Chapter XI: Section V: The Rhetorical Pause (5)

11. Do you despise your humble station, and repine that Providence has not placed you in some nobler sphere'? Murmur not against the dispensations of an All-wise Creator! Remember that wealth is no criterion of moral rectitude or intellectual worth,--that riches dishonestly gained, are a lasting curse,--that virtue and uprightness work out a rich reward,--and that

"An honest man's the noblest work of God."

12. And when dark Disappointment comes, do not wither at her stare; but press forward, and the prize is yours! It was thus with _Franklin_,--it can be thus with _you_. He strove for the prize, and he won it! So may _you!_ 'Tis well worth contending for; and may success attend you, and the "stars" grow brighter, as the "stripes" wear deeper!

QUESTIONS.--1. What did the rich boy say of the poor boy? 2. What reply did the poor boy make? 3. What other examples are cited of eminent men who were once poor? 4. What is said of Cincinnatus? 5. Of Washington? 6. Of Ben Jonson? 7. Of Burns? 8. What do all these examples prove? 9. What encouragement is given to young men? 10. What are the full forms of the words _you're, 'prentice?_

* * * * *

LESSON XLVII.

MAG'IC, power of enchantment.
CONTEN'TION, strife; controversy.
TRA DI'TION, facts or events handed down from age to age.
SUB TILE, thin; slight; slender.
IN VEST'ED, clothed.
CREST'ED, adorned with a plume or crest.
AZ'URE, light-blue; sky-colored.
PER SPECT' IVE, (PER, _through_; SPECT, _to see_; IVE, _having
the power_,) having the power to see through; a view through.
UN DI VERT' ED, (UN, _not_; DI, _aside_; VERTED, _turned_,)
not turned aside; unheeded.
VEST'URE, garment.
SE DATE', calm; quiet.
FAN TAS'TIC, fanciful; visionary.
RA DI ANCE, brightness; luster.
IN VEC'TIVE, railing speech.
I DE'AL, imaginary.
FA TIGU ING, wearisome, toilsome.
AS PIR'ING, aiming; seeking to rise.

NOW AND THEN.

JANE TAYLOR.

1. In distant days,--of wild romance,
Of magic, mist, and fable,--
When stones could argue, trees advance,[Footnote 1]
And brutes to talk were able,--
When shrubs and flowers were said to preach,
And manage all the parts of speech,--

2. 'Twas _then_, no doubt, if 'twas at all,
(But doubts we need not mention,)
That _Then_ and _Now_, two adverbs small,
Engaged in sharp contention;
But how they made each other hear,
Tradition doth not make appear.

3. _Then_ was a sprite of subtile frame,
With rainbow tints invested.--
On clouds of dazzling light she came,
And stars her forehead crested;
Her sparkling eyes of azure hue,
Seemed borrowed from the distant blue.

4. _Now_ rested on the solid earth,
And sober was her vesture;
She seldom either grief or mirth
Expressed, by word or gesture;
Composed, sedate, and firm she stood,
And looked industrious, calm, and good.

5. _Then_ sang a wild, fantastic song,
Light as the gale she flies on,
Still stretching, as she sailed along,
Toward the far horizon,
Where clouds of radiance, fringed with gold,
O'er hills of emerald beauty rolled.

6. _Now_ rarely raised her sober eye
To view that golden distance;
Nor let one idle minute fly
In hope of _Then's_ assistance;
But still with busy hands she stood,
Intent on doing _present_ good.

7. She ate the sweet, but homely fare,
That passing moments brought her;
While _Then_, expecting dainties rare,
Despised such bread and water;
And waited for the fruits and flowers
Of future, still receding hours.

8. _Now_, venturing once to ask her why,
She answered with invective;
And pointed, as she made reply,
_Toward that long perspective
Of years to come_,--in distant blue,
Wherein she meant to _live_ and _do_,

9. "Alas!" says she, _"how hard you toil!_
With undiverted sadness;
Behold yon land of wine and oil!
Those sunny hills of gladness!
Those joys I wait, with eager brow,"
_"And so you always will!"_ said _Now_.

10. "That fairy land that looks so real,
Recedes as you pursue it;
Thus, while you wait for time's ideal,
_I take my work and do it;_
Intent to form, when time is gone,
A _pleasant past_ to look upon."

11. "Ah, well," said _Then_, "I envy not
Your dull, fatiguing labors,--
Aspiring to a brighter lot,
With thousands of my neighbors;
Soon as I reach that golden hill,"--
"But that," says _Now_, "you _never will!"_

12. "And e'en suppose you should," said she,
"(Though mortal ne'er attained it,)
Your nature you must change with me,
The moment you have gained it;
Since hope fulfilled, (you must allow,)
Turns NOW to _Then_, and THEN to _Now_."

[Footnote 1: The reference is to Orpheus, (or' fuse,) an ancient poet and musician of Greece. The skill of Orpheus on the lyre, was fabled to have been such as to move the very trees and rocks, and to assemble the beasts around him as he touched its chords.]

QUESTIONS.--1. What two words are represented as holding a controversy? 2. Describe the appearance of each. 3. When did _Then_ propose to do something? 4. How did Now act? 5. What answer did _Then_ make, when _Now_ asked her why she waited? 6. What was _Now's_ reply? 7. What did _Now_ finally say to _Then_? 8. How should passages, within a parenthesis, be read? See SANDERS' UNION READER, NUMBER THREE, page 20.

* * * * *

LESSON XLVIII.

IN GEN' IOUS, artful; skillful.
STRAT' A GEM, trick; artifice.
EX CEED' ED, surpassed.
SIG' NALS, signs.
AM' I CA BLE, friendly; peaceable.
RE PEL', (RE, _back_; PEL, _to drive_,)drive back.
MU' TU AL, reciprocal.
EX TRAOR' DI NA RY, uncommon.
IN VET' ER ATE, obstinate; violent.
HARANGUE', declamatory speech.
EN TER TAIN' ED, held; had.
SUS PI' CION, mistrust.
EN COUN' TER ED, met face to face.
EX' E CU TED, carried out.
FOR' MI DA BLE, fearful; dreadful.
PER FID' I OUS, treacherous.
PRE CIP' ITATELY, headlong.
IN AN' I MATE, dead; lifeless.

