Sanders' Union Fourth Reader Part 15

LESSON III.

WAR' FARE, conflict; struggle.

CLUTCH ES, paws; firm grasp.

DO MIN' ION, rule; sway.

PIN' ION, wing; as of a bird.

PRE' CIOUS, costly; valuable.

SCOFF' ER, scorner.

VA' RI ED, changing; different.

WAVES, moves to and fro.

PRO PHET' IC, (_ph_ like _f_.) foretelling.

DE SPISE', scorn; disdain.

GOAL, the mark that bounds a race.

BECK' ON, motion; invite with the hand.

LIFE'S WORK.

1. _Life is onward:_ use it With a forward aim; Toil is heavenly: choose it, And its warfare claim.

Look not to another To perform your will; Let not your own brother Keep your warm hand still.

2. _Life is onward:_ never Look upon the past; It would hold you ever In its clutches fast.

_Now_ is your dominion; Weave it as you please; Bid not the soul's pinion To a bed of ease.

3. _Life is onward:_ try it, Ere the day is lost; It hath virtue: buy it, At whatever cost.

If the World should offer Every precious gem, Look not at the scoffer, Change it not for them.

4. _Life is onward:_ heed it, In each varied dress; Your own _act_ can speed it On to happiness.

His bright pinion o'er you Time waves not in vain, If Hope chant before you Her prophetic strain.

5. _Life is onward:_ prize it, In sunshine and in storm; Oh! do not despise it In its humblest form.

Hope and Joy together, Standing at the goal, Through life's darkest weather Beckon on the soul.

QUESTIONS.--1. What do _it_ and _them_ refer to, third verse, last line?

2. Repeat the word _sunshine_ several times in quick succession.

LESSON IV.

AC CUS' TOM ED, used; habituated.

PLAN TA' TIONS, settlements.

PRO TEC' TION, safety; defense.

RE PROACH' FUL, reproving.

CAP' TUR ED, taken prisoners.

DE CID' ED, concluded.

COR O NET, little crown.

SA LUT' ED, greeted.

MON' ARCH, sovereign; ruler.

CON CEAL' ED, hid; secreted.

RE STOR' ED, brought back.

VI' O LENCE, outrage; wrong.

RE BUK' ED, reproved.

LEAGUE, compact; alliance.

TER' RI BLE, fearful; dreadful.

AT TEND' ANT, waiter; servant.

THE YOUNG CAPTIVES.

1. Many years ago, dining the early settlements in New England, the children were accustomed to gather large quant.i.ties of nuts, which grew in great abundance in the forests that surrounded their little plantations.

2. In one of these nut-gatherings, a little boy and girl, the one eight and the other four years of age, whose mother was dead, became separated from their companions. On their way home, they came across some wild grapes, and were busily engaged in gathering them, till the last rays of the setting sun were fading away.

3. Suddenly they were seized by two Indians. The boy struggled violently, and his little sister cried to him for protection; but in vain. The Indians soon bore them far beyond the bounds of the settlement. Night was far advanced before they halted. Then they kindled a fire, and offered the children some food.

4. The heart of the boy swelled high with grief and anger, and he refused to eat. But the poor little girl took some parched corn from the hand of the Indian who held her on his knee. He smiled as he saw her eat the kernels, and look up in his face with a wondering, yet reproachful eye. Then they lay down to sleep in the dark forest, each with an arm over his little captive.

5. Great was the alarm in the colony when these children did not return.

Every spot was searched, where it was thought possible they might have lost their way. But when, at length, their little basket was found, overturned in a tangled thicket, they came to the conclusion that they must have been captured by the Indians.

6. It was decided that before any warlike measures were adopted, the father should go peacefully to the Indian king, and demand his children.

At the earliest dawn of morning he departed with his companions. They met a friendly Indian pursuing the chase, who consented to be their guide.

7. They traveled through rude paths, until the day drew near a close.

Then, approaching a circle of native dwellings, in the midst of which was a tent, they saw a man of lofty form, with a coronet of feathers upon his brow, and surrounded by warriors. The guide saluted him as his monarch, and the bereaved father, bowing down, thus addressed him:

8. "King of the red men, thou seest a father in pursuit of his lost children. He has heard that your people will not harm the stranger in distress. So he trusts himself fearlessly among you. The king of our own native land, who should have protected us, became our foe. We fled from our dear homes--from the graves of our fathers.

9. "The ocean wave brought us to this New World. We are a peaceful race, pure from the blood of all men. We seek to take the hand of our red brethren. Of my own kindred, none inhabit this wilderness, save two little buds, from a broken, buried stem.

10. "Last night, sorrow entered into my soul, because I found them not.

Knowest thou, O king, if thy people have taken my children'? Knowest thou where they have concealed them'? Cause them, I pray thee, to be restored to my arms. So shall the Great Spirit bless thy own tender plants, and lift up thy heart when it weigheth heavily on they bosom."

11. The Indian monarch, fixing on him a piercing glance, said: "Knowest thou me'? Look in my eyes'! Look'! Answer me'! Are they the eyes of a stranger'!" The bereaved father replied that he had no recollection of having ever before seen his countenance.

12. "Thus it is with the white man. He is dim-eyed. He looketh on the _garments_ more than on the _soul_. Where your plows turn up the earth, oft have I stood watching your toil. There was no coronet on my brow.

But I was king. And you knew it not.

13. "I looked upon your people. I saw neither pride nor violence. I went an _enemy_, but returned a _friend_. I said to my warriors, 'Do these men no harm. They do not hate Indians.' Then our white-haired prophet of the Great Spirit rebuked me. He bade me make no league with the pale faces, lest angry words should be spoken of me, among the shades of our buried kings.

14. "Yet, again, I went where thy brethren have reared their dwellings.

Yes; I entered thy house. _And thou knowest not this brow'?_ I could tell _thine_ at midnight, if but a single star trembled through the clouds. My ear would know _thy_ voice, though the storm was abroad with all its thunders.

15. "I have said that I was king. Yet I came to thee hungry, and thou gavest me bread. My head was wet with the tempest. Thou badest me lie down on thy couch, and thy son, for whom thou mournest, covered me.

16. "I was sad in spirit, and thy little daughter, whom thou seekest with tears, sat on my knee. She smiled when I told her how the beaver buildeth his house in the forest. My heart was comforted, for I saw that she did not hate Indians.

17. "Turn not on me such a terrible eye. I am no stealer of babes. I have reproved the people who took thy children. I have sheltered them for thee. Not a hair of their head is hurt. Thinkest thou that the red man can forget kindness'? They are sleeping in my tent. Had I but a single blanket, it should have been their bed. Take them, and return unto thy people."