De La Salle Fifth Reader - Brothers of the Christian Schools
_Abraham Lincoln._
* * * * *
_16_
lux'u ry
med'i cine
a bun'dant
wil'der ness
THE USE OF FLOWERS.
God might have bade the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
The oak tree, and the cedar tree,
Without a flower at all.
He might have made enough, enough,
For every want of ours;
For luxury, medicine, and toil,
And yet have made no flowers.
The ore within the mountain mine
Requireth none to grow,
Nor doth it need the lotus flower
To make the river flow.
The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man
Might yet have drunk them all.
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made
All dyed with rainbow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace,
Upspringing day and night--
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passeth by?
Our outward life requires them not,
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth;
To whisper hope--to comfort man
Whene'er his faith is dim;
For whoso careth for the flowers
Will care much more for Him!
_Mary Howitt._
* * * * *
Give the plural forms of the following name-words: tree, leaf, copy,
foot, shoe, calf, life, child, tooth, valley.
Insert the proper punctuation marks in the following stanza:
In the country on every side
Where far and wide
Like a leopard's tawny hide
Stretches the plain
To the dry grass and drier grain
How welcome is the rain.
Memory Gem:
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
_Stanza from Gray's "Elegy."_
* * * * *
_17_
deigned
in' va lid
lone' li ness
smoothed
med'i cine
be wil'dered
gen' ius
riv' et ed
soul-sub du' ing
PIERRE'S LITTLE SONG.
In a humble room, in one of the poorer streets of London, little Pierre,
a fatherless French boy, sat humming by the bedside of his sick mother.
There was no bread in the house; and he had not tasted food all day. Yet
he sat humming to keep up his spirits.
Still, at times, he thought of his loneliness and hunger, and he could
scarcely keep the tears from his eyes; for he knew that nothing would be
so welcome to his poor invalid mother as a good sweet orange; and yet he
had not a penny in the world.
The little song he was singing was his own,--one he had composed, both
air and words; for the child was a genius. He went to the window, and,
looking out, saw a man putting up a great poster with yellow letters,
announcing that Madame Malibran would sing that night in public.
"Oh, if I could only go!" thought little Pierre; and then, pausing a
moment, he clasped his hands; his eyes sparkled with a new hope. Running
to the looking-glass, he smoothed his yellow curls, and, taking from a
little box an old, stained paper, he gave one eager glance at his
mother, who slept, and ran speedily from the house.
* * * * *
"Who, do you say, is waiting for me?" said the lady to her servant. "I
am already worn out with company."
"Only a very pretty little boy, with yellow curls, who says that if he
can just see you, he is sure you will not be sorry, and he will not keep
you a moment."
"Oh, well, let him come!" said the beautiful singer, with a smile; "I
can never refuse children."
Little Pierre came in, his hat under his arm; and in his hand a little
roll of paper. With a manliness unusual in a child, he walked straight
up to the lady, and, bowing, said: "I have come to see you, because my
mother is very sick, and we are too poor to get food and medicine. I
thought that, perhaps, if you would only sing my little song at one of
your grand concerts, some publisher might buy it, for a small sum; and
so I could get food and medicine for my mother."
The beautiful woman rose from her seat; very tall and stately she
was;--she took the little roll from his hand, and lightly hummed the
air.
"Did you compose it?" she asked,--"you, a child! And the words?--Would
you like to come to my concert?" she asked, after a few moments of
thought.
"Oh, yes!" and the boy's eyes grew bright with happiness; "but I
couldn't leave my mother."
"I will send somebody to take care of your mother for the evening; and
here is a crown, with which you may go and get food and medicine. Here
is also one of my tickets; come to-night; and that will admit you to a
seat near me."
Almost beside himself with joy, Pierre bought some oranges, and many a
little luxury besides, and carried them home to the poor invalid,
telling her, not without tears, of his good fortune.
* * * * *
When evening came, and Pierre was admitted to the concert hall, he felt
that never in his life had he been in so grand a place. The music, the
glare of lights, the beauty, the flashing of diamonds and the rustling
of silks, completely bewildered him. At last _she_ came; and the
child sat with his eyes riveted on her face. Could it be that the grand
lady, glittering with jewels, and whom everybody seemed to worship,
would really sing his little song?
Breathless he waited:--the band, the whole band, struck up a little
plaintive melody: he knew it, and clapped his hands for joy! And oh, how
she sang it! It was so simple, so mournful, so soul-subduing. Many a
bright eye was dimmed with tears, many a heart was moved, by the
touching words of that little song.
Pierre walked home as if he were moving on the air. What cared he for
money now? The greatest singer in Europe had sung his little song, and
thousands had wept at his grief.
The next day he was frightened by a visit from Madame Malibran. She laid
her hand on his yellow curls, and, turning to the sick woman, said:
"Your little boy, madam, has brought you a fortune. I was offered, this
morning, by the first publisher in London, a large sum for his little
song. Madam, thank God that your son has a gift from heaven."
The noble-hearted singer and the poor woman wept together. As for
Pierre, always mindful of Him who watches over the tried and the
tempted, he knelt down by his mother's bedside and uttered a simple
prayer, asking God's blessing on the kind lady who had deigned to notice
their affliction.
The memory of that prayer made the singer even more tender-hearted; and
she now went about doing good. And on her early death, he who stood by
her bed, and smoothed her pillow, and lightened her last moments by his
affection, was the little Pierre of former days,--now rich,
accomplished, and one of the most talented composers of the day.
All honor to those great hearts who, from their high stations, send down
bounty to the widow and the fatherless!
* * * * *
PIERRE (pe [^a]r'), Peter.
MALIBRAN, a French singer and actress. She died in 1836, when only 28
years old.
What does "he walked as if moving on air" mean?
BREATHLESS = _breath_+_less_, without breath, out of breath;
holding the breath on account of great interest.
BREATHLESSLY, in a breathless manner. Use _breath, breathless,
breathlessly,_ in sentences of your own.
Pronounce separately the two similar consonant sounds coming together in
the following words and phrases:
humming; meanness; is sure; his spirit; send down; this shows; eyes
sparkled; wept together; frequent trials.
Memory Gems:
A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows.
_St. Francis of Assisi._
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.
_Tennyson_.
* * * * *
_18_
SEPTEMBER.
The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.
_Helen Hunt Jackson._
[Footnote: Copyright, Little, Brown & Co., Publishers.]
[Illustration:]
* * * * *
sedges, coarse grasses which grow in marshy places.
Tell what the following expressions mean: dewy lanes; best of cheer;
sedges flaunt their harvest.
How do "Asters by the brookside make asters in the brook"?
Give in your own words the tokens of September mentioned in the poem.
Can you name any others?
Memorize the poem. What do you know of the author?
* * * * *
_19_
tat'ter
wreathed
Ken tuck' y
de scend'ed
re cess'
home' stead
en rap' tured
Penn syl va' ni a
"MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME."
"My Old Kentucky Home" was written by Stephen Collins Foster, a resident
of Pittsburg, Pa., while he and his sister were on a visit to his
relative, Judge John Rowan, a short distance east of Bardstown, Ky. One
beautiful morning while the slaves were at work in the cornfield and the
sun was shining with a mighty splendor on the waving grass, first giving
it a light red, then changing it to a golden hue, there were seated upon
a bench in front of the Rowan homestead two young people, a brother and
a sister.
High up in the top of a tree was a mocking bird warbling its sweet
notes. Over in a hidden recess of a small brush, the thrush's mellow
song could be heard. A number of small negro children were playing not
far away. When Foster had finished the first verse of the song his
sister took it from his hand and sang in a sweet, mellow voice:
The sun shines bright on the old Kentucky home;
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn top's ripe and the meadows in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day.
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, all bright;
By'n by hard times comes a-knockin' at the door--
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night.
On her finishing the first verse the mocking bird descended to a lower
branch. The feathery songster drew his head to one side and appeared to
be completely enraptured at the wonderful voice of the young singer.
When the last note died away upon the air, her fond brother sang in deep
bass voice:
Weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day,
Well sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For our old Kentucky home far away.
A few more days for to tote the weary load,
No matter, 'twill never be light;
A few more days till we totter on the road--
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night.
The negroes had laid down their hoes and rakes; the little tots had
placed themselves behind the large, sheltering trees, while the old
black women were peeping around the corner of the house. The faithful
old house dog never took his eyes off the young singers. Everything was
still; not even the stirring of the leaves seemed to break the wonderful
silence.
Again the brother and sister took hold of the remaining notes, and sang
in sweet accents:
They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon
On the meadow, the hill and the shore;
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door.
The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight:
The time has come when the darkies have to part--
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night.
The head must bow and the back will have to bend
Wherever the darkies may go;
A few more days and the trouble all will end
In the fields where the sugar cane grow.
Then weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day,
We'll sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For our old Kentucky home far away.
As the song was finished tears flowed down the old people's cheeks; the
children crept from their hiding place behind the trees, their faces
wreathed in smiles. The mocking bird and the thrush sought their home in
the thicket, while the old house dog still lay basking in the sun.
_Mrs. T.A. Sherrard_
Louisville _Courier-Journal._
* * * * *
_20_
stew' ard
se'quel
Gal'i lee
ab lu' tions
in ter ces' sion
THE FIRST MIRACLE OF JESUS.
In the first year of our Lord's public life, St. John tells us in his
gospel that "there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee, and the Mother of
Jesus was there. And Jesus also was invited to the marriage." Mary was
invited to be one of the honored guests because she was, no doubt, an
intimate friend of the family. She preceded her Son to the wedding in
order to lend her aid in the necessary preparations.
Jesus also was asked, and He did not refuse the invitation. He went as
freely to this house of feasting as He afterwards went pityingly to so
many houses of mourning. Though worn and weary with his long fast and
struggle in the desert, He was pleased to attend this merry wedding
feast, and by this loving and kindly act to sanctify the bond of
Marriage, which was to become in His Church one of the seven Sacraments.
The feast went gayly onward until an incident occurred that greatly
disturbed the host. The wine failed. The host had not calculated
rightly, or perhaps he had not counted on so many guests.
Mary, with her motherly heart, was the first to notice the confusion of
the servants when they discovered that the wine vessels had become
empty; and leaning towards her Son, whispered, "They have no wine." "My
hour is not yet come," He answered her, meaning that His time for
working miracles had not yet arrived. He knew on the instant what the
gentle heart of His Mother desired. His words sounded like a refusal of
the request which Mary made rather with her eyes than with her tongue;
but the sequel shows that the Blessed Mother fully believed that her
prayer would be granted.
She quietly said to the servants, "Whatsoever He shall say to you, do
ye." They had not long to wait. There were standing close at hand six
great urns of stone, covered with branches, as is the custom in the
East, in order to keep the water cool and fresh. These vessels
"containing two or three measures apiece," were kept in readiness for
the guests, who were required not only to wash their feet before
touching the linen and drapery of the couches, but even during the meal
frequently to purify their hands. Already there had been many of these
ablutions performed, and the urns were being rapidly emptied.
"Fill the waterpots with water," said Jesus to the servants.
They filled them up to the brim with clear, fresh water.
"Draw out now, and carry to the chief steward of the feast."
And they carried it.
When the chief steward had tasted the water made wine, and knew not
whence it was, he called the bridegroom and said to him: "Every man at
first setteth forth good wine, and when men have well drunk then that
which is worse; but thou hast kept the good wine until now."
The steward had supposed at first that the host had wished to give an
agreeable surprise to the company assembled at his table; but the
latter, to his amazement, was at once made aware that a wondrous deed
had been accomplished--that water had been changed into wine!
Jesus had performed His first Miracle.
From this beautiful story of the first miracle of Jesus, we learn that
Jesus Christ is God, and that Mary, the Mother of God, whose
intercession is all-powerful with her Divine Son, has a loving and
motherly care over the smallest of our life's concerns.
[Illustration: THE FEAST _Veronese_.]
* * * * *
PRECEDED, went before in order of time. The prefix _pre_- means
_before_. Tell what the following words mean:
prefix, predict, prepare, prejudge, prescribe, predestine, precaution,
precursor, prefigure, prearrange.
Read the sentences of the Lesson that express commands.
Memory Gems:
The conscious water saw its God and blushed.
_Richard Crashaw._
But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the
Son of God; and that believing you may have life in His Name.
_Gospel of St. John._
* * * * *
_21_
dec' ades (dek' ads)
di' a dem
MY BEADS.
Sweet blessed beads! I would not part
With one of you for richest gem
That gleams in kingly diadem:
Ye know the history of my heart.
For I have told you every grief
In all the days of twenty years,
And I have moistened you with tears,
And in your decades found relief.
Ah! time has fled, and friends have failed,
And joys have died; but in my needs
Ye were my friends, my blessed beads!
And ye consoled me when I wailed.
For many and many a time, in grief,
My weary fingers wandered round
Thy circled chain, and always found
In some Hail Mary sweet relief.
How many a story you might tell
Of inner life, to all unknown;
I trusted you and you alone,
But ah! ye keep my secrets well.
Ye are the only chain I wear--
A sign that I am but the slave,
In life, in death, beyond the grave,
Of Jesus and His Mother fair.
_Father Ryan._
"Father Ryan's Poems." Published by P. J. Kenedy & Sons, New York.
* * * * *
From the following words make new words by means of the suffix -_ous_:
joy, grace, grief, glory, desire, virtue, beauty, courage, disaster,
harmony.
(Consult the dictionary.)
Memory Gem:
Mary,--our comfort and our hope,--
O, may that name be given
To be the last we sigh on earth,--
The first we breathe in heaven.
_Adelaide A. Procter._
* * * * *
_22_
THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS.
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still She lives.
