Part 6

5. If the sufferer has a family, his weeping wife and helpless infants are not unfrequently the objects of his frantic fury. In a word, he exhibits, to the life, all the detestable passions that rankle in the bosom of a savage; and such is the spell in which his senses are locked, that no sooner has the unhappy patient recovered from the paroxysm of insanity occasioned by the bite, than he seeks out the destroyer for the sole purpose of being bitten again.

6. I have seen a good old father, his locks as white as snow, his step slow and trembling, beg in vain of his only son to quit the lurking place of the worm. My heart bled when he turned away; for I knew the fond hope that his son would be the "staff of his declining years," had supported him through many a sorrow.

7. Youths of America, would you know the name of this reptile? It is called the WORM OF THE STILL.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Rep'tiles, animals that crawl, as snakes, liz-ards, etc. Re-coil', to start back, to shrink from. 2. Co'bra, a highly venomous reptile inhabiting the East Indies. In-fest'ed, troubled, annoyed. 3. Sub'tile, acute, piercing. In-fus'es, intro-duces. 4. Ob-structs', hinders. De-lir'i-um, a wandering of the mind. 5. Ran'kle, to rage. Par'ox-ysm, a fit, a convulsion. 7. Worm, a spiral metallic pipe used in distilling liquors. Still, a vessel used in distilling or making liquors.

XVIII. THE FESTAL BOARD.

1. Come to the festal board tonight, For bright-eyed beauty will be there, Her coral lips in nectar steeped, And garlanded her hair.

2. Come to the festal board to-night, For there the joyous laugh of youth Will ring those silvery peals, which speak Of bosom pure and stainless truth.

3. Come to the festal board to-night, For friendship, there, with stronger chain, Devoted hearts already bound For good or ill, will bind again. I went.

4. Nature and art their stores outpoured; Joy beamed in every kindling glance; Love, friendship, youth, and beauty smiled; What could that evening's bliss enhance? We parted.

5. And years have flown; but where are now The guests who round that table met? Rises their sun as gloriously As on the banquet's eve it set?

6. How holds the chain which friendship wove? It broke; and soon the hearts it bound Were widely sundered; and for peace, Envy and strife and blood were found.

7. The merriest laugh which then was heard Has changed its tones to maniac screams, As half-quenched memory kindles up Glimmerings of guilt in feverish dreams.

8. And where is she whose diamond eyes Golconda's purest gems outshone? Whose roseate lips of Eden breathed? Say, where is she, the beauteous one?

9. Beneath yon willow's drooping shade, With eyes now dim, and lips all pale, She sleeps in peace. Read on her urn, "A broken heart." This tells her tale.

10. And where is he, that tower of strength, Whose fate with hers for life was joined? How beats his heart, once honor's throne? How high has soared his daring mind?

11. Go to the dungeon's gloom to-night; His wasted form, his aching head, And all that now remains of him, Lies, shuddering, on a felon's bed.

12. Ask you of all these woes the cause? The festal board, the enticing bowl, More often came, and reason fled, And maddened passions spurned control.

13. Learn wisdom, then. The frequent feast Avoid; for there, with stealthy tread Temptation walks, to lure you on, Till death, at last, the banquet spread.

14. And shun, oh shun, the enchanted cup! Though now its draught like joy appears, Ere long it will be fanned by sighs, And sadly mixed with blood and tears.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Fes'tal, mirthful, joyous. Gar'land-ed, adorned with wreaths of flowers. 3. De-vot'ed, solemnly set apart. 4. En-hance', increase. 6. Sun'dered, separated. 7. Glim'mer-ings, faint views, glimpses. 8. Ro'se-ate, blooming, rosy. 11. Fel'on, a public criminal. 12. En-tic'ing, attracting to evil. Spurned, rejected with disdain. 13. Lure, to attract, to entice. 14. En-chant'ed, affected with enchantment, bewitched.

NOTES.--8. Golconda is an ancient city and fortress of India, formerly renowned for its diamonds. They were merely cut and polished there, however, being generally brought from Parteall, a city farther south.

XIX. HOW TO TELL BAD NEWS.

Mr. H. and the Steward.

Mr. H. Ha! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home?

Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the magpie's dead.

H. Poor Mag! So he's gone. How came he to die?

S. Overeat himself, sir.

H. Did he? A greedy dog; why, what did he get he liked so well?

S. Horseflesh, sir; he died of eating horseflesh,

H. How came he to get so much horseflesh?

S. All your father's horses, sir.

H. What! are they dead, too?

S. Ay, sir; they died of overwork.

H. And why were they overworked, pray?

S. To carry water, sir.

H. To carry water! and what were they carrying water for?

S. Sure, sir, to put out the fire.

H. Fire! what fire?

S. O, sir, your father's house is burned to the ground.

H. My father's house burned down! and how came it set on fire?

S. I think, sir, it must have been the torches.

H. Torches! what torches?

S. At your mother's funeral.

H. My mother dead!

S. Ah, poor lady! she never looked up, after it.

H. After what?

S. The loss of your father.

H. My father gone, too?

S. Yes, poor gentleman! he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.

H. Heard of what?

S. The bad news, sir, and please your honor.

H. What! more miseries! more bad news!

S. Yes, sir; your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news.

XX. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

Robert Southey (b. 1774, d. 1843) was born in Bristol, England. He entered Balliol College, Oxford, in 1793. In 1804 he established himself permanently at Greta Hall, near Keswick, Cumberland, in the "Lake Country," where he enjoyed the friendship and society of Wordsworth and Coleridge, other poets of the "Lake School." He was appointed poet laureate in 1813, and received a pension of 300 Pounds a year from the government in 1835. Mr. Southey was a voluminous writer in both prose and verse. As a poet, he can not be placed in the first rank, although some of his minor poems are very happy in thought and expression. Among his most noted poetical works are "Joan of Arc," "Thalaba the Destroyer," "Madoc," "Roderick," and the "Curse of Kehama,"

1. It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he, before his cottage door, Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green, His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

2. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet, In playing there, had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round.

3. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And, with a natural sigh, " 'T is some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.

4. "I find them in the garden, For there's many hereabout; And often when I go to plow, The plowshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory."

5. "Now tell us what 't was all about," Young Peterkin he cries; While little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for."

6. "It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout, But what they killed each other for, I could not well make out; But everybody said," quoth he, "That 't was a famous victory:

7, "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream, hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So, with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head.

8. "With fire and sword, the country round Was wasted, far and wide; And many a nursing mother then, And newborn baby died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

9. "They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun: But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.

10. "Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won, And our young prince, Eugene." "Why, 't was a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay, nay, my little girl!" quoth he, "It was a famous victory.

11. "And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win." "But what good came of it at last?" Quoth little Peterkin. "Why, that I can not tell," said he, "But 't was a glorious victory."

NOTES.--The Battle of Blenheim, in the "War of the Spanish Succession," was fought August 13, 1704, near Blenheim, in Bavaria, between the French and Bavarians, on one Ride, and an allied army under the great English general, the Duke of Marlborough, and Eugene, Prince of Savoy, on the other. The latter won a decisive victory: 10,000 of the defeated army were killed and wounded, and 13,000 were taken prisoners.

XXI. "I PITY THEM."

1. A poor man once undertook to emigrate from Castine, Me., to Illinois. When he was attempting to cross a river in New York, his horse broke through the rotten timbers of the bridge, and was drowned. He had but this one animal to convey all his property and his family to his new home.

2. His wife and children were almost miraculously saved from sharing the fate of the horse; but the loss of this poor animal was enough. By its aid the family, it may be said, had lived and moved; now they were left helpless in a land of strangers, without the ability to go on or return, without money or a single friend to whom to appeal. The case was a hard one.

3. There were a great many who "passed by on the other side." Some even laughed at the predicament in which the man was placed; but by degrees a group of people began to collect, all of whom pitied him.

4. Some pitied him a great deal, and some did not pity him very much, because, they said, he might have known better than to try to cross an unsafe bridge, and should have made his horse swim the river. Pity, however, seemed rather to predominate. Some pitied the man, and some the horse; all pitied the poor, sick mother and her six helpless children.

5. Among this pitying party was a rough son of the West, who knew what it was to migrate some hundreds of miles over new roads to locate a destitute family on a prairie. Seeing the man's forlorn situation, and looking around on the bystanders, he said, "All of you seem to pity these poor people very much, but I would beg leave to ask each of you how much."

6. "There, stranger," continued he, holding up a ten dollar bill, "there is the amount of my pity; and if others will do as I do, you may soon get another pony. God bless you." It is needless to state the effect that this active charity produced. In a short time the happy emigrant arrived at his destination, and he is now a thriving farmer, and a neighbor to him who was his "friend in need, and a friend indeed."

DEFINITIONS.--1. Em'i-grate, to remove from one country or state to another for the purpose of residence, to migrate. 2. Mi-rac'u-lous-ly, as if by miracle, wonderfully. A-bil'i-ty, power, capability. 3. Pre-dic'a-ment, condition, plight. 4. Pre-dom'i-nate, to prevail, to rule. 5. Lo'cate, to place. Des'ti-tute, needy, poor. 6. Des-ti-na'tion, end of a journey. Thriv'ing, prosperous through industry, economy, and good management.

XXII. AN ELEGY ON MADAM BLAIZE.

Oliver Goldsmith (b. 1728, d. 1774) was born at Pallas, or Pallasmore, in the parish of Forney, Ireland. He received his education at several schools, at Trinity College, Dublin, at Edinburgh, and at Leyden. He spent some time in wandering over continental Europe, often in poverty and want. In 1756 he became a resident of London, where he made the acquaintance of several celebrated men, among whom were Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua Reynolds. His writings are noted for their purity, grace, and fluency. His fame as a poet is secured by "The Traveler," and "The Deserted Village;" as a dramatist, by "She Stoops to Conquer;" and as a novelist, by "The Vicar of Wakefield." His reckless extravagance always kept him in financial difficulty, and he died heavily in debt. His monument is in Westminster Abbey.

1. Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word-- From those who spoke her praise.

2. The needy seldom passed her door, And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor-- Who left a pledge behind.

3. She strove the neighborhood to please, With manner wondrous winning: She never followed wicked ways-- Unless when she was sinning.

4. At church, in silks and satin new, With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumbered in her pew-- But when she shut her eyes.

5. Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux and more; The king himself has followed her When she has walked before.

6. But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all, Her doctors found, when she was dead-- Her last disorder mortal.

7. Let us lament, in sorrow sore; For Kent Street well may say, That, had she lived a twelvemonth more-- She had not died to-day.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Ac-cord', agreement of opinion, consent. 2. Pledge, personal property delivered to another as a security for a debt. 6. Hang'ers-on, followers. Mor'tal, destructive to life.

XXIII. KING CHARLES II AND WILLIAM PENN.

King Charles. Well, friend William! I have sold you a noble province in North America; but still, I suppose you have no thoughts of going thither yourself?

Penn. Yes, I have, I assure thee, friend Charles; and I am just come to bid thee farewell.

K.C. What! venture yourself among the savages of North America! Why, man, what security have you that you will not be in their war kettle in two hours after setting foot on their shores?

P. The best security in the world.

K.C. I doubt that, friend William; I have no idea of any security against those cannibals but in a regiment of good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets. And mind, I tell you beforehand, that, with all my good will for you and your family, to whom I am under obligations, I will not send a single soldier with you.

P. I want none of thy soldiers, Charles: I depend on something better than thy soldiers.

K.C. Ah! what may that be?

P. Why, I depend upon themselves; on the working of their own hearts; on their notions of justice; on their moral sense.

K.C. A fine thing, this same moral sense, no doubt; but I fear you will not find much of it among the Indians of North America.

P. And why not among them as well as others?

K.C. Because if they had possessed any, they would not have treated my subjects so barbarously as they have done.

P. That is no proof of the contrary, friend Charles. Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects first went to North America, they found these poor people the fondest and kindest creatures in the world. Every day they would watch for them to come ashore, and hasten to meet them, and feast them on the best fish, and venison, and corn, which were all they had. In return for this hospitality of the savages, as we call them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on their country and rich hunting grounds for farms for themselves. Now, is it to be wondered at, that these much-injured people should have been driven to desperation by such injustice; and that, burning with revenge, they should have committed some excesses?

K C. Well, then, I hope you will not complain when they come to treat you in the same manner.

P. I am not afraid of it.

K.C. Ah! how will you avoid it? You mean to get their hunting grounds, too, I suppose?

P. Yes, but not by driving these poor people away from them.

K.C. No, indeed? How then will you get their lands?

P. I mean to buy their lands of them.

K.C. Buy their lands of them? Why, man, you have already bought them of me!

P. Yes, I know I have, and at a dear rate, too; but I did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou hadst any right to their lands.

K.C. How, man? no right to their lands?

P. No, friend Charles, no right; no right at all: what right hast thou to their lands?

K.C. Why, the right of discovery, to be sure; the right which the Pope and all Christian kings have agreed to give one another.

P. The right of discovery? A strange kind of right, indeed. Now suppose, friend Charles, that some canoe load of these Indians, crossing the sea, and discovering this island of Great Britain, were to claim it as their own, and set it up for sale over thy head, what wouldst thou think of it?

K.C. Why--why--why--I must confess, I should think it a piece of great impudence in them.

P. Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a Christian prince, too, do that which thou so utterly condemnest in these people whom thou callest savages? And suppose, again, that these Indians, on thy refusal to give up thy island of Great Britain, were to make war on thee, and, having weapons more destructive than thine, were to destroy many of thy subjects, and drive the rest away--wouldst thou not think it horribly cruel?

K. C. I must say, friend William, that I should; how can I say otherwise?

P. Well, then, how can I, who call myself a Christian, do what I should abhor even in the heathen? No. I will not do it. But I will buy the right of the proper owners, even of the Indians themselves. By doing this, I shall imitate God himself in his justice and mercy, and thereby insure his blessing on my colony, if I should ever live to plant one in North America. --Mason L. Weems.

DEFINITIONS.--Can'ni-bals, human beings that eat human flesh. Reg'i-ment, a body of troops, consisting usually of ten companies. Ag-gress'ors, those who first commence hostilities. Ven'i-son (pro. ven'i-zn, or ven'zn), the flesh of deer. Ex-cess'es, misdeeds, evil acts. Con-demn'est (pro. kon-dem'est), censure, blame.

NOTES.--Charles II. was king of England from A.D. 1660 to 1685. William Penn (b. 1644, d. 1718) was a noted Englishman who belonged to the sect of Friends. He came to America in 1682, and founded the province which is now the state of Pennsylvania. He purchased the lands from the Indians, who were so impressed with the justice and good will of Penn and his associates, that the Quaker dress often served as a sure protection when other settlers were trembling for their lives.

XXIV. WHAT I LIVE FOR.

1. I live for those who love me, Whose hearts are kind and true; For the heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit, too; For all human ties that bind me, For the task my God assigned me, For the bright hopes left behind me, And the good that I can do.

2. I live to learn their story, Who suffered for my sake; To emulate their glory, And follow in their wake; Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, The noble of all ages, Whose deeds crown History's pages, And Time's great volume make.

3. I live to hail that season, By gifted minds foretold, When man shall live by reason, And not alone by gold; When man to man united, And every wrong thing righted, The whole world shall be lighted As Eden was of old.

4. I live for those who love me, For those who know me true; For the heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit, too; For the cause that needs assistance, For the wrongs that need resistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do.

DEFINITIONS.--l. As-signed' (pro. as-sind'), allotted, marked out. 2. Em'-u-late, to strive to equal or excel, to rival. Wake, the track left by a vessel in the water, hence, figuratively, in the train of. Bard, a poet. Mar'tyr, one who sacrifices what is of great value to him for the sake of principle. Sage, a wise man. 3. Hail, to salute.

XXV. THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER FORSAKEN.

1. It was Saturday night, and the widow of the Pine Cottage sat by her blazing fagots, with her five tattered children at her side, endeavoring by listening to the artlessness of their prattle to dissipate the heavy gloom that pressed upon her mind. For a year, her own feeble hand had provided for her helpless family, for she had no supporter: she thought of no friend in all the wide, unfriendly world around.

2. But that mysterious Providence, the wisdom of whose ways is above human comprehension, had visited her with wasting sickness, and her little means had become exhausted. It was now, too, midwinter, and the snow lay heavy and deep through all the surrounding forests, while storms still seemed gathering in the heavens, and the driving wind roared amid the neighboring pines, and rocked her puny mansion.

3. The last herring smoked upon the coals before her; it was the only article of food she possessed, and no wonder her forlorn, desolate state brought up in her lone bosom all the anxieties of a mother when she looked upon her children: and no wonder, forlorn as she was, if she suffered the heart swellings of despair to rise, even though she knew that He, whose promise is to the widow and to the orphan, can not forget his word.

4. Providence had many years before taken from her her eldest son, who went from his forest home to try his fortune on the high seas, since which she had heard no tidings of him; and in her latter time had, by the hand of death, deprived her of the companion and staff of her earthly pilgrimage, in the person of her husband. Yet to this hour she had upborne; she had not only been able to provide for her little flock, but had never lost an opportunity of ministering to the wants of the miserable and destitute.

5. The indolent may well bear with poverty while the ability to gain sustenance remains. The individual who has but his own wants to supply may suffer with fortitude the winter of want; his affections are not wounded, his heart is not wrung. The most desolate in populous cities may hope, for charity has not quite closed her hand and heart, and shut her eyes on misery.