AN INGENIOUS STRATAGEM.

DAYS OF WASHINGTON.

1. In the early part of the war, a sergeant and twelve armed men undertook a journey through the wilderness, in the State of New Hampshire. Their route was remote from any settlement, and they were under the necessity of encamping over night in the woods. Nothing material happened the first day of their excursion; but, early in the afternoon of the second, they, from an eminence, discovered a body of armed Indians advancing toward them, whose number rather exceeded their own.

2. As soon as the whites were perceived by their red brethren, the latter made signals, and the two parties approached each other in an amicable manner. The Indians appeared to be much gratified with meeting the sergeant and his men, whom, they observed, they considered as their protectors. They said they belonged to a tribe which had raised the hatchet with zeal in the cause of liberty, and were determined to do all in their power to repel the common enemy.

3. They shook hands in friendship. When they had conversed with each other for some time, and exchanged mutual good wishes, they, at length, separated, and each party traveled in a different direction. After proceeding to the distance of a mile or more, the sergeant, who was acquainted with all the different tribes, and knew on which side of the contest they were respectively ranked, halted his men, and addressed them in the following words:

4. "My brave companions, we must use the utmost caution, or this night may be our last. Should we not make some extraordinary exertions to defend ourselves, to-morrow's sun may find us sleeping, never to wake. You are surprised, comrades, at my words, and your anxiety will not be lessened, when I inform you that we have just passed _our most inveterate foe_, who, under the mask of pretended friendship, which you have witnessed, would lull us to security, and, by such means, in the unguarded moments of our midnight slumber, without resistance, seal our fate."

5. The men with astonishment listened to this short harangue; and their surprise was greater, as not one of them had entertained the suspicion but that they had just encountered friends. They all immediately resolved to enter into some scheme for their mutual preservation, and the destruction of their enemies. By the proposal of their leader, the following plan was adopted and executed.

6. The spot selected for their night's encampment, was near a stream of water, which served to cover their rear. They felled a large tree, before which, on the approach of night, a brilliant fire was lighted. Each individual cut a log of wood, about the size of his body, rolled it nicely in his blanket, placed his hat upon one end, and laid it before the fire, that the enemy might be deceived, and mistake it for a man.

7. After they had thus fitted out logs, equal in number to the sergeant's party, and had so artfully arranged them, that they might be easily mistaken for so many soldiers, the men with loaded muskets placed themselves behind the fallen tree, by which time the shades of evening began to close around. The fire was kept burning brilliantly until late in the evening, when it was suffered to decline.

8. The critical time was now approaching, when an attack might be expected from the Indians; but the sergeant's men rested in their place of concealment with great anxiety, till near midnight, without perceiving any movement of the enemy. At length, a tall Indian was discovered, through the glimmering of the fire, cautiously moving toward them, making no noise, and apparently using every means in his power to conceal himself from any one about the camp.

9. For a time, his actions showed him to be suspicious that a guard might be stationed to watch any unusual appearance, who would give the alarm in case of danger; but, all appearing quiet, he ventured forward more boldly, rested upon his toes, and was distinctly seen to move his finger as he numbered each log of wood, or what he supposed to be a human being quietly enjoying repose.

10. To satisfy himself more fully, as to the number, he counted them over a second time, and cautiously retired. He was succeeded by another Indian, who went through the same movements, and retired in the same manner. Soon after, the whole party, sixteen in number, were discovered approaching, and greedily eyeing their supposed victims.

11. The feelings of the sergeant's men can be better imagined than described, when they saw the base and cruel purpose of their enemies, who were now so near that they could scarcely be restrained from firing upon them. The plan, however, of the sergeant, was to have his men remain silent in their places of concealment, till the muskets of the savages were discharged, that their own fire might be effectual, and opposition less formidable.

12. Their suspense was not of long duration. The Indians, in a body, cautiously approached till within a short distance: they then halted, took deliberate aim, discharged their pieces upon inanimate logs, gave a dreadful war-whoop, and instantly rushed forward, with tomahawk and scalping knife in hand, to dispatch the living, and obtain the scalps of the dead.

13. As soon as they had collected in close order, more effectually to execute their horrid intentions, the sergeant's party discharged their pieces, not on logs of wood, but perfidious savages,--many of whom fell under the hot fire of the little band, and the rest precipitately fled. But for this ingenious scheme, it is probable that not one of these twelve men would have escaped the tomahawk of the savages.

QUESTIONS.--1. What did the sergeant say to his men, after parting with the Indians? 2. What plan did the sergeant propose for their preservation? 3. Did the plan succeed? 4. Describe the closing scene.

* * * * *

LESSON XLIX.

VEN' ER A BLE, worthy of reverence.
IN VA' SION, irruption; inroad.
EX CIT' ED, roused; stirred up.
IRE, wrath; indignation.
VENGE' ANCE, retaliation.
RE LEAS' ED, set free; liberated.
TRO PHIES, memorials of victory.
BE REFT', deprived.
VULT' URE, rapacious bird.
TRAV' ERS ED, crossed over.
DE SCRIP' TION, representation.
MA TER' NAL, motherly.
FIL' IAL, becoming a child.
CON SAN GUIN' I TY, blood relationship.
IN TEL' LI GENCE, news; information.
I DEN' TI TY, sameness.
SUR VIV' ED, remained alive.
AS CER TAIN' ED, found out.
IN TER' PRET ER, explainer.
LIN' E A MENTS, features.

FRANCES SLOCUM, THE YOUNG CAPTIVE.

