Though you are worthless, witless-never mind it; You may have been a stable-boy-what thên? 'Tis wealth, my friends, makes honorable men'. You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find' it'. 2. But, if you are poor, Heaven help you! though your sire Had royal blood in him', and though you Possess the intellect of angels too, "Tis all in vain'; the world will ne'er inquire On such a score': why should it take the pains'? 3. I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever, 4. 5. Gave him a welcome'. "Strange'," cried I," whence is He walked on this side', then on that', And some said, by their silence, "Better stay at home." A rich man burst the door, As Cræsuse rich: I'm sure He could not pride himself upon his wit'; "Allow me, sir, the honor';" then a bow The poor man hung his head, And to himself he said, "This is, indeed, beyond my comprehension;" Then looking round, one friendly face he found, And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred Of gold or silver ore, But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend' ?" a WIT-LESS, wanting understanding. "SIRE, father. • FORM'-AL-LY, stiffly; ceremoniously. KHEMNITZER. d BURST, opened suddenly. [This poem-an admirable but somewhat difficult reading-lesson-is illustrative of the deference which the mere worldly-minded pay to wealth; while they pass by, unnoticed, the wise and virtuous poor. What figure of speech in the 5th line of the 1st verse? What inflections are given to the words wealth" and "honorable?" What reasons for the different inflections in the last line of the 2d verse? (Rule VI.) In what sense is the word "honest" used, in the 8th line of the 4th verse? What figure of speech is denoted by it? Why the falling inflection at the close of the 4th verse? (Rule X.)] LESSON LXI. THE PHYSICIAN AND THE STUDENT. [From the French of Souvestre.] 1. I WAS awakened by a hand taking mine, and, opening my eyes, the doctor stood before me. 2. After having felt my pulse, he nodded his head, sat down at the foot of the bed, and looked at me, rubbing his nose with his snuff-box. I have since learned that this is always, with him, a sign of satisfaction. 3. "Well! well! what a hurry you were in to leave us!" said the doctor, in his half-joking, half-scolding way. Why, it was necessary to hold you back with both arms, at least!" แ 4. "Then you had given up all hope in my case, doctor'?" asked I, rather alarmed. 5. "Not at all," replied the old physician; "we can't give up that which we have not; and I make it a rule never to hope-but to trust. We are but instruments in the hands of Providence, and each of us should say, with Father Ambrose, 'I tend him; God cures him."" 6. "May He be blessed, then, as well as you," cried I, "and may my health come back with the New Year!" 7. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Begin by asking yourself for its return," resumed he, bluntly. "God has given it to you, and it is your good sense, not chance, that must keep it for you. One would think, to hear people talk, that sickness comes upon us like the rain or the sunshine, without our having a word to say in the matter. Before we complain because we are ill, we should feel assured that we have done our best to be well." 8. I was about to smile, but the doctor looked angry. "Ah! you think I am joking," resumed he, raising his voice; "but tell me, then, which of us gives his health the same attention that he gives to his business'? Do you take the same care of your strength as of your money'? Do you avoid excess and imprudence in the one case, with the same care that you do extravagance and foolish speculations in the other? 9. "Let me ask you farther. Do you keep as regular accounts of your mode of living as of your income'? Do you consider, every evening, what has been wholesome or unwholesome for you? You may smile; but have you not brought this illness upon yourself by a thousand indiscretions?"a 10. I began to protest against this, and asked him to point out these indiscretions. The old doctor spread out his fingers, and began to reckon upon them, one by one. 11. "First," cried he, "want of exercise. You live here like a mouse in a cheese, without air, motion, or change. Consequently, the blood circulates badly; the muscles, being inactive, do not receive their share of nutrition; the stomach flags; and the brain grows weary. 12. "Second: Irregular food. Caprices is your cookyour stomach a slave, who must accept what you give it, but who presently takes a sullen revenge, like all slaves. 13. "Third: Sitting up late. Instead of using the night for sleep, you spend it in reading: your bedstead is a bookcase, your pillow a desk! At the time when the wearied brain asks for rest, you impose the severest labors upon it; and you are surprised to find it the worse for them the next day. 14. "Fourth: Luxurioush habits. Shut up in your attic, you insensibly surround yourself with a thousand enervatingi indulgences. You must have list for your door, a blind for your window, a carpet for your feet, an easy-chair stuffed with wool for your back, your fire lit at the first sign of cold, and a shade to your lamp; and, thanks to all these precautions, the least draught of air makes you take cold; common chairs give you no rest, and you must wear spectacles to aid your near-sightedness or to support the light of day. You have thought you were acquiring comforts, and you have only contracted infirmities.k "Fifth " 15. "Ah! enough, enough, doctor!" cried I. "Pray, do not carry your examination farther. Do not attach a sense of remorse to each of my pleasures." The old doctor rubbed his nose with his snuff-box. He was evidently pleased that I felt the rebuke. 16. "You see," said he more gently, and rising at the same time, "you would escape from the truth. You shrink from inquiry-a proof that you are guilty. But, my friend, do not go on laying the blame on Chance, or Time." 17. Thereupon he again felt my pulse, and took his leave, declaring that his duties were at an end, and that the rest depended upon myself. When the doctor had gone, I set about reflecting upon what he had said. 18. Although his words were, perhaps, too sweeping, they were not the less true in the main. How often we accuse chance of an illness, the origin of which we should seek in ourselves! And are we not equally neglectful of what is far more important-the proper means of preserving the health of the soul? It is, indeed, true that our diseases, whether of mind or of body, are generally the fruit of our follies and vices; and every one of us, within the narrow limits of human capability,1 himself makes his own disposition, character, and permanent condition. SHRUG'GED, drew up. RE-SUM'ED, began again; said. d IN-DIS-CRE"-TIONS, imprudences; follies. 8 CA-PRICE', whim; freak of fancy. CON-TRACT-ED, acquired; obtained. * IN-FIRM'-I-TIES, weaknesses, diseases. CA-PA-BIL'-I-TY, ability; capacity. [This story of the physician and the student is a lesson on health-showing how the student often impairs it by violating some of the first principles of physiology. From the consideration of the health of the body, the writer reverts to the health of the mind or soul, which equally depends on the care and culture we give it. The lesson narrates what was said by the doctor and the student, thereby avoiding the stiffness and formality of dialogue: it describes circumstances; and it is didactic in character, as it enforces, although indirectly, principles and rules of health.] LESSON LXII. THE GOOD TIME COMING. 1. THERE'S a good time coming, boyɛ, We may not live to see the day, But thought's a weapon stronger; 2. There's a good time coming, boys, The pen shall supersede the sword, Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind, 3. There's a good time coming, boys, In the good time coming. |