McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader Part 24

7. The fame of Flor Silin's benevolence having reached other villages, the famished inhabitants presented themselves before him, and begged for corn.

This good creature received them as brothers; and, while his store remained, afforded all relief. At length, his wife, seeing no end to the generosity of his n.o.ble spirit, reminded him how necessary it would be to think of their own wants, and hold his lavish hand before it was too late.

"It is written in the Scripture," said he, "Give, and it shall be given unto you.'"

8. The following year Providence listened to the prayers of the poor, and the harvest was abundant. The peasants who had been saved from starving by Flor Silin now gathered around him.

9. "Behold," said they, "the corn you lent us. You saved our wives and children. We should have been famished but for you; may G.o.d reward you; he only can; all we have to give is our corn and grateful thanks." "I want no corn at present, my good neighbors," said he; "my harvest has exceeded all my expectations; for the rest, thank heaven: I have been but an humble instrument."

10. They urged him in vain. "No," said he, "I shall not accept your corn.

If you have superfluities, share them among your poor neighbors, who, being unable to sow their fields last autumn, are still in want; let us a.s.sist them, my dear friends; the Almighty will bless us for it." "Yes,"

replied the grateful peasants, "our poor neighbors shall have this corn.

They shall know it is to you that they owe this timely succor, and join to teach their children the debt of grat.i.tude due to your benevolent heart."

Silin raised his tearful eyes to heaven. An angel might have envied him his feelings.

--Nikolai Karamzin.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Ex-tol', to elevate by praise. An'nals, history of events. En-gross', to occupy wholly. El'o-quence, the power of speaking well. 2. Drought (pro. drout), want of rain or water. 4. Es-tate', property in land. 5. Gran'a-ry, a storehouse far grain. 6. Sub-sist'ence, means of support. Pro-pen'si-ties, bent of mind, inclination. 10.

Su-per-flu'i-ties, greater quant.i.ties than are wanted. Suc'cor, aid, help.

NOTES.--l. Vergil was the greatest of Roman poets. He was born in the year 70 B.C., and died 19 B.C.

Augustus Caesar was emperor of Rome in the latter portion of Vergil's life, and received many compliments in the verses of his friend the poet.

2. Lower Volga is a district in eastern Russia, bordering on the Caspian Sea, and takes its name from the river Volga.

4. Simbirsk is a town of eastern Russia, on the Volga.

XLIV. FORTY YEARS AGO.

1. I've wandered to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree, Upon the schoolhouse playground, That sheltered you and me; But none were left to greet me, Tom, And few were left to know, Who played with me upon the green, Just forty years ago.

2. The gra.s.s was just as green, Tom, Barefooted boys at play Were sporting, just as we did then, With spirits just as gay.

But the master sleeps upon the hill, Which, coated o'er with snow, Afforded us a sliding place, Some forty years ago.

3. The old schoolhouse is altered some; The benches are replaced By new ones very like the same Our jackknives had defaced.

But the same old bricks are in the wall, The bell swings to and fro; Its music's just the same, dear Tom, 'T was forty years ago.

4. The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, Close by the spreading beech, Is very low; 't was once so high That we could almost reach; And kneeling down to take a drink, Dear Tom, I started so, To think how very much I've changed Since forty years ago.

5. Near by that spring, upon an elm, You know, I cut your name, Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom; And you did mine the same.

Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark; 'T was dying sure, but slow, Just as that one whose name you cut Died forty years ago.

6. My lids have long been dry, Tom, But tears came in my eyes: I thought of her I loved so well, Those early broken ties.

I visited the old churchyard, And took some flowers to strew Upon the graves of those we loved Just forty years ago.

7. Some are in the churchyard laid, Some sleep beneath the sea; And none are left of our old cla.s.s Excepting you and me.

And when our time shall come, Tom, And we are called to go, I hope we'll meet with those we loved Some forty years ago.

XLV. MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE.

Douglas Jerrold (b. 1803, d. 1857) was born in London. A midshipman's appointment was obtained for him, but he quit the naval service in a few years. He was then apprenticed to a printer. By improving his leisure hours he made himself master of several languages, and formed the habit of expressing his thoughts in writing An essay on the opera of Der Freischutz was his first published literary production. Before he was twenty-one years of age, he wrote "Black-eyed Susan," one of the most popular dramas of modern times. Several other popular plays followed this. He was a regular contributor to the London "Punch," from the second number, and edited, at different times, several papers and magazines. As a humorist, he occupies the first rank. The most noted of his works are his plays, and "Mrs Caudle's Curtain Lectures," "Saint Giles and Saint James," "Bubbles of a Day," and "Chronicles of Clovernook."