[Footnote: The great massacre at Wyoming was, perhaps, the most bloody and terrible chapter of the Revolution. A combined Indian and Tory force had flung itself upon the peaceful valley, and murdered or made captive nearly all its unoffending inhabitants; its old and its young,--men, women, and children alike,--were either indiscriminately butchered or made prisoners. Among the prisoners taken on that occasion, was an infant child by the name of Frances Slocum. The story is a very strange one; we copy it from Lossing's very excellent work, "The Field Book of the Revolution."]

B.J. LOSSING.

1. I passed the evening with the venerable Joseph Slocum, whose family was among the sufferers, in Wyoming Valley. He related to me all the particulars of the capture and final discovery of his sister Frances, and other incidents connected with the sufferings of his family.

2. His father was a Quaker, and was distinguished for his kindness to the Indians. He remained unharmed at the time of the invasion, and, while the torch was applied to the dwellings of others, _his_ was left untouched. But his son Giles was in the battle. This, doubtless, excited the ire of the Indians, and they resolved on vengeance. 3. Late in the autumn, they were seen prowling about the house, which was situated about one hundred rods from the Wilkesbarre Fort. A neighbor, named Kingsley, had been made prisoner, and his wife and two sons had a welcome home in Mr. Slocum's family. One morning, the boys were grinding a knife near the house, when a rifle-shot and a shriek brought Mrs. Slocum to the door. An Indian was scalping the eldest boy, a lad of fifteen, with the knife he had been grinding.

4. The savage then went into the house, and caught up a little son of Mrs. Slocum. "See!" exclaimed the frightened mother, "he can do thee no good; he is lame." The Indian released the boy, took up her little daughter Frances, aged five years, gently in his arms, and, seizing the younger Kingsley, hastened to the mountains.

5. Two Indians who were with him, carried off a black girl, about seventeen years of age. Mr. Slocum's daughter caught up her brother Joseph, (my informant,) two and a half years old, and fled in safety to the fort, where an alarm was given; but the savages were beyond successful pursuit.

6. About six weeks afterward, Mr. Slocum and his father-in-law Ira Tripp, were shot and scalped by some Indians while foddering cattle near the house. Again the savages escaped with their horrid trophies. Mrs. Slocum, bereft of father, husband, and child, and stripped of all possessions but the house that sheltered her, could not leave the valley, for nine helpless children were yet in her household.

7. She trusted in the God of Elijah; and, if she was not fed by the ravens, she was spared by the vultures. She mourned not for the dead; for they were at rest: but little Frances, her lost darling, where was she? The lamp of hope kept on burning; but years rolled by, and no tidings of the little one came.

8. When peace returned, and friendly intercourse with Canada was established, two of the little captive's brothers started in search of her. They traversed the wilderness to Niagara, offering rewards for her recovery; but all in vain. They returned to Wyoming, convinced that the child was dead. But the mother's heart was still the shrine of hope, and she felt assured that Frances was not in the grave.

9. Her soul appeared to commune with that of her child, and she often said, "I know Frances is still living." At length, the mother's heart was cheered: a woman (for many years had now passed, and Frances, if living, must have arrived to womanhood) was found among the Indians, answering the description of the lost one. She only remembered being carried away from the Susquehanna.

10. Mrs. Slocum took her home, and cherished her with a mother's tenderness. Yet the mysterious link of sympathy which binds the maternal spirit to its offspring, was unfelt, and the bereaved mother was bereaved still. "It may be Frances, but it does not seem so; yet the woman shall ever be welcome," said Mrs. Slocum. The foundling, also, felt no filial yearnings; and, both becoming convinced that no consanguinity existed, the orphan returned to her Indian friends.

11. From time to time, the hope of the mother would be revived, and journeys were made to distant Indian settlements in search of the lost sister; but in vain. The mother went "down into the grave, mourning," and little Frances was almost forgotten. Her brothers had become aged men, and their grandchildren were playing upon the very spot, whence she had been taken.

12. In the summer of 1837, fifty-nine years after her capture, intelligence of Frances was received. Colonel Ewing, an Indian agent and trader, in a letter from Logansport, Indiana, to the editor of the _Lancaster Intelligencer_, gave such information, that all doubts respecting her identity were removed; and Joseph Slocum, with the sister who carried him to the fort, and yet survived, immediately journeyed to Ohio, where they were joined by their younger brother Isaac.

13. They proceeded to Logansport, where they found Mr. Ewing, and ascertained that the woman spoken of by him, lived about twelve miles from the village. She was immediately sent for; and, toward evening the next day, she came into the town, riding a spirited young horse, accompanied by her two daughters, and the husband of one of them,--all dressed in full Indian costume.

14. An interpreter was procured, (for she could not speak or understand English,) and she listened seriously to what her brothers had to say. She answered but little, and, at sunset, departed for her home, promising to return the next morning. The brother and sister were quite sure that it was indeed Frances, though in her face nothing but Indian lineaments were seen, her color alone revealing her origin.

15. True to her appointment, she appeared the following morning, accompanied as before. Mr. Joseph Slocum then mentioned a mark of recognition, which, his mother had said, was a sure test. While playing, one day, with a hammer in a blacksmith's shop, Joseph, then a child two and a half years old, gave Frances a blow upon the middle finger of the left hand, which crushed the bone, and deprived the finger of its nail.

16. This test Mr. Slocum had withheld until others should fail. When he mentioned it, the aged woman was greatly agitated; and, while tears filled the furrows of her face, she held out the wounded finger. There was no longer a doubt, and a scene of great interest ensued. Her affections for her kindred, that had slumbered half a century, were aroused, and she made earnest inquiries after her father, mother, brothers, and sisters. Her full heart--full with the cherished secrets of her history--was opened, and the story of her life freely given.

17. She said the savages, who were Delawares, after taking her to a rocky cave in the mountains, departed to the Indian country. The first night was the unhappiest of her life. She was kindly treated,--being carried tenderly in their arms when she was weary. She was adopted in an Indian family, and brought up as their daughter. For years she lived a roving life, and loved it. She was taught the use of the bow and arrow, and became expert in all the employments of savage existence.

