LESSON CX. CLEVER, dexterous, skillful, expert, in FAG, to drudge, to labor to weariness. E-QUIV-O-CA'TION, the use of language that may have a double signification, with the intention of deceiving, shuffling. SUM, the aggregate of two or more numbers; a problem in arithmetic, properly applicable to addition only, but colloquially applied to all arithmetical problems. SCRAPE, & low word for difficulty, trouble. PRONUNCIATION. Listened 21, often er 21, mis-take' 1, re ́al-ly 3a, re-joic'ing 1, get 33, con-sid'er-a-ble 36, nat'u-ral-ly 3a, tim'id 1, sud'den 4d. JOHN STEADY AND PETER SLY.-A DIALOGUE. Peter. Ho, John, do not stumble over that log! It is not a good plan to study lessons as you go to school. John. It is not; but I am in such a scrape! P. What is the matter? J. Why, I believe I have got the wrong lesson. P. I guess not. Let me see; where did you begin? J. Here, at the top of the page; and I learned over three leaves, down to the end of the chapter. P. Well, that is all right. J. Are you sure? P. Certain as can be. J. Well, now, I am half-glad and half-sorry. Only think; poor George Gracie has been getting the wrong lesson. I came by his window, and there he was, fagging away, and when we came to talk about it we found we had been studying in different places. But he was so sure he was right that I thought I must be wrong. P. I know it, I know all about it. J. Why did you tell him wrong? P. No, no; I never tell a lie, you know. But, yesterday, when the master gave out the lesson, George was helping little Timothy Dummy to do a sum; so he only listened with one ear, and the consequence was he misunderstood what the master said; and then he began groaning about such a hard lesson, as we were going home; I laughing to myself all the time. J. What! did you find out his blunder and not set him right? - P. Set him right? Not I. I scolded about the hard lesson, too. J. There, that is the reason he is so positive. He said you had learned the same lesson he had. P. But I never told him so; I only let him think so. J. Ah, Peter, do you think that is right? P. To be sure it is. Do you not know he is at the head of the class, and I am next; and if I get him down to-day, I am sure of the medal? A poor chance I should have had, if he had not made such a blunder. J. Lucky for you, but very unlucky for him; and I must say, I do not call it fair behavior in you, Peter Sly. P. I do not care what you call it, John. It is none of your business, so far as I can see. Let every one look out for himself, and the sharpest will be the best off. J. Not in the end, Peter. You are in at the great end of the horn, now; for, by one trick or another, you are almost always above the rest of us. But if you do not come out at the little end, and come out pretty small, too, I am mistaken, that is all. Here comes poor George, and I will spoil your trick, Mr. Peter. P. That you may, now, as soon as you please. If he can get the right lesson, decently, in half an hour, he is the eighth wonder of the world. I shall have him down, I am sure of that. [Enter George Gracie.] J. Here, George, stop a minute; here is bad news for you. J. School enough for you, I fancy. You have been getting the wrong lesson, after all. G. Oh, John, John! do not tell me so! J. It is true! and the sneaking fellow that sits whittling a stick, and looks so pleased—he knew it yesterday, and would not tell you. G. Oh, Peter! how could you do so? P. Easily enough. I do not see that I am under obligation to help you to keep at the head of the class, when I am the next. G. But you know you deceived me, Peter. I think it would have been but kind and fair to tell me my mistake, as soon as you found it out; but, instead of that, you said things that made me quite sure I was right about the lesson. P. But I did not tell you so; you cannot say I told you so. Nobody ever caught me in a lie. J. But you will lie;—you will come to that yet, if you go on so. P. Take care what you say, sir! G. Come, come, John; do not quarrel with him. He will get the medal now, and it is a cruel thing, too; for I sat up till eleven o'clock last night, studying; and he knew that my father was coming home from Washington to-night, and how anxious I was to have the medal. But it cannot be helped now. P. Poor fellow! don't cry! I declare, there are great tears in his eyes. Now, it is a pity, really! J. For shame, Peter Sly, to laugh at him. You are a selfish, mean fellow; and every boy in school thinks so. G. Come, John; I must go and study my lesson as well as I can. I would rather be at the foot of the class than take such an advantage of any body. [George goes out.] P. The more fool you! Now, he will be in such a fluster that he will be sure to miss in the very first sentence. J. There is the master, coming over the hill; now, if I should just step up to him, and tell him the whole story! P. You know better than to do that. You know he never encourages talebearers. J. I know that very well; and I would almost as soon be a cheat as a tell-tale; but the master will find you out yet, without any body's help; and that will be a day of rejoicing to the whole school. There is not a fellow in it that does not scorn you, Peter Sly. P. And who cares, so long as the master J. Do not be quite so sure about the master, either; he never says much till he is ready. But I have seen him looking pretty sharply at you, over his spectacles, in the midst of some of your clever tricks. He will fetch you up one of these days, when you little think of it. I wish you much joy of your medal, Mr. Peter Sly. You got to the head of the class last week unfairly; and if your medal weighed as much as your conscience ought, I think it would break your neck. [Peter sits whittling and humming a tune.] P. Let me see. I am quite sure of the medal in this class; but