. ci. 
 
 EXERCISE CI. 
 
 Association of Ideas. 
 
 It is the law or usage of the human mind long to retain 
 any connexion, even of the most accidental kind, which 
 has once been formed between two or more thoughts or 
 states of feeling. If one of these linked or associated 
 5 ideas is brought back to the mind, the other, most often, 
 returns with it. No one can need instances of this sort 
 to be mentioned, for every moment presents them to every 
 mind. 
 
 It is, however, important to distinguish what may be 
 
 10 called the natural or spontaneous association of ideas, 
 from that which is the consequence of certain habits of 
 the mind. The law of spontaneous association shows 
 itself most completely in dreaming, when ideas of all 
 kinds follow one the other, in a disorderly and fantastic 
 
 15 manner ; and yet so that we can (when dreatns are recol- 
 lected with sufficient distinctness) often perceive the link 
 or tie which made one image succeed to another. 
 
 In musing or revery the same law of accidental con- 
 nexion makes itself apparent in the succession of ideas and 
 
 20 emotions. The prattle of children, and the idle chat of 
 uncultivated or frivolous persons, very commonly present 
 the same sort of fortuitous succession of ideas, connected 
 only by incidental and unimportant circumstances of sim- 
 ilarity or of juxtaposition, in time or place. The strength 
 
 25 and culture of the mind may be fairly estimated by the 
 degree in which it ordinarily yields itself to this current 
 of spontaneous or accidental associations. 
 
 When certain habits of mind have been formed and 
 settled by exercise and application, they displace and su- 
 
 30 persede, to a great extent, the law of accidental associa 
 tion. A mind naturally vigorous, and which has acquired 
 much control over its movements, and has addicted itself 
 to particular employments, no longer follows the fortuitous 
 course of ideas; but pursues, in some chosen path, the 
 
 35 real or rational connexion of ideas one with another. 
 That is to say, the idea which follows the one last present 
 to the mind will be that which, in fact and nature, is the 
 most nearly related to its predecessor. 
 
 Thus, if the whole series of ideas were expressed or 
 
 40 uttered, those who listened to it would not have to search 
 
EX. CI.] RHETORICAL READING. 383 
 
 for the link which connected one thought vviih another, 
 but would perceive it in the very nature of the subject. 
 
 The mathematician, the mechanician, the statesman, 
 the poet, the artist, the man of business, each acquires his 
 5 proper habit of association, and each is prompt and suc- 
 cessful in his line just in proportion to the rationality and 
 the closeness of the connexions that have been formed in 
 his mind. This principle of the association of ideas is 
 sometimes, or by some writers, called the law of sugges- 
 10 tion. The meaning of the two phrases is much the same. 
 
 ATTENTION. 
 
 Not even the most frivolous, childish, or feeble mind, is 
 always or entirely governed by the fortuitous association 
 of ideas (spoken of in the preceding article.) Nor how 
 strong soever may be any particular habit of thinking, is 
 
 15 any mind absolutely incapable of breaking off its custom- 
 ary meditations, and of fixing itself upon another set of 
 ideas. Every one is conscious of possessing a power 
 (more or less perfect) of detaining some one thought or 
 class of thoughts in the mind, and of considering or view- 
 
 20 ing a particular subject successively, in all its parts and 
 relations. This power is called attention. 
 
 It is the proper and distinguishing excellence of the 
 human mind ; and, in connexion with the faculty of ab- 
 straction, forms the essential difference between man and 
 
 25 the brute, as well intellectually as morally. The degree 
 in which it is possessed distinguishes also one human 
 mind from another. 
 
 The exertion of this power of attention supposes some 
 motive or desire to be present, or some inducement to be 
 
 30 within view, which attracts the mind in one direction 
 rather than another. It is a great excellence in the men- 
 tal conformation, when a tranquil motive will insure a 
 high degree of attention ; and moreover, when attention 
 can be readily and fully transferred from one object to 
 
 35 another ; and it is a still higher excellence when attention 
 can be given, in an efficient degree, to several objects at 
 the same time. 
 
 A sluggish mind is one which can be roused to atten- 
 tion only by the most urgent or stimulating motives. A 
 
 40 weak mind is one that may be quickly roused to attention, 
 but which as quickly spends itself by the effort. An acute 
 mind is one that is capable of a very vigorous, momentary 
 
384 Parker's exercises in [ex. ci. 
 
 effort. A profound mind is one capable of long-continued 
 attention upon the same subject, and which can sustain 
 its attention by motives of the most tranquil sort. 
 
 A comprehensive and efficient mind is capable both of 
 
 5 long-continued efforts of attention, and of virhat may be 
 
 called multifarious attention ; that is to say, it does not lose 
 
 itself in its regard to a single class of ideas, but sees all 
 
 objects in their various connexions and dependencies. 
 
 Yet whatever may be the natural power of the mind in 
 
 10 these respects, it is susceptible of vast increase and im- 
 provement, by a well-conducted education. Indeed the 
 difference between an educated and uneducated person 
 (supposing their natural faculties to have been equal) is 
 manifested in nothing so conspicuously as in the greater 
 
 15 command over its powers of attention which the former 
 has acquired. 
 
 ABSTRACTION. 
 
 [From Abstraho, to draw off, or to draw apart, or to separate and take away one 
 thing from among a number.] 
 
 Things that differ very greatly one from another are 
 often found to be alike in some single quality ; and when 
 this one quality is distinctly taken notice of, we readily 
 
 20 learn to think of it apart from the other qualities with 
 which it may have been joined, and thus the mind acquires 
 the habit of drawing off certain properties of things, and 
 of giving names to them ; this habit is called abstraction, 
 and the words employed on such occasions are called ab- 
 
 25 stract terms. 
 
 There are, for instance, placed before us, a cricket-ball, 
 a marble, a glass bubble, an apple, and an orange ; and 
 we are asked if these things are alike. We answer. No : 
 for the first is brown, and may be indented ; the second is 
 
 30 heavy and impenetrable ; the third is transparent and frag- 
 ile, and light ; the fourth is green and pulpy ; the fifth is 
 yellow and fragrant. 
 
 But is there, then, no respect wherein they are alike ? 
 Yes; they are alike in shape, or form — they are round. 
 
 35 Roundness, then, is the quality or circumstance in which 
 these five objects agree, and which may be thought of, and 
 spoken of, apart from the weight, hardness, color or smell, 
 of these five things. Thus we have obtained two abstract 
 ideas — namely, that of form or figure, and that of round- 
 
 40 ness ; roundness being a particular sort of form. 
 
 Examples of this kind are easily multiplied ; we will 
 
EX. CI.] RHETORICAL READING. 385 
 
 take another. Water, and glass, and spirits, and diamonds, 
 admit the rays of light to pass through them ; so that ob- 
 jects may be discerned almost as clearly when they inter- 
 vene as when they are removed. Some other bodies 
 5 possess the same quality in a less degree : such as amber, 
 and the amethyst, and the ruby, &c. We want a name 
 for this property, belonging as it does to things so different 
 as water, glass, and stones ; and we call it transparency. 
 Each of the five senses has its class of abstractions : 
 
 10 that is to say, each sense separates single qualities from 
 other qualities, discerned by itself, or by other senses. 
 The eye separates redness from yellowness, or whiteness, 
 &c., and brightness from dulness ; — and again, separates 
 color from figure ; and it separates color and figure from 
 
 15 the notions obtained by the other senses, such as hardness, 
 or weight, or fragrancy, or fluidity. The sense of taste 
 not only distinguishes sour from sweet and bitter, but sep- 
 arates them from the qualities that are made known to the 
 mind by the sense of touch, as heat and cold, asperity and 
 
 20 softness, &c. 
 
 Thus it is that likeness, or sameness of quality, in things 
 otherwise unlike, leads the mind to form abstract notions, 
 and to use abstract words. But having acquired this habit, 
 it employs the power of separation in many other instances 
 
 25 than those that belong to the five senses. For example : — 
 If a man restores freely the property of another, which he 
 could not have been compelled to relinquish ; or if he 
 speaks the exact truth when it might have been advan- 
 tageous to him to utter a falsehood ; or if in any way he 
 
 30 regards the welfare of other men, when he is tempted to 
 secure his own benefit, — we form a notion which we sep- 
 arate from the particular circumstances that may have 
 belonged to the man's conduct : we feel that there is a 
 peculiar quality that belongs to his conduct on all these 
 
 35 several occasions, and we call it integrity ; and the so act- 
 ing is justice. 
 
 Justice is not the name of one action, or of one kind of 
 an action ; but of the abstract notion which belongs to any 
 action wherein a man pays strict regard to the rights and 
 
 40 property of others. Or if, in his actions, he goes beyond 
 what might have been demanded of him ; if he prefers the 
 welfare of his neighbor to his own ; then we form the no- 
 tion of another sort of quality, and call it generosity or 
 kindness. And in any new instance, even if all the cir- 
 33 
 
386 Parker's exercises in [ex. ci. 
 
 cumstances are different, yet if a friend or stranger confers 
 upon us a benefit which he might properly have withheld, 
 we are reminded of the notion we had before formed, and 
 call the action or the person generous. 
 
 5 Some abstract notions are simple ; that is to say, they 
 cannot be described or made known otherwise than by 
 single words, or by pointing to the objects in which they 
 are to be seen or felt. Such are redness, whiteness, heat, 
 cold, sweetness, pleasure, pain, and many others. If. the 
 
 10 person to whom we would convey our meaning has never 
 himself perceived the quality we are speaking of, we can- 
 not impart to him our idea by words ; or, if he does not 
 understand the word we first use, we must find some other 
 of the same meaning — if he does not know what the 
 
 15 word pain means, we must try the word dolor, or some 
 other; but if he have never felt pain, the most ingenious 
 description of it would be utterly useless. 
 
 But there are abstract notions that are complex, or made 
 up of two or more ideas, and may therefore be described 
 
 20 by mentioning those constituent ideas. Thus, in the in- 
 stances already mentioned, justice may be described as the 
 paying a strict regard to the rights and interests of others ; 
 or, the not preferring our own welfare to that of others. 
 Generosity is the conferring of benefits upon others be- 
 
 25 yond what they would claim. Form or figure is the rela- 
 tion to each other of the several surfaces of a solid body. 
 Distance is extension between two points, divided into 
 parts, and numbered. Place is the relation between one 
 point and some other points on a surface. Perfection is 
 
 30 the existence, together, of all the parts or properties that 
 are assigned to some complex body or being. 
 
 Design is the relation of all the parts of a complex body 
 to the last effect which it is intended to produce. Truth 
 is the relation of sameness between things and our notions 
 
 35 of them ; or between our notions or thoughts and our 
 affirmations. Liberty is the absence of restraint upon 
 choice or action. Necessity is the certain connexion be- 
 tween cause and effect. In all such instances there is a 
 notion conveyed by the word we employ which admits of 
 
 40 being resolved into two or more ideas. 
 
 Now it is peculiarly important to understand the differ- 
 ence between simple and complex abstract notions ; because, 
 on the one hand, much time is often wasted in the vain 
 attempt to describe or analyze what is simple ; and, on the 
 
EX. CI.] RHETORICAL RKADING. 387 
 
 Other hand, much confusion often arises from neglecting to 
 analyze notions that are complex : hence it is that so many- 
 words are used in argument to which the disputants attach 
 different ideas, and therefore are never able to come to an 
 5 agreement, even when they are really of the same opinion. 
 It is a good exercise to define or analyze complex abstract 
 notions. 
 
 The faculty of abstraction, conjoined with the use of 
 language, is that chiefly which distinguishes human nature, 
 
 10 and raises man far above all other animals. 
 
 After having thought of certain qualities apart from the 
 things in which they are found, the human mind takes 
 another step, and proceeds to bring together such qualities 
 and compose them in new forms: — this is invention. 
 
 15 The same faculty enables man to think of the quality, or 
 goodness or badness of actions, and is therefore essential 
 to accountableness, and forms the basis of our moral 
 nature. 
 
 Those differences of intellectual character and taste 
 
 20 which distinguish mankind individually depend very much 
 upon the faculty of abstraction. One man possesses 
 eminently the power of separating color from form ; and 
 he becomes a painter : another, in connection with sensi- 
 bility and delicacy of taste, readily separates or draws off 
 
 25 those qualities of things which excite the imagination ; and 
 he becomes a poet: another discerns and separates the 
 mechanical properties of matter; and he is an inventor of 
 machines : another discriminates mathematical properties; 
 and he addicts himself to abstract science. 
 
 30 Each department of science, and each walk of active 
 life, has its peculiar kind of abstraction ; nor can a man be 
 very successful in any line, if nature has denied him the 
 special faculty which is demanded in that line. 
 
 What is called a natural taste for particular pursuits is 
 
 35 most commonly a peculiar power of considering some one 
 class of qualities apart from all other qualities or circum- 
 stances. It is well when the choice of a profession is 
 made in conformity with the original conformation of the 
 mind. — Taylor^ s Elemerits of Thought. 
 
388 Parker's exercises in [ex. cm. 
 
 EXERCISE Cn. 
 The Light-House. 
 
 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 ; 
 5 The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed 
 
 In the shadowy waves' playful motion, 
 
 From the dim distant hill, 'till the light-house fire blazed 
 
 Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 
 
 No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast 
 10 Was heard in his wildly-breathed numbers ; 
 
 The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest, 
 
 The fisherman sunk to his slumbers : 
 
 One moment I looked from the hill's gentle slope, 
 
 All hushed was the billows' commotion, 
 15 And thought that the light-house looked lovely as hope 
 
 That star of life's tremulous ocean. 
 
 The time is long past, and the scene is afar, 
 
 Yet when my head rests on its pillow. 
 
 Will memory sometimes rekindle the star 
 20 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. T. Moore, 
 
 EXERCISE cm. 
 AqiLeous Agencies. 
 
 25 Aqueous agents, or those arising from the power and 
 force of water, are perhaps not so universal nor so complex 
 in their operations as atmospheric; but they are more 
 powerful, and consequently exert a more obvious influence 
 in modifying the crust of the globe. Their mode of action 
 
 30 is either mechanical or chemical; — mechanical, as when a 
 
 river wears away its banks, and carries the material to 
 
 the sea ; and chemical, when from gaseous admixture 
 
 water is enabled to dissolve certain rocks and metals. 
 
