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8.

I'd bathe in yon bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem the sky.

'T were heaven indeed,

Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On nature's charms to feed,

And nature's own great God adore.

SPRAGUE.

QUESTIONS. - On what occasion was this poem written?

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We address letters to our friends: was this addressed to the birds in the same sense? Do you discover any beautiful expressions in this lesson? Point them out.

Give the rule for the rising inflection at "pair." For the falling inflection at "heaven." For the rising inflection at "prayer" and "sins." (Rule VI, 2§, Note.) What inflections are proper at the two questions in the 2d stanza?

PRONUNCIA T I O N. — Guilt-less, not guilt-liss : mor-tals, not mor-tuls : pen-ance, not pen-unce: up-ward, not up-wud.

SPELL AND DEFINE.-1. Guiltless, prayer: 3. wand'rers: 4. untaught, chirp: 5. reared: 6. airy, envied: 8. trackless,

LESSON XX.

RULE. -Take care not to let the voice grow weaker and weaker, as you approach the end of the sentence.

Words to be Spelled and Defined.

1. Mod-i-fi-ca'-tion, n. a particular form or

manner.

Av'-e-nue, n. an entrance, a way.

2. In'-va-lid, n. a person who is sick.

4. Fran'-tic, a. characterized by violence and fury.

5. E-merg'-ed, v. reäppeared, came out of.

Vi'-tals, n. parts of the body necessary to life.

8. Hec'-tic, a. habitual, constitutional.
9. Par'-ox-ysms, n. severe turns or fits.
E-vinc'-ed, v. made evident.

11. Ghastly, a. deathlike, pale.
14. Wail, n. loud weeping.

THE INTEMPERATE HUSBAND.

1. THERE was one modification of her husband's persecutions, which the fullest measure of Jane Harwood's piety could not enable her to bear unmoved. This was unkindness to her feeble and suffering boy. It was at first commenced as the surest mode of distressing her. It opened a direct avenue to her heart.

2. What began in perverseness, seemed to end in hatred, as evil habits sometimes create perverted principles. The wasted invalid shrunk from his father's glance and footstep, as from the

approach of a foe. More than once had he taken him from the little bed which maternal care had provided for him, and forced him to go forth in the cold of the winter storm.

3. "I mean to harden him," said he. "All the neighbors know that you make such a fool of him, that he will never be able to get a living. For my part, I wish I had never been called to the trial of supporting a useless boy, who pretends to be sick only that he may be coaxed by a silly mother."

4. On such occasions, it was in vain that the mother attempted to protect her child. She might neither shelter him in her bosom, nor control the frantic violence of the father. Harshness, and the agitation of fear, deepened a disease which might else have yielded. The timid boy, in terror of his natural protector, withered away like a blighted flower. It was of no avail that friends remonstrated with the unfeeling parent, or that hoaryheaded men warned him solemnly of his sins. Intemperance had destroyed his respect for man, and his fear of God.

5. Spring at length emerged from the shades of that heavy and bitter winter. But its smile brought no gladness to the declining child. Consumption fed upon his vitals, and his nights were full of pain.

6. "Mother, I wish I could smell the violets that grew upon the green bank by our old dear home.” "It is too early for violets, my child. But the grass is beautifully green around us, and the birds sing sweetly, as if their hearts were full of praise."

7. "In my dreams last night, I saw the clear waters of the brook that ran by the bottom of my little garden. I wish I could taste them once more. And I heard such music, too, as used to come from that white church among the trees, where every Sunday the happy people meet to worship God."

8. The mother knew that the hectic fever had been long increasing, and saw there was such an unearthly brightness in his eye, that she feared his intellect wandered. She seated herself on his low bed, and bent over him to soothe and compose him. He lay silent for some time.

9. "Do you think my father will come ?" Dreading the agonizing agitation which, in his paroxysms of coughing and pain, he evinced at the sound of his father's well-known footstep, she answered, “I think not, love. You had better try to sleep." come. I do not feel afraid

10. Mother, I wish he would now. Perhaps he would let me lay my cheek to his once more, as he used to do when I was a babe in my grandmother's arms. I should be glad to say good by to him, before I go to my Savior."

11. Gazing intently in his face, she saw the work of the destroyer, in lines too plain to be mistaken. "My son, my dear son, say, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." "Mother," he re

plied, with a sweet smile upon his ghastly features, "he is ready. I desire to go to him. Hold the baby to me, that I may kiss her. That is all. Now sing to me, and oh! wrap me close in your arms, for I shiver with cold."

12. He clung, with a death grasp, to that bosom which had long been his sole earthly refuge. "Sing louder, dear mother, a little louder, I cannot hear you." A tremulous tone, as of a broken harp, rose above her grief, to comfort the dying child. One sigh of icy breath was upon her cheek, as she joined it to his-one shudder-and all was over.

13. She held the body long in her arms, as if fondly hoping to warm and restore it to life with her breath. Then she stretched it upon its bed, and kneeling beside it, hid her face in that grief which none but mothers feel. It was a deep and sacred solitude, alone with the dead. Nothing save the soft breathing of the sleeping babe fell upon that solemn pause.

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14. Then the silence was broken by a wail of piercing sorrow. It ceased, and a voice arose, a voice of supplication for strength to endure, as of one seeing Him who is invisible." Faith closed what was begun in weakness. It became a prayer of thanksgiving to Him who had released the dovelike spirit from the prisonhouse of pain, that it might taste the peace and mingle in the melody of heaven.

QUESTIONS.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

How did the man

ΓΙΟΝ What is the subject of this piece? commence abusing his child? What effect was produced on the health of the Can you describe the scene of the deathbed?

child?

dream about?

What did he wish to say to his father?

What did the child

Explain the inflections proper at each pause of the voice, in paragraphs 9, 10, 11, and 12.

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Parse "shudder," in the 12th paragraph. "Fell," in the 13th. What,"

in the 14th.

ARTICULATION.-Full-est, not full-es: suf-fer-ing, not suf-rin: su-rest, not sure-es: un-feel-ing, not un-feel-in: friends, not fren's: beau-tiful-ly, not beau-ti-fly: ga-zing, not ga-zin.

PRONUNCIATION.- Vi-o-lets, not vi-er-lits: ag-o-ni-zing, not ag-erni-zing features, not fea-ters, nor fea-tshures.

SPELL AND DEFINE. -1. Persecutions, distressing: 2. perverseness, principles: 3. neighbors, coaxed: 4. protector, blighted, remonstrated: 5. consumption: 8. intellect: 9. agonizing, coughing.

RULE.

LESSON XXI.

While each pupil reads, let the rest observe, and then mention which syllables are wrong, and which were omitted, or indistinctly sounded.

Words to be Spelled and Defined.

2. E-ma'-cia-ted, a. thin, reduced in flesh. Sway, n. power, influence.

3 Se-clu'-ded, a. retired, lonely.

4. Mod'-u-la-ted, p. varied, adapted to the expression of feeling.

10. In-di-ca'-tions, n. tokens, signs.
Tran'-sient, a. of short duration.

11. Chast'-en-ed, (pro. chais'nd) u. afflicted
for correction.

Do-min'-ion, n. controlling influence.

THE INTEMPERATE HUSBAND.-CONTINUED.

1. SHE arose from her supplication, and bent calmly over her dead. The thin, placid features wore a smile, as when he had spoken of Jesus. She composed the shining locks around the pure forehead, and gazed long on what was to her so beautiful. Tears had vanished from her eyes, and in their stead was an expression almost sublime, as of one who had given an angel back to God.

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2. The father entered carelessly. She pointed to the pallid, immovable brow, See, he suffers no longer." He drew near, and looked on the dead with surprise and sadness. A few natural tears forced their way, and fell on the face of the first-born, who was once his pride. The memories of that moment were bitter. He spoke tenderly to the emaciated mother; and she, who a short time before was raised above the sway of grief, wept like an infant, as those few affectionate tones touched the sealed fountains of other years.

3. Neighbors and friends visited them, desirous to console their sorrow, and attended them when they committed the body to the earth. There was a shady and secluded spot, which they had consecrated by the burial of their few dead. Thither that whole little colony were gathered, and, seated on the fresh grass, listened to the holy, healing words of the inspired volume.

4. It was read by the oldest man in the colony, who had himself often mourned. As he bent reverently over the sacred page, there was that on his brow, which seemed to say, "This has been my comfort in my affliction." Silver hairs thinly covered his temples, and his low voice was modulated by feeling, as he read of the frailty of man, withering like the flower of the grass,

before it groweth up; and of His majesty, in whose sight "a thousand years are as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night."

5. He selected from the words of that compassionate One, who "gathereth the lambs with his arm, and carrieth them in his bosom," who, pointing out as an example the humility of little children, said, "Except ye become as one of these, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven," and who calleth all the weary and heavy laden to come unto him, that he may give them rest.

6. The scene called forth sympathy, even from manly bosoms. The mother, worn with watching and weariness, bowed her head down to the clay that concealed her child. And it was observed with gratitude by that friendly group, that the husband supported her in his arms, and mingled his tears with hers.

7. He returned from the funeral in much mental distress. His sins were brought to remembrance, and reflection was misery. For many nights, sleep was disturbed by visions of his neglected boy. Sometimes he imagined that he heard him coughing from his low bed, and felt constrained to go to him, in a strange disposition of kindness, but his limbs were unable to obey the dictates of his will.

8. Conscience haunted him with terrors, and many prayers from pious hearts arose, that he might now be led to repentance. The venerable man who had read the Bible at the burial of his boy, counseled and entreated him, with the earnestness of a father, to yield to the warning voice, and to "break off his sins by righteousness, and his iniquities by turning unto the Lord."

9. There was a change in his habits and conversation, and his friends trusted it would be permanent. She, who, above all others, was interested in the result, spared no exertion to win him back to the way of truth, and soothe his heart into peace with itself, and obedience to his Maker.

10. Yet was she doomed to witness the full force of grief, and of remorse for intemperance, only to see them utterly overthrown at last. The reviving virtue, with whose indications she had solaced herself, and even given thanks that her beloved son had not died in vain, was transient as the morning dew.

11. Habits of industry, which had begun to spring up, proved themselves to be without root. The dead, and his cruelty to the dead, were alike forgotten. Disaffection to the chastened being, who against hope still hoped for his salvation, resumed its dominion.

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