The New McGuffey Fourth Reader, W. H. McGuffey [reading like a writer txt] 📗

India;” and another, “Father, I am going to seek my fortune where I can;” and another, “Father, I am going to heaven.”

So, with many tears at parting, they went, solitary, down those avenues, each child upon its way; and the child who went to heaven rose into the golden air and vanished.

Whenever these partings happened, the traveler looked at the gentleman, and saw him glance up at the sky above the trees, where the day was beginning to decline, and the sunset to come on. He saw, too, that his hair was turning gray. But they could never rest long, for they had their journey to perform, and it was necessary for them to be always busy.

At last, there had been so many partings that there were no children left, and only the traveler, the gentleman, and the lady went upon their way in company. And now the wood was yellow; and now brown; and the leaves, even of the forest trees, began to fall.

They came to an avenue that was darker than the rest, and were pressing forward on their journey without looking down it, when the lady stopped.

“My husband,” said the lady, “I am called.”

They listened, and they heard a voice a long way down the avenue say, “Mother, mother!”

It was the voice of the child who had said, “I am going to heaven!” and the father cried, “I pray not yet. The sunset is very near. I pray not yet.”

But the voice called, “Mother, mother!” without minding him, though his hair was now quite white, and tears were on his face.

Then the mother, who was already drawn into the shade of the dark avenue, and moving away with her arms still around his neck, kissed him and said, “My dearest, I am summoned, and I go!” And she was gone. The traveler and he were left alone together.

And they went on and on, until they came very near to the end of the wood; so near, that they could see the setting sun shining red before them through the trees.

Yet once more, while he broke his way among the branches, the traveler lost his friend. He called and called, but there was no reply, and when he passed out of the wood and saw the peaceful sun going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to an old man sitting upon a fallen tree. He said to the old man, “What do you here?” And the old man said, with a calm smile, “I am always remembering. Come and remember with me.”

So the traveler sat down by the side of the old man, face to face with the serene sunset; and all his friends came softly back and stood around him. The beautiful child, the handsome boy, the young man, the father, mother, and children every one of them was there, and he had lost nothing. He loved them all, and was kind and forbearing with them all, and they all honored and loved him.

 

DEFINITIONS:—Scents, smells. Cricket, a game at ball very popular in England.Solitary, alone. Summoned, called. Allegory, a truth related in the form of a story.

 

WHAT I LIVE FOR.

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. 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.

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.

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:—Assigned, allotted, marked out. Emulate, to strive to equal or excel, to rival. Wake, the track left by a vessel in the water; hence, figuratively, in the trail of. Bard, a poet. Martyr, one who scarifices what is of great value to him for the sake of principle. Sage, a wise man.

 

TRY AGAIN!

BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.

“Will you give my kite a lift?” said my little nephew to his sister, after trying in vain to make it fly by dragging it along the ground. Lucy very kindly took it up and threw it into the air, but, her brother neglecting to run off at the same moment, the kite fell down again.

“Ah! now, how awkward you are!” said the little fellow. “It was your fault entirely,” answered his sister. “Try again, children,” said I.

Lucy once more took up the kite. But now John was in too great a hurry; he ran off so suddenly that he twitched the kite out of her hand, and it fell flat as before. “Well, who is to blame now?” asked Lucy. “Try again,” said I.

They did, and with more care; but a side wind coming suddenly, as Lucy let go the kite, it was blown against some shrubs, and the tail became entangled in a moment, leaving the poor kite hanging with its head downward.

“There, there!” cried John, “that comes of your throwing it all to one side.” “As if I could make the wind blow straight,” said Lucy. In the meantime, I went to the kite’s assistance; and having disengaged the long tail, I rolled it up, saying, “Come, children, there are too many trees here; let us find a more open space, and then try again.”

We soon found a fine, open space, covered with green grass, and free from shrubs and trees. Then, all things being ready, I tossed the kite up just as little John ran off. It rose with all the dignity of a balloon, and promised a lofty flight; but John, delighted to find it pulling so hard at the string, stopped short to look upward and admire. The string slackened, the kite wavered, and, the wind not being very strong, down came the kite to the grass. “O John, you should not have stopped,” said I. “However, try again.”

“I won’t try any more,” replied he, rather sullenly. “It is of no use, you see. The kite won’t fly, and I don’t want to be plagued with it any longer.”

“Oh, fie, my little man! would you give up the sport, after all the pains we have taken both to make and to fly the kite? A few disappointments ought not to discourage us. Come, I have wound up your string, and now try again.”

And he did try, and succeeded, for the kite was carried upward on the breeze as lightly as a feather; and when the string was all out, John stood in great delight, holding fast the stick and gazing on the kite, which now seemed like a little white speck in the blue sky. “Look, look, aunt, how high it flies! and it pulls like a team of horses, so that I can hardly hold it. I wish I had a mile of string: I am sure it would go to the end of it.”

After enjoying the sight as long as he wished, little John proceeded to roll up the string slowly; and when the kite fell, he took it up with great glee, saying that it was not at all hurt, and that it had behaved very well. “Shall we come out to-morrow, aunt, and try again?”

“Yes, my dear, if the weather is fine. And now, as we walk home, tell me, what you have learned from your morning’s sport.”

“I have learned to fly my kite properly.”

“You may thank aunt for it, brother,” said Lucy, “for you would have given it up long ago, if she had not persuaded you to try again.”

“Yes, dear children, I wish to teach you the value of perseverance, even when nothing more depends upon it than the flying of a kite. Whenever you fail in your attempts to do any good thing, let your motto be,—TRY AGAIN.”

 

DEFINITIONS:—Entangled, twisted in, disordered. Assistance, help, aid. Disengaged, cleared, set free. Dignity, majestic manner. Disappointments, failures or defeats of expectation. Discourage, take away courage. Glee, joy. Perseverance, continuance in anything once begun. Motto, a short sentence or a word full of meaning.

EXERCISE—What is the subject of this lesson? Why was John discouraged in his attempts to fly his kite? What did his aunt say to him? What may we learn from this? What should be our motto if we expect to be successful?

 

TRUE MANLINESS.

I.

“Please, mother, do sit down and let me try my hand,” said Fred Liscom, a bright active boy, twelve years old. Mrs. Liscom, looking pale and worn, was moving languidly about, trying to clear away the breakfast she had scarcely tasted.

She smiled, and said, “You, Fred, you wash dishes?” “Yes, indeed, mother,” answered Fred; “I should be a poor scholar if I couldn’t, when I’ve seen you do it so many times. Just try me.”

A look of relief came over his mother’s face as she seated herself in her low rocking-chair. Fred washed the dishes and put them in the closet. He swept the kitchen, brought up the potatoes from the cellar for the dinner and washed them, and then set out for school.

Fred’s father was away from home, and as there was some cold meat in the pantry, Mrs. Liscom found it an easy task to prepare dinner. Fred hurried home from school, set the table, and again washed the dishes.

He kept on in this way for two or three days, till his mother was able to resume her usual work, and he felt amply rewarded when the doctor, who happened in one day, said, “Well, madam, it’s my opinion that you would have been very sick if you had not kept quiet.”

The doctor did not know how the “quiet” had been secured, nor how the boy’s heart bounded at his words. Fred had given up a great deal of what boys hold dear, for the purpose of helping his mother, coasting and skating being just at this time in perfection.

Besides this, his temper and his patience had been severely. tried. He had been in the habit of going early to school, and staying to play after it was dismissed.

The boys missed him, and their curiosity was excited when he would give no other reason for not coming to school earlier, or staying after school, than that he was “wanted at home.”

“I’ll tell you,” said Tom Barton, “I’ll find him out, boys—see if I don’t!”

So, one morning on his way to school, he called for Fred. As he went around to the side door he walked lightly. and somewhat nearer the kitchen window than was absolutely needful. Looking in, he saw Fred standing at the table with a dishcloth in his hand.

Of course he reported this at school, and various were the greetings poor Fred received at recess. “Well, you’re a brave one to stay at home washing dishes!” “Girl boy!” “Pretty Bessie!” “Lost your apron, haven’t you, Polly!”

Fred was not wanting either in spirit or in courage, and he was strongly tempted to resent these insults, and to fight some of his tormentors. But his consciousness of right and his love for his mother helped him.

While he was struggling