 The action of water is sometimes slow and gradual, as 
 
 35 in the wearing down of rocks by rain ; or rapid and violent, 
 
EX. cm.] RHETORICAL READING. 389 
 
 as in the case of river-floods and sea-storms. The effects 
 of rain upon a cliff' may not amount to one inch in a hun- 
 dred years, while hundreds of acres of alluvial land may 
 be swept to the ocean by one river-flood. 
 5 Water operates variously : — sometimes by itself, as in 
 rivers; sometimes in union with the atmosphere, as during 
 land and sea storms. Its power as a geological agent is most 
 obvious in the case of rains, springs, rivers, lakes, waves, 
 currents and tides ; and the results of these agents are dis- 
 
 10 tinguished as meteoric, fluviatile, lacustrine, or oceanic. 
 
 Rain, hail, snow, and all atmospheric vapors, exercise a 
 
 degrading influence on the earth's surface. By entering 
 
 the pores and fissures of rocks, they soften and gradually 
 
 dissolve their surface, and thus materially assist the opera- 
 
 15 tions of frosts, winds, &c. Rain, accompanied by high 
 winds, acts with greater force ; snow, from accumulating 
 during frost, and suddenly dissolving during fresh weather, 
 sometimes occasions violent floods and inundations. Floods 
 arising from the melting of snow are generally very de- 
 
 20 structive, for, during the season when they occur, the sur- 
 face is soft and loose, and much more liable to be carried 
 away. 
 
 Rain and other vapors are indispensable to the growth 
 of vegetables, and, when accompanied with sufficient 
 
 25 warmth, a luxuriant and gigantic vegetation, like that of 
 the tropics, is the result. The amount of rain which falls 
 on the earth's surface is exceedingly varied, ranging from 
 twenty or thirty inches to several feet per annum. In 
 tropical regions, rains are periodical ; that is, fall for weeks 
 
 30 together at certain seasons. This gives rise to inunda- 
 tions ; hence the peculiar phenomena attending the flood- 
 ings of such rivers as the Nile, Ganges, &c. 
 
 Of the quantity of rain which fell during past periods 
 of the world we have no positive knowledge ; but if we are 
 
 35 able to discover evidence of a higher temperature, we are 
 warranted in concluding that the quantity of rain was 
 much greater. 
 
 A greater fall of rain would produce larger rivers, and 
 larger rivers would carry down a greater quantity of silt 
 
 40 and debris ; this would form more extensive plains and 
 deltas; and these, again, would sustain a more gigantic 
 race of plants and animals. From this example, the stu- 
 dent will readily perceive the connexion and influence of 
 these allied causes. Rain-water generally contains car- 
 33* 
 
390 Parker's exercises in [ex. cm. 
 
 bonic acid, ammonia, and other substances; and conse- 
 quently acts chemically as well as mechanically. 
 
 Springs are discharges of water from the crust of the 
 earth, either by rents, fissures, or other openings in the 
 5 surface. The water which falls in rain, snow, &c., partly 
 runs off, and partly sinks into the crust, where it collects 
 in vast quantities, and ultimately finds its way again to 
 the surface by springs. 
 
 Springs issuing from strata at great depths are said to 
 
 10 be deep-seated; those from clay or gravel are shallow. 
 Some only flow during, or shortly after, rains, and are said 
 to be temporary ; some flow always, and are perennial ; 
 while others flow and ebb, and are said to be intermit- 
 tent. 
 
 15 The characters in which geologists have principally to 
 consider springs are cold, thermal, and mineral. Cold 
 springs have a mechanical action when they cut out chan- 
 nels for themselves ; and they act chemically when, for 
 example, they contain carbonic acid, and dissolve portions 
 
 20 of the rocks through which they pass. 
 
 All petrifying springs — that is, such as convert wood 
 and bones into stony matter — act chemically. Thermal 
 or hot springs occur in numerous parts of the world, (Eng- 
 land, Iceland, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Hindostan, 
 
 25 &c.,) and also act mechanically and chemically, but with 
 much greater chemical force than cold springs. Mineral 
 springs may be either cold or hot, and take their name 
 from the circumstance of their waters holding some mineral 
 or earthy substance in solution. 
 
 30 Mineral springs, geologically speaking, are by far the 
 most important, as, from their composition, they indicate 
 the kind of rocks through which they pass, while they 
 more or less influence all deposits or waters into which 
 they flow. Thus, some contain iron, and are said to be 
 
 35 ferruginous, or chalybeate; some copper, (cupriferous,) 
 some lime, (calcareous,) some salt, (saline,) while others 
 give off' sulphureous vapors ; and so on with almost every 
 known mineral. 
 
 Those issuing from strata containing iron or lime are 
 
 40 more or less impregnated with these substances ; and w^hen 
 they arrive at the surface of the earth, and their waters 
 become exposed to the air, the ferruginous or limy matter 
 is deposited along their courses, or is carried down to the 
 nearest river or lake. 
 
EX. cm.] RHETORICAL READING. 391 
 
 If layers of mud, sand or gravel, be forming in such a 
 lake, these layers will be impregnated with the matter of 
 the springs ; hence geologists speak of ferruginous, calca- 
 reous, or saliferous strata. Mineral springs may therefore 
 5 be said to exert a two-fold influence : — first, by dissolving 
 and carrying away matter from the strata beneath ; and, 
 second, by adding that matter to the strata which are now 
 being formed on the surface. 
 
 The student will thus perceive the manner in which 
 
 10 springs act in modifying the crust of the earth ; and in 
 proportion to their size, the softness of the strata through 
 which they passed, and the degree of heat they had 
 acquired, so must the extent of their influence have been 
 at any former period. 
 
 15 Rivers are the most important aqueous agents employed 
 in modifying the surface of the globe. Springs, as they 
 issue into open day, naturally seek a lower level; and 
 numbers of them, meeting in one channel, form streams, 
 which 'again join in some still lower valley, where their 
 
 20 union produces rivers of various sizes. Rivers may be 
 said to be a species of natural drainings, by which the 
 superabundant moisture which falls on the land is again 
 returned to the sea. They are of all dimensions : — in 
 breadth from a few feet to several miles ; so shallow that a 
 
 25 boy might wade them, or so deep as to float the largest 
 ships ; and ranging in length of course from fifty or sixty 
 miles to as many hundreds. 
 
 The geological action of rivers is two-fold : — first, by 
 wearing down the land through which they pass, and then 
 
 30 by carrying down the material to lakes and seas. Both 
 their degrading and transporting force depends upon their 
 velocity. For example, it has been calculated that a force of 
 three inches per second will tear up fine clay, six inches will 
 lift fine sand, eight inches sand as coarse as linseed, and 
 
 35 twelve fine gravel ; while it requires a velocity of twenty- 
 four inches per second to roll along rounded pebbles an 
 inch in diameter, and thirty-six inches per second to sweep 
 angular stones of the size of a hen's egg. 
 
 Rivers, during floods, often acquire a much greater 
 
 40 velocity than this, and stones of considerable weight are 
 borne -down by their currents. The degrading power of 
 running water depends also upon the kind of material 
 through which it flows ; loose soil, clay, and sandstone 
 being easily worn down, while granite or basalt will sufier 
 
 45 little loss for centuries. 
 
392 Parker's exercises in [ex. cm. 
 
 The mere flowing of pure water would exert little influ- 
 ence on hard rocks ; but all rivers carry down sand and 
 gravel; and these, by rubbing and striking against the 
 sides and bottoms of the channel, assist in scooping out 
 5 those channels which everywhere present themselves. 
 The Nerbuddah, a river of India, has scooped out a chan- 
 nel in basaltic rock one hundred feet deep. 
 
 Messrs. Sedgwick and Murchison give an account of 
 gorges scooped out in beds of the rock called conglomerate, 
 
 10 in the valleys of the Eastern Alps, six or seven hundred 
 feet deep. A stream of lava, which was vomited from 
 -^tna in 1603, happened to flow across the channel of 
 the river Simeto. Since that time the stream has cut a 
 passage through the compact rock to the depth of between 
 
 15 forty and fifty feet, and to the breadth of between fifty and 
 several hundred feet. 
 
 The cataract of Niagara, in North America, has receded 
 nearly fifty yards during the last forty years. Below the 
 falls, the river flows in a channel upwards of one hundred 
 
 20 and fifty feet deep and one hundred and sixty yards wide, 
 for a distance of seven miles ; and this channel has evi- 
 dently been produced by the action of the river. Such 
 eflfects as the above are produced by the general or ordinary 
 action of water ; but when rivers are swollen by heavy 
 
 25 rains, by the sudden melting of snow, and the like, then 
 they act with extraordinary violence. 
 
 In these cases they overflow their banks, rush with a 
 velocity of twenty or thirty feet per second, tear up the soil, 
 and sweep before them trees, animals, houses, and bridges. 
 
 30 The water of all rivers which exert a degrading influence 
 is more or less turbid, and an id*?a of their power may be 
 formed by observing this fact. 
 
 The matter which rivers carry down is either deposited 
 along their banks, in lakes, or in the ocean. If they flow 
 
 35 sluggishly along a flat valley, the mud and sand which 
 their waters contain gradually falls to the bottom, and there 
 rest as sediment. This sedimentary njatter forms what is 
 called alluvial land, and most of the flat an^^^ fertile valleys 
 in the world have been so produced. 
 
 40 Again, when a lake occurs in the course cf rivers, the 
 sediment is there collected, and the water issuss ^rora the 
 lake as if it had been filtered. In progress of time, lakes 
 are filled or sifted up with this sediment, and their basins 
 appear first as marshes, and latterly as alluvial land. 
 
EX. cm.] RHETORICAL READING. 393 
 
 But whatever quantity of matter may be deposited in 
 valleys or lakes, the greatest amount will always be carried 
 down to the ocean, and deposited at the mouth of the river, 
 or along the shores. The heaviest material, such as 
 5 gravel, will fall down first, then the lighter sand, and ulti- 
 mately the finest mud. The mud of the Ganges discolors 
 the Bay of Bengal to a distance of sixty miles from its 
 mouth ; and, according to Captain Sabine, the muddy 
 waters of the Amazon may be distinguished three hundred 
 
 10 miles from the shore. 
 
 The consequence of this continual seaward carriage of 
 sedimentary matter is, that at the mouths of most rivers 
 there are alluvial formations known by the name of deltas ; 
 such as those of the Nile, the Ganges, tlffe Niger, &c. 
 
 15 They take their name from their resemblance in shape to 
 the Greek letter A (delta;) and frequently extend over 
 vast surfaces — that of the Ganges being about two hun- 
 dred miles in one direction, by two hundred and twenty 
 in another. They consist of alternate layers of sand, 
 
 20 gravel, or mud, according to the kind of material the river 
 carries down. 
 
 The geological results effected by the agency of running 
 water are ceaseless and universal. Rivers are gradually 
 wearing down the hills and higher lands, and as gradually 
 
 25 silting up lakes and low tracks of valley land. They lay 
 down beds of gravel, sand, or mud ; and these beds, again, 
 enclose trees, plants, and the bones and shells of animals, 
 in greater or less abundance. 
 
 As rivers now act, so must they have always acted, and 
 
 30 to this kind of agency must we ascribe the formation of 
 many of the rocks (with their fossils) which now form the 
 crust of the earth, both at great depths and at distances 
 now far removed from the sea. We have no actual 
 knowledge of the rivers of the ancient world ; but judging 
 
 35 from the extent of sedimentary rocks, they must have been 
 much more gigantic than most of those now existing. 
 
 Waves, currents, and tides are also powerful geological 
 agents. Waves are continually in action ; and according 
 to their violence, and the materials composing the sea-coast, 
 
 40 so is the amount of change produced. Clifls of sandstone, 
 chalk, clay, or other soft rock, are, year after year, under- 
 mined by their force; masses fall down, are soon ground 
 to pieces, and swept off by every tide ; new underminings 
 take place ; new masses fall down, and thus thousands of 
 
 45 acres of land have been reduced to a level with the sea 
 
394 Parker's exercises in [ex. civ. 
 
 What the waves batter down, the tides and currents 
 
 transport to sheltered bays and creeks along the shore ; so 
 
 that, while in one quarter the sea is making encroachments 
 
 on the land, in another it is accurrxulating sand and gravel 
 
 5 to form new land. 
 
 The power of waves and currents is much increased by 
 the fact that rocks are more easily moved in water, and 
 thus gravel beaches are piled up or swept away with appa- 
 rent facility. The ordinary action is small, however, com- 
 
 10 pared with what is sometimes accomplished during storms 
 and high inundations ; and those who have witnessed the 
 effects of a few successive tides at such periods will readily 
 form an estimate of what may be accomplished during the 
 lapse of ages. 
 
 15 The action of waves, currents and tides, is varied and 
 complicated ; but it may be stated generally, that waves 
 batter down the sea-cliffs, or raise up loose matter from the 
 bottom ; that tidal currents convey the disintegrated matter 
 to more sheltered bays and creeks- ; and that oceanic cur- 
 
 20 rents convey floating material, such as drift-wood, plants, 
 and dead animals, from one part of the ocean to another. 
 Tides rise and ebb from four to forty feet ; they enter into 
 certain rivers for many miles, and thus a mingling of fresh 
 water and marine deposits takes place. As at present, so 
 
 25 in ages past ; and by diligently studying the effects pro- 
 duced by waves and tides, the student will be enabled to 
 account for many apppearances which the sedimentary 
 rocks present. — David Page, 
 
 EXERCISE CIV. 
 
 Soliloquy of Hamlet on Death. 
 
 To be, or not to be ; — that is the question. 
 30 Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer 
 
 The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 
 Or, to take arms against a sea of trouble. 
 
 And, by opposing, end them. 
 
 To die — to 
 35 No more ? — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 
 That flesh is heir to — 't is a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wished. 
 
EX. CV.] RHETORICAL READING. 305 
 
 To die — to sleep ; 
 To sleep — perchance to dream ; ay, there 's the rub — 
 For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 5 Must give us pause. — There 's the respect, 
 That makes calamity of so long life. 
 