_Thomas Moore._
[Illustration: TOM MOORE]
* * * * *
_23_
ma'am
dis suade'
re spect'a ble
shuf' fled
dan' ger ous
grate' ful
wist' ful ly
mit' tens
outstretched'
res' cue
un daunt' ed
an' ti qua ted
A LITTLE LADY.[001]
Going down a very steep street, where the pavement was covered with ice,
I saw before me an old woman, slowly and timidly picking her way. She
was one of the poor but respectable old ladies who dress in rusty black,
wear old-fashioned bonnets, and carry big bags.
Some young folks laugh at these antiquated figures; but those who are
better bred treat them with respect. They find something touching in the
faded suits, the withered faces, and the knowledge that these lonely old
ladies have lost youth, friends, and often fortune, and are patiently
waiting to be called away from a world that seems to have passed by and
forgotten them.
Well, as I slipped and shuffled along, I watched the little black bonnet
in front, expecting every minute to see it go down, and trying to hurry,
that I might offer my help.
At the corner, I passed three little school-girls, and heard one say to
another, "O, I wouldn't; she will do well enough, and we shall lose our
coasting, unless we hurry."
"But if she should tumble and break her poor old bones, I should feel so
bad," returned the second, a pleasant-faced child, whose eyes, full of a
sweet, pitiful expression, followed the old lady.
"She's such a funny-looking woman, I shouldn't like to be seen walking
with her," said the third, as if she thought it a kind thing to do, but
had not the courage to try it.
"Well, I don't care; she's old, and ought to be helped, and I'm going to
do it," cried the pleasant-faced girl; and, running by me, I saw her
overtake the old lady, who stood at a crossing, looking wistfully over
the dangerous sheet of ice before her.
"Please, ma'am, may I help you, it's so bad here?" said the kind little
voice, as the hands in the red mittens were helpfully out-stretched.
"O, thank you, dear. I'd no idea the walking was so bad; but I must get
home." And the old face lighted up with a grateful smile, which was
worth a dozen of the best coasts in Boston.
"Take my arm then; I'll help you down the street, for I'm afraid you
might fall," said the child, offering her arm.
"Yes, dear, so I will. Now we shall get on beautifully. I've been having
a dreadful time, for my over-socks are all holes, and I slip at every
step."
"Keep hold, ma'am, I won't fall. I have rubber boots, and can't tumble."
So chatting, the two went safely across, leaving me and the other girls
to look after them and wish that we had done the little act of kindness,
which now looked so lovely in another.
"I think Katy is a very good girl, don't you?" said one child to the
other.
"Yes, I do; let's wait till she comes back. No matter if we do lose some
coasts," answered the child who had tried to dissuade her playmate from
going to the rescue.
Then I left them; but I think they learned a lesson that day in real
politeness; for, as they watched little Katy dutifully supporting the
old lady, undaunted by the rusty dress, the big bag, the old socks, and
the queer bonnet, both their faces lighted up with new respect and
affection for their playmate.
_Louisa M. Alcott._
From "Little Women." Little, Brown & Co., Publishers.
* * * * *
DISSUADE, to advise against; to turn from a purpose by reasons
given.
ANTIQUATED, grown old; old-fashioned.
Tell what each contraction met with in the selection stands for.
Use _their_ or _there_ properly in place of the blanks in
the following sentences: The girls were on -- way
to the Park. -- was an old lady at the crossing.
Our home is --. Katy and Mary said --
mother lived --.
Memory Gems:
Count that day lost
Whose low descending sun,
Views from thy hands
No worthy action done.
_Author unknown._
What I must do concerns me, not what people will think.
_Emerson_.
[Footnote 001: Copyrighted by Little, Brown & Company.]
* * * * *
_24_
WHAT HOUSE TO LIKE.
For Recitation:
Some love the glow of outward show,
Some love mere wealth and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be
If I but like the people in it.
What's all the gold that glitters cold,
When linked to hard or haughty feeling?
Whate'er we're told, the noble gold
Is truth of heart and manly dealing.
A lowly roof may give us proof
That lowly flowers are often fairest;
And trees whose bark is hard and dark
May yield us fruit and bloom the rarest.
There's worth as sure 'neath garments poor
As e'er adorned a loftier station;
And minds as just as those, we trust,
Whose claim is but of wealth's creation.
Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,
Mere fashion's smile, and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be
If I but like the people in it.
_Anon_.
* * * * *
What is meant by "haughty feeling"?
What does the author say "the noble gold" is?
Is "bloom" in the third stanza an action-word or a name-word? Why?
Give in your own words the thought of the fourth stanza.
Use _to, too, two,_ properly before each of the following words:
hard, win, people, minds, dark, yield.
What virtues does the poem recommend?
What "lowly flowers are often fairest"?
What "lowly" virtue does the following stanza suggest?
The bird that sings on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest.