De La Salle Fifth Reader - Brothers of the Christian Schools
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from that loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in the well!
_Samuel Woodworth._
[Illustration:]
* * * * *
Make a list of the describing-words of the poem, and tell what each
describes. Use each to describe something else.
Make a list of the words of the poem that you never use, and tell what
word you would have used in the place of each had you tried to express
its meaning. Which word is better, yours or the author's? Why?
* * * * *
_33_
blouse
receipt'ed
coun' te nance
ab sorbed'
con trast' ed
for' tu nate ly
mir' a cle
stock'-still
good-hu' mored ly
THE BOY AND THE CRICKETS.
My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cake
which he had fancied in passing. He intended it for a child whose
appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him.
He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. While he
waited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in poor but
perfectly clean clothes, entered the baker's shop. "Ma'am," said he to
the baker's wife, "mother sent me for a loaf of bread." The woman
climbed upon the counter (this happened in a country town), took from
the shelf of four-pound loaves the best one she could find, and put it
into the arms of the little boy.
My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face of
the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, open
countenance of the great loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care.
"Have you any money?" said the baker's wife.
The little boy's eyes grew sad.
"No, ma'am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; "but
mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about it
to-morrow."
"Run along," said the good woman; "carry your bread home, child."
"Thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow.
My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his purchase
into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child with the
big loaf, whom he had supposed to be halfway home, standing stock-still
behind him.
"What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, whom she
also had thought to be fairly off. "Don't you like the bread?"
"Oh yes, ma'am!" said the child.
"Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you wait any
longer, she will think you are playing by the way, and you will get a
scolding."
The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed his attention.
The baker's wife went up to him, and gave him a friendly tap on the
shoulder, "What _are_ you thinking about?" said she.
"Ma'am," said the little boy, "what is it that sings?"
"There is no singing," said she.
"Yes!" cried the little fellow. "Hear it! Queek, queek, queek, queek!"
My friend and the woman both listened, but they could hear nothing,
unless it was the song of the crickets, frequent guests in bakers'
houses.
"It is a little bird," said the dear little fellow; "or perhaps the
bread sings when it bakes, as apples do?"
"No, indeed, little goosey!" said the baker's wife; "those are crickets.
They sing in the bakehouse because we are lighting the oven, and they
like to see the fire."
"Crickets!" said the child; "are they really crickets?"
"Yes, to be sure," said she good-humoredly. The child's face lighted up.
"Ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, "I would like
it very much if you would give me a cricket."
"A cricket!" said the baker's wife, smiling; "what in the world would
you do with a cricket, my little friend? I would gladly give you all
there are in the house, to get rid of them, they run about so."
"O ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please!" said the child,
clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. "They say that
crickets bring good luck into houses; and perhaps if we had one at home,
mother, who has so much trouble, wouldn't cry any more."
"Why does your poor mamma cry?" said my friend, who could no longer help
joining in the conversation.
"On account of her bills, sir," said the little fellow. "Father is dead,
and mother works very hard, but she cannot pay them all."
My friend took the child, and with him the great loaf, into his arms,
and I really believe he kissed them both. Meanwhile the baker's wife,
who did not dare to touch a cricket herself, had gone into the
bakehouse. She made her husband catch four, and put them into a box with
holes in the cover, so that they might breathe. She gave the box to the
child, who went away perfectly happy.
When he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave each other a good
squeeze of the hand. "Poor little fellow!" said they both together. Then
she took down her account book, and, finding the page where the mother's
charges were written, made a great dash all down the page, and then
wrote at the bottom, "Paid."
Meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper all the money
in his pockets, where fortunately he had quite a sum that day, and had
begged the good wife to send it at once to the mother of the little
cricket-boy, with her bill receipted, and a note, in which he told her
she had a son who would one day be her joy and pride.
They gave it to a baker's boy with long legs, and told him to make
haste. The child, with his big loaf, his four crickets, and his little
short legs, could not run very fast, so that, when he reached home, he
found his mother, for the first time in many weeks, with her eyes raised
from her work, and a smile of peace and happiness upon her lips.
The boy believed that it was the arrival of his four little black things
which had worked this miracle, and I do not think he was mistaken.
Without the crickets, and his good little heart, would this happy change
have taken place in his mother's fortunes?
_From the French of Pierre J. Hetzel._
* * * * *
Jacques (zh[:a]k), James.
In the selection, find ten sentences that ask questions, and five that
express commands or requests.
What mark of punctuation always follows the first kind? The second?
Memorize:
In the evening I sit near my poker and tongs,
And I dream in the firelight's glow,
And sometimes I quaver forgotten old songs
That I listened to long ago.
Then out of the cinders there cometh a chirp
Like an echoing, answering cry,--
Little we care for the outside world,
My friend the cricket, and I.
For my cricket has learnt, I am sure of it quite,
That this earth is a silly, strange place,
And perhaps he's been beaten and hurt in the fight,
And perhaps he's been passed in the race.
But I know he has found it far better to sing
Than to talk of ill luck and to sigh,--
Little we care for the outside world,
My friend the cricket, and I.
* * * * *
_34_
For Recitation:
OUR HEROES.
Here's a hand to the boy who has courage
To do what he knows to be right;
When he falls in the way of temptation
He has a hard battle to fight.
Who strives against self and his comrades
Will find a most powerful foe:
All honor to him if he conquers;
A cheer for the boy who says "No!"
There's many a battle fought daily
The world knows nothing about;
There's many a brave little soldier
Whose strength puts a legion to rout.
And he who fights sin single-handed
Is more of a hero, I say,
Than he who leads soldiers to battle,
And conquers by arms in the fray.
Be steadfast, my boy, when you're tempted,
And do what you know to be right;
Stand firm by the colors of manhood,
And you will o'ercome in the fight.
"The right!" be your battle cry ever
In waging the warfare of life;
And God, who knows who are the heroes,
Will give you the strength for the strife.
_Phoebe Cary._
From "Poems for the Study of Language." Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,
Publishers.
* * * * *
Write sentences each containing one of the following words:
I, me; he, him; she, her; they, them.
Memory Gems:
For raising the spirits, for brightening the eyes, for bringing back
vanished smiles, for making one brave and courageous, light-hearted and
happy, there is nothing like a good Confession.
_Father Bearne, S.J._
Heroes must be more than driftwood
Floating on a waveless tide.
For right is right, since God is God;
And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
To falter would be sin.
_Father Faber._
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the
Faith.
_St. Paul._
* * * * *
_35_
troll
cel' er y
new' fan gled
thatch
chink' ing
as par' a gus
im mense'
sauce' pan
de mol' ish ing
sa' vor y
pat' terns
ag' gra va ting
THE MINNOWS WITH SILVER TAILS.
There was a cuckoo clock hanging in Tom Turner's cottage. When it struck
one, Tom's wife laid the baby in the cradle, and took a saucepan off the
fire, from which came a very savory smell.
"If father doesn't come soon," she observed, "the apple dumplings will
be too much done."
"There he is!" cried the little boy; "he is coming around by the wood;
and now he's going over the bridge. O father! make haste, and have some
apple dumpling."
"Tom," said his wife, as he came near, "art tired to-day?"
"Uncommon tired," said Tom, as he threw himself on the bench, in the
shadow of the thatch.
"Has anything gone wrong?" asked his wife; "what's the matter?"
"Matter!" repeated Tom; "is anything the matter? The matter is this,
mother, that I'm a miserable, hard-worked slave;" and he clapped his
hands upon his knees and uttered in a deep voice, which frightened the
children--"a miserable slave!"
"Bless us!" said the wife, but could not make out what he meant.
"A miserable, ill-used slave," continued Tom, "and always have been."
"Always have been?" said his wife: "why, father, I thought thou used to
say, at the election time, that thou wast a free-born Briton."
"Women have no business with politics," said Tom, getting up rather
sulkily. Whether it was the force of habit, or the smell of the dinner,
that made him do it, has not been ascertained; but it is certain that he
walked into the house, ate plenty of pork and greens, and then took a
tolerable share in demolishing the apple dumpling.
When the little children were gone out to play, Tom's wife said to him,
"I hope thou and thy master haven't had words to-day."
"We've had no words," said Tom, impatiently; "but I'm sick of being at
another man's beck and call. It's, 'Tom, do this,' and 'Tom do that,'
and nothing but work, work, work, from Monday morning till Saturday
night. I was thinking as I walked over to Squire Morton's to ask for the
turnip seed for master,--I was thinking, Sally, that I am nothing but a
poor workingman after all. In short, I'm a slave; and my spirit won't
stand it."
So saying, Tom flung himself out at the cottage door, and his wife
thought he was going back to his work as usual; but she was mistaken. He
walked to the wood, and there, when he came to the border of a little
tinkling stream, he sat down and began to brood over his grievances.
"Now, I'll tell you what," said Tom to himself, "it's much pleasanter
sitting here in the shade, than broiling over celery trenches, and
thinning wall fruit, with a baking sun at one's back, and a hot wall
before one's eyes. But I'm a miserable slave. I must either work or see
my family starve; a very hard lot it is to be a workingman."
"Ahem," said a voice close to him. Tom started, and, to his great
surprise, saw a small man about the size of his own baby, sitting
composedly at his elbow. He was dressed in green,--green hat, green
coat, and green shoes. He had very bright black eyes, and they twinkled
very much as he looked at Tom and smiled.
"Servant, sir!" said Tom, edging himself a little farther off.
"Miserable slave," said the small man, "art thou so far lost to the
noble sense of freedom that thy very salutation acknowledges a mere
stranger as thy master?'
"Who are you," said Tom, "and how dare you call me a slave?"
"Tom," said the small man, with a knowing look, "don't speak roughly.
Keep your rough words for your wife, my man; she is bound to bear them."
"I'll thank you to let my affairs alone," interrupted Tom, shortly.
"Tom, I'm your friend; I think I can help you out of your difficulty.
Every minnow in this stream--they are very scarce, mind you--has a
silver tail."
"You don't say so," exclaimed Tom, opening his eyes very wide; "fishing
for minnows and being one's own master would be much pleasanter than the
sort of life I've been leading this many a day."
"Well, keep the secret as to where you get them, and much good may it do
you," said the man in green. "Farewell; I wish you joy in your freedom."
So saying, he walked away, leaving Tom on the brink of the stream, full
of joy and pride.
He went to his master and told him that he had an opportunity for
bettering himself, and should not work for him any longer.
The next day, he arose with the dawn, and went in search of minnows. But
of all the minnows in the world, never were any so nimble as those with
silver tails. They were very shy, too, and had as many turns and doubles
as a hare; what a life they led him!
They made him troll up the stream for miles; then, just as he thought
his chase was at an end and he was sure of them, they would leap quite
out of the water, and dart down the stream again like little silver
arrows. Miles and miles he went, tired, wet, and hungry. He came home
late in the evening, wearied and footsore, with only three minnows in
his pocket, each with a silver tail.
"But, at any rate," he said to himself, as he lay down in his bed,
"though they lead me a pretty life, and I have to work harder than ever,
yet I certainly am free; no man can now order me about."
This went on for a whole week; he worked very hard; but, up to Saturday
afternoon, he had caught only fourteen minnows.
After all, however, his fish were really great curiosities; and when he
had exhibited them all over the town, set them out in all lights,
praised their perfections, and taken immense pains to conceal his
impatience and ill temper, he, at length, contrived to sell them all,
and get exactly fourteen shillings for them, and no more.
"Now, I'll tell you what, Tom Turner," said he to himself, "I've found
out this afternoon, and I don't mind your knowing it,--that every one of
those customers of yours was your master. Why! you were at the beck of
every man, woman, and child that came near you;--obliged to be in a good
temper, too, which was very aggravating."
"True, Tom," said the man in green, starting up in his path. "I knew you
were a man of sense; look you, you are all workingmen; and you must all
please your customers. Your master was your customer; what he bought of
you was your work. Well, you must let the work be such as will please
the customer."
"All workingmen? How do you make that out?" said Tom, chinking the
fourteen shillings in his hand. "Is my master a workingman; and has he a
master of his own? Nonsense!"
"No nonsense at all; he works with his head, keeps his books, and
manages his great mills. He has many masters; else why was he nearly
ruined last year?"
"He was nearly ruined because he made some newfangled kinds of patterns
at his works, and people would not buy them," said Tom. "Well, in a way
of speaking, then, he works to please his masters, poor fellow! He is,
as one may say, a fellow-servant, and plagued with very awkward masters.
So I should not mind his being my master, and I think I'll go and tell
him so."
"I would, Tom," said the man in green. "Tell him you have not been able
to better yourself, and you have no objection now to dig up the
asparagus bed."
So Tom trudged home to his wife, gave her the money he had earned, got
his old master to take him back, and kept a profound secret his
adventures with the man in green.
_Jean Ingelow._
[Illustration:]
"Every minnow in the stream (they are very scarce, mind you) has a
silver tail." Here we have a group of words in parenthesis. Read the
sentence aloud several times, _omitting_ the group in parenthesis. Now
read the _whole_ sentence, keeping in mind the fact that the words in
parenthesis are not at all important,--that they are merely thrown in by
way of explanation. You notice that you have read the words in
parenthesis in a _lower tone_ and _faster time._ Groups of words like
the above are not always enclosed by marks of parenthesis; but that
makes no difference in the reading of them.
The following examples are taken from "The Martyr's Boy," page 243.
Practice on them till you believe you have mastered the method.
I never heard anything so cold and insipid (I hope it is not wrong to
say so) as the compositions read by my companions.
Only, I know not why, he seems ever to have a grudge against me.
I felt that I was strong enough--my rising anger made me so--to seize my
unjust assailant by the throat, and cast him gasping to the ground.
Memorize:
"Work! and the clouds of care will fly;
Pale want will pass away.
Work! and the leprosy of crime
And tyrants must decay.
Leave the dead ages in their urns:
The present time be ours,
To grapple bravely with our lot,
And strew our path with flowers."
* * * * *
_36_
THE BROOK.
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.
I chatter over stony ways
In little sharps and trebles;
I bubble into eddying bays;
I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow.
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers,
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeams dance
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses.
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.
_Tennyson_.
[Illustration:]
* * * * *
HAUNTS, places of frequent resort.
COOT and hern, water fowls that frequent lakes and other still
waters.
BICKER, to move quickly and unsteadily, like flame or water.
THORP, a cluster of houses; a hamlet.
SHARPS and trebles, terms in music. They are here used to
describe the sound of the brook.
EDDYING, moving in circles. Why are "eddying bays" dangerous to the
swimmer?
FRETTED BANKS, banks worn away by the action of the water.
FALLOW, plowed land, foreland, a point of land running into the sea
or other water.
MALLOW, a kind of plant.
GLOOM, to shine obscurely.
SHINGLY, abounding with shingle or loose gravel.
BARS, banks of sand or gravel or rock forming a shoal in a river or
harbor.
CRESSES, certain plants which grow near the water. They are
sometimes used as a salad.
* * * * *
_37_
wits
hale
borne
suit' ed
prop' er ly
sit u a' tion
LEARNING TO THINK.
Grandpa Dennis is one of the kindest and gentlest, as well as one of the
wisest men I know; and although his step is somewhat feeble, and the few
locks that are left him are gray, he is still more hale and hearty than
many a younger man.
Like all old people whose hearts are in the right place, he is fond of
children, whom he likes to amuse and instruct by his pleasant talk, as
they gather round his fireside or sit upon his knee.
Sometimes he puts questions to the young folks, not only to find out
what they know, but also to sharpen their wits and lead them to think.
"Tell me, Norman," he said one day, as they sat together, "if I have a
cake to divide among three persons, how ought I to proceed?"
"Why, cut it into three parts, and give one to each, to be sure," said
Norman.
"Let us try that plan, and see how it will succeed. Suppose the cake has
to be divided among you, Arthur and Winnie. If I cut off a very thin
slice for you, and divide what is left between your brother and sister,
will that be fair?"
"No, that would not be at all fair, Grandpa."
"Why not? Did I not divide the cake according to your advice? Did I not
cut it into three parts?"
"But one was larger than the other, and they ought to have been exactly
the same size."
"Then you think, that if I had divided the cake into three equal parts,
it would have been quite fair?"
"Yes; if you had done so, I should have no cause to complain."
"Now, Norman, let us suppose that I have three baskets to send to a
distance by three persons; shall I act fairly if I give each a basket to
carry?"
"Stop a minute, Grandpa, I must think a little. No, it might not be
fair, for one of the baskets might be a great deal larger than the
others."
"Come, Norman, I see that you are really beginning to think. But we will
take care that the baskets are all of the same size."
"Then it would be quite fair for each one to take a basket."
"What! if one was full of lead, and the other two were filled with
feathers?"
"Oh, no! I never thought of that. Let the baskets be of the same weight,
and all will be right."
"Are you quite sure of that? Suppose one of the three persons is a
strong man, another a weak woman, and the third a little child?"
"Grandpa! Grandpa! Why, I am altogether wrong. How many things there are
to think about."
"Well, Norman, I hope you see that if burdens have to be equally borne,
they must be suited to the strength of those who have to bear them."
"Yes, I see that clearly now. Put one more question to me, Grandpa, and
I will try to answer it properly this time."
"Well, then, my next question is this: If I want a man to dig for me,
and three persons apply for the situation, will it not be fair if I set
them to work to try them, and choose the one who does his task in the
quickest time?"
"Are they all to begin their work at the same time?"
"A very proper question, Norman: yes, they shall all start together."
"Has one just as much ground to dig as another?"
"Exactly the same."
"And will each man have a good spade?"
"Yes, their spades shall be exactly alike."
"But one part of the field may be soft earth, and the other hard and
stony."
"I will take care of that. All shall be fairly dealt with. The ground
shall be everywhere alike."
"Well, I think, Grandpa, that he who does his work first, if done as
well as that of either of the other two, is the best man."
"And I think so, too, Norman; and if you go on in this way it will be
greatly to your advantage. Only form the habit of being thoughtful in
little things, and you will be sure to judge wisely in important ones."
* * * * *
In the words _suit_ (s[=u]t) and _soon_ (s[=oo]n), have the marked
vowels the same sound?
In the two statements,--
I give it to you because it's good;
Virtue brings its own reward;
why is there an apostrophe in the first "it's," and none in the second?
Let your hands be honest and clean--
Let your conscience be honest and clean--
Combine these two sentences by the word _and_; rewrite them, omitting
all needless words.
Compose two sentences, one having the action-word _learned_; the other
the word _taught_.
Fill each of the following blank spaces with the correct form of the
action-word _bear_:
As Christ -- His cross, so must we -- ours.
Our cross must be --. "And -- His own
cross, He went forth to Calvary."