18. When she was grown to womanhood, both her Indian parents died, and she soon afterward married a young chief of the nation, and removed to the Ohio country. She was treated with more respect than the Indian women generally; and so happy was she in her domestic relations, that the chance of being discovered, and compelled to return among the whites, was the greatest evil that she feared; for she had been taught that they were the implacable enemies of the Indians, whom she loved.

19. Her husband died; and, her people having joined the Miamies, she went with them, and married one of that tribe. The last husband was also dead, and she had been a widow many years. Children and grandchildren were around her, and her life was passing pleasantly away. When she concluded the narrative, she lifted her right hand in a solemn manner, and said, "All this is as true as that there is a Great Spirit in the heavens!" she had entirely forgotten her native language, and was a pagan.

20. On the day after the second interview, the brothers and sisters, with the interpreter, rode out to her dwelling. It was a well-built log-house, in the midst of cultivation. A large herd of cattle and sixty horses were grazing in the pasture. Everything betokened plenty and comfort; for she was wealthy, when her wants and her means were compared. Her annuity from government, which she received as one of the Miami tribe, had been saved, and she had about one thousand dollars in specie.

21. Her white friends passed several days very agreeably with her; and subsequently her brother Joseph, with his daughter, the wife of the Hon. Mr. Bennet, of Wyoming, made her another visit, and bade her a last farewell. She died a few years ago, and was buried with considerable pomp; for she was regarded as a queen among her tribe.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is the Wyoming Valley? 2. Relate the incidents connected with the capture of little Frances. 3. What efforts were made to find her? 4. How many years after her capture before she was found? 5. Where did they find her? 6. By what test did Mr. Slocum prove that she was his sister? 7. What history did she relate of herself? 8. Describe her home.

* * * * *

LESSON L.

FRING' ING, bordering; edging.
LEDGE, layer; ridge.
DAI SY, (literally _day's eye_,) a little wild flower very
common in summer.
RI' OT OUS, noisy; reveling.
BOIS' TER OUS, tumultuous; violent.
CULL' ING, selecting; picking.
BOU QUETS', (_boo kas_,) bunches of flowers.
SULK' Y, morose.
BOTH' ER ING, perplexing.
UN WONT' ED, rare: uncommon.
TE' DI OUS, tiresome; wearisome.

THE RAIN-DROPS.

DELIA LOUISE COLTON.

1. _The silver rain, the golden rain,_
_The tripping, dancing, laughing rain!_
Stringing its pearls on the green leaf's edge,
Fringing with gems the brown rock's ledge,
Spinning a vail for the water-fall,
And building an amber-colored wall
Across the West where the sun-beams fall:
_The gentle rain_, in the shady lane,
_The pattering, peering, winning rain!_

2. _The noisy rain, the marching rain,_
_The rushing tread of the heavy rain!_
Pouring its rivers from out the blue,
Down on the grass where the daisies grew,
Darting in clouds of angry drops
Across the hills and the green tree-tops,
And kissing, at last, in its giant glee,
The foaming lips of the great green sea:
_The fierce, wild rain, the riotous rain,_
_The boisterous, dashing, shouting rain!_

3. _The still night rain, the solemn rain!_
_The soldier-step of the midnight rain!_
With its measured beat on the roof o'erhead,
With its tidings sweet of the faithful dead,
Whispers from loves who are laid asleep
Under the sod where the myrtles creep,
Culling bouquets from the sun-lit past,
Of flowers too sweet, too fair to last:
_The faithful rain, the untiring rain,_
_The cooing, sobbing, weeping rain!_

4. _The sulky rain, the spiteful rain,_
_The bothering, pilfering, thieving rain!_
Creeping so lazily over the sky,
A leaden mask o'er a bright blue eye,
And shutting in, with its damp, strong hands,
The rosy faces in curls, and bands
Of girls who think, with unwonted frown
Of the charming laces and things down-town,
That might as well for this tiresome rain,
Be in the rose land of Almahain:
_The horrid rain, the tedious rain,_
_The never-ending, dingy rain!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the meaning of the suffix _ing_, in such words as _tripping, dancing, laughing_, &c.? See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 153, Ex. 206. 2. What is the use of the hyphen in such words as _water-fall, amber-colored_, &c.? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page l65.

* * * * *

LESSON LI.

LAV' ISH, liberal; profuse.
PER' FUMES, pleasant odors.
HAR MO' NI OUS, concordant.
RAPT' URE, extreme joyousness.
GERMS, seed-buds; beginnings.
PAR'TICLES, minute parts; atoms.
MOTES, very small particles.
VENT' URE, dare; have courage.
COL' UMNS, pillars.
DOME, arched roof; cupola.
TI' NY, very small.
ES' SENCE, perfume.

"SMALL THINGS."

F. BENNOCH.

1. Who dares to scorn the meanest thing,
The humblest weed that grows,
While pleasure spreads its joyous wing
On every breeze that blows?
The simplest flower that, hidden, blooms
The lowest on the ground,
Is lavish of its rare perfumes,
And scatters sweetness round.

2. The poorest friend upholds a part
Of life's harmonious plan;
The weakest hand may have the art
To serve the strongest man.
The bird that highest, clearest sings,
To greet the morning's birth,
Falls down to drink, with folded wings,
Love's rapture on the earth.

3. From germs too small for mortal sight
Grow all things that are seen,
Their floating particles of light
Weave Nature's robe of green.
The motes that fill the sunny rays
Build ocean, earth, and sky,--
The wondrous orbs that round us blaze
Are motes to Deity!

4. Life, love, devotion, closely twine,
Like tree, and flower, and fruit;
They ripen by a power divine,
Though fed by leaf and root.
And he who would be truly great,
Must venture to be small;
On airy columns rests the dome
That, shining, circles all.

5. Small duties grow to mighty deeds;
Small words to thoughts of power;
Great forests spring from tiny seeds,
As moments make the hour.
And life, howe'er it lowly grows,
The essence to it given,
Like odor from the breathing rose,
Floats evermore to Heaven.

