Chapter 23

8. Now, however, he can dispense even with sail, and wind, and flowing wave. He constructs and propels his vast engines of flame and vapor, and, through the solitude of the sea, as over the solid land, goes thundering on his track. On the ocean, too, thrones have been lost and won. On the fate of Actium [Headnote 1] was suspended the empire of the world. In the gulf of Salamis,[Headnote 2] the pride of Persia found a grave; and the crescent set forever in the waters of Navarino;[Headnote 3] while, at Trafalgar [Headnote 4] and the Nile, nations held their breath,

As each gun, From its adamantine lips, Spread a death-shade round the ships Like the hurricane's eclipse Of the sun.

9. But, of all the wonders appertaining to the ocean, the greatest, perhaps, is its transforming power on man. It unravels and weaves anew the web of his moral and social being. It invests him with feelings, associations, and habits, to which he has been an entire stranger. It breaks up the sealed fountain of his nature, and lifts his soul into features prominent as the cliffs which beetle over its surge.

10. Once the adopted child of the ocean, he can never bring back his entire sympathies to land. He will still move in his dreams over that vast waste of waters, still bound in exultation and triumph through its foaming billows. All the other realities of life will be comparatively tame, and he will sigh for his tossing element, as the caged eagle for the roar and arrowy light of his mountain cataract.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of the volcano and earthquake? 2. Of the avalanche and tempest? 3. Of the ocean? 4. Of ships? 5. Where have naval battles been fought? 6. What influence has the ocean on man?

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LESSON XCIV.

RE LAX' ED, loosened. AS SI DU' I TIES, kind, constant attentions. CON SIGN' ED, committed; given over. EX TE' RI OR, outer appearance. UN AF FECT' ED, sincere. UN PRE TEND' ING, unostentatious. HA BIL' I MENTS, vestments. SU PER STI' TIOUS, full of scruples. REC' ON CILE, make willing. PEN' E TRATES, sees through. PER VADE', (PER, _through_; VADE, _go_, or _pass_;) pass through; appear throughout.

A BURIAL AT SEA.

WALTER COLTON.

1. Death is a fearful thing, come in what form it may,--fearful, when the vital chords are so gradually relaxed, that life passes away sweetly as music from the slumbering harp-string,--fearful, when in his own quiet chamber, the departing one is summoned by those who sweetly follow him with their prayers, when the assiduities of friendship and affection can go no farther, and who discourse of heaven and future blessedness, till the closing ear can no longer catch the tones of the long-familiar voice, and who, lingering near, still feel for the hushed pulse, and then trace in the placid slumber, which pervades each feature, a quiet emblem of the spirit's serene repose.

2. What, then, must this dread event be to one, who meets it comparatively alone, far away from the hearth of his home, upon a troubled sea, between the narrow decks of a restless ship, and at that dread hour of night, when even the sympathies of the world seem suspended! Such has been the end of many who traverse the ocean; and such was the hurried end of him, whose remains we have just consigned to a watery grave.

3. He was a sailor; but, beneath his rude exterior, he carried a heart touched with refinement, pride, and greatness. There was something about him, which spoke of better days and a higher destiny. By what errors or misfortunes he was reduced to his humble condition, was a secret which he would reveal to none. Silent, reserved, and thoughtful, he stood a stranger among his free companions, and never was his voice heard in the laughter or the jest. He has undoubtedly left behind many who will long look for his return, and bitterly weep when they are told they shall see his face no more.

4. As the remains of the poor sailor were brought up on deck, wound in that hammock which, through many a stormy night, had swung to the wind, one could not but observe the big tear that stole unconsciously down the rough cheeks of his hardy companions. When the funeral service was read to that most affecting passage, "we commit this body to the deep," and the plank was raised which precipitated to the momentary eddy of the wave the quickly disappearing form, a heavy sigh from those around, told that the strong heart of the sailor can be touched with grief, and that a truly unaffected sorrow may accompany virtue, in its most unpretending form, to its ocean grave. Yet how soon is such a scene forgotten!

"As from the wing the sky no scar retains, The parted wave no furrow from the keel, So dies in human hearts the thought of death."

5. There is something peculiarly melancholy and impressive in a burial at sea: there is here no coffin or hearse, procession or tolling bell,--nothing that gradually prepares us for the final separation. The body is wound in the drapery of its couch, much as if the deceased were only in a quiet and temporary sleep. In these habiliments of seeming slumber, it is dropped into the wave, the waters close over it, the vessel passes quickly on, and not a solitary trace is left to tell where sunk from light and life, one that loved to look at the sky and breathe this vital air.

