S.W. PARTRIDGE.
QUESTIONS.—1. What things are mentioned, that contribute to our comfort and happiness? 2. How does the suffix less, affect the meaning of the words cease, view, hymn, &c.? 3. What is the meaning of the suffixes let and et, in the words streamlet and floweret? See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 140, Ex. 185 and 187.
W.H. COBB.
In reading these antithetic sentences, an excellent effect may be produced by dividing the class equally into two parts, and letting one part read, in concert, the line marked 1st Voice, and the other part, the line marked 2d Voice; or, one pupil may read one line, and the next pupil the other, alternately.
1st Voice. A wise son maketh a glad father;
2d Voice, but a foolish son is the heaviness of his
mother.
1 V. Treasures of wickedness profit nothing;
2 V. but righteousness delivereth from death.
1 V. He becometh poor, that dealeth with a slack
hand;
2 V. but the hand of the diligent maketh rich.
1 V. Blessings are upon the head of the just;
2 V. but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.
1 V. The memory of the just is blessed;
2 V. but the name of the wicked shall rot.
1 V. The wise in heart will receive commandment;
2 V. but a prating fool shall fall.
1 V. He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely;
2 V. but he that perverteth his ways, shall be known.
1 V. Wise men lay up knowledge;
2 V. but the mouth of the wicked is near destruction.
1 V. He is in the way of life, that keepeth
instruction;
2 V. but he that refuseth reproof, erreth.
1 V. It is as sport to a fool to do mischief;
2 V. but a man of understanding hath wisdom.
1 V. The fear of the Lord prolongeth days;
2 V. but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.
1 V. The hope of the righteous shall be gladness;
2 V. but the expectation of the wicked shall perish.
1 V. The righteous shall never be removed;
2 V. but the wicked shall not inhabit the earth.
1 V. The mouth of the just bringeth forth wisdom;
2 V. but the froward tongue shall be cut out.
1 V. A false balance is an abomination to the
Lord;
2 V. but a just weight is his delight.
1 V. Riches profit not in the day of wrath;
2 V. but righteousness delivereth from death.
1 V. The righteousness of the perfect shall direct
his way;
2 V. but the wicked shall fall by his own wickedness.
1 V. By the blessing of the upright the city is
exalted;
2 V. but it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked.
1 V. Where no counsel is, the people fall,
2 V. but in the multitude of counselors there is
safety.
1 V. He that diligently seeketh good, procureth
favor;
2 V. but he that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto
him.
1 V. The righteous man regardeth the life of his
beast;
2 V. but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.
1 V. The lip of truth shall be established
forever;
2 V. but a lying tongue is but for a moment.
1 V. Lying lips are abomination to the Lord;
2 V. but they that deal truly are His delight.
1 V. The hand of the diligent shall bear rule;
2 V. but the slothful shall be under tribute.
1 V. A wise son heareth his father's instruction;
2 V. but a scorner heareth not rebuke.
1 V. He that keepeth his mouth, keepeth his life;
2 V. but he that openeth wide his lips, shall have
destruction.
1 V. A scorner seeketh wisdom, and findeth it
not;
2 V. but knowledge is easy unto him that
understandeth.
1 V. There is a way which seemeth right unto a
man;
2 V. but the end thereof are the ways of death.
1 V. A wise man feareth, and departeth from evil;
2 V. but the fool rageth, and is confident.
1 V. The poor is hated even of his neighbor;
2 V. but the rich hath many friends.
1 V. He that oppresseth the poor, reproacheth his
Maker;
2 V. but he that honoreth Him, hath mercy on the
poor.
1 V. He that is slow to wrath, is of great
understanding;
2 V. but he that is hasty in spirit, exalteth folly.
1 V. A soft answer turneth away wrath;
2 V. but grievous words stir up anger.
1 V. He that walketh with wise men, shall be
wise;
2 V. but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.
1 V. Counsel in the heart of man is like deep
water;
2 V. but a man of understanding will draw it out.
1 V. The wicked is driven away in his wickedness;
2 V. but the righteous hath hope in his death.
[Headnote 1: AR' A BESQUES, is a word, denoting ornaments after the Arabian manner, often intricate and fantastic, from the intermingling of foliage, fruits, &c., with other objects real or imaginary.]
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
1. It is the impression of many, that only in summer, including spring and autumn, of course, is the country desirable as a residence. The country in summer, and the city for the winter. It is true, that the winter gives attractions to the city, in endless meetings, lectures, concerts, and indoor amusements; but it is not true that the country loses all interest when the leaves are shed and the grass is gone. On the contrary, to one who has learned how to use his senses and his sensibilities, there are attractions in the winter of a peculiar kind, and pleasures which can be reaped only then.