 For, who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely. 
 The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
 
 10 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes — 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin ? 
 
 Who would fardels b^ar 
 
 15 To groan and sweat under a weary life, 
 
 But that the dread of something after death 
 (That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns) puzzles the will, 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 
 20 Than fly to others that we know not of ? 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all : 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 
 25 With this regard, their currents turn away. 
 
 And lose the name of action. Shakspeare. 
 
 EXERCISE CV. 
 
 Hotspur^ s Soliloquy on the Contents of a Letter. 
 
 " But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well con- 
 tented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your 
 house." — He could be contented to be there! Why is 
 
 30 he not, then ? — In respect of the love he bears our house ! 
 He shows in this he loves his own bam better than he 
 loves our house. Let me see some more. 
 
 " The purpose you undertake is dangerous." — Why, 
 that 's certain ; — 't is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, 
 
 35 to drink : but I tell you, my Lord Fool, out of this nettle 
 danger we pluck this flower safety. " The purpose you 
 undertake is dangerous ; the friends you have named, un- 
 certain ; the time itself, unsorted ; and your whole plot too 
 
396 Parker's exercises in [ex. cvi. 
 
 light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition." — Say 
 you so ? — say you so ? I say unto you again, you are a 
 shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie ! 
 
 What a lackbrain is this ! Our plot is a good plot as 
 5 ever was laid ; our friends true and constant ; — a good 
 plot, good friends, and full of expectation ; — an excellent 
 plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is 
 this ! Why, my Lord of York commends the plot, and the 
 general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now 
 
 10 by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is 
 there not my father, my uncle, and myself ? Lord Edmund 
 Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is 
 there not, besides, the Douglases ? Have I not all their 
 letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next 
 
 15 month ? and are there not some of them set forward 
 already ? 
 
 What a pagan rascal is this! — an infidel! Ha! you 
 shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will 
 he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. Oh ! I* 
 
 20 could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a 
 dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an action ! Hang 
 him ! let him tell the king. We are prepared. I will set 
 forward to-night. — Shakspeare. 
 
 EXERCISE CVI. 
 The Cataract of Lodore. 
 
 [This piece should be read with tones in which " the sound is an echo of the sense.' 
 
 " How does the water come down at Lodore ? " 
 25 " Here it comes sparkling. 
 
 And there it lies darkling ; 
 
 Here smoking and frothing. 
 
 Its tumult and wrath in, 
 
 It hastens along, conflicting and strong, — 
 30 Now striking and raging, 
 
 As if a war waging, 
 
 Its caverns and rocks among. 
 " Rising and leaping. 
 
 Sinking and creeping, 
 35 Swelling and flinging. 
 
 Showering and springing, 
 
 Eddying and whisking, 
 
EX. CVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 397 
 
 Spouting and friskingr, 
 Turning and twisting 
 
 Around and around ; 
 Collecting, disjecting, 
 6 With endless rebound : 
 
 Smiting and fighting, — 
 A sight to delight in, — 
 Confounding, astounding, 
 Dinning and deafening the ear with its sound. 
 10 " Receding and speeding, 
 
 And shocking and rocking, 
 And darting and parting. 
 And threading and spreading, 
 And whizzing and hissing, ^ 
 
 15 And dripping and skipping. 
 
 And whitening and brightening, 
 And quivering and shivering, 
 And hitting and splitting. 
 And shining and twining, 
 20 And rattling and battling. 
 
 And shaking and quaking. 
 And pouring and roaring, 
 And waving and raving, 
 And tossing and crossing, 
 25 And flowing and glowing, 
 
 And running and stunning. 
 And hurrying and skurrying. 
 And glittering and frittering, 
 And gathering and feathering, 
 30 And dinning and spinning. 
 
 And foaming and roaming, 
 And dropping and hopping. 
 And working and jerking. 
 And guggling and struggling, 
 36 And heaving and cleaving. 
 
 And thundering and floundering, 
 And faUing and brawling and sprawling, 
 And driving and riving and striving. 
 And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, 
 40 And sounding and bounding and rounding, 
 And bubbling and troubling and doubling. 
 Dividing and gliding and sliding, 
 And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, 
 And clattering and battering and shattering, 
 34 
 
398 Parker's exercises in [ex. cvii. 
 
 And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, 
 And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 
 And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, 
 Retreating and meeting and beating and sheeting, 
 5 Delaying and straying and playing and spraying. 
 Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, 
 Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling, 
 And thumping and flumping and bumping and jumping. 
 And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing ; 
 10 And so never ending but always descending, 
 
 Sounds and motion forever and ever are blending. 
 All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar ; — 
 And this way the water comes down at Lodore." 
 
 Southey. 
 
 EXERCISE CVn. 
 On the Poioer of Custom, and the Uses to which it may he 
 
 There is not a common saying which has a better turn 
 
 15 of sense in it than what we often hear in the mouths of 
 the vulgar, that " Custom is a second nature." It is, in- 
 deed, able to form the man anew, and give him inclinations 
 and capacities altogether different from those he was bom 
 with. 
 
 20 A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though he 
 took but little delight in it at first, by degrees contracts so 
 strong an inclination towards it, and gives himself up so 
 entirely to it, that it seems the only end of his being. 
 The love of a retired or busy life will grow upon a man 
 
 25 insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or the other, till 
 he is utterly unqualified for relishing that to which he has 
 been for some time disused. 
 
 Nay, a man may smoke, or drink, or take snufF, till he 
 is unable to pass away his time without it, not to mention 
 
 30 how our delight in any particular study, art, or science, 
 rises and improves in proportion to the application which 
 we bestow upon it. Thus, what was at first an exercise 
 becomes at length an entertainment. Our employments 
 are changed into diversions. The mind grows fond of 
 
 35 those actions it is accustomed to; and is drawn with re- 
 luctancy from those paths in which it has been used to 
 walk. 
 
EX. CVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 399 
 
 If we attentively consider this property of human na- 
 ture, it may instruct us in very fine moralities. In the 
 first place, I would have no man discouraged with that 
 kind of life, or series of action, in which the choice of 
 5 others, or his own necessities, may have engaged him. It 
 may perhaps be very disagreeable to him, at first; but use 
 and application will certainly render it not only less pain- 
 ful, but pleasing and satisfactory. 
 
 In the second place, I would recommend to every one 
 
 10 the admirable precept which Pythagoras is said to have 
 given to his disciples, and which that philosopher must 
 have drawn from the observation I have enlarged upon : 
 " Pitch upon that course of life which is the most excel- 
 lent, and custom will render it the most delightful." 
 
 15 Men whose circumstances will permit them to choose 
 their own way of life are inexcusable if they do not pur- 
 sue that which their judgment tells them is the most laud- 
 able. The voice of reason is more to be regarded than 
 the bent of any present inclination ; since, by the rule 
 
 20 above mentioned, inclination will at length come over to 
 reason, though we can never force reason to comply with 
 inclination. 
 
 In the third place, this observation may teach the most 
 sensual and irreligious man to overlook those hardships 
 
 25 and difficulties which are apt to discourage him from the 
 prosecution of a virtuous life. " The gods," said Hesiod, 
 " have placed labor before virtue ; the way to her is at 
 first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth and easy 
 the further we advance in it." The man who proceeds 
 
 30 in it with steadiness and resolution will, in a little time, 
 find that " her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that 
 all her paths are peace." 
 
 To enforce this consideration, we may further observe, 
 that the practice of religion will not only be attended with 
 
 35 that pleasure which naturally accompanies those actions 
 to which we are habituated, but with those supernumerary 
 joys of heart that rise from the consciousness of such a 
 pleasure ; from the satisfaction of acting up to the dic- 
 tates of reason, and from the prospect of a happy immor- 
 
 40 tality. 
 
 In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation 
 which we have made on the mind of man to take partic- 
 ular care, when we are once settled in a regular course of 
 life, how we too frequently indulge ourselves in even the 
 
400 Parker's exercises in [ex. cviii. 
 
 most innocent diversions and entertainments ; since the 
 mind may insensibly fall off from the relish of virtuous 
 actions, and by degrees exchange that pleasure which it 
 takes in the performance of its duty for delights of a 
 5 much inferior and an unprofitable nature. 
 
 The last use which I shall make of this remarkable 
 property in human nature, of being delighted with those 
 actions to which it is accustomed, is, to show how abso- 
 lutely necessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue in this 
 
 10 life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the next. The 
 state of bliss we call heaven will not be capable of affect- 
 ing those minds which are not thus qualified for it ; we 
 must, in this world, gain a relish for truth and virtue, if 
 we would be able to taste that knowledge and perfection 
 
 15 which are to make us happy in the next. 
 
 The seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures which 
 are to rise up and flourish in the soul to all eternity must 
 be planted in it during this its present state of probation. 
 In short, heaven is not to be looked upon only as the re 
 
 20 ward, but as the natural effect, of a religious life. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 EXERCISE CVIII. 
 
 The Contrast. 
 
 As rueful stood his other half, as wan 
 Of cheek : small her ambition was — but strange. 
 The distaff, needle, all domestic cares, 
 Religion, children, husband, home, were things 
 
 25 She could not bear the thought of; bitter drugs 
 
 That sickened her soul. The house of wanton mirth 
 And revelry, the mask, the dance, she loved, 
 And in their service soul and body spent 
 Most cheerfully ; a little admiration, 
 
 30 Or true, or false, no matter which, pleased her. 
 And o'er the wreck of fortune lost, and health. 
 And peace, and an eternity of bliss 
 Lost, made her sweetly smile. She was convinced 
 That God had made her greatly out of taste, 
 
 35 And took much pains to make herself anew. 
 Bedaubed with paint, and hung with ornaments 
 Of curious selection — gaudy toy ! 
 A show unpaid for, paying to be seen ' 
 
EX. CVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 401 
 
 As beggar by the way, most humbly asking 
 
 The ahns of public gaze, she went abroad : 
 
 Folly admired, and indication gave 
 
 Of envy; cold civility made bows, 
 5 And smoothly flattered ; wisdom shook his head ; 
 
 And laughter shaped his lip into a smile ; 
 
 Sobriety did stare ; forethought grew pale ; 
 
 And modesty hung down the head and blushed ; 
 
 And pity wept, as, on the frothy surge 
 10 Of fashion tossed, she passed them by, like sail 
 
 Before some devilish blast, and got no time 
 
 To think, and never thought, till on the rock 
 
 She dashed of ruin, anguish, and despair. 
 
 O how unlike this giddy thing in time, " 
 
 15 And at the day of judgment how unlike, 
 
 The modest, meek, retiring dame ! Her house 
 
 Was ordered well ; her children taught the way 
 
 Of life — who, rising up in honor, called 
 
 Her blest. Best pleased to be admired at home, 
 20 And hear reflected from her husband's praise 
 
 Her owTi, she sought no gaze of foreign eye. 
 
 His praise alone, and faithful love and trust 
 
 Reposed, was happiness enough for her. 
 
 Yet who that saw her pass, and heard the poor 
 25 With earnest benedictions on her steps 
 
 Attend, could from obeisance keep his eye. 
 
 Or tongue from due applause. In virtue fair, 
 
 Adorned with modesty, and matron grace 
 
 Unspeakable, and love — her face was like 
 30 The light, most welcome to the eye of man ; 
 
 Refreshing most, most honored, most desired, 
 
 Of all he saw in the dim world below. 
 
 As morning when she shed her golden locks, 
 
 And on the dewy top of Hermon walked, 
 35 Or Zion hill — so glorious was her path : 
 
 Old men beheld and did her reverence, 
 
 And bade their daughters look, and take from her 
 
 Example of their future life : the young 
 
 Admired, and new resolve of virtue made. 
 40 And none who was her husband asked : his air 
 
 Serene, and countenance of joy, the sign 
 
 Of inward satisfaction, as he passed 
 
 The crowd, or sat among the elders, told. 
 
 In holiness complete, and in the robes 
 34=»«= 
 
402 Parker's exercises in [ex. cviu. 
 
 Of saving righteousness, arrayed for heaven, 
 
 How fair, that day, among the fair, she stood ! 
 
 How lovely on the eternal hills her steps ! 
 Kestored to reason, on that morn appeared 
 5 The lunatic — who raved in chains, and asked 
 
 No mercy, when he died. Of lunacy 
 
 Innumerous were the causes : humbled pride, 
 
 Ambition disappointed, riches lost, 
 
 And bodily disease, and sorrow, oft 
 10 By man inflicted on his brother man ; 
 
 Sorrow, that made the reason drunk, and yet 
 * Left much untasted — so the cup was filled : 
 
 Sorrow, that like an ocean, dark, deep, rough, 
 
 And shoreless, rolled its billows o'er the soul 
 15 Perpetually, and without hope of end. 
 
 Take one example, one of female woe. 
 
 Loved by a father and a mother's love, 
 
 In rural peace she lived, so fair, so light 
 
 Of heart, so good, and young, that reason scarce 
 20 The eye could credit, but would doubt, as she 
 
 Did stoop to pull the lily or the rose 
 
 From morning's dew, if it reality 
 
 Of flesh and blood, or holy vision, saw, 
 
 In imagery of perfect womanhood. 
 25 But short her bloom — her happiness was short. 
 
 One saw her loveliness, and with desire 
 
 Unhallowed burning, to her ear addressed 
 
 Dishonest words : " Her favor was his life. 
 