6. There is nothing that, for one moment, can point to the deep, unvisited resting-place of the departed,--it is a grave in the midst of the ocean,--in the midst of a vast, untrodden solitude. Affection can not approach it, with its tears; the dews of heaven can not reach it; and there is around it no violet, or shrub, or murmuring stream.

7. It may be superstitious; but no advantages of wealth, or honor, or power, through life, would reconcile me at its close to such a burial. I would rather share the coarse and scanty provisions of the simplest cabin, and drop away unknown and unhonored by the world, so that my final resting-place be beneath some green tree, by the side of some living stream, or in some familiar spot, where the few that loved me in life, might visit me in death.

8. But, whether our grave be in the fragrant shade, or in the fathomless ocean, among our kindred, or in the midst of strangers, the day is coming when we shall all appear at one universal bar, and receive from a righteous Judge the award of our deeds. He that is wisest, penetrates the future the deepest.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of death? 2. What, of death at sea? 3. What renders a burial at sea peculiarly melancholy and impressive?

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LESSON XCV.

MYS TE' RI OUS, secret; mystical. UN RECK' ED, unheeded. AR' GO SIES, ships of great burden. WR ATH' FUL, furious; raging. PAL' A CES, splendid mansions. SCORN' FUL, disdainful. DE CAY', ruin; destruction. BOOM' ING, roaring. FES' TAL, joyous; merry. RE CLAIM', claim again; recover.

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

MRS. HERMANS.

1. What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells? Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main! Pale, glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored shells, Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain! Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea! We ask not such from thee.

2. Yet more, the depths have more! what wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal argosies! Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main! Earth claims not _these_ again.

3. Yet more, the depths have more! thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play! Man yields them to decay.

4. Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! They hear not now the booming waters roar; The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! Give back the true and brave!

5. Give back the lost and lovely,--those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long, The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown; But all is not thine own.

6. To thee the love of woman hath gone down; Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown, Yet must thou hear a voice,--_Restore the dead!_ Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee! _Restore the dead, thou Sea!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the treasures of the deep? 2. What treasures has the sea won from trading vessels? 3. Over what does the sea roll? 4. What does the writer call on the sea to restore?

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LESSON XCVI.

UN FOR' TU NATE, wretched person. CER E MENTS, grave-clothes. SCRU' TI NY, inquiry. MU' TI NY, resistance to rightful rule. WON' DER MENT, curiosity. PROV' I DENCE, care; protection. A MAZE' MENT, astonishment. DIS' SO LUTE, abandoned; licentious. SPUR' RED, pushed on; impelled. CON' TU ME LY, scorn; insult. IN HU MAN' I TY, cruel treatment. IN SAN' I TY, madness.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

THOMAS HOOD.

1. One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death!

2. Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care, Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair!

3. Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; While the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing.

4. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her; All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly.

5. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny, Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful.

6. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb,-- Her fair auburn tresses; While wonderment guesses Where was her home?

7. Who was her father`? Who was her mother`? Had she a sister'? Had she a brother'? Or, was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other'?

8. Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.

9. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly, Feelings had changed: Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence; Even God's providence Seeming estranged.

10. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood with amazement, Houseless by night.

11. The bleak winds of March Made her tremble and shiver But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river, Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery, Swift to be hurled-- Anywhere, anywhere, Out of the world!

12. In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran-- Picture it--think of it, Dissolute Man!

13. Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care, Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair!

14. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest, Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast!

15. Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Savior!

* * * * *

LESSON XCVII.

RE' QUI EM, hymn in honor of the dead. WED, joined; united. HENCE' FORTH, hereafter. DROOP, languish; fail. AF FEC TION, love. DIM' MED, dull; obscured.

A REQUIEM.

1. Breathe low, thou gentle wind, (pl) Breathe soft and low; The beautiful lies dead! The joy of life is fled! And my lone heart is wed Henceforth to woe!

2. That thou should'st droop and die At early morn! While yet thy graceful dew A joyous fragrance drew From every flower that grew Life's path along!

3. The green earth mourns for thee, Thou dearest one; A plaintive tone is heard, And flower and leaflet stirred, And every fav'rite bird Sings sad and lone.

4. Pale is thy brow, and dimmed Thy sparkling eye! Affection's sweetest token Is lost fore'er and broken! The last kind word is spoken,-- Why did'st thou die?

5. Breathe low, thou gentle wind, Breathe soft and low; The beautiful lies dead! The joy of life is fled! And my lone heart is wed Henceforth to woe!

QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for changing _y_ into _i_ in the word _beautiful?_ See ANALYSIS, page 13, Rule XI. 2. Why are _r_ and _m_ doubled in the words _stirred, dimmed?_ See Rule IX. 3. What is the meaning of the suffix _let_, in the word _leaflet?_ See page 240, Ex. 185.

* * * * *

LESSON XCVIII.

LUX U' RI ANT, rich; plentiful. UN OS TEN TA' TIOUS, plain; not showy. RE VER EN' TIAL, deeply respectful. RE CEP' TA CLE, place of reception. SEM' I CIR CLE, half-circle. REC OG NI' TION, act of knowing. AG RI CUL' TUR AL, relating to farming. BEN E DIC' TION, blessing. DI' A RY, note-book; journal. SO JOURN' ED, resided for a while. AC CLA MA' TIONS, shouts. TRI UMPH' AL, relating to victory. GRAT U LA' TION, rejoicing. IN AUG U RA' TION, act of investing with office. EN FRAN' CHIS ED, freed; liberated.

[Headnote 1: SAR COPH' A GUS, (SARCO, _flesh_; and PHAGUS, _that which eats or devours_,) is made up of two Greek words, signifying together _flesh-eating_, and was applied by the ancients to a species of stone, used for making coffins. Hence, sarcophagus came to signify a _stone-coffin_. The form of the plural in Latin, is _sarcophagi_.]

[Headnote 2: BAS' TILE, (_bas' teel_,) an old state prison in Paris, built in 1369, and destroyed by a mob in 1789.]

VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON.

A.C. RITCHIE.

1. At this moment, we drew near the rude wharf at Mount Vernon; the boat stopped, and the crowd of passengers landed. By a narrow pathway we ascended a majestic hill thickly draped with trees. The sun scarcely found its way through the luxuriant foliage. We mounted slowly, but had only spent a few minutes in ascending, when we came suddenly upon a picturesque nook, where a cluster of unostentatious, white marble shafts, shot from the greenly sodded earth, inclosed by iron railings. Those unpretending monuments mark the localities where repose the mortal remains of Washington's kindred.

2. Just beyond stands a square brick building. In the center you see an iron gate. Here the crowd pauses in reverential silence. Men lift their hats and women bow their heads. You behold within, two sarcophagi. [Headnote 1] In those moldering tombs lie the ashes of the great Washington and his wife. Not a word is uttered as the crowd stand gazing on this lowly receptacle of the dust of America's mighty dead.

3. Are there any in that group who can say, "this was _our_ country's father'?" If there be, can they stand pilgrims at that grave without Washington's examples, his counsels, his words, heretofore, it may be, half-forgotten, stealing back into their minds, until the sense of reverence and gratitude is deepened almost to awe? Do they not feel that Washington's spirit is abroad in the world, filling the souls of a heaven-favored people with the love of freedom and of country, though his ashes are gathered here'?

4. Some one moves to pass on; and, with that first step, the spell is broken; others follow. Herman and Jessie linger last. After a period of mute and moving reflection, they turn away and slowly approach the mansion that, in simple, rural stateliness, stands upon a noble promontory, belted with woods, and half-girdled by the sparkling waters of the Potomac, which flow in a semicircle around a portion of the mount.

5. The water and woodland view from the portico is highly imposing. But it was not the mere recognition of the picturesque and beautiful in nature, that moved Herman and Jessie. They would have felt that they were on holy ground, had the landscape been devoid of natural charm. Here the feet of the first of heroes had trod, and here, in boyhood, he had sported with his beloved brother Lawrence.

6. In those forests, those deep-wooded glens, he had hunted, when a stripling, by the side of old Lord Fairfax; here he took his first lessons in the art of war; to this home he brought his bride; by this old-fashioned, hospitable-looking fireside, he sat with that dear and faithful wife; beneath yonder alley of lofty trees he has often wandered by her side; here he indulged the agricultural tastes in which he delighted; here resigned his Cincinnatus vocation, and bade adieu to his cherished home at the summons of his country.

7. Here his wife received the letter which told her that he had been appointed Commander-in-chief of the army; here, when the glorious struggle closed at the trumpet notes of victory--when the British had retired--when, with tears coursing down his benignant, manly countenance, he had uttered a touching farewell--bestowed a paternal benediction on the American army, and resigned all public service-- _here_ he returned, thinking to resume the rural pursuits that charmed him, and to end his days in peace!