* * * * *

LESSON LII.

EX TINCT', extinguished.
IN COR' PO RA TED, united.
TAC' IT, silent; implied.
SUB SIST' ED, existed.
HOS PI TAL' I TY, kind treatment.
IN POR' TU NATE, urgent; pressing.
EN CROACH' MENT, intrusion.
IR' RI TA TED, provoked; exasperated.
MAS' SA CRE, (_mas' sa ker_,) slaughter.
GRAV' I TY, seriousness.
DE LIB' ER ATE, take council.
TREA' SON, treachery; disloyalty.
AP PRIS' ING, informing.
BE TRAY', expose.
IN VIN CI BLE, unconquerable.
WAX' ED, became, grew.
BE SOUGHT', entreated; implored.
SUF FICE, (_c like z_,) prove sufficient.

MURDERER'S CREEK.

[Footnote: In Orange County, New York.]

JAMES K. PAULDING.

1. Little more than a century ago, the beautiful region watered by this stream, was possessed by a small tribe of Indians, which has long since become extinct, or incorporated with some other savage nation of the West. Three or four hundred yards from where the stream discharges itself into the Hudson, a white family, of the name of Stacy, had established itself in a log-house, by tacit permission of the tribe, to whom Stacy had made himself useful by his skill in a variety of little arts, highly estimated by the savages.

2. In particular, a friendship subsisted between him and an old Indian, called Naöman, who often came to his house, and partook of his hospitality. _The Indians never forgive injuries, nor forget benefits_. The family consisted of Stacy, his wife, and two children, a boy and a girl, the former five, the latter three years old.

3. One day, Naöman came to Stacy's log-hut, in his absence, lighted his pipe, and sat down. He looked very serious, sometimes sighed deeply, but said not a word. Stacy's wife asked him what was the matter,--if he was sick. He shook his head, sighed, but said nothing, and soon went away. The next day, he came again and behaved in the same manner. Stacy's wife began to think strange of this, and related it to her husband, who advised her to urge the old man to an explanation the next time he came.

4. Accordingly, when he repeated his visit the day after, she was more importunate than usual. At last, the old Indian said. "I am a red man, and the pale faces are our enemies: why should I speak?"--"But my husband and I are your friends: you have eaten salt with us a thousand times, and my children have sat on your knees as often. If you have anything on your mind, tell it me."--"It will cost me my life if it is known, and the white-faced women are not good at keeping secrets," replied Naöman.

5. "Try me, and see."--"Will you swear by your Great Spirit that you will tell none but your husband?"--"I have none else to tell."--"But will you swear?"--"I do swear by our Great Spirit, I will tell none but my husband."--"Not if my tribe should _kill you_ for not telling?"--"Not if your tribe should kill me for not telling."

6. Naöman then proceeded to tell her that, owing to some encroachments of the white people below the mountains, his tribe had become irritated, and were resolved that night to massacre all the white settlers within their reach; that she must send for her husband, inform him of the danger, and, as secretly and speedily as possible, take their canoe and paddle, with all haste, over the river to Fishkill for safety. "Be quick, and do nothing that may excite suspicion," said Naöman, as he departed.

7. The good wife sought her husband, who was down on the river fishing, told him the story, and, as no time was to be lost, they proceeded to their boat, which was unluckily filled with water. It took some time to clear it out, and, meanwhile, Stacy recollected his gun, which had been left behind. He proceeded to the house, and returned with it. All this took up considerable time, and precious time it proved to this poor family.

8. The daily visits of old Naöman, and his more than ordinary gravity, had excited suspicion in some of the tribe, who had, accordingly, paid particular attention to the movements of Stacy. One of the young Indians, who had been kept on the watch, seeing the whole family about to take to the boat, ran to the little Indian village, about a mile off, and gave the alarm. Five Indians collected, ran down to the river, where their canoes were moored, jumped in, and paddled after Stacy, who, by this time, had got some distance out into the stream.

9. They gained on him so fast, that twice he dropped his paddle, and took up his gun. But his wife prevented his shooting by telling him that, if he fired, and they were afterwards overtaken, they would meet with no mercy from the Indians. He accordingly refrained, and plied his paddle till the sweat rolled in big drops down his forehead. All would not do; they were overtaken within a hundred yards from the shore, and carried back with shouts of yelling triumph.

10. When they got ashore, the Indians set fire to Stacy's house, and dragged himself, his wife, and children, to their village. Here the principal old men, and Naoman among them, assembled to deliberate on the affair. The chief men of the council stated that some of the tribe had, undoubtedly, been guilty of treason, in apprising Stacy, the white man, of the designs of the tribe, whereby they took the alarm, and well-nigh escaped.

11. He proposed to examine the prisoners, to learn who gave the information. The old men assented to this, and Naöman among the rest. Stacy was first interrogated by one of the old men, who spoke English and interpreted to the others. Stacy refused to betray his informant. His wife was then questioned; while, at the same moment, two Indians stood threatening the two children, with tomahawks, in case she did not confess.

12. She attempted to evade the truth, by declaring she had a dream the night before, which alarmed her, and that she had persuaded her husband to fly. "The Great Spirit never deigns to talk in dreams to a white face," said the old Indian. "Woman, thou hast two tongues, and two faces. Speak the truth, or thy children shall surely die." The little boy and girl were then brought close to her, and the two savages stood over them, ready to execute their bloody orders.

13. "Wilt thou name," said the old Indian, "the red man who betrayed his tribe? I will ask thee three times." The mother answered not. "Wilt thou name the traitor? This is the second time." The poor mother looked at her husband, and then at her children, and stole a glance at Naoman, who sat smoking his pipe with invincible gravity.

14. She wrung her hands, and wept; but remained silent. "Wilt thou name the traitor? 'Tis the third and last time." The agony of the mother waxed more bitter; again she sought the eye of Naoman; but it was cold and motionless. A pause of a moment awaited her reply, and the tomahawks were raised over the heads of the children, who besought their mother not to let them be murdered.