2. It appears to me, that winter comes in to relieve the year of satiety. The mind grows sated with greenness. After eight or nine months of luxuriant growths, the eye grows accustomed to vegetation. To be sure, we never are less pleased with the wide prospect; with forms of noble trees, with towns and meadows, and with the whole aspect of nature. But it is the pleasure of one pampered. We lose the keen edge of hunger. The eye enjoys, without the relish of newness. We expect to enjoy. Every thing loses surprise.
3. Of course, the sky is blue, the grass succulent, the fields green, the trees umbrageous, the clouds silent and mysterious. They were so yesterday, they are so to-day, they will be so to-morrow, next week, next month. In short, the mind does not cease to feel the charm of endless growths; but needs variety, change of diet, less of perpetual feasting, and something of the blessings of a fast. This winter gives. It says to us: You have had too much. You are luxurious and dainty. You need relief and change of diet.
4. The cold blue of the sky, the cold gray of rocks, the sober warmth of browns and russets, take the place of more gorgeous colors. If, now, one will accept this change in the tone of nature, after a time a new and relishful pleasure arises. The month formed by the last fortnight of November and the first two weeks of December, is, to me, the saddest of the year. It most nearly produces the sense of desolateness and dreariness of any portion of the year.
5. From the hour that the summer begins to shorten its days, and register the increasing change along the horizon, over which the sun sets, farther and farther toward the south, we have a genial and gentle sadness. But sadness belongs to all very deep joys. It is almost as needful to the perfectness of joy, as shadows in landscapes are to the charm of the picture. Then, too, comes the fading out of flowers,—each variety in its turn, saying, "Farewell till next summer."
6. Scarcely less suggestive of departing summer are the new-comers, the late summer golden-rod, the asters, and all autumnal flowers. Long experience teaches us that these are the latest blossoms that fall from the sun's lap, and next to them is snow. By association we already see white in the yellow and blue. Then, too, birds are thinking of other things. No more nests, no more young, no more songs,—except signal-notes and rallying-calls; for they are evidently warned, and go about their little remaining daily business, as persons who expect every hour to depart to a distant land.
7. It is scarcely ever that we see the birds go. They are here to-day, and gone to-morrow. They disappear without observation. The fields are empty and silent. It seems as if the winds had blown them away with the leaves. The first sight of northern waterfowl, far up in the air, retreating from Labrador and the short, Arctic summer, is always to us like the declaration: "Summer is gone; winter is behind us; it will soon be upon you." At last come the late days of November. All is gone,—frosts reap and glean more sharply every night.
8. A few weeks bring earnest winter. Then begin to dawn other delights. The bracing air, the clean snow-paths, the sled and sleigh, the revelation of forms that all summer were grass-hidden; the sharp-outlined hills lying clear upon the sky; the exquisite tracery of trees,—especially of all such trees as that dendral child of God, the elm, whose branches are carried out into an endless complexity of fine lines of spray, and which stands up in winter, showing in its whole anatomy, that all its summer shade was founded upon the most substantial reality.
9. In winter, too, particularly in the latter periods of it, the extremities of shrubs and branches begin to take on ruddy hues, or purplish browns, and the eye knows that these are the first faint blushes of coming summer. Now, too, we find how beautiful are the mosses in the woods; and under them we find solitary green leaves, that have laughed all winter because they had outwitted the frost.
10. Wherever flowing springs gush from sheltered spots looking south, one will find many green edges, young grass, and some few tougher leaves. Now, too, in still days, the crow swings heavily through the air, cawing with a pleasing harshness. For dieting has performed its work. Your appetite is eager. A little now pleases you more than abundance did in August. Every tiny leaf is to you like a cedar of Lebanon.
11. All these things are unknown to dwellers in cities. It is nothing to them that a robin appeared for the first time yesterday morning, or that a blue-bird sang over against the house. Some new prima-donna[Footnote: The first female singer in an opera.] exhausts their admiration. They are yet studying laces, and do not care for the fringe of swamps, for the first catkins of the willow. They are still coveting the stores of precious stones at the jewelers, and do not care for my ruby buds, and red dogwood, and scarlet winter berries, and ground pine, and partridge-berry leaves.