 His heaven ; her frown his woe, his night, his death." 
 30 With turgid phrase thus wove in flattery's loom, 
 
 He on her womanish nature won, and age 
 
 Suspicionless, and ruined, and forsook : 
 
 For he a chosen villain was at heart, 
 
 And capable of deeds that durst not seek 
 35 Repentance. Soon her father saw her shame ; 
 
 His heart grew stone ; he drove her forth to want 
 
 And wintry winds, and with a horrid curse 
 
 Pursued her ear, forbidding all return. 
 Upon a hoary cliff that watched the sea 
 40 Her babe was found — dead : on its little cheek 
 
 The tear, that nature bade it weep, had turned 
 
 An ice-drop, sparkling in the morning beam ; 
 
 And to the turf its helpless hands were frozen ; 
 
 For she, the woful mother, had gone mad, 
 
EX. CIXJ RHETORICAL READING. 403 
 
 And laid it down, regardless of its fate 
 And of her own. Yet had she many days 
 Of sorrow in the world, but never wept. 
 She lived on alms ; and carried in her hand 
 5 Some withered stalks she gathered in the spring : 
 When any asked the cause, she smiled, and said 
 They were her sisters, and would come and watch 
 Her grave when she was dead. She never spoke 
 Of her deceiver, father, mother, home, 
 
 10 Or child, or heaven, or hell, or God ; but still 
 In lonely places walked, and ever gazed 
 Upon the withered stalks, and talked to them ; 
 Till wasted to the shadow of her youth, 
 With woe too wide to see beyond — she died : 
 
 15 Not unatoned for by imputed blood. 
 
 Nor by the Spirit that mysterious works 
 Unsanctified. Aloud her father cursed 
 That day his guilty pride, which would not own 
 A daughter whom the God of heaven and earth 
 
 20 Was not ashamed to call his own ; and he 
 Who ruined her read from her holy look. 
 That pierced him with perdition manifold, 
 His sentence, burning with vindictive fire. 
 
 Pollock's Course of Time, 
 
 EXERCISE CIX. 
 
 How to Remember what we Bead. 
 
 Most readers, 1 presume, will open this chapter with no 
 
 25 little curiosity, and a feeling which would be expressed by 
 
 these words : " My memory is bad enough — would it 
 
 were as good as that of such a one of my friends ! Let me 
 
 see if there be any rules to suit so bad a case as mine." 
 
 Now, before you decide that you have a worse memory 
 
 30 than your friend, let me ask, — is there no one subject on 
 
 which you can equal him ? You have no doubt observed 
 
 that a large class of men who are devoted exclusively and 
 
 literally to animal pursuits — sportsmen, to wit — have the 
 
 greatest difficulty in remembering matters of history or 
 
 35 general literature, but yet are so ready with the names of 
 
 all the winners of the Derby, Oaks, or St. Leger, and the 
 
 progeny and pedigree of each, that a scholar would be as 
 
404 Parker's exercises in [ex. cix. 
 
 much surprised at their memory of horses and mares, as 
 they could be at the scholar's memory of kings and queens. 
 Probably you will now say, " All this we grant; it is 
 true we have memory for some things but not for litera- 
 5 ture." Your meaning is, that you have memory where 
 you have attention. The sportsman cannot attend to books, 
 nor the scholar to horses. The art of memory is the art 
 of attention. A memory for literature will increase with 
 that interest in literature by which attention is increased. 
 
 10 The sportsman could remember pages of history relating 
 to forest laws, or encouragement of the breed of horses, 
 but not the adjoining pages on the law of succession ; and 
 only because he felt an interest, and consequently paid at- 
 tention, in reading the one, but not the other. 
 
 15 Again, memory depends on association, or the tendency 
 of some things to suggest or make us think of others. 
 The geologist remembers fossils, but not flowers ; and the 
 botanist flowers, but not fossils. Each has in his mind a 
 " cell " for the one specimen, but not for the other ; and 
 
 20 the observations which fall in with the ideas of the geolo- 
 gist, and link to many a subtle chain of thought, remain 
 alone and unassociated in the mind of the botanist. Asso- 
 ciation certainly is, in some respects, an aid to attention ; 
 they are usually considered as distinct, and the basis of 
 
 25 memory; therefore every rule I can give for promoting 
 either attention or association will be virtually rules for 
 memory. 
 
 Memory is assisted by whatever tends to a full view and 
 clear apprehension of a subject. Therefore, in reading 
 
 30 history, occasionally lay the book aside and try if you can 
 give a connected narrative of events. " What thou dost 
 not know, thou canst not tell," but clear ideas never want 
 plain words. Do not be satisfied with feeling that the 
 subject is too familiar for repetition to be necessary. The 
 
 n5 better a story is known, the less time it will take to repeat. 
 Put your "thoughts in express words." — This is an 
 invaluable exercise ; for, first of all, you will greatly im- 
 prove your power of expression, and gain that command 
 of language on which one of my friends heard Fox com- 
 
 40 pliment Pitt, as having not only a word, but the word, the 
 very word, to express his meaning. 
 
 Secondly, the practice of putting your thoughts into 
 words will improve your power of conception. When you 
 see a speaker, in a long argument, contract and fix his eye 
 
EX. CIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 405 
 
 as if on some aerial form, he is trying to body forth his 
 ideas and hold them up as a picture, from which he may 
 select, read off, and lay before his hearers, such portions as 
 he thinks will convey the desired impression. 
 5 Conception is the quality for which we call a man "clear- 
 headed ; " for this enables him to grasp at one view the 
 beginning, middle, and end of what he means to say, and 
 have the order of his ideas at the direction of a cool judg- 
 ment, instead of depending upon chance. To repeat a 
 10 narrative to another is better still than repeating it to your- 
 self; you are more excited to accuracy, and your memory 
 is assisted by the degree of attention and association which 
 casual remarks and questions may promote. 
 
 With a view to distinct conception, writing is usually 
 
 15 recommended to aid memory. As to mere transcribing, 
 though much has been advanced in its favor, I believe it is 
 by no means to be adopted. Much experience has shown 
 me that it not only wastes time, but deceives us as to the 
 extent of our knowledge. We are flattered at the sight 
 
 20 of the paper we fill, while in reality we are exercising not 
 our wits but our fingers. 
 
 Every university student knows how common it is to 
 find men of misguided industry, with desks full and heads 
 empty. Writing never aids memory but when it tends 
 
 25 to clear conception. Most persons find it more pleasant 
 to draw a sketch of a subject on a sheet of paper than on 
 the tablets of the mind, but let them not suppose it is more 
 improving. 
 
 When you want relief or variety, you may try to write, 
 
 30 instead of repeating, the subject of your morning's reading; 
 but you will soon admit that the viva voce exercise is the 
 better of the two. In speaking of conception, Abercrombie 
 relates the case of a distinguished actor, who created great 
 surprise by learning a long part with very short notice. 
 
 35 " When questioned respecting the mental process which he 
 employed, he said that he lost sight entirely of the audi- 
 ence, and seemed to have nothing before him but the pages 
 of the book from which he had learned ; and that if any- 
 thing had occurred to interrupt that illusion, he should have 
 
 40 stopped instantly." 
 
 Secondly. Memory is assisted by whatever adds to our 
 interest or entertainment. — Therefore, all the remarks I 
 have made relative to being guided by curiosity and incli- 
 
406 Parker's exercises in [ex. cix. 
 
 nation are hints for memory. A man rarely forgets a fact 
 which he hears in answer to a question he has himself 
 originated ; and the art of reading is to gain facts in such 
 order that each shall be a nucleus or basis, as Abercrombie 
 5 says, of more ; in other words, that every fact may be an 
 answer to some question already in our minds, and suggest 
 in its turn a new question in an endless series. 
 
 Thirdly. Memory depends much on a thorough deter- 
 mination to remember. — Most persons have memory 
 
 10 enough for the purposes of their own business. Ask the 
 guard of the mail how he remembers the places at which 
 he has to drop his many parcels, and he will tell you, " be- 
 cause he must." And if you put the same question to 
 any number of different persons whose fortune depends on 
 
 15 the constant exercise of memory, you will invariably receive 
 similar answers, which is a proof from experience that our 
 memory depends very much on our own will and determin- 
 ation. If, by the force of resolution, a person can wake at 
 any hour in the morning, it is easy to believe that, by the 
 
 20 same means, he may also have a powerful command over 
 his memory. 
 
 While at the university, I had a very remarkable proof 
 of this. I was assisting in his studies, previous to exam- 
 ination, a friend, who assured me he could not remember 
 
 25 what he read ; that such had been the case during fourteen 
 university terms. But I said, — " Now you must remem- 
 ber, — I know you can, — and I will have no more to do 
 with you if you do not answer me correctly to-morrow on 
 what we read to-day." Having rallied him in this way, I 
 
 30 heard no more of the complaint. After his examination, 
 he assured me that he was perfectly surprised at the extent 
 to which his memory had served him, and fairly acknowl- 
 edged that for years he had given way to a state of mental 
 inactivity, never stopping to try his memory, but thinking 
 
 35 of the Castalian stream rather after the manner of Baron 
 Munchausen's horse when he had lost his hinder quarters 
 with the portcullis. 
 
 A man can remember, to a great extent, just as Johnson 
 said a man might at any time compose, mastering his hu- 
 
 40 mor, if he will only set to work with a dogged determina- 
 tion. " That they can conquer who believe they can," 
 is very generally true where the mind is concerned. A 
 very common reason that men do not remember is, that 
 they do not try ; a hearty and ever-present desire to pre- 
 vail is the chief element of all success. 
 
EX. CIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 407 
 
 Nothing but the fairy's wand can realize the capricious 
 desire of the moment ; but as to the objects of laudable 
 wishes, deeply breathed, and for many a night and day 
 ever present to the mind, — these are placed by Providence 
 5 more within our reach than is commonly believed. When 
 a person says, "If I could only have my wish, I would 
 excel in such an art or science," we may generally answer, 
 " The truth is, you have no such wish ; all you covet is 
 the empty applause, not the substantial accomplishment." 
 
 10 The fault is "in ourselves, and not our stars," if we are 
 slaves, and blindly yield to the pretensions of the many 
 whose tongues would exhaust wiser heads than their own 
 in half an hour. 
 
 Before we complain of want of power and mental 
 
 15 weapons, let us be sure that we make full use of what we 
 have. When we see one man write without hands, and 
 another qualify himself (as in an instance within my own 
 remembrance) for high university honors without eyes, a 
 complaint of our memory, or other faculties, justifies the 
 
 20 same conclusion as when workmen complain of their tools. 
 
 These, or at least other instances equally surprising, are 
 
 founded on good authority. Still, Abercrombie justly says, 
 
 that though the power of remembering unconnected facts 
 
 and lists of words makes a great show, and is the kind of 
 
 25 memory most generally admired, still it is often combined 
 with very little judgment, and is not so important a feature 
 in a cultivated mind as that memory founded on the rela- 
 tions, analogies, and natural connections of diflferent sub- 
 jects, which is more in our power. 
 
 30 Indeed, mere parrot memory is of less use than is gen- 
 erally supposed. It is true, it enables a superficial person 
 to pass off the opinions of others as his own ; but educated 
 men can generally remember enough for their own purposes, 
 and can command data sufficient for the operations of their 
 
 35 judgment. What we most want ready and available is the 
 power and the science, not the tools. A mathematician is 
 such still, without his formulae and diagrams. The oldest 
 judge remembers the rules of law, though he forgets the 
 case in point, and the ablest counsel are allowed refreshers. 
 
 40 Surely it is enough that our minds, like our guns, carry 
 true to the mark, without being always loaded. 
 
 Fourthly. Memory is assisted by whatever tends to 
 connexion or association of ideas. — When I asked the 
 friend above mentioned the particular means he took to 
 remember his lectures previous to examination, he said, 
 
408 Parker's exercises in [ex. ex. 
 
 that besides looking everything " more fully in the face " 
 than he had ever done before, he tried " to match, sort, and 
 put along-side of something similar," each event in its 
 5 turn, and also to say to himself, — " Here are four or five 
 causes, circumstances, or characters, relating to the same 
 thing ; by such a peculiarity in the first I shall remember 
 the second, while something else in the second will remind 
 me of the third and fourth." 
 
 ]0 During this process, he said he became so familiar with 
 many facts, that he could remember without any associa- 
 tion at all. Again ; in all the works and phenomena of 
 nature, moral or physical, men of comprehensive minds 
 discern a marked family likeness ; certain facts indicate the 
 
 15 existence of others ; so that memory is assisted by a cer- 
 tain key which classification suggests ; and thus one effort 
 of memory serves for all. — Pycroffs Course of Reading. 
 
 KXERCISE ex. 
 
 Happiness equally distributed. 
 
 As some lone miser, visiting his store, 
 Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er, 
 
 20 Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
 
 Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : 
 Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 
 Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies ; 
 Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
 
 25 To see the hoard of human bliss so small ; 
 And oft I wish amid the scene to find 
 Some spot to real happiness consigned, 
 Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, 
 May gather bliss to see my fellows blessed. 
 
 30 But where to find that happiest spot below, 
 Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
 The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 
 Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
 Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 
 
 35 And his long nights of revelry and ease. 
 The naked negro, panting at the line. 
 Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 
 Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 
 And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 
 
EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 409 
 
 Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam ; 
 His first, best country, ever is at home. 
 And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 
 And estimate the blessings which they share, 
 5 Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
 An equal portion dealt to all mankind : 
 As different good, by art or nature given 
 To different nations, makes their blessings even. 
 Nature, a mother kind alike to all, 
 10 Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call ; 
 With food as well the peasant is supplied 
 On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side ; 
 And though the rocky-crested summits frown. 
 These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. 
 
 15 Thus every good his native wilds impart 
 Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 
 And even those hills that round his mansion rise 
 Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
 Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
 
 20 And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; 
 And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 
 Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, 
 So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar, 
 But bind him to his native mountains more. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 LESSON CXI. 
 Francisco Pizarro. 
 
 25 Francisco Pizarro was tall in stature, well propor- 
 tioned, and with a countenance not unpleasing. Bred in 
 camps, with nothing of the polish of a court, he had a 
 soldier-like bearing, and the air of one accustomed to com- 
 mand. 
 
 30 But though not polished, there was no embarrassment 
 or rusticity in his address, which, where it served his pur- 
 pose, could be plausible, and even insinuating. The proof 
 of it is the favorable impression made by him, on present- 
 ing himself, after his second expedition — stranger as he 
 
 35 was to all its forms and usages — at the punctilious court 
 of Castile. 
 
 Unlike many of his countrymen, he had no passion fo 
 35 
 
410 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxi. 
 
 ostentatious dress, which he regarded as an encumbrance. 
 The costume which he most affected on public occasions 
 was a black cloak, with a white hat, and shoes of the 
 same color ; the last, it is said, being in imitation of the 
 5 Great Captain, whose character he had early learned to 
 admire in Italy, but to which his own, certainly, bore very 
 faint resemblance. 
 