15. "Stop!" cried Naöman. All eyes were turned upon him. "Stop!" repeated he, in a tone of authority. "White woman, thou hast kept thy word with me to the last moment. _I am the traitor_. I have eaten of the salt, warmed myself at the fire, shared the kindness, of these Christian white people, and it was _I_ that told them of their danger. I am a withered, leafless, branchless trunk. Cut me down, if you will: I am ready."

16. A yell of indignation sounded on all sides. Naöman descended from the little bank where he sat, shrouded his face with his mantle of skins, and submitted to his fate. He fell dead at the feet of the white woman by a blow of the tomahawk.

17. But the sacrifice of Naöman, and the firmness of the Christian white woman, did not suffice to save the lives of the other victims. They perished,--how, it is needless to say; and the memory of their fate has been preserved in the name of the pleasant stream, on whose banks they lived and died, which, to this day, is called MURDERER'S CREEK.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is Murderer's Creek? 2. What is said of Naöman and Stacy's family? 3. Why did Naöman, at first, refuse to tell Mrs. Stacy of her danger? 4. Did Stacy's family make their escape? 5. Where were they taken? 6. Did Mrs. Stacy tell who had informed her? 7. What measures did the Indians adopt, to make her tell? What did Naoman say? 9. What did the Indians do with Naoman and Stacy's family?

* * * * *

LESSON LIII.

PER' IL OUS, hazardous; dangerous.
DE FILES', narrow passages.
PREC' I PIC ES, steep descents.
SOL'I TUDE, lonely places.
AM MU NI' TION, military stores, as powder, balls, &c.
DRA GOONS, mounted soldiers.
SUM' MIT, top; highest point.
AV A LANCHE', snow-slip.
CROUCH' ED, cringed.
AD VANCE', forward; proceed.
BE NUMB' ED, deprived of feeling.
EX PLOITS', heroic deeds.
IL LUS' TRATES, explains; makes clear.
HE RO'IC, brave; fearless.
UN FLINCH'ING, determined; resolute.

BAY' O NET, a short, pointed instrument of iron, or broad dagger,
fitted to the barrel of a gun. It is so called, because the first
bayonets were made at Bayonne, in France.

NAPOLEON'S ARMY CROSSING THE ALPS.

1. When Napoleon was carrying war into Italy, he ordered one of his officers, Marshal Macdonald, to cross the Splugen with fifteen thousand soldiers, and join him on the plains below. The Splugen is one of the four great roads which cross the Alps from Switzerland to Italy.

2. When Macdonald received the order, it was about the last of November, and the winter storms were raging among the mountain passes. It was a perilous undertaking, yet he must obey; and the men began their terrible march through narrow defiles and overhanging precipices, six thousand feet up, up among the gloomy solitudes of the Alps.

3. The cannon were placed on sleds drawn by oxen, and the ammunition was packed on mules. First came the guides, sticking their long poles in the snow, in order to find the path; then came workmen to clear away the drifts; then the dragoons, mounted on their most powerful horses, to beat down the track; after which followed the main body of the army.

4. They encountered severe storms and piercing cold. When half-way up the summit, a rumbling noise was heard among the cliffs. The guides looked at each other in alarm; for they knew well what it meant. It grew louder and louder. "_An avalanche! an avalanche!_" they shrieked, and the next moment a field of ice and snow came leaping down the mountain, striking the line of march, and sweeping thirty dragoons in a wild plunge below. The black forms of the horses and their riders were seen for an instant struggling for life, and then they disappeared forever.

5. The sight struck the soldiers with horror; they crouched and shivered in the blast. Their enemy was not now flesh and blood, but wild winter storms; swords and bayonets could not defend them from the desolating avalanche. Flight or retreat was hopeless; for all around lay the drifted snow, like a vast winding-sheet. On they must go, or death was certain, and the brave men struggled forward.

6. "Soldiers!" exclaimed their commander, "you are called to Italy; your general needs you. Advance and conquer, first the mountain and the snow, then the plains and the enemy!" Blinded by the winds, benumbed with the cold, and far beyond the reach of aid, Macdonald and his men pressed on. Sometimes a whole company of soldiers were suddenly swept away by an avalanche.

7. On one occasion, a poor drummer, crawling out from the mass of snow, which had torn him from his comrades, began to beat his drum for relief. The muffled sound came up from his gloomy resting-place, and was heard by his brother soldiers; but none could go to his rescue. For an hour, he beat rapidly, then the strokes grew fainter, until they were heard no more, and the poor drummer laid himself down to die. Two weeks were occupied in this perilous march, and two hundred men perished in the undertaking.

8. This passage of the Splugen is one of the bravest exploits in the history of Napoleon's generals, and illustrates the truth of the proverb, "_Where there is a will there is a way_." No one can read the heroic deeds of brave men grappling with danger and death, without a feeling of respect and admiration; but heroic deeds are always the fruit of _toil_ and _self-sacrifice_. _No one can accomplish great things, unless he aims at great things, and pursues that aim with unflinching courage and perseverance._

QUESTIONS.--1. What orders had Napoleon given to Marshal Macdonald? 2. What time of year was it? 3. Describe the march of the army over the Alps. 4. What disaster occurred to them? 5. How did their commander address the army? 6 Describe the drummer boy's fate. 7. How many men perished? 8. What does this exploit of the army illustrate? 9. What is said of heroic deeds?

* * * * *

LESSON LIV.

PROV' ERBS, sayings; maxims.
TRAC' ED, shown; marked out.
WOO ERS, suitors; lovers.
DENSE, close; thick.
STRIV' ING, making efforts.
CON TROL', restraint; government.
COPE, strive; contend.
DE FY' ING, daring; outbraving.
GHOST, specter; apparition.
RE LY' ING, trusting; depending.
WIN' NING, getting; gaining.
BRAM' BLES, prickly shrubs.

WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY.

ELIZA COOK.

1. We have faith in old proverbs full surely,
For wisdom has traced what they tell,
And truth may be drawn up as purely
From them, as it may from a "well."
Let us question the thinkers and doers,
And hear what they honestly say,
And you'll find they believe, like bold wooers,
In "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

2. The hills have been high for man's mounting,
The woods have been dense for his ax,
The stars have been thick for his counting,
The sands have been wide for his tracks.
The sea has been deep for his diving,
The poles have been broad for his sway,
But bravely he's proved by his striving,
That "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

3. Have ye vices that ask a destroyer,
Or passions that need your control?
Let Reason become your employer,
And your body be ruled by your soul.
Fight on, though ye bleed at the trial,
Resist with all strength that ye may,
Ye may conquer Sin's host by denial,
For, "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

4. Have ye poverty's pinching to cope with'?
Does suffering weigh down your might'?
Only call up a spirit to hope with,
And dawn may come out of the night.
Oh! much may be done by defying
The ghost of Despair and Dismay,
And much may be gained by relying
On "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

5. Should ye see afar off that worth winning,
Set out on a journey with trust,
And ne'er heed though your path at beginning
Should be among brambles and dust.
Though it is by footsteps ye do it,
And hardships may hinder and stay,
Keep a heart and be sure ye go through it,
For, "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the meaning of this proverb, "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY?_" 2. What instances can you mention in which its truth has been realized? 3. Do you apply this proverb in getting your lessons?

* * * * *

LESSON LV.

TAL' IS MAN, charm; amulet.
VAN, front or head of an army.
FI' ER Y, ardent; passionate.
PLUMES, supplies with feathers.
TENSE' LY, tightly.
SWERVES, deviates.
DAUNT, frighten; terrify.
BAN' ISH, expel; drive away.

TEL EGRAPH,(TELE,_far off_; GRAPH, _writing or marking_,) a machine
to convey news far off. See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, p. 161, Ex. 419.

"I CAN!"

1. "I CAN!" oh yes,--we _know_ you can!
We read it in your eye;
There is a mystic talisman
Flashing all gloriously!
Speak it out boldly, let it ring,
There is a volume there,
There's meaning in the eagle's wing
_Then soar, and do, and dare!_

2. "I CAN!" climbs to the mountain top,
And plows the billowy main;
He lifts the hammer in the shop,
And drives the saw and plane;
He's fearless in the battle shock,
And always leads the van
Of young America's brave sons,--
They never quailed nor ran.

3. "I CAN!" He is a fiery youth,
And WILL a brother twin,
And, arm in arm, in love and truth.
They'll either die or win.
Shoulder to shoulder, ever ready,
All firm and fearless still
These brothers labor,--true and steady,--
"I CAN," and brave "I WILL."

4. "I CAN," e'en on his pleasure trips,
Travels by telegraph;
He plumes the snowy wing of ships,
And never works by half;
His music is the humming loom,
And shuttles are his dancers.,
Then clear the way, and quick give room
For the noble-souled "I CAN," sirs!

5. "I CAN!" Indeed, we _know_ you can!
'Tis lithe in every limb,
To your blood 'tis a busy fan,
How can the flame burn dim?
It tensely draws your sturdy nerves,--
No bow's without a string,
And when nor bow nor bow-string swerves,
An arrow's on the wing.

6. There is a magic in the power
Of an unbending _will_,
That makes us stronger every hour,
For greater efforts still.
Then banish from you every CAN'T,
And show yourself a MAN,
And nothing will your purpose daunt,
Led by the brave "I CAN!"

QUESTIONS.--1. What does "_I can_" do? 2. Who is called his twin brother? 3. What is said of an unbending will?

* * * * *

LESSON LVI.

CAS' ED, invested.
ARM' OR, defensive arms.
STORM' ING, taking by assault.
AIR' Y, fanciful; visionary.
FOR' TRESS, fort; strong-hold.
DE TAIN', hinder; keep back.
WEAP' ONS, instruments for defense, or offense.
UN WOR' THY, undeserving.
RE GRET', sorrow for the past.
PHAN' TOM, specter; ghost-like.
SCARCE' LY, hardly.

NOW, TO-DAY.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

1. ARISE`! for the day is passing,
And you lie dreaming on;
Your brothers are cased in armor,
And forth to the fight are gone!
A place in the ranks awaits you;
Each man has some part to play;
The Past and the Future are nothing
In the face of stern TO-DAY.

2. ARISE from your dreams of the Future,--
Of gaining some hard-fought field,
Of storming some airy fortress,
Or bidding some giant yield;
Your Future has deeds of glory,
Of honor, (God grant it may!)
But your arm will never be stronger,
Or needed as _now_,--TO-DAY.

3. ARISE`! if the Past detain you,
Her sunshine and storms forget;
No chains so unworthy to hold you
As those of a vain regret;
Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever;
Cast her phantom arms away,
Nor look back, save to learn the lesson
Of a nobler strife TO-DAY.

4. ARISE`! for the day is passing;
The sound that you scarcely hear,
Is the enemy marching to battle!
(f.) _Rise_`! RISE`! for the foe is near!
Stay not to sharpen your weapons,
Or the hour will strike at last,
When, from dreams of a coming battle,
You may wake to find it past!

QUESTIONS.--1. What reasons are assigned why we should arouse to effort _now, to-day?_ 2. What rule for the falling inflection on _arise?_ See Rule VIII., page 33. 3. How, according to the notation mark, should the last verse be read?

* * * * *

LESSON LVII.

REV O LU' TION, change of government.
FAN' CI ED, thought; imagined,
UN GEN' ER OUS, mean; ignoble.
AC KNOWL' EDG ED, owned.
PLOT' TING, planning; contriving.
DE SIGN', purpose; intention.
COR RE SPOND' ENCE, intercourse by letters.
CON' QUEST, victory.
IN' TER VIEW, meeting; conference.
SOL' I TA RY, lonely; retired.
CON GRAT' U LA TING, rejoicing with.
IS' SU ED, started up; come forth.
SUS PECT' ING, mistrusting.
DE TECT' ED, exposed; found out.
A' MI A BLE, lovely; agreeable.
FEL' ON, criminal.
CON' SE QUENCE, (CON, _with_; SEQUENCE, _a following_,) a following
with, as an effect, or result.
IM PRESS' IVE, (IM, _in_; PRESS, _to bear upon_; IVE, _tending to_,)
tending to press in, or upon; producing an effect.
IN VOLV' ED, (IN, _in_; VOLVED, _rolled_,) rolled in; enveloped.

THE CAPTURE OF MAJOR ANDRE.

1. One of the saddest events in the history of the American Revolution is the _treason of Arnold_, and, in consequence of it, _the death of Major Andre_. Arnold was an officer in the American army, who, though brave, had a proud and impatient spirit.

2. He fancied he had not all the honor and the pay due for his services, and, having plunged himself into debt by his expensive style of living, these things soured his heart; and, as is the case with ungenerous minds, he never acknowledged a fault, or forgave an injury. More than this, he sought revenge against his countrymen by plotting _treason against his country_.

3. Soon after forming this bad design, he opened a secret correspondence with the English General, Henry Clinton, and, at the same time, asked General Washington to give him the command of West Point, an important post on the Hudson river. Washington let him have it, and this he determined to betray into the hands of the enemy, provided he could make out of it a good bargain for himself.

4. He wrote to General Clinton what he would do, and asked to have a secret interview with some English officer, in order to agree upon the terms. General Clinton was delighted; for he thought an army divided against itself, must prove an easy conquest; and he asked Major Andre, a gallant young officer, to meet Arnold, and settle the price of his treason.

5. Andre did not wish to engage in such business; but he obeyed, and went up the Hudson in an English sloop-of-war for this purpose. Arnold agreed to meet him at a certain spot, and when night came on, sent a little boat to bring him ashore. He landed at the foot of a mountain called the Long Clove, on the western side of the river, a few miles from Haverstraw, where he found the traitor hid in a clump of bushes.

6. Little did poor Andre foresee the fatal consequences of this step. All that still star-light night they sat and talked; daylight came, and the business was not concluded. Arnold dismissed the boatmen, and led his companion to a solitary farm-house on the river's bank, where the papers were finally drawn up, and hid in one of Andre's stockings. Andre felt how exposed he was to danger in the enemy's country, and heartily wished himself back to the sloop.

7. Forced now, however, to go by land, Arnold gave him a pass to go through the American lines; and, at sunset, he set off, on horseback, with a guide. They crossed the river, and, getting along on their dangerous journey with but few alarms, the guide left the next morning, and Andre rode briskly on, congratulating himself upon leaving all dangers behind, for he was rapidly nearing the English lines, when there was a loud shout, "_Stand!_ HALT!" and three men [Footnote: Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart.] issued from the woods, one seizing the bridle, and the others presenting their guns.

8. Andre told them he had a pass to White Plains, on urgent business from General Arnold, and begged them not to detain him; but the men, suspecting that all was not right, began to search him; and, hauling off his boots, they discovered his papers in his stockings.

9. Finding himself detected, he offered them any sum of money, if they would let him go. "No;" answered the sturdy men, "not if you would give us ten thousand guineas;" for, though poor, they were above selling their country at any price. Andre was sent a prisoner to General Washington's camp. Arnold, on learning the news of his capture, immediately fled from West Point, and made his escape to the English sloop.

10. According to the rules of war, poor Andre was sentenced to the death of a spy. Great efforts were made to save him. General Clinton offered a large sum to redeem him. So young, so amiable, so gallant, and to meet a felon's doom! but, in ten days he was hung.

11. Arnold lived; but, with the thirty thousand dollars--the price of his treachery--he lived a miserable man, despised even by those who bought him. And one impressive lesson which the story teaches, is, that _the consequences of guilt do not fall alone on the guilty man;_ others are often involved in distress, disgrace, and ruin.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is one of the saddest events in the history of the American Revolution? 2. Who was Arnold? 3. What reason is assigned why he plotted treason against his country? 4. What measures did he adopt to do this? 5. With whom, and where did he make the agreement? 6. By whom was Andre detected? 7. What became of Andre and Arnold?

* * * * *

LESSON LVIII.

SE CUR' ED, obtained.
HES' I TA TED, paused.
MIS' ER A BLE, wretched.
SUP' PLI ANT, petitioner; beggar.
PECUL' IAR, singular; remarkable.
IN DIC' A TIVE, showing; intimating.
SO LIC' IT ED, asked; requested.
COS TUME', mode of dress.
VIG' OR OUS, stout; strong.
SYN' O NYM, a word meaning the same as some other word.
IN' FA MY, utter disgrace.

[Headnote 1: TAL' LEY RAND, a distinguished French statesman, was born Feb. 13th, 1754. He died May 20th, 1838.]

BENEDICT ARNOLD.

1. There was a day when Talleyrand [Headnote 1] arrived in Havre, direct from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the French Revolution. Pursued by the blood-hounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of property or power, Talleyrand secured a passage to America, in a ship about to sail. He was a beggar and a wanderer in a strange land, to earn his bread by daily labor.

2. "Is there an American staying at your house?" he asked the landlord of the hotel. "I am bound to cross the water, and should like a letter to a person of influence in the New World." The landlord hesitated a moment, then replied: "There is a gentleman up-stairs, either from America or Britain; but whether an American or an Englishman, I can not tell."

3. He pointed the way, and Talleyrand, who, in his life, was Bishop, Prince, and Prime Minister, ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant, he stood before the stranger's door, knocked, and entered. In the far corner of the dimly-lighted room, sat a man of some fifty years, his arms folded, and his head bowed on his breast. From a window directly opposite, a faint light rested on his forehead.