there is the writing. John Steady is the only boy I am afraid of. If I could hire Timothy Dummy to pester him, and joggle his desk till he gets angry, I should be pretty sure of that, too. [Enter the master, taking out his watch.] Master. It wants twenty minutes of nine. Peter Sly, come to me. I wish to have some conversation with you before we go into school. P. Yes, sir-What now? He looks rather black. [Aside.] M. For what purpose do you imagine I bestow medals, once a week, on the best of my scholars? P. To make the boys study, I believe, sir. M. And why do I wish them to study? P. Why, to please their parents, I suppose, sir. M. I wish them to study for the very same reason that their parents do that they may get knowledge. I have suspected for some time that you labor under a considerable mistake about these matters. You take great pleasure, I presume, in wearing home that piece of silver hanging round your neck, and your mother takes pleasure in seeing it. .P. Yes, sir; she does. M. And why? What does the medal say to her? Of what is it a sign? P. Why, that I am the best scholar in my class. M. Is that what it says? I think it only shows that you have been at the head of the class oftener during the week than any other boy. P. Well, sir, then, of course, she must think me the best scholar. M. She would naturally think so; for so it ought to be. But you know, Peter Sly, and I know, that a boy who has no sense of honor, no generous feelings, no strictness of principle, may get to the head of his class, and get medals for a time, without being the best scholar. You know how such a thing can be accomplished, do you not? and how the medal may be made to tell a falsehood at home? [Peter hangs his head in silence.] Shall I tell you how I have seen it done? By base tricks; by purposely leading others into mistakes; by taking advantage of every slip of the tongue; by trying to confuse a boy who knows his lesson sufficiently well, but is timid; by equivocations little short of falsehoods, and the forerunners of unblushing lies. Now, sir, a boy who does these things is so weak-minded that he cannot see the proper use of medals, and thinks he is sent here to get medals, instead of being sent to gain knowledge to prepare him for active life; and under this mistake he goes to work for the empty sign, instead of the thing itself. That shows folly. Then he becomes so intent on his object as to care not by what unjustifiable means he obtains it. That shows wickedness, want of principle. Have I any boy in my school of this description? P. Yes, sir; but forgive me! I did not think you ever observed it. M. The artful are very apt to believe themselves more successful than they really are. So you concluded you had deceived me, as well as wronged your companions! Your tears are unavailing, if by them you think I shall be persuaded to drop the subject here. You must be publicly disgraced. P. What, sir! when I have not told a lie! M. Peter! you have not spent a day in perfect truth for weeks. I have watched you in silence and closely for the last month, and I am satisfied that you have not merely yielded occasionally to a sudden temptation, but that deception is an habitual thing with you; that through life you will endeavor to make your way by low knavery, if I do not root the mean vice out of you. Rest assured, your Maker looks on your heart as that of a liar. Go into school; and as I am convinced, from reflecting on several circumstances which took place, that you had no just claim to the very medal you now wear, take your place at the foot of your class. The reasons of your degradation shall be explained in presence of all the pupils! LESSON CXI. BOOM'ING, making a hollow roar. PEN'NON, a small flag or streamer. GAL LANT, brave, high-spirited. SHROUD, part of a ship's rigging. MAG-A-ZINE', a close room in a ship of UN-CON'SCIOUS, without thought of. war, in which the gunpowder is kept. | WREATH'ING, entwining, encircling. PRONUNCIATION.-Tre men'dous 32a, creature 17 and 18, Ca-sa-bi-an ́ca (cah-sahbe-an'cah 7, burn'ing 12, beau'ti-ful 16, he-ro'ic 1. CASABIANCA. 1. THE battle of the Nile, between the French and the British ships, took place August 1, 1798. The Orient was the largest of the French ships, carrying 120 guns, and was commanded by Casabianca. 2. During the battle the Orient was discovered to be on fire. The fire spread with frightful rapidity, and the masts and rigging were soon wrapped in flames. As the fire approached the magazine many jumped overboard and were taken into the English ships. But the poet errs in supposing that all took to flight. 3. The captain's son, a boy ten or twelve years of age, was among those who remained on board the burning ship. His father had been mortally wounded. According to some accounts, the boy did not know this; others say he embraced his dying father, and bound him to a mast which floated off with him. 4. The flames continued to spread, till at last the ship blew up with an explosion so tremendous that every ship in the fleets was shaken to its center. The firing on both sides ceased. For a time there was an awful silence, which, after a minute or two, was broken by the splash of the fragments of the vessel, as they fell from the immense height to which they had been thrown. 5. The boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but him had fled; The flames that lit the battle's wreck shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, as born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, a brave, though childlike form. 6. The flames rolled on - he would not go without his father's word; 7. "Speak, father!" once again he cried, "if I may yet be gone!" And looked from that lone post of death in still, yet brave despair; 8. And shouted but once more aloud, "My father, must I stay?" |