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of Green. He had no family, except an only daughter named Alice; and she, at the period when our story commences, was staying with an aunt, at Norwich, in Connecticut, a distance of about one hundred miles, by the common course of travel.

3. It was late in November, when Mr. Green was suddenly called to go to England; and, as he desired to take his daughter with him, a letter was despatched by post to the aunt, at Norwich, to have little Alice sent on to Boston as speedily as possible.

4. The mail at that time was carried on horseback; and at the end of five days the epistle above mentioned reached its destination. The season was uncommonly cold; and winter, with bitter blasts, and premonitory flurries of snow, had already set in. How, then, in the absence of all public conveyances, was Alice Green to be transported a hundred miles?

5. Various plans were proposed, discussed, and abandoned. Nothing better could be devised than to commit the child to a stout Indian, named Uncas, belonging to the Mohegan tribe, which still lingered in considerable numbers around their original haunts, in the vicinity of Norwich. He was known to be faithful, athletic, and inured to toil and exposure.

6. Uncas was therefore engaged to undertake the task; and at a time appointed Alice was committed to his care. It was a chill morning about the first of December. The thin gray clouds obscured the sky; the air was keen and biting; and here and there a small, round flake of snow fell softly to the earth.

7. Aunt Green kissed Alice heartily, bade her be of good cheer, stuffed her bag with gingerbread, saw her snug on old Uncas's back, tucked his blanket close around her, pulled the fur of her cap over her ears, and, shedding a few tears, saw her depart.

8. Uncas had no idea of taking the beaten path-it was too circuitous for him. Striking into the fields, he took a straight line for Boston, and pursued his way across hill and dale, through forest and glade, as these might chance to lie in his way.

9. The snow soon began to fall, and the earth was speedily carpeted with it. But this did not disturb either Uncas or his charge. He strode on at a measured pace, and Alice amused herself with the new objects that met her sight. After a time she slept; and thus the day passed by. At night they found shelter at an Indian hut, where the little girl slept soundly upon a bed of bear-skins.

10. Early the next morning they departed upon their journey. But now the storm was raging in good earnest. The air was filled with myriads of snow-flakes, which the sharp blast dashed in drifts and eddies along the earth. The wind was in the face of the travelers, and such was the arrow-like swiftness of the snow that it fell upon the face like driving hail.

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11. Uncas heeded not this for himself. Seeing that Alice was protected from the storm, he bent to the gale, and pushed on as sturdily and steadily as if it had been a dead calm. Hour after hour he marched silently forward, the snow increasing at every step, and the woods rocking and roaring in the tempest.

12. All around was desolate. Every sign of vegetable life was buried in the snowy winding-sheet; not a bird was heard or seen; even the hardy squirrel, that so gaily bides the winter blast, was snug in his retreat. No house of man was near. The deep forest spread around on every side. No path guided the footsteps of the travelers.

13. Thus unaided, unsupported, the dark and moody man pursued his way. Alice had fallen asleep; for even in such circumstances, sleep comes to soothe the heart of childhood. On strode Uncas with that settled look of endurance, that serious, melancholy, mysterious aspect which marks his race, and which seems imprinted by communion with the rock and the forest, the river and the mountain, the cataract and the thunderbolt.

14. The day passed, and night at length came. through the snow, now nearly up to his waist, the little from his course, and, as if familiar with the

Plowing his way Indian turned a place, laid down

his charge at the mouth of a cave. They entered; a fire was lighted, and the meal was eaten. The blanket was spread, Alice went to sleep, and the Indian watched by her side.

15. The morning came. The day was fair, but the snow was so deep as to render it difficult to proceed. Uncas, however, did not hesitate. As if no obstacle were in his way, with Alice mounted on his shoulders, he set forward, and, with long and laborious strides, advanced on his journey. Night brought him to a white man's dwelling, where the Indian and his precious burden were kindly entertained.

16. On the fifth day after his departure, the faithful Indian reached Boston, and safely delivered Alice into the arms of her father. He was amply rewarded, and speedily set out on his return.

17. Such was a journey, in New-England, of a hundred miles, a hundred and fifty years ago!a journey which at this day, by means of a rail-road, can be accomplished in four hours!

LESSON CXVI.

BIER, a carriage for conveying the dead. | PART, to go away, to depart.
BOARD, a table.

FESTAL, pertaining to a feast.

LAN GUID, flagging, drooping, weary.

SHRINE, a case in which sacred things

are deposited; an altar.