12. There is one sight of the country, at about this time of the year—the first of March—that few have seen, or else they have passed it by as if it were not worthy of record. I mean the drapery of rocks in gorges, or along precipitous sides of hills or mountains. The seams of rocks are the outlets of springs. The water, trickling through, is seized by the frost, and held fast in white enchantment. Every day adds to the length of the ice drapery; and, as the surface is overlaid by new issuings, it is furred and fretted with silver-white chasings, the most exquisite.
13. Thus, one may find a succession, in a single gorge, of extraordinary ice-curtains, and pendent draperies, of varying lengths, of every fantastic form, of colors varying by thickness, or by the tinge of earth or rock shining through them. In my boyhood, I used to wander along these fairy halls, imagining them to be now altars in long, white draperies; now, grand cathedral pillars of white marble; then, long tapestries chased in white, with arabesques[Headnote 1] and crinkled vines and leaves.
14. Sometimes they seemed like gigantic bridal decorations, or like the robes of beings vast and high, hung in their wardrobes while they slept. But, whatever fancy interpreted them, or whether they were looked upon with two good, sober, literal eyes, they were, and still are, among the most delightful of winter exhibitions, to those who are wise enough to search out the hidden beauty of winter in the country.
QUESTIONS.—1. What are some of the attractions of winter in the city? 2. What are some of the delights of winter in the country? 3. What is said of the drapery of rocks? 4. What did the writer imagine them to be, in boyhood?
1.
"Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,
Or winds begun their hazy skies to blow,
At evening, a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the descending rain unsullied froze.
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view
The face of Nature in a rich disguise,
And brightened every object to my eyes.
For every shrub, and every blade of grass,
And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass."
2. Since Sunday, [Feb. 1st, 1852,] we have had presented to our view, the beautiful phenomenon of FROSTED TREES, the most astonishing and brilliant that I ever remember to have noticed. The previous storm and mist had thickly covered every exposed object,—the loftiest trees, the minutest blade, hill and dale, with the icy garment. This transparency was most perfect, defining every form and ramification into exact models of the entire body, branch, or limb.
3. Dwellings and barns were incrusted by the chilling vapor. It hung upon the manes of the cattle, and decorated, wherever seen, the humble grass, which appeared bending, like threads of crystal. The small bushes were indescribably beautiful, and seemed as if chiseled out of the whitest marble. As far as the eye could extend, over brooks, fields, and woods, the same striking and singular sight was universal.
4. I could not remain contented in the house, and toward sunset, hastened away, where the view might be free and uninterrupted. Here, the scene, if possible, was more impressive and interesting. There was scarcely a breath of air, and the general silence was only interrupted by the occasional flight of some winter bird, which, alighting on a limb, would shake down a thousand feathery showers, until he seemed frightened at the unusual sound. The forest trees made a truly majestic appearance, with their naked, giant arms and mossy branches intersecting each other, and fast bound by the frozen barriers.
5. I shall not attempt to describe the brilliancy of the undergrowth and dwarf trees, upon whose limbs hung a delicate frosting, like unwrought silver, nor the crimson glow of the holly-berries through their transparent and icy covering,—all, all was a dazzling and splendid winter array,
It brought to my mind some of the Eastern fairy tales, and their gardens ornamented with shrubs and plants of sparkling crystals.
6. The exposed sides of the rocks and fences were completely iced over, not the smallest particle escaping the penetrating and congealed ether. It was truly astonishing to examine its thickness. On some twigs, not larger than a wheat straw, the ice measured half an inch through. One would scarcely imagine what an immense weight of the frozen mass a tree will sustain, before it breaks under the unusual load. Many branches were bent so low that I could reach them with my hands; and, shaking off their frosted barks, they would instantly spring far above my reach. Every few minutes, I was startled by the rattling noise of these falling icicles from some neighboring tree or grove.
7. Just when the sun went down, there was not a single cloud to be seen in the horizon, and his cold, bright, setting rays brought out, on every hand, frozen gems, diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, in every possible prismatic beauty, wherever his departing beams fell. Presently the moon bathed the whitened earth, and every congealed drop, in her soft light, burnishing, with dazzling icy brilliancy, trees, dwellings, and streams. I am an ardent lover of Nature and her scenery, and have often, delighted, gazed upon the Queen of Night; but never did I behold such a brilliant moonlight night as this.
8. Who could help bringing to mind the sublimities of Job and of David,—"The hoary frost of heaven, who hath engendered it? The waters are hid, as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen."—"By the breath of the Mighty God, ice is produced, and the waters which were spread on all sides, are held in chains." The Psalmist says, "He giveth the snow like wool, He scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."—Well may poets look to the falling snow-flake for their images of purity and innocence, ere it receives the stain of earth. I know of no litter emblem.