 He was temperate in eating, drank sparingly, and 
 usually rose an hour before dawn. He was punctual in 
 
 10 attendance to business, and shrunk from no toil. He had, 
 indeed, great powers of patient endurance. Like most of 
 his nation, he was fond of play, and cared little for the 
 quality of those with whom he played ; though, when his 
 antagonist could not afford to lose, he would allow him- 
 
 15 self, it is said, to be the loser ; a mode of conferring an 
 obligation much commended by a Castilian writer, for its 
 delicacy. 
 
 Though avaricious, it was in order to spend, and not to 
 hoard. His ample treasures, more ample than those, prob- 
 
 20 ably, that ever before fell to the lot of an adventurer, were 
 mostly dissipated in his enterprises, his architectural works, 
 and schemes of public improvement, which, in a country 
 where gold and silver might be said to have lost their 
 value from their abundance, absorbed an incredible amount 
 
 25 of money. 
 
 While he regarded the whole country, in a manner, as 
 his own, and distributed it freely among his captains, it is 
 certain that the princely grant of a territory with twenty 
 thousand vassals, made to him by the crown, was never 
 
 30 carried into effect ; nor did his heirs ever reap the benefit 
 of it. 
 
 To a man possessed of the active energies of Pizarro, 
 sloth was the greatest evil. The excitement of play 
 was in a manner necessary to a spirit accustomed to the 
 
 35 habitual stimulants of war and adventure. His unedu- 
 cated mind had no relish for more refined, intellectual 
 recreation. The deserted foundling had neither been 
 taught to read nor write. This has been disputed by some, 
 but it is so attested by unexceptionable authorities. 
 
 40 Montesinos says, indeed, that Pizarro, on his first voy- 
 age, tried to learn to read; but the impatience of his 
 temper prevented it, and he contented himself with learn- 
 ing to sign his name. But Montesinos was not a contem- 
 porary historian. Pedro Pizarro, his companion in arms, 
 
EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 411 
 
 expressly tells us he could neither read nor write ; and 
 Zarate, another contemporary, well acquainted with the 
 conqueror, confirms this statement; and adds, that Pizarro 
 could not so much as sign his name. This was done by 
 
 5 his secretary — Picado in his latter years — while the 
 governor merely made the customary rubrka^ or flourish 
 at the sides of his name. 
 
 This is the case with the instruments I have examined, 
 in which his signature, written probably by his secretary, 
 
 10 or his title of Marques, in later life substituted for his 
 name, is garnished with a flourish at the ends, executed 
 in as bungling a manner as if done by the hand of a 
 ploughman. Yet we must not estimate this deficiency as 
 we should in this period of general illumination, — gen- 
 
 15 eral, at least, in our own fortunate country. 
 
 Reading and writing, so universal now, in the beginning 
 of the sixteenth century might be regarded in the light 
 of accomplishments ; and all who have occasion to consult 
 the autograph memorials of that time will find the execution 
 
 20 of them, even by persons of the highest rank, too often such 
 
 as would do little credit to a school-boy of the present day. 
 
 Though bold in action, and not easily turned from his 
 
 purpose, Pizarro w^as slow in arriving at a decision. This 
 
 gave him an appearance of irresolution foreign to his 
 
 25 character. Perhaps the consciousness of this led him to 
 adopt the custom of saying " No," at first, to applicants for 
 favor ; and afterwards, at leisure, to revise his judgment, 
 and grant what seemed to him expedient. 
 
 He took the opposite course from his comrade, Almagro, 
 
 30 who, it was observed, generally said " Yes," but too often 
 failed to keep his promise. This was characteristic of the 
 careless and easy nature of the latter, governed by impulse 
 rather than principle. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to speak of the courage of a man 
 
 35 pledged to such a career as that of Pizarro. Courage, 
 indeed, was a cheap quality among the Spanish adven- 
 turers, for danger was their element. But he possessed 
 something higher than mere animal courage, in that con- 
 stancy of purpose which was rooted too deeply in his na- 
 
 40 ture to be shaken by the wildest storms of fortune. 
 
 It was this inflexible constancy which formed the key 
 to his character, and constituted the secret of his succei.;. 
 A remarkable evidence of it was given in his first expedi- 
 tion, among the mangroves and dreary marshes of Choco, 
 
412 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxi. 
 
 He saw his followers pining around him under the blight- 
 ing malaria, wasting before an invisible enemy, and unable 
 to strike a stroke in their own defence. Yet his spirit did 
 not yield, nor did he falter in his enterprise. 
 5 There is something oppressive to the imagination in 
 this war against nature. In the struggle of man against 
 man, the spirits are raised by a contest conducted on equal 
 terms ; but in a war with the elements, we feel that, how- 
 ever bravely we may contend, we can have no power to 
 
 10 control. Nor are we cheered on by the prospect of glory 
 in such a contest ; for, in the capricious estimate of human 
 glory, the silent endurance of privations, however painful, 
 is little, in comparison with the ostentatious trophies of 
 victory. The laurel of the hero — alas for humanity that 
 
 15 it should be so ! — grows best on the battle-field. 
 
 This inflexible spirit of Pizarro was shown still more 
 strongly, when, in the little island of Gallo, he drew 
 the line on the sand which was to separate him and 
 his handful of followers from their country and from civ 
 
 20 ilized man. He trusted that his own constancy would 
 give strength to the feeble, and rally brave hearts around 
 him for the prosecution of his enterprise. He looked with 
 confidence to the future, and he did not miscalculate. 
 This was heroic, and wanted only a nobler motive for its 
 
 25 object to constitute the true moral sublime. 
 
 Yet the same feature in his character was displayed in 
 a manner scarcely less remarkable, when, landing on the 
 coast and ascertaining the real strength and civilization of 
 the Incas, he persisted in marching into the interior at the 
 
 30 head of a force of less than two hundred men. In this he 
 undoubtedly proposed to himself the example of Cortez, so 
 contagious to the adventurous spirits of that day, and 
 especially to Pizarro, engaged, as he was, in a similar 
 enterprise. 
 
 35 Yet, the hazard assumed by Pizarro was far greater 
 than that of the conqueror of Mexico, whose force was 
 nearly three times as large, while the terrors of the Inca 
 name — however justified by the result — were as widely 
 spread as those of the Aztecs. 
 
 40 It was doubtless in imitation of the same captivating 
 model that Pizarro planned the seizure of Atahuallpa. 
 But the situations of the two Spanish captains were as 
 dissimilar as the manner in which their acts of violence 
 were conducted. The wanton massacre of the Peruvians 
 
EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 413 
 
 resembled that perpetrated by Alvarado in Mexico, and 
 might have been attended with consequences as disastrous, 
 if the Peruvian character had been as fierce as that of the 
 Aztecs. But the blow which roused the latter to madness 
 5 broke the tamer spirits of the Peruvians. It was a bold 
 stroke, which left so much to chance that it scarcely merits 
 the name of policy. 
 
 When Pizarro landed in the country he found it dis- 
 tracted by a contest for the crown. It would seem to have 
 10 been for his interest to play oflT one party against the other, 
 throwing his own weight into the scale that suited him. 
 Instead of this, he resorted to an act of audacious violence 
 which crushed them both at a blow. 
 
 His subsequent cafeer afforded no scope for the profound 
 15 policy displayed by Cortez, when he gathered conflicting 
 nations under his banner, and directed them against a 
 common foe. Still less did he have the opportunity of 
 displaying the tactics and admirable strategy of his rival. 
 Cortez conducted his military operations on the scientific 
 20 principles of a great captain at the head of a powerful host. 
 Pizarro appears only as an adventurer, — a fortunate 
 knight-errant. 
 
 By one bold stroke he broke the spell which had so long 
 
 held the land under the dominion of the Incas. The spell 
 
 25 was broken, and the airy fabric of their empire, built on 
 
 the superstition of ages, vanished at a touch. This was 
 
 good fortune, rather than the result of policy. 
 
 Pizarro was eminently perfidious. Yet nothing is more 
 opposed to sound policy. One act of perfidy, fully estab- 
 30 lished, becomes the ruin of its author. The man who re- 
 linquishes confidence in his good faith gives up the best 
 basis for future operations. Who will knowingly build on 
 a quicksand? By his perfidious treatment of Almagro, 
 Pizarro alienated the minds of the Spaniards. By his 
 35 perfidious treatment of Atahuallpa, and subsequently of 
 the Inca Manco, he disgusted the Peruvians. 
 
 The name of Pizarro became a by-word for perfidy. 
 Almagro took his revenge in a civil war; Manco, in an in- 
 surrection which nearly cost Pizarro his dominion. The 
 40 civil war terminated in a conspiracy which cost him his 
 life. Such were the fruits of his policy. Pizarro may be 
 regarded as a cunning man ; but not, as he has been often 
 eulogized by his countrymen, as a politic one. 
 
 When Pizarro obtained possession of Cuzco, he found a 
 35* 
 
414 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxi. 
 
 country well advanced in the arts of civilization ; institu- 
 tions under which the people lived in tranquillity and per- 
 sonal safety ; the mountains and the uplands whitened 
 with flocks ; the valleys teeming with the fruits of a sci- 
 5 entitle husbandry ; the granaries and warehouses filled to 
 overflowing ; the whole land rejoicing in its abundance ; 
 and the character of the nation, softened under the influ- 
 ence of the mildest and most innocent form of superstition, 
 well prepared for the reception of a higher and a Christian 
 
 10 civilization. 
 
 But far from introducing this, Pizarro delivered up the 
 conquered races to his brutal soldiery ; the sacred cloisters 
 were abandoned to their lust ; the towns and villages were 
 given up to pillage ; the wretchgd natives were parcelled 
 
 15 out like slaves, to toil for their conquerors in the mines ; 
 the flocks were scattered, and wantonly destroyed ; the 
 granaries were dissipated; the beautiful contrivances for 
 the more perfect culture of the soil were suflfered to fall 
 into decay ; the paradise was converted into a desert. 
 
 20 Instead of profiting by the ancient forms of civilization, 
 Pizarro preferred to efface every vestige of them from the 
 land, and on their ruin to erect the institutions of his own 
 country. Yet these institutions did little for the poor 
 Indian, held in iron bondage. It was little to him that the 
 
 25 shores of the Pacific were studded with rising communities 
 and cities, the marts of a flourishing commerce. He had 
 no share in the goodly heritage. He was an alien in the 
 land of his fathers. 
 
 The religion of the Peruvian, which directed him to 
 
 30 the worship of that glorious luminary which is the best 
 representative of the might and beneficence of the Creator, 
 is perhaps the purest form of superstition that has existed 
 among men. Yet it was much, that, under the new order 
 of things, and through the benevolent zeal of the mission- 
 
 35 aries, some glimmerings of a nobler faith were permitted 
 to dawn on his darkened soul. 
 
 Pizarro himself cannot be charged with manifesting any 
 overweening solicitude for the propagation of the Faith. 
 He was no bigot, like Cortez. Bigotry is the perversion 
 
 40 of the religious principle; but the principle itself was 
 wanting in Pizarro. The conversion of the heathen was a 
 predominant motive with Cortez in his expedition. It was 
 not a vain boast. He would have sacrificed his life for it 
 at any time ; and more than once, by his indiscreet zeal, 
 
EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 415 
 
 he actually did place his life and the success of his enter- 
 prise in jeopardy. 
 
 It was his great purpose to purify the land from the 
 brutish abominations of the Aztecs, by substituting the reli- 
 5 gion of Jesus. This gave to his expedition the character 
 of a crusade. It furnished the best apology for the con- 
 quest, and does more than all other considerations towards 
 enlisting our sympathies on the side of the conquerors. 
 But Pizarro's ruling motives, so far as they can be 
 
 10 scanned by human judgment, were avarice and ambition. 
 The good missionaries, indeed, followed in his train to 
 scatter the seeds of spiritual truth, and the Spanish gov- 
 ernment, as usual, directed its beneficent legislation to the 
 conversion of their natives. 
 
 15 But the moving power with Pizarro and his followers 
 was the lust of gold. This was the real stimulus to their 
 toil, — the price of perfidy, — the true guerdon of their 
 victories. This gave a base and mercenary character to 
 their enterprise; and when we contrast the ferocious 
 
 20 cupidity of the conquerors with the mild and inoffensive 
 manners of the conquered, our sympathies, the sympathies 
 even of the Spaniard, are necessarily thrown into the 
 scale of the Indian. 
 
 But as no picture is without its lights, we must not, in 
 
 25 justice to Pizarro, dwell exclusively on the darker features 
 of his portrait. There was no one of her sons to whom 
 Spain was under larger obligations for extent of empire ; 
 for his hand won for her the richest of the Indian jewels 
 that once sparkled in her imperial diadem. 
 
 30 When we contemplate the perils he braved, the suffer- 
 ings he patiently endured, the incredible obstacles he over- 
 came, the magnificent results he effected with his single 
 arm, as it were, unaided by the government, — though 
 neither a good nor a great man, in the highest sense of 
 
 35 the term, — it is impossible not to regard him as a very 
 extraordinary one. 
 
 Nor can we fairly omit to notice, in extenuation of his 
 errors, the circumstances of his early life ; for, like Alma- 
 gro, he was the son of sin and sorrow, early cast upon the 
 
 40 world to seek his fortunes as he might. In his young and 
 tender age he was to take the impression of those into 
 whose society he was thrown. And when was it the lot 
 of the needy outcast to fall into that of the wise and the 
 virtuous ? His lot was cast among the licentious inmates 
 
416 Parker's exercises in [ex. cm. 
 
 of a camp, the school of rapine, whose only law was the 
 sword, and who looked on the wretched Indian and his 
 heritage as their rightful spoil. 
 
 Who does not shudder at the thought of what his own 
 5 fate might have been, trained in such a school? The 
 amount of crime does not necessarily show the criminality 
 of the agent. History, indeed, is concerned with the 
 former, that it may be recorded as a warning to man- 
 kind ; but it is He alone who knoweth the heart, the 
 10 strength of the temptation, and the means of resisting it, 
 that can determine the measure of the guilt. 
 
 W. H. Prescott. 
 
 EXERCISE CXn. 
 Virtuous Love. 
 
 But happy they — the happiest of their kind — 
 "Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
 Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend ' 
 'T is not the coarser tie of human laws, . 
 Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, 
 That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 
 Attuning all their passions into love ; 
 Where friendship full exerts her softest power, 
 Perfect esteem enlivened by desire 
 Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ; 
 Thought meeting thought, and will preventing wiU, 
 With boundless confidence : for nought but love 
 Can answer love, and render bliss secure. 
 
 Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent 
 To bless himself, from sordid parents buys 
 The loathing virgin, in eternal care. 
 Well merited, consume his nights and days : 
 Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love 
 Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they fieel ; 
 Let eastern tyrants from the light of heaven 
 Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possessed 
 Of a mere lifeless, violated form ; 
 While those whom love cements in holy faith, 
 And equal transport, free as Nature live, 
 Disdaining fear. 
 
 What is the world to them, 
 Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all, 
 
EX. CXII.] RHETORICAL READING. 417 
 
 Who m each other clasp whatever fair 
 High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish ? 
 Something than beauty dearer, should they look 
 Or on the mind or mind-illumined face ; 
 6 Truth, goodness, honor, harmony, and love, 
 The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. 
 
 Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, 
 And mingles both their graces. By degrees, 
 The human blossom blows ; and every day, 
 
 10 Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, 
 The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. 
 Then infant reason grows apace, and calls 
 For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 
 
 Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 
 
 15 To teach the young idea how to shoot. 
 
 To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind. 
 To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
 The generous purpose in the glowing breast ! 
 0, speak the joy ! ye whom the sudden tear 
 
 20 Surprises often, while you look around. 
 
 And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss, 
 All various Nature pressing on the heart : 
 An elegant sufficiency, content, 
 Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 
 
 25 Ease and alternate labor, useful life, 
 
 Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven ! 
 
 These are the matchless joys of virtuous love, 
 And thus their moments fly. The seasons thus, 
 As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, 
 
 30 Still find them happy ; and consenting Spring 
 Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : 
 Till evening comes at last, serene and mild ; 
 When, after the long vernal day of life. 
 Enamored more, as more remembrance swells 
 
 35 With many a proof of recollected love, 
 Together down they sink in social sleep, 
 Together freed, their gentle spirits fly 
 To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
418 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxin. 
 
 EXERCISE CXIII. 
 
 Extract from the Preface of a Work entitled " The Wis- 
 dom and Geniiis of Shakspeare." 
 
 The lucid pages of Shakspeare have been justly charac- 
 terized " the richest, the purest, the fairest, which genius 
 uninspired ever laid open." His morals are numerous and 
 of an exalted character; and more moral knowledge is 
 
 5 contained in a few lines, or a sentence of our author, than 
 is to be found in a whole chapter of those works which 
 treat expressly of moral science. There is one thing 
 worthy of special observation in his morals, which presents 
 his character in a very interesting light ; I refer to the 
 
 10 strong tincture which they have of divine truth, affording 
 evidence of his mind having been deeply imbued with the 
 pure morality of the Gospel. 
 
 This highly interesting feature of his morals I have 
 pointed out in many instances, by references to particular 
 
 15 passages of scripture. Although the first part of the 
 work is designated Moral Philosophy, the reader must not 
 infer from thence that there are no morals in the other 
 sections : the truth is, morals pervade the whole work, but 
 many of them are so interwoven with the characters, nature, 
 
 20 and the passions, &c., as not to admit of being separated. 
 
 Our author's paintings of the passions are not less 
 
 deserving of our admiration than his moral wisdom and 
 
 delineations of character. He is the great master of the 
 
 human heart, and depicts in an inimitable manner all the 
 
 25 feelings of humanity, from the almost imperceptible emo- 
 tions to the most tempestuous passions that agitate the 
 breast of man. As Schlegel justly observes, " he lays open 
 to us in a single word a whole series of preceding condi- 
 tions." 
 
 30 In that part of the work which respects Nature, I have 
 exhibited to the reader those exquisitely beautiful natural 
 images which abound throughout our author's writings, 
 and which claim the admiration of every cultivated mind. 
 This excellence has been often alluded to, and is thus 
 
 35 beautifully expressed by one who was capable of appreciat- 
 ing it — 
 
 " He was familiar with all beautiful forms and images, 
 with all that is sweet or majestic in the simple aspects of 
 nature, — of that indestructible love of flowers and odors, 
 
 40 and dews and clear waters, and soft airs and sounds, and 
 
EX. CXIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 419 
 
 bright skies and woodland solitudes, and moonlight bowers, 
 which are the material elements of poetry, — and with 
 that fine sense of their undefinable relation to mental 
 emotion which is its essence and vivifying soul, and which, 
 5 in the midst of his most busy and atrocious scenes, falls 
 like gleams of sunshine on rocks and ruins, contrasting 
 with all that is rugged and repulsive, and reminding us of 
 the existence of purer and brighter elements." 
 
 Take also the sentiments of the following writers who 
 
 10 speak in accordance with this work : — "To instruct by 
 delighting is a power seldom enjoyed by man, and still 
 seldomer exercised. It is in this respect that Homer may 
 be called the second of men, and Shakspeare the first. 
 The wisdom of the Greek was not so universal as that of 
 
 15 the Briton, nor his genius so omnipotent in setting it forth 
 attractively. From the several works of the latter, a single 
 work might be compiled little less worthy of divine sanction 
 than any other extant, and by the beauty of its nature far 
 more secure of human attention. 
 
 20 " But Shakspeare has done so much in this way — so 
 nearly all that is sufficient, — he has made the laws of the 
 decalogue, and all their corollaries, so familiar, — he has 
 exhibited the passions and propensities, the feelings and 
 emotions, incident to humanity, so freely, and, as we might 
 
 *2o say, graphically, that another such artist would be super- 
 fluous. Nature might create a second Shakspeare, but it 
 would be bad economy. What the first has left undone, 
 may be completed by a much less expense of Promethean 
 fire than would go to the creation of a second. 
 
 30 " We are therefore not to look for a similar being, at least 
 until we acquire new attributes, or are under a new moral 
 dispensation. Spirits of an inferior order, — a Milton, a 
 Pope, or a Cowper, — are potent enough to disseminate 
 the remaining or minor truths of natural morality amongst 
 
 35 the people ; or rather, to repeat, illustrate, and impress 
 them on our hearts and memories. 
 
 " Writers of this class, whom we may call the lay-minis- 
 ters of the deity, to teach from the press instead of the 
 pulpit, in the closet instead of the church, we may 
 
 40 expect ; and with them should be satisfied. Though we 
 cannot reasonably hope for another high prophet of profane 
 inspiration to recommunicate to us the lessons of divine 
 wisdom which are already to be found in Shakspeare, it is 
 no presumption to hope that the spirit of illumination will 
 
420 Parker's exercises m [ex. cxm. 
 
 descend upon humbler poets, and make them our secular 
 guides in morality." 
 
 The same sentiments, with respect to Shakspeare's writ- 
 ings, are thus expressed by another author: — "It is quite 
 5 impossible to estimate the benefit which this country has 
 received from the eternal productions of Shakspeare. 
 Their influence has been gradual, but prodigious, — oper- 
 ating at first on the loftier intellects, but becoming in time 
 diffused over all, spreading wisdom and charity amongst 
 
 10 us. There is, perhaps, no one person of any considerable 
 rate of mind who does not owe something to this matchless 
 poet. 
 
 " He is the teacher of all good, — pity, generosity, true 
 courage, love. His works alone (leaving mere science out 
 
 15 of the question) contain, probably, more actual wisdom than 
 the whole body of English learning. He is the text for 
 the moralist and the philosopher. His bright wit is cut 
 out ' into little stars ; ' his solid masses of knowledge are 
 meted out in morsels and proverbs ; and thus distributed, 
 
 20 there is scarcely a corner which he does not illuminate, or 
 a cottage which he does not enrich. His bounty is like the 
 sea, which, though often unacknowledged, is everywhere 
 felt — on mountains and plains, and distant places, carry- 
 ing its cloudy freshness through the air, making glorious 
 
 25 the heavens, and spreading verdure on the earth beneath." 
 
 It is with infinite satisfaction that I am borne out in my 
 
 opinion of the nature of this work by a similar remark of 
 
 Coleridge. " I greatly dislike beauties and selections in 
 
 general ; but as proof positive of his unrivalled excellence, 
 
 30 I should like to try Shakspeare by this criterion. Make 
 out your amplest catalogue of all the human faculties, as 
 reason, or the moral law, the will, the feeling of the co- 
 incidence of the two called the conscience, the under- 
 standing, or prudence, wit, fancy, imagination, judgment, 
 
 35 — and then of the objects on which these are to be em- 
 ployed, as the beauties, the terrors, and the seeming ca- 
 prices, of nature, the realities and the capabilities — that is, 
 the actual and the ideal — of the human mind, conceived 
 as an individual or as a social being, as in innocence or in 
 
 40 guilt, in a play-paradise or in a war-field of temptation, — 
 and then compare with Shakspeare, under each of these 
 heads, all or any of the writers in prose and verse that 
 have ever lived. Who that is competent to judge doubts, 
 the result ? " — Rev. Thomas Price. 
 
EX. exivj RHETORICAL READINa. 421 
 
 EXERCISE CXTV. 
 The Chameleon. 
 
 Oft has it been my lot to mark 
 
 A proud, conceited, talking spark 
 
 Returning from his finished tour, 
 
 Grown ten times perter than before : 
 6 Whatever word you chance to drop, 
 
 The travelled fool your mouth will stop — 
 
 " Sir, if my judgment you '11 allow — 
 
 I 've seen — and sure I ought to know." — 
 
 So begs you 'd pay a due submission, 
 10 And acquiesce in his decision. 
 
 Two travellers of such a cast, 
 
 As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed. 
 
 And on their way, in friendly chat, 
 
 Now talked of this, and then of that, 
 15 Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, 
 
 Of the chameleon's form and nature. 
 
 "A stranger animal," cries one, 
 
 " Sure never lived beneath the sun : 
 
 A lizard's body, lean and long, 
 20 A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, 
 
 Its tooth with triple claw disjoined ; 
 
 And what a length of tail behind ! 
 
 How slow its pace ! and then its hue — 
 
 Who ever saw so fine a blue ! " 
 25 " Hold, there ! " the other quick replies 
 
 " 'T is green ; I saw it with these eyes, 
 
 As late with open mouth it lay. 
 
 And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 
 
 Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, 
 30 And saw it eat the air for food." 
 
 " I 've seen it, sir, as well as you, 
 
 And must again affirm it blue. 
 
 At leisure I the beast surveyed, 
 
 Extended in the cooling shade." 
 35 " 'T is green, 't is green, sir, I assure ye." — 
 
 " Green ? " cries the other, in a fury ; 
 
 " Why, sir, d' ye think I 've lost my eyes ? " — 
 
 " 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies ; 
 
 " For if they always use you thus, 
 40 You '11 find them but of little use." 
 36 
 
422 Parker's exercises in [ex. crv. 
 
 So high at last the contest rose, 
 
 From words they almost came to blows ; 
 
 When luckily came by a third : 
 
 To him the question they referred ; 
 5 And begged he 'd tell them, if he knew, 
 
 Whether the thing was green or blue. 
 
 " Sirs," cries the umpire, " cease your pother, 
 
 The creature 's neither one nor t' other. 
 
 I caught the animal last night, 
 10 And viewed it o'er by candle-light : 
 
 I marked it well — 't was black as jet — 
 
 You stare — but, sirs, I 've got it yet, 
 
 And can produce it." — " Pray, sir, do ; 
 
 I '11 lay my life the thing is blue." — 
 15 "And I '11 be sworn, that when you 've seen 
 
 The reptile, you '11 pronounce him green." — 
 
 " Well then, at once to end the doubt," 
 
 Keplies the man, " I '11 turn him out ; 
 
 And when before your eyes I 've set him, 
 20 If you don't find him black, I '11 eat him," 
 
 He said : then full before their sight 
 
 Produced the beast ; and lo ! 't was white. 
 Both stared ; the man looked wondrous wise 
 
 " My children," the chameleon cries, 
 25 (Then first the creature found a tongue,) 
 
 " You all are right, and all are wrong. 
 
 When next you talk of what you view. 
 
 Think others see as well as you. 
 
 Nor wonder if you find that none 
 30 Prefers your eyesight to his own." Merrick, 
 
 EXERCISE CXV. 
 
 Dominie Sampson's Encounter with Meg Merrilies. 
 
 Upon the next day at breakfast, however, the Dominie 
 did not make his appearance. He had walked out, a ser- 
 vant said, early in the morning. It was so common for 
 him to forget his meals that his absence never deranged 
 35 the family. The housekeeper, a decent old-fashioned Pres- 
 byterian matron, having, as such, the highest respect for 
 Sampson's theological acquisitions, had it in charge upon 
 these occasions to take care that he was no sufferer by his 
 
EX. CXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 423 
 
 absence of mind, and therefore usually waylaid him upon 
 his return, to remind him of his sublunary wants, and to 
 minister for their relief. It seldom, however, happened 
 that he was absent from two meals together, as was the 
 5 case in the present instance. We must explain the cause 
 of this unusual occurrence. 
 
 The conversation which Mr. Pleydell had held with 
 Mannering upon the subject of the loss of Harry Bertram 
 had awakened all the painful sensations which that event 
 
 10 had inflicted upon Sampson. The affectionate heart of the 
 poor dominie had always reproached him, that his negli- 
 gence in leaving the child in the care of Frank Kennedy 
 had been the proximate cause of the murder of the one, 
 the loss of the other, the death of Mrs. Bertram, and the 
 
 15 ruin of the family of his patron. It was a subject which 
 he never spoke upon, if indeed his mode of conversation 
 could be called speaking at any time ; but which was often 
 present to his imagination. 
 