TURF, sod.

PRONUNCIATION.- Shak'en 4d, lan'guid 24, shrine 23, hearth 33, an-oth'er 27a.

BRING FLOWERS.

1. BRING flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreath the cup ere the wine is poured!
Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale;
Their breath floats out on the southern gale;
And the torch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

2. Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path!
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath;
He comes with the spoils of nations back;
The vines lie crushed in his chariot's track;
The turf looks red where he won the day-
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way.

3. Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell!
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell;
Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye;
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,

And the dream of his youth-bring him flowers, wild flowers.

4. Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear!
They were born to blush in her shining hair:
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth;
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth;
Her place is now by another's side -
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair

young bride.

5. Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead!

For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst;
For this in the woods was the violet nursed;

Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift — bring ye flowers, pale flowers.
6. Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer!
They are nature's offering; their place is there;
They speak of hope to the fainting heart;

With a voice of promise they come and depart;
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours;

They break forth in glory - bring flowers, bright flowers.

HEMANS.

LESSON CXVII.

DE-VISE', to contrive, to plan.
LU'MIN-A-RY, any body that gives light;
the great luminary is the sun.
MAG'IS-TRATE, a public civil officer.
PRE'VI-OUS, going before in time, prior.

SOL'ACE, to comfort, to cheer.
SOLICITUDE, anxiety.

TA'PER, a small wax candle, a small
light.

TRANʼQUIL, quiet, calm, peaceful.

PRONUNCIATION.-Su-pe'ri-or 16 and 19, pur-suits' 16 and 19, bus'tle 21, glimmer-ing 3b, sol'a-cing 27a, his'to-ry 3d.

WASHINGTON IN RETIREMENT.

1. THERE is no part of Washington's career which commands more admiration than his private life after he had retired from the presidency of the United States. Having served his country as a soldier and a chief magistrate, he had yet something to do,- to set a great and noble example in the surrender of power and personal ambition. The following passages will show that in this, as in every thing else, he seems to be superior to almost all other men.

2. Being established again at Mount Vernon, and freed from public toils and cares, Washington returned to the same habits of life and the same pursuits that he had always practiced at that place. In writing to a friend, a few weeks after his return, he said that he began his daily course with the rising of the sun, and first made preparations for the business of the day.

3. "By the time I have accomplished these matters," he adds, "breakfast is ready. This being over, I mount my horse and ride

round my farms, which employs me until it is time to dress for dinner; at which I rarely miss seeing strange faces, come, as they say, out of respect for me.

4. The usual time of sitting at table, a walk, and tea, bring me within the dawn of candle-light; previous to which, if not prevented by company, I resolve that, as soon as the glimmering taper supplies the place of the great luminary, I will retire to my writing-table, and reply to the letters I have received. This history of a day will serve for a year."

5. And in this manner a year passed away, and with no other variety than that of the change of visitors, who came from all parts to pay their respects or gratify their curiosity.

6. The feelings of Washington on being relieved from the solicitude and burdens of office were forcibly expressed in letters to his friends. "At length," said he, in writing to Lafayette, "I have become a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac.

7. "Under the shadow of my own vine and fig-tree, free from the bustle of a camp, and the busy scenes of public life, I am solacing myself with those tranquil enjoyments of which the soldier, who is ever in pursuit of fame, the statesman, whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent in devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin of other countries- -as if this globe were insufficient for us all-and the courtier, who is always watching the countenance of his prince, in hopes of catching a gracious smile, can have very little conception.

8. "I have not only retired from all public employments, but I am retiring within myself, and shall be able to view the solitary walk, and tread the paths of private life, with heartfelt satisfaction. vious of none, I am determined to be pleased with all.”

En

LESSON CXVIII.

VOCAL GYMNASTICS.

REFER TO CAUTION 19.-When the consonant s is followed by u, avoid giving to s the sound of sh, as when suit is pronounced shoot. But note the exceptions mentioned in the caution-and also that in u'sual, s should have the sound of zh.

(5.)

(1.) I assume the debt. (2.) Resume the argument. (3.) Be not presuming. (4) The fire consumed it. That is a suitable offer. (6.) God is supreme. (7.) Be superior to superstition (8.) "The rooms, Madam, do not exactly suit me."-"Then, Sir," she replied, "you may go and shoot yourself elsewhere." (9.) But suicide did not suit me either. (10.) The sugar is consumed. (11.) A superfluous suture may ensue. (12.) The suitor, though superb, was supine.

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