9. Such a winter's night! and the skies! the skies! So resplendent in brightness are the hosts of heaven at this moment, that they should be contemplated by every lover and student of the works of God. Their numbers who can count,—their twinkling beauty who can describe, as onward they roll in the deep blue of midnight? In their contemplation are inspired "thoughts that wander through eternity," with an elevation of feeling, as if we were separated from the toils and tumults of earth, and exalted into a higher state of being than that in which we toiled through the day! These heavens tell us of a WISDOM and POWER we can not search or estimate. There we seem to stand more immediately in the vailed presence of the Infinite Majesty, who "laid the foundations of the earth, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy."
QUESTIONS.—1. Describe the appearance of frosted trees. 2. What is said of the appearance of shrubs, bushes, &c.? 3. What, of the weight sustained by a single tree? 4. What was the appearance at sunset? 5. What passages of Scripture did the scene bring to mind? 6. Of what is the snowflake an emblem? 7. What is said of the skies?
JAMES G. CLARK.
QUESTIONS.—1. What is said of that land far away? 2. How do we know there is such a land? 3. Of what do the stars remind us?
CHARLES SWAIN.
QUESTIONS.—1. What is said of imaginary evils? 2. How may we be supported under trials? 3. What tends to shorten life? 4. Whence proceed half our troubles? 5. What rule for doubling the r and d in such words as occurred, saddened, &c.? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page 168, Rule II.
[Headnote 1: PY THON is the name of a large serpent, fabled to have been slain by the god Apollo.]
A. WALCHNER.
QUESTIONS.—1. What did Sir Walter discover as he was riding over the Syrian waste? 2. What did he do? 3. What did the lion do, after being released? 4. Did the sailors allow the lion to go on board the ship? 5. What did the lion then do? 6. What became of him?
It is sometimes desirable to have each member of the class read a piece complete in itself. To answer this end, the following collection of brief, though beautiful productions, have been brought together all under one head.
It is not what we earn, but what we save, that makes us rich. It is not what we eat, but what we digest, that makes us strong. It is not what we read, but what we remember, that makes us learned. It is not what we intend, but what we do, that makes us useful. It is not a few faint wishes, but a life-long struggle, that makes us valiant.
To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own hearts and characters, to restrain every irregular inclination, to subdue every rebellious passion, to purify the motives of our conduct, to form ourselves to that temperance which no pleasure can seduce, to that meekness which no provocation can ruffle, to that patience which no affliction can overwhelm, and that integrity which no interest can shake; this is the task which is assigned to us,—a task which can not be performed without the utmost diligence and care.
The brightest stars are burning suns;
The deepest water stillest runs;
The laden bee the lowest flies;
The richest mine the deepest lies;
The stalk that's most replenished,
Doth bow the most its modest head.
Thus, deep Humility we find
The mark of every master-mind;
The highest-gifted lowliest bends,
And merit meekest condescends,
And shuns the fame that fools adore,—
That puff that bids a feather soar.
A smooth sea never made a skillful mariner. Neither do uninterrupted prosperity and success qualify man for usefulness or happiness. The storms of adversity, like the storms of the ocean, rouse the faculties and excite the invention, prudence, skill, and fortitude of the voyager.
MRS. S.R.A. BARNES.
If you do not begin, you will never come to the end. The first weed pulled up in the garden, the first seed set in the ground, the first dollar put in the savings-bank, and the first mile traveled on a journey, are all important things; they make a beginning, and thereby give a hope, a promise, a pledge, an assurance that you are in earnest in what you have undertaken. How many a poor, idle, erring, hesitating outcast is now creeping his way through the world, who might have held up his head and prospered, if, instead of putting off his resolutions of amendment and industry, he had only made a beginning!
GEORGE W. BUNGAY.
CAROLINE F. ORNE.
1. Note the ecstatic joy of the student, who has labored long over a problem or proposition, but finally comes to a logical conclusion; who has struggled with the misty darkness of his own mind, for a clear view of some difficult subject, until the clouds, one after another, have dispersed, and he beholds, with his mental vision, in bright and glorious light, the conception for which he labored. Think you he would exchange his joys for the pleasures of sense'? It is of a higher and more ennobling character, and not to be bartered for paltry wealth.
2. What dignity and self-respect invest the man of thought! His very looks bespeak of mind. He is approached with deference, as a being of higher order in the scale of intelligence,—as one who has a right to command and be obeyed. For what moves mind, but mind? A strong intellect, coming in contact with one of less energy, will as naturally move it, as superior physical strength will overcome the weaker.
MOTHERWELL.