 The sort of hope so strongly affirmed and asserted in 
 
 20 Mrs. Bertram's last settlement had excited a corresponding 
 feeling in the dominie's bosom, which was exasperated into 
 a sort of sickening anxiety by the discredit with which 
 Pleydell had treated it. "Assuredly," thought Sampson 
 to himself, "he is a man of erudition, and well skilled in 
 
 25 the weighty matters of the law ; but he is also a man of 
 humorous levity and inconstancy of speech ; and wherefore 
 should he pronounce ex cathedra^ as it were, on the hope 
 expressed by worthy Madam Margaret Bertram of Single- 
 side ? " 
 
 30 All this, I say, the dominie thought to himself; for had 
 he uttered half the sentence his jaws would have ached 
 for a month under the unusual fatigue of such a continued 
 exertion. The result of these cogitations was a resolution 
 to go and visit the scene of the tragedy at Warroch Point, 
 
 35 where he had not been for many years — not, indeed, 
 since the fatal accident had happened. The walk was a 
 long one, for the Point of Warroch lay on the further side 
 of the Ellangowan property, which was interposed between 
 it and Woodbourne. Besides, the dominie went astray 
 
 40 more than once, and met with brooks swollen into torrents 
 by the melting of the snow, where he, honest man, had 
 only the summer recollection of little trickling rills. 
 
 At length, however, he reached the woods which he had 
 made the object of his walk, and traversed them with care, 
 
424 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxv. 
 
 muddling his disturbed brains with vague efforts to recall 
 every circumstance of the catastrophe. It will readily be 
 supposed that the influence of local situation and associa- 
 tion was inadequate to produce conclusions different from 
 5 those which he had formed under the immediate pressure 
 of the occurrences themselves. With " many a weary 
 sigh, therefore, and many a groan," the poor dominie re- 
 turned from his hopeless pilgrimage, and wearily plodded 
 his way towards Woodbourne, debating at times in his 
 
 10 altered mind a question which was forced upon him by 
 the cravings of an appetite rather of the keenest, namely, 
 whether he had breakfasted that morning or no. 
 
 It was in this twilight humor, — now thinking of the 
 loss of the child, then involuntarily compelled to meditate 
 
 15 upon the somewhat incongruous subject of hung-beef, rolls 
 and butter, — that his route, which was different from that 
 which he had taken in the morning, conducted him past 
 the small ruined tower, or rather vestige of a tower, called 
 by the country people the Kaim of Derncleugh. 
 
 20 The reader may recollect the description of this ruin as 
 the vault in which young Bertram, under the auspices of 
 Meg Merrilies, witnessed the death of Hatteraick's lieu- 
 tenant. The tradition of the country added ghostly ter- 
 rors to the natural awe inspired by the situation of this 
 
 25 place, which terrors the gypsies who so long inhabited the 
 vicinity had probably invented, or at least propagated, for 
 their own advantage. 
 
 ^Tr *rr W w 'rr ^ 
 
 The lights, often seen around the tower when used as 
 the rendezvous of the lawless characters by whom it was 
 
 30 occasionally frequented, were accounted for, under author- 
 ity of these tales of witchery, in a manner at once con 
 venient for the private parties concerned, and satisfactory 
 to the public. 
 
 Now it must be confessed that our friend Sampson, 
 
 35 although a profound scholar and mathematician, had not 
 travelled so far in philosophy as to doubt the reality of 
 witchcraft or apparitions. Born indeed at a time when a 
 doubt in the existence of witches was interpreted to be a 
 justification of their infernal practices, a belief of such 
 
 40 legends had been impressed upon him as an article indi- 
 visible from his religious faith, and perhaps it would have 
 been equally difficult to have induced him to doubt the 
 one as the other. With these feelings, and in a thick 
 
EX. CXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 425 
 
 misty day, which was already drawing to its close, Domi- 
 nie Sampson did not pass the Kaim of Derncleugh without 
 some feelings of tacit horror. 
 
 What, then, was his astonishment when, on passing the 
 5 door — that door which was supposed to have been placed 
 there by one of the latter lairds of Ellangowan to prevent 
 presumptuous strangers from incurring the dangers of the 
 haunted vault — that very door supposed to be always 
 locked, and the key of which was popularly said to be 
 
 10 deposited with the presbytery — that very door opened 
 suddenly, and the figure of Meg Merrilies, well known, 
 though not seen for many a revolving year, was placed at 
 once before the eyes of the startled dominie. 
 
 She stood immediately before him in the foot-path, con- 
 
 15 fronting him so absolutely that he could not avoid her 
 except by fairly turning back, which his manhood prevent- 
 ed him from thinking of. " I kenned ye wad be here," 
 she said, with her harsh and hollow voice, " I ken wha 
 ye seek ; but ye maun do my bidding," 
 
 20 *» Get thee behind me ! " said the alarmed dominie — 
 "Avoid ye ! — Conjuro te^ scelestissiina — nequissima — 
 spurcissima — iniquissima — atque miserrhna — conjuro 
 te ! 1 1 " Meg stood her ground against this tremen- 
 dous volley of superlatives, which Sampson hawked up 
 
 25 from the pit of his stomach, and hurled at her in thunder. 
 " Is the carl daft," she said, " wi' his glamor ? " 
 
 '^Conjuro,'' continued the dominie, ^^ adjuro, contestor, 
 
 atque viriliter impero tibi I " " What, in the name 
 
 of Sathan, are ye feared for, wi' your French gibberish, 
 
 30 that would make a dog sick ? Listen, ye stickit stibler, to 
 what I tell ye, or ye sail rue it whiles there 's a limb o' ye 
 hings to anither ! Tell Colonel Mannering that I ken he 's 
 seeking me. He kens, and I ken, that the blood will be 
 wiped out, and the lost will be found, 
 
 35 And Bertram's right and Bertram's might 
 
 Shall meet on Ellangowan height. 
 
 Hae, there 's a letter to him ; I was gaun to send it in 
 another way. I canna write mysell ; but 1 hae them that 
 will baith write and read, and ride and rin for me. Tell 
 40 him the time 's coming now, and the weird 's dree'd and 
 the wheel 's turning. Bid him look at the stars as he has 
 looked at them before ; will ye mind a' this ?" 
 
 "Assuredly," said the dominie, " I am dubious — for, 
 26* 
 
426 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxv. 
 
 woman, I am perturbed at thy words, and my flesh quakes 
 to hear thee." — "They'll do you nae ill, though, and 
 maybe muckle gude." — "Avoid ye! I desire nae good 
 that comes by unlawfu' means." 
 5 " Fule-body that thou art ! " said Meg, stepping up to 
 him with a frown of indignation that made her dark eyes 
 flash like lamps from under her bent brows — " Fule-body 1 
 if I meant ye wrang, could na I clod ye ower that craig, 
 and wad man ken how ye cam by your end mair than 
 
 10 Frank Kennedy ? Hear ye that, ye worricow? " 
 
 " In the name of all that is good," said the dominie, re- 
 coiling and pointing his long pewter-headed walking-cane 
 like a javelin at the supposed sorceress, " in the name of 
 all that is good, bide off hands ! I will not be handled — 
 
 15 woman, stand off upon thine own proper peril ! — desist, 1 
 say — I am strong — lo, I will resist! " Here his speech 
 was cut short, for Meg, armed with supernatural strength, 
 (as the dominie asserted,) broke in upon his guard, put by 
 a thrust which he made at her with his cane, and lifted 
 
 20 him into the vault, " as easily," said he, " as I could sway 
 a Kitchen's atlas." 
 
 "Sit doun there," she said, pushing the half-throttled 
 preacher with some violence against a broken chair, " sit 
 doun there, and gather your wind and your senses, ye 
 
 25 black barrow-tram o' the kirk that ye are — are ye fou or 
 fasting ? " 
 
 " Fasting from all but sin," answered the dominie, who, 
 recovering his voice, and finding his exorcisms only served 
 to exasperate the intractable sorceress, thought it best to 
 
 30 affect complaisance and submission, inwardly conning over, 
 however, the wholesome conjurations which he durst no 
 longer utter aloud. But as the dominie's brain was by no 
 means equal to carry on two trains of ideas at the same 
 time, a word or two of his mental exercise sometimes es- 
 
 35 caped, and mingled with his uttered speech in a manner 
 ludicrous enough, especially as the poor man shrunk him- 
 self together after every escape of the kind, from terror of 
 the effect it might produce upon the irritable feelings of 
 the witch. 
 
 40 Meg, in the mean while, went to a great black cauldron 
 that was boiling on a fire on the floor, and lifting the lid, 
 an odor was diffused through the vault, which, if the vapors 
 of a witch's cauldron could in aught be trusted, promised 
 better things than the hell-broth which such vessels are 
 
EX. CXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 427 
 
 usually supposed to contain. It was in fact the savor of a 
 goodly stew, composed of fowls, hares, partridges, and 
 moor-game, boiled in a large mess with potatoes, onions 
 and leeks, and, from the size of the cauldron, appeared to 
 5 be prepared for half a dozen of people at least. " So ye 
 hae eat naething a' day ? " said Meg, heaving a large por- 
 tion of this mess into a brown dish, and strewing it savor- 
 ily with salt and pepper. 
 
 "Naething," answered the dominie, — ^^scelestissima! — 
 
 10 that is, gudewife." — " Hae, then," said she, placing the dish 
 before him; " there 's what will warm your heart." — "I 
 do not hunger — malefica — that is to say, Mrs. Merrilies ; " 
 for he said unto himself, " the savor is sweet, but it hath 
 been cooked by a Canidia or an Ericthoe." 
 
 15 " If ye dinna eat instantly, and put some saul in ye, by the 
 bread and the salt, I '11 put it doun your throat wi' the cutty 
 spoon, scauding as it is, and whether ye will or no. Gape, 
 sinner, and swallow ! " Sampson, afraid of eye of newt, 
 and toe of frog, tiger's chaudrons, and so forth, had deter- 
 
 20 mined not to venture ; but the smell of the stew was fast 
 
 melting his obstinacy, which flowed from his chops as it 
 
 were in streams of water, and the witch's threats decided 
 
 him to feed. Hunger and fear are excellent casuists. 
 
 " Saul," said Hunger, " feasted with the witch of Endor." 
 
 25 " And," quoth Fear, " the salt which she sprinkled upon 
 the food showeth plainly it is not a necromantic banquet, 
 in which that seasoning never occurs." — "And besides," 
 says Hunger, after the first spoonful, "it is savory and 
 refreshing viands." 
 
 30 " So ye like the meat ? " said the hostess. — " Yea," 
 answered the dominie, " and I give thee thanks — scelera- 
 tissima. ! — which means Mrs. Margaret." — " Aweel, eat 
 your fill ; but an ye kenn'd how it was gotten, ye maybe 
 wadna like it sae weel." — Sampson's spoon dropped, in the 
 
 35 act of conveying its load to his mouth. — " There 'e been 
 mony a moonlight watch to bring a' that trade thegither; 
 the folk that are to eat that dinner thought little o' your 
 game-laws." 
 
 "Is that all?" thought Sampson, resuming his spoon, 
 
 40 and shovelling away manfully ; " I will not lack my food 
 upon that argument." — "Now ye maun tak a dram." 
 " I will," quoth Sampson — " conjuro te — that is, I thank 
 you heartily ; " for, he thought to himself, in for a penny 
 in for a pound, and he fairly drank the witch's health in a 
 
428 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxv. 
 
 cupful of brandy. When he had put this cope-stone upon 
 Meg's good cheer, he felt, as he said, " mightily elevated, 
 and afraid of no evil which could befall unto him." 
 
 " Will ye remember my errand now ? " said Meg Merri- 
 5 lies ; " I ken by the cast o' your e'e that ye 're anither man 
 than when you cam in." — "I will, Mrs. Margaret," re- 
 peated Sampson, stoutly ; " I will deliver unto him the 
 sealed yepistle, and will add what you please to send by 
 word of mouth." 
 10 " Then I '11 make it short," says Meg. " Tell him to 
 look at the stars without fail this night, and to do what I 
 desire him in that letter, as he would wish 
 
 That Bertram's right and Bertram's might 
 Should meet on Ellangowan height. 
 
 15 I have seen him twice when he saw na me ; I ken when 
 
 he was in this country first, and 1 ken what 's brought him 
 back again. Up, and to the gate ! ye 're ower lang here ; 
 follow me." 
 
 Sampson followed the sybil accordingly, who guided him 
 
 20 about a quarter of a mile through the woods, by a shorter 
 cut than he could have found for himself; they then en- 
 tered upon the common, Meg still marching before him at 
 a great pace, until she gained the top of a small hillock 
 which overhung the road. 
 
 25 " Here," she said, " stand still here. Look how the set- 
 ting sun breaks through yon cloud that 's been darkening 
 the lift a' day. See where the first stream o' light fa's ; 
 it 's upon Donagild's round tower — the auldest tower in 
 the castle of Ellangowan, — that 's no for naething. See 
 
 30 as it 's glooming to seaward abune yon sloop in the bay, — 
 that 's no for naething neither. 
 
 " Here I stood, on this very spot," said she, drawing 
 herself up so as not to lose one hair-breadth of her uncom- 
 mon height, and stretching out her long sinewy arm and 
 
 35 clenched hand — " here I stood, when I tauld the last Laird 
 of Ellangowan what was coming on his house ; and did 
 that fa' to the ground ? — na ! it hit even ower sair ! And 
 here, where I brake the wand of peace ower him — here I 
 stand again, to bid God bless and prosper the just heir of 
 
 40 Ellangowan, that will sune be brought to his ain ; and the 
 best laird he shall be that Ellangowan has seen for three 
 hundred years. I '11 no live to see it, maybe ; but there 
 will be mony a blithe e'e see it, though mfne be closed. 
 
EX CXV.J RHETORICAL READING. 429 
 
 And now, Abel Sampson, as ever ye lo'ed the house of 
 EUangovvan, away wi' my message to the English colonel, 
 as if life and death were upon your haste ! " 
 
 So saying, she turned suddenly from the amazed domi- 
 5 nie, and regained with swift and long strides the sheher 
 of the wood from which she had issued at the point where 
 it most encroached upon the common. Sampson gazed 
 after her for a moment in utter astonishment, and then 
 obeyed her directions, hurrying to Woodbourne at a pace 
 
 10 very unusual for him, exclaiming three times, " Prodigious! 
 prodigious ! pro-di-gi-ous ! " 
 
 As Mr. Sampson crossed the hall with a bewildered 
 look, the good housekeeper, who was on the watch for his 
 return, sallied forth upon him : — "What 's this o't now, 
 
 15 Mr. Sampson ? — this is waur than ever ; ye '11 really do 
 yoursell some injury wi' these lang fasts, — naething sae 
 hurtful to the stomach, Mr. Sampson. If you would but 
 put some peppermint draps in your pocket, or let Barnes cut 
 you a sandwich." 
 