1. Well, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning. There, you need n't begin to whistle: people don't come to bed to whistle. But it's like you; I can't speak that you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living: now, you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest? No, I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; besides, it is n't often I open my mouth, goodness knows!

2. Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a b.u.t.ton, you must almost swear the roof off the house. You did n't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle!

you don't know what you do when you're in a pa.s.sion. You were not in a pa.s.sion, wer'n't you? Well, then, I don't know what a pa.s.sion is; and I think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that.

3. It's a pity you hav'n't something worse to complain of than a b.u.t.ton off your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never without a needle and thread in my hand; what with you and the children, I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your life a b.u.t.ton's off your shirt--what do you cry "oh" at? I say once, Mr.

Caudle; or twice, or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's b.u.t.tons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to know where were your b.u.t.tons then?

4. Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and then if I only try to speak, you won't hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves: a poor woman is n't allowed to get a word in. A nice notion you have of a wife, to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's b.u.t.tons. A pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew what they had to go through!--what with b.u.t.tons, and one thing and another,--they'd never tie themselves up,--no, not to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle?--Why, do much better without you, I'm certain.

5. And it's my belief, after all, that the b.u.t.ton was n't off the shirt; it's my belief that you pulled it off that you might have something to talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything!

All I know is, it's very odd that the b.u.t.ton should be off the shirt; for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's b.u.t.tons than I am. I only say it's very odd.

6. However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha! you may laugh! And I dare say you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love; that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say nothing about it. And when I'm gone we shall see how your second wife will look after your b.u.t.tons! You'll find out the difference then. Yes, Caudle, you'll think of me then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a blessed b.u.t.ton to your back.

7. No, I'm not a vindictive woman, Mr. Caudle: n.o.body ever called me that but you. What do you say? n.o.body ever knew so much of me? That's nothing at all to do with it. Ha! I would n't have your aggravating temper, Caudle, for mines of gold. It's a good thing I'm not as worrying as you are, or a nice house there'd be between us. I only wish you'd had a wife that would have talked to you! Then you'd have known the difference. But you impose upon me because, like a poor fool, I say nothing. I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle.

8. And a pretty example you set as a father! You'll make your boys as bad as yourself. Talking as you did all breakfast time about your b.u.t.tons! and of a Sunday morning, too! And you call yourself a Christian! I should like to know what your boys will say of you when they grow up! And all about a paltry b.u.t.ton off one of your wristbands! A decent man would n't have mentioned it. Why don't I hold my tongue? Because I won't hold my tongue.

I'm to have my peace of mind destroyed--I 'm to be worried into my grave for a miserable shirt b.u.t.ton, and I'm to hold my tongue! Oh! but that's just like you men!

9. But I know what I'll do for the future. Every b.u.t.ton you have may drop off, and I won't so much as put a thread to 'em. And I should like to know what you'll do then! Oh, you must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you?

That's a pretty threat for a husband to hold out to his wife! And to such a wife as I've been, too: such a slave to your b.u.t.tons, as I may say.

Somebody else to sew 'em'! No, Caudle, no; not while I'm alive! When I'm dead--and, with what I have to bear, there's no knowing how soon that may be--when I 'm dead, I say--oh! what a brute you must be to snore so!

10. You're not snoring? Ha! that's what you always say; but that's nothing to do with it. You must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? Ha! I should n't wonder. Oh, no! I should be surprised at nothing now! Nothing at all! It's what people have always told me it would come to; and now the b.u.t.tons have opened my eyes! But the whole world shall know of your cruelty, Mr. Caudle. After the wife I've been to you. Caudle, you've a heart like a hearthstone, you have!

DEFINITIONS.--5. Ag'gra-vat-ing, provoking, irritating. 6. Sink'ing, failing in strength. 7. Vin-dic'tive, revengeful. 8. Pal'try, mean, contemptible.

XLVI. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

1. Under a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

2. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.

3. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a s.e.xton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.

4. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor.

5. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice.