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again. Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, neither was the word of the Lord yet revealed unto him. And the Lord called Samuel again the third time. And he arose and

went to Eli, and said, Hère am I'; for thou didst call me.

3. And Eli perceived that the Lord had called the child. Therefore Eli said unto Samuel, Gò, lie down; and it shall be, if he call thee, that thou shalt say, Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth. And the Lord came, and stood and called as at other times, Sámuel, Samuel. Then Samuel answered, Speak, for thy servant heareth.

4. And the Lord said to Samuel, Behold, I will do a thing in Israel, at which both the ears of every one that heareth it, shall tingle. In that day I will perform against Eli all things which I have spoken concerning his house; when I begin, I will also make an end. For I have told him, that I will judge his house for ever, for the iniquity which he knoweth; because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not. And therefore I have sworn unto the house of Eli, that the iniquity of Eli's house shall not be purged with sacrifice nor offering for ever.

5. And Samuel lay until the morning, and opened the doors of the house of the Lord and Samuel feared to shew Eli the vision. Then Eli called Samuel, and said, Samuel, my són. And he answered, Here am I. And he said, What is the thing that the Lord hath said unto thee? Í pray thee, hide it not from me: God do so to thee, and more also, if thou hide any thing from me, of all the things that he said unto thee. And Samuel told him every whit, and hid nothing from him. And he said, It is the Lòrd: let Ilim do what seemeth Him good.

6. And Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel, from Dan even to Be er' she ba, knew that Samuel was established to be a prophet of the Lord. And the Lord appeared again in Shiloh: for the Lord revealed Himself in Shiloh by the word of the Lord.

QUESTIONS.-1. Who called Samuel as he was lying in the temple? 2. Who did he think called him? 3. What did the Lord say to him? 4. What is said of Samuel in the last verse?

Why the rising inflection after the second period in the first verse? (Les. V. Rule IV.) Why at Samuel, fifth line of the second verse? Why the falling on the repetition of Samuel, fifth line, third verse? (Les. VI. Rule VIII.) Why at Speak, last line? (Les. VI. Rule VII.) Why does Speak begin with a capital? Ans. First word of a quotation.

LESSON XV.

SPELL AND DEFINE.-1. Emotions, agitations of the mind; movings of feelings. 2. Adieu, farewell. 3. Benefactress, a female who performs acts of kindness. 4. Paternal, pertaining to a father. 5. Recur, come back. 6. Enveloped, covered.

Leaving Home.-ABBOTT.

1. THE lapse of years brought round the time when James was to go away from home. He was to leave the roof of a pious father, to go out into the wide world to meet its temptations and contend with its storms; his heart was oppressed with the many emotions, which were struggling there. The day had come, in which he was to leave the fireside of so many enjoyments-the friends endeared to him by so many associations so many acts of kindness.

2. He was to bid adieu to his mother, that loved, loved benefactress, who had protected him in sickness, and rejoiced with him in health. He was to leave a father's protection, to go forth and act without an adviser, and rely upon his own unaided judgment. He was to bid farewell to brothers and sisters, no more to see them, but as an occasional visiter at his paternal home. Oh, how cold and desolate did the world appear! How did his heart shrink from lanching forth to meet its tempests and its storms!

3. But the hour had come for him to go. and he must suppress his emotions, and triumph over his reluctance. He went from room to room, looking, as for the last time, upon those scenes to which imagination would so often recur, ard where it would love to linger. The well-packed trunk was in the hall, waiting the arrival of the stage. Brothers and sisters were moving about, hardly knowing whether to smile

or to cry.

4. The father sat at the window, humming a mournful air, as he was watching the approach of the stage, which was to bear his son away to take his place far from home, in the busy crowd of a bustling world. The mother, with all the indescribable emotions of a mother's heart, was placing in a small bundle a few little comforts, such as none but a mother could think of and with most generous resolution endeavoring to maintain a cheerful countenance, that, as far as possible, she might preserve her son from unnecessary pain in the hour of departure.

5. "Here, my son," said she, "is a nice pair of stockings

which will be soft and warm for your feet. I have run the heels for you, for I am afraid you will not find any one who will quite fill a mother's place." The poor boy was overflowing with emotion, and did not dare to trust his voice, with an attempt to reply.

6. "I have put a piece of cake here, for you may be hungry on the road, and I will put it in the top of the bundle, so that you can get it without any difficulty. And, in this needle book, I have put up a few needles and some thread; for you may at times want some little stitch taken, and you will have no mother or sisters to

go to."

He took his mother's

7. The departing son could make no reply. He could restrain his emotion only by silence. At last, the rumbling of the wheels of the stage was heard, and the four horses were reined up at the door. The boy endeavored by activity, in seeing his trunk and other baggage properly placed, to gain sufficient fortitude, to enable him to articulate his farewell. He, however, strove in vain. hand. The tear glistened for a moment in her eye, and then silently rolled down her cheek. He struggled with all his energy to say good-by, but he could not. In unbroken silence he shook her hand, and then in silence received the adieus of brothers and sisters, as one after another took the hand of their departing companion.

8. He then took the warm hand of his warm-hearted father. His father tried to smile, but it was the struggling smile of feelings, which would rather have vented themselves in tears. For a moment he said not a word, but retained the hand of his son, as he accompanied him out of the door to the stage. After a moment's silence, pressing his hand, he said, "My son, you are now leaving us; you may forget father and your your mother, your brothers and your sisters, but oh. do not forget your God!"

9. The stage door closed upon the boy. The crack of the driver's whip was heard, and the rumbling wheels bore him rapidly away from all the privileges, and all the happi ness of his early home. His feelings, so long restrained, now burst out, and sinking back upon his seat, he enveloped himself in his cloke, and burst into tears.

10. Ho ir after hour the stage rolled on. Passengers entered and left; but the young man was almost insensible to every thing that passed. He sat in sadness and in silence, in the corner of the stage, thinking of the loved home he he

left. Memory ran back through all the years of his childhood, lingering here and there, with pain, upon an act of disobedience, and recalling an occasional word of unkindness.

11. Just as the sun was going down the western hills, at the close of the day, he alighted from the stage, in the vil lage of strangers, in which he was to find his new home. Not an individual there had he ever seen before. Many a pensive evening did he pass, thinking of absent friends. Many a lonely walk did he take, while his thoughts were far away among the scenes of his childhood. And when the winter evenings came, with the cheerful blaze of the fire-side, often did he think, with a sigh, of the loved and happy group encircling his father's fire-side, and sharing those joys he had left for ever.

12. Reader, you must soon leave your home, and leave it for ever. The privileges and the joys you are now partaking, will soon pass away. And, when you have gone forth into the wide world, and feel the want of a father's care, and of a mother's love, then will all the scenes you have passed through, return freshly to your mind, and the remembrance of every unkind word, or look, or thought, will give you pain.

QUESTIONS-1. Whom was James about to leave? 2. How did his father appear? 3. What things had his mother prepared for him?_4. How did he restrain his feelings on parting with his friends? 5. De

scribe their parting. 6. The journey. 7. How was the young man employed during his journey? 8. When did he reach his new home? 9. Of whom did he then often think? 10. What is said to the reader in the last verse?

Wherein consists the difficulty of giving a distinct articulation, last sentence, second verse? How are waiting, generous, preserve, stockings, privileges, memory, lingering, every, often pronounced? (Les. I. 6.)

LESSON XVI.

SPELL AND DEFINE.-1. Moral, relating to the conduct. 2. Intellec tual, relating to the understanding. 3. Architects, those who make their fortunes-as builders, a house. 4. Mediocrity, a middle degree of tal ents. 5. Obscurity, the state of being unknown. 6. Observation, what one has himself known. 7. Fiat, decree. 8. Condor, a monstrous kind of eagle. 9. Empyreal, relating to pureness of air on account of great clevation.

No Excellence without Labor.—WIRT.

1. THE education, moral and intellectual, of every individual, must be, chiefly, his own work. Rely upon it, that the ancients were right-both in morals and intellect--we

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give their final shape to our characters, and thus become, emphatically, the architects of our own fortune. How else could it happen, that young men, who have had precisely the same opportunities, should be continually presenting us with such different results, and rushing to such opposite destinies? 2. Difference of talent will not solve it, because that dif ference is very often in favor of the disappointed candidate. You shall see issuing from the walls of the same collegenay, sometimes from the bosom of the same family-two young men, of whom the one shall be admitted to be a genius of high order, the òther, scarcely above the point of mediocrity; yet you shall see the former sinking and perishing in poverty, obscurity and wretchedness: while on the other hand, you shall observe the latter plodding his slow but sure way up the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing at every step, and mounting, at length, to eminence and distinction an ornament to his family-a blessing to his country.

3. Now, whose work is this? Manifestly their own. They are the architects of their respective fortunes. The best seminary of learning that can open its portals to you, can do no more than to afford you the opportunity of instruction; but it must depend, at last, on yourselves, whether you will be instructed or not, or to what point you will push your education.

4. And of this be assured-I speak, from observation, a certain truth: THERE IS NO excellence wITHOUT GREAT LABOR. It is the fiat from which no power of genius can absolve you.

5. Genius, unexerted, is like the poor moth that flutters around a candle, till it scorches itself to death. If genius be desirable at all, it is only of that great and magnanimous kind, which, like the condor of South America, pitches from the summit of Chimborazo, above the clouds, and sustains itself, at pleasure, in that empyreal region, with an energy rather invigorated than weakened by the effort.

6. It is this capacity for high and long-continued exerion-this vigorous power of profound and searching investigation-this careering and wide-spreading comprehension of mind-and those long reaches of thought, that

"Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

Where fathom line could never touch the ground,
And drag up drowned honor by the locks."

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