 20 " Avoid thee ! " quoth the dominie, his mind running 
 still upon his interview with Meg Merrilies, and making 
 for the dining-parlor. — " Na, ye need na gang in there ; 
 the cloth 's been removed an hour ago, and the colonel 's at 
 his wine ; but just step into my room ; I have a nice steak 
 
 25 that the cook will do in a moment." — "Exorciso te I " said 
 Sampson, — " that is, I have dined." 
 
 " Dined ! it 's impossible I Wha can ye hae dined wi', 
 you that gangs out nae gate ? " — " With Beelzebub, I be- 
 lieve," said the minister. — " Na, then he 's bewitched for 
 
 30 certain," said the housekeeper, letting go her hold ; " he 's 
 bewitched or he 's daft, and ony way the colonel maun 
 just guide him his ain gate. Waes ine ! Hech, sirs ! It 's 
 a sair thing to see learning bring foil? to this ! " and with 
 this compassionate ejaculation, she retreated into her own 
 
 35 premises. 
 
 The object of her commiseration had by this time en- 
 tered the dining-parlor, where his appearance gave great 
 surprise. He was mud up to the shoulders, and the natural 
 paleness of his hue was twice as cadaverous as usual, 
 
 40 through terror, fatigue, and perturbation of mind. " What 
 on earth is the meaning of this, Mr. Sampson?" said 
 Mannering, who observed Miss Bertram looked much 
 alarmed for her simple but attached friend. 
 
 " Ezorciso — " said the dominie. — " How, sir ? " — "I 
 
430 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [eX. CXV. 
 
 crave pardon, honorable sir ! but my wits " — " Are 
 
 gone a wool-gathering, I think. Pray, Mr. Sampson, col- 
 lect yourself, and let me know the meaning of all this." 
 Sampson was about to reply; but finding his Latin 
 5 formula of exorcism still came most readily to his tongue, 
 he prudently desisted from the attempt, and put the scrap 
 of paper which he had received from the gypsy into Man- 
 nering's hand, who broke the seal and read it with surprise. 
 " This seems to be some iest," he said, " and a very dull 
 
 10 one." 
 
 " It came from no jesting person," said Mr. Sampson. — 
 " From whom, then, did it come ? " — The dominie, who 
 often displayed some delicacy of recollection in cases where 
 Miss Bertram had an interest, recollected the painful cir- 
 
 15 cumstances connected with Meg Merrilies, looked at the 
 young ladies, and remained silent. " We will join you at 
 the tea-table in an instant, Julia ; I see that Mr. Sampson 
 wishes to speak to me alone. — And now they are gone, 
 what, in Heaven's name, is the meaning of this ? " 
 
 20 " It may be a message from heaven," said the dominie, 
 " but it came by Beelzebub's postmistress. It was that 
 witch, Meg Merrilies, who should have been burned with 
 a tar-barrel twenty years since, for a harlot, thief, witch, 
 and gypsy." — "Are you sure it was she?" said the colonel, 
 
 25 with great interest. — " Sure, honored sir ? the like o' Meg 
 Merrilies is not to be seen in any land." 
 
 The colonel paced the room rapidly, cogitating with 
 himself. " To send out to apprehend her — but it is too 
 distant to send to MacMorlan, and Sir Robert Hazlewood 
 
 30 is a pompous coxcomb; besides, the chance of not finding 
 her upon the spot, and the humor of silence that seized her 
 before may again return ; — no, I will not, to save being 
 thought a fool, neglect the course she points out. 
 
 " Many of her class set out by being impostors, and 
 
 35 end by being enthusiasts, or hold a kind of darkling conduct 
 between both lines, unconscious almost when they are 
 cheating themselves or when imposing on others. — Well, 
 my course is a plain one, at any rate ; and if my efforts are 
 fruitless, it shall not be owing to over-jealousy of my own 
 
 40 character for wisdom." With this he rung the bell, and 
 ordering Barnes into his private sitting-room, gave him 
 some orders, with the result of which the reader may be 
 made hereafter acquainted. — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 
 
 Letion. 
 
 1. The 
 
 2. The 
 
 3. " 
 
 4. " 
 6. •' 
 
 6. '• 
 
 7. The 
 
 8. The 
 
 9. The 
 
 10. " 
 
 11. The 
 lU. " 
 
 13. " 
 
 14. The 
 
 15. " 
 
 Interroration Point or ^ueition 
 
 26 
 
 cont'd, 27 
 
 27 
 
 28 
 
 20. The 
 
 21. The 
 
 Rxdamation Point, 
 
 Period, Interrogation and Ezclama- 
 
 n united, 
 
 Comma, 
 
 " continued. 
 
 Semicolon 
 
 ♦' continued, . 
 
 Colon, 
 
 " continued, 
 Pnrentheaii, Crotchet* and Brackets, 
 
 Dash, 
 
 Hyphen, 
 
 Elhpsia, 
 
 Apostrophe, Quotation and Dimretii, 
 Asteriik, Ubeliak, Double ObelUk, 
 
 Leston. 
 
 Section, Parallels, Paragraph 
 Caret, Breve and Brace, . 
 
 22. Accent, .... 
 
 23. Emphasis, .... 
 
 24. Primary and Secondary Emphasia 
 23. Distinctness of Articulation, 
 
 26. Manner or Eipresaion, 
 
 27. Pitch of the Voice, . 
 
 28. Transition, 
 
 29. Elliptical Sentences, . 
 
 30. Antithesis, .... 
 
 31. Enumeration, 
 
 32. Iron?, 
 
 33. Analogy, .... 
 
 34. The Star 
 
 35. Measure of Speech, . 
 
 36. Manner of Reading Poetry, 
 
 37. Monotone 
 
 38. Analysis, .... 
 
 39. Bleniiin^of Words, produced by 
 
 ed Force, . . . . , 
 
 40. Improvement of the Voice, 
 
 Pag*. 
 Index, 
 
 INDEX OF THE EXERCISES. 
 
 [The lulic letters indicate those Exercises which are in verse.] 
 
 Author g. 
 
 Structure of Animals, Spectator, . . 
 
 Philosophy Thomson, . . 
 
 Scale of Beings Addison, . . . 
 
 Teachings of Nature, Pollock, . . . 
 
 Eitgli.-ih Piiliieness described by a Native of China, 
 
 109 
 
 no 
 
 113 
 119 
 136 
 141 
 144 
 
 151 
 152 
 
 Pnfce. 
 
 . 157 
 
 . 160 
 
 161 
 
 164 
 
 Goldsmith, 165 
 
 Plerts fires of Melancholy T. Warton, 
 
 Amiable Character of the Patriarch Joseph, • . . . . Blair, 
 
 The Rtn'nbote Campbell, . . . 
 
 Immortality of the Soul Addison, . . . . 
 
 Winler. Thomson, . . . 
 
 Sabbath Exercises Abbott 
 
 The Des^^^rted Village Goldsmith, . . . 
 
 The Journey of a Day ; a Picture of Human Life, ... Dr. Johnson, . . 
 
 A Siimmp.r Morning, Thomson, . . . 
 
 Parable of the Ewe Lamb, Bible 
 
 Meditation Thomson, . . . 
 
 The Planetary and the Terrestial WorldSj Addison, . . . . 
 
 Q,iiarrel between Roderick Dhu and Fttz James, . . Sir Walter Scott, 
 
 S<^hRme.'s of Life often Illusory, Dr. Johnson.. . . 
 
 A Dream, Bryant, . . . . 
 
 166 
 167 
 170 
 172 
 .174 
 175 
 178 
 188 
 192 
 194 
 195 
 197 
 199 
 210 
 213 
 
 Ortognil ; or, the Vanity of Riches, Dr. Johnson, 214 
 
 Summer HexU, Thomson, 216 
 
 Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity, Addison, 217 
 
 ~" 220 
 
 221 
 222 
 
 Sitmyner Bathing, Thomson, 
 
 Scene after a Thunder Shower, " 
 
 Domestic Employment, Mrs. L. H. Sigoumey, 
 
 Scene from the Tragedy of King John, Shakspeare, .... 
 
 225 
 
 Character of Addison as a Writer Dr. Johnson, 231 
 
 El-gy written in a Country Churchyard, Gray, 2.S2 
 
 Filial Reverence, Mrs. Farrar 2^5 
 
 Autumn, Thomson, 237 
 
 Tiie FirMi and the Last Dinner, Anonymous, 2.39 
 
 Dny. — A Pastoral Cunningham, 241 
 
 Dombey's Introduction into a Fashionable School, . . . Dickens, 244 
 
 Same subject continued. —The Dinner Hour, " 251 
 
 Orator Puff. Moore, 2.54 
 
 S.)lil<x^uy of Dick the Apprentice Anonymous, 254 
 
 Fwp'xous ffistori/ of John Gilpin Cowper 255 
 
 Deprtriureof the Gypsies from Ellangowan, Sir Waller Scott, . . .258 
 
 S'iring Thomson 261 
 
 Adilrcss to President Washiniion 263 
 
 TroHt Fishing, Thomson, -265 
 
 C.Mitentmcnt, Addison, 267 
 
432 INDEX. 
 
 Exercise. Author/. Page. 
 
 46. Arahi/^s Daughter, Moore, 270 
 
 47. The ftill of Science Aikin, 271 
 
 48. T/ie Passion.<i. — An Ode , .Collins 274 
 
 49. Adaptation of Christianity to the Wants of Man, . . Pres. Hopkins, .... 276 
 
 50. Hymn on the Seasons Thomson, 278 
 
 51. The Blind Man restored to Sierht, St. John's Gospel, . . . 281 
 
 52. Picture of a Distinguished Poet, Pollock, 283 
 
 63. Grotto of Antiparos Goldsmith, 287 
 
 54. T/ie Past. Bryant, 290 
 
 * 55. Extract from an Oration at Washington, Hon. R. C. Winlhrop, . 291 
 
 66. Winter Scenes, Thomson, 294 
 
 57. Punishment of a Liar, Bible, 299 
 
 68. 'Rejections occasioned by a Man's perishing in a 
 
 Snotc-storm, Thomson, 301 
 
 59. Callisthenes' Reproof of Cleon's Flattery of Alexander, Q. Curtius 303 
 
 60. Rural Felicity, Thomson 304 
 
 61. Rolla's Address to the Peruvians, Sheridan, 306 
 
 62. Oft in the Stilly Night Moore, 307 
 
 63. Extract from a Speech in the British Parliament in 1770, Lord Mansfield, . . . .308 
 
 64. Address to the Deity, Young, 309 
 
 65. Causes of Differences of Opinion, Abbott, 311 
 
 66. The Last Rose of Summer, Moore, 312 
 
 67. Importance of Order in the Distribution of Time, . .Blair 313 
 
 68. The Katydid Dr. O. W. Holmes, . . 314 
 
 69. Conclusion of an Address to President Washington, . Fisher Ames, 316 
 
 70. The. Frost, Hannah F. Gould, . . .317 
 
 71. Character of Lord Chatham, Grattan, 318 
 
 72. '[y\a.\osue~ Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell, . . . Shakspeare, 319 
 
 73. On the Resurrection, St. Paul, 322 
 
 74. Selfishness Reproved, Pope, 325 
 
 75. Extract from an Address before the N. E. Society, . Hon. R. C. Winthrop, . 326 
 
 76. Description of Mab, dveen of the Fairies, .... Shakspeare, 335 
 
 77. Progress of Freedom, .' . . " W. H. Prescott. ... 335 
 
 78. The Meeting of the Waters, Moore 338 
 
 79. Extracts from an Inaugural Address, Hon. John P. Bigelow, . 339 
 
 80. Adam's Description of his first State of Being, . .Milton, 342 
 
 81. Character of Lord Halifax, Macaulay 342 
 
 82. Deacriptionof Eve's first finding herself on Earth, Milton, 345 
 
 83. The Cant of Criticisrn, Sterne, ... ..... 346 
 
 84. Hotspur's Description of a Fop, Shakspeare 347 
 
 85. Extract from an Address. Hon. R. C. Winthrop, . 348 
 
 86. Soliloquy of Claudius, Hamlet's uncle, Shakspeare, ..... 354 
 
 87. Cliarity St. Paul, 355 
 
 88. Farewell Moore, 356 
 
 89. English Travellers W. H. Prescott, ... 367 
 
 90. Speak Gently • Anonymous, 365 
 
 91. . Extract from a Speech in the Senate of the U. States, . Hon. Rufus Choate, . . 366 
 
 92. The Bird let loose, Moore 368 
 
 93. The Prodigal Son, St. Luke, 369 
 
 94. Go where Glory waits thee, Moore, 370 
 
 95. Hamlet's Advice to the Players, Shakspeare, 371 
 
 96. Milton's Lamentation for the Loss of Sight, . . .Milton 372 
 
 97. Intellectual Improvement, Abbott, 374 
 
 98. The World Compared to a Stage, Shakspeare, 377 
 
 99. Woman, Geo. B. Emerson, ... 378 
 
 100. Passing Away Pierpont, 380 
 
 101. Association of Idea.g, Taylor, 382 
 
 102. The Lighthouse Moore 33.8 
 
 103. Aqueous Agencies, David Page, 3S8 
 
 104. Soliloquy of Hamlet on Death, Shakspeare, 394 
 
 105. Hotspur's Soliloquy on the Contents of a Letter, . . " 395 
 
 106. Cataract of Lodore, Southey, 396 
 
 107. Power of Custom, ". . . .Addison, 393 
 
 108. The Contrast, Pollock, 400 
 
 109. How to Remember what we Read, Pycroft 403 
 
 110. Happin^s equally distributed, Goldsmith, 408 
 
 111. Character of Francisco Pizarro, W. H. Prescott, . . . 409 
 
 112. Virtuous Love Thomson, 416 
 
 113. S!iak.spearo Price 413 
 
 114. The Chameleon, Merrick, 421 
 
 115. Domiiiie Sampson's Encounter with Meg Merrilies, . Sir Walter Scott, . . 422 
 
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