8. Here are the trees, the shrubbery he planted with his own hands, and noted in his diary; here are the columns of the portico round which he twined the coral honeysuckle; the ivy he transplanted still clings to yonder garden wall; these vistas he opened through yon pine groves to command far-off views! Here the valiant Lafayette sojourned with him; there hangs the key of the Bastile [Headnote 2] which he presented.

9. Here flocked the illustrious men of all climes, and were received with warm, unpretending, almost rustic hospitality. Here the French Houdon modeled his statue, and the English Pine painted his portrait, and caused that jocose remark, "I am so hackneyed to the touches of the painters' pencil, that I am altogether at their beck, and sit like 'Patience on a monument!'"

10. Then came another summons from the land he had saved, and he was chosen by unanimous voice its chief ruler. Thousands of men, women, and children, sent up acclamations, and called down blessings on his head, as he made his triumphal progress from Mount Vernon to New York, to take the presidential oath. The roar of cannon rent the air. The streets through which he passed, were illuminated and decked with flags and wreaths. Bonfires blazed on the hills. From ships and boats floated festive decorations. At Gray's Ferry, he passed under triumphal arches.

11. On the bridge across the Assumpink, at Trenton, (the very bridge over which he had retreated in such blank despair, before the army of Cornwallis, on the eve of the battle of Princeton,) thirteen pillars, twined with laurel and evergreens, were reared by woman's hands. The foremost of the arches those columns supported, bore the inscription, _"The Defender of the Mothers will he the Protector of the Daughters."_ Mothers, with their white-robed daughters, were assembled beneath the vernal arcade. Thirteen maidens scattered flowers beneath his feet, as they sang an ode of gratulation. The people's hero ever after spoke of this tribute, as the one that touched him most deeply.

13. When his first presidential term expired, and his heart yearned for the peace of his domestic hearth, the entreaties of Jefferson, Randolph, and Hamilton, forced him to forget that home for the one he held in the hearts of patriots, and to allow his name to be used a second time. A second time he was unanimously elected to preside over his country's welfare. But, the period happily expired, he thankfully laid aside the mantle of state, the scepter of power, and, five days after the inauguration of Adams, returned here to his Mount Vernon home. And here the good servant, whom his Lord, when He came, found watching and ready, calmly yielded up his breath, exclaiming, "It is well!" and his spirit was wafted to Heaven by the blessings of his enfranchised countrymen.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is Mount Vernon? 2. What is said of Washington's tomb? 3. Mention some of the things which he did here? 4. What demonstrations were made by the people, as he went to New York to take the oath of office? 5. Did he serve more than one term as President?

* * * * *

LESSON XCIX.

CHIV' AL ROUS, gallant; heroic. HAL' LOW, consecrate; keep sacred. MER' CE NA RY, mean; venal. AD VEN' TUR ER, fortune-seeker. VAN' QUISH ED, conquered. OUT' CAST, exile; castaway. TRAP' PINGS, ornaments; equipments. CRU SADE', battle zealously. CA REER' ED, moved rapidly. PHAL' ANX, compact body of men. TRANS PORT' ING, exulting. TRO PHIES, memorials of victory. PA' GEANT, pompous; showy. MIN' ION, favorite.

LA FAYETTE.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

1. While we bring our offerings for the mighty of our _own_ land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirits of _other_ shores, who shared with them the hour of weakness and woe'? Pile to the clouds the majestic column of glory`; let the lips of those who can speak well, hallow each spot where the bones of your bold repose`; but forget not those who, with your bold, went out to battle.

2. Among those men of noble daring, there was _one_, a young and gallant stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his delightful France. The people whom he came to succor, were not _his_ people; he knew them only in the melancholy story of their wrongs. He was no mercenary adventurer, striving for the spoil of the vanquished; the palace acknowledged him for its lord, and the valley yielded him its increase. He was no nameless man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, and looked unawed upon kings.

3. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide a broken heart; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen were about him; his wife was before him. Yet from all these loved ones he turned away. Like a lofty tree that shakes down its green glories, to battle with the winter storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and pride, to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He came`; but not in the day of successful rebellion', not when the new-risen sun of Independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in the heavens'.

4. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the tempest was abroad in its anger`; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered the garden of beauty`; when fathers were dying, and mothers were weeping over them`; when the wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the brow of her lover`. He came when the brave began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. It was _then_ that this one joined the ranks of a revolted people.

5. Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them he courted the battle's rage; with theirs, his arm was lifted; with theirs, his blood was shed. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length, kind Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and, at her pure shrine, the pilgrim-warrior, with his adored commander, knelt and worshiped. Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupted spirit, he at length rose, and, crowned with benedictions, turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted home.