Mr. H and the Steward.
Mr. H. Ha! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home? Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the magpie's dead. H. Poor Mag! So he's gone. How came he to die? S. Overeat himself, sir. H. Did he? A greedy dog; why, what did he get he liked so well? S. Horseflesh, sir; he died of eating horseflesh. H. How came he to get so much horseflesh? S. All your father's horses, sir. H. What! Are they dead, too? S. Ay, sir; they died of overwork. H. And why were they overworked, pray? S. To carry water, sir. H. To carry water! And what were they carrying water for? S. Sure, sir, to put out the fire. H. Fire! What fire? S. O, sir, your father's house is burned to the ground. H. My father's house burned down! And how came it set on fire? S. I think, sir, it must have been the torches. H. Torches! What torches? S. At your mother's funeral. H. My mother dead! S. Ah, poor lady! She never looked up, after it. H. After what? S. The loss of your father. H. My father gone, too? S. Yes, poor gentleman! He took to his bed as soon as he heard of it. H. Heard of what? S. The bad news, sir, and please your honor. H. What! More miseries! More bad news! S. Yes, sir; your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news. -McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader
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Work, work, my boy, be not afraid;
Look labor boldly in the face; Take up the hammer or the spade, And blush not for your humble place. There's glory in the shuttle's song; There's triumph in the anvil's stroke; There's merit in the brave and strong Who dig the mine or fell the oak. The wind disturbs the sleeping lake, And bids it ripple pure and fresh; It moves the green boughs till they make Grand music in their leafy mesh. And so the active breath of life Should stir our dull and sluggard wills; For are we not created rife With health, that stagnant torpor kills? I doubt if he who lolls his head Where idleness and plenty meet, Enjoy his pillow or his bread As those who earn the meals they eat. And man is never half so blest As when the busy day is spent So as to make his evening rest A holiday of glad content. -Eliza Cook (1817-1889) McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader A gentleman who had traveled in Europe, relates that he one day visited the hospital of Berlin, where he saw a man whose exterior was very striking. His figure, tall and commanding, was bending with age, but more with sorrow; the few scattered hairs which remained on his temples were white almost as the driven snow, and the deepest melancholy was depicted in his countenance.
On inquiring who he was and what brought him there, he started, as if from sleep, and, after looking around him, began with slow and measured steps to stride the hall, repeating in a low but audible voice, "Once one is two; once one is two." Now and then he would stop, and remain with his arms folded on his breast as if in contemplation, for some minutes; then again resuming his walk, he continued to repeat, "Once one is two; once one is two." His story, as our traveler understood it, is as follows: Conrad Lange, collector of the revenues of the city of Berlin, had long been known as a man whom nothing could divert from the paths of honesty. Scrupulously exact in all his dealings, and assiduous in the discharge of all his duties, he had acquired the good will and esteem of all who knew him, and the confidence of the minister of finance, whose duty it is to inspect the accounts of all officers connected with the revenue. On casting up his accounts at the close of a particular year, he found a deficit of ten thousand ducats. Alarmed at this discovery, he went to the minister, presented his accounts, and informed him that he did not know how it had arisen, and that he had been robbed by some person bent on his ruin. The minister received his accounts, but thinking it a duty to secure a person who might probably be a defaulter, he caused him to be arrested, and put his accounts into the hands of one of his secretaries for inspection, who returned them the day after with information that the deficiency arose from a miscalculation; that in multiplying, Mr. Lange had said, once one is two, instead of once one is one. The poor man was immediately released from confinement, his accounts returned, and the mistake pointed out. During his imprisonment, which lasted two days, he had neither eaten, drunk, nor taken any repose; and when he appeared, his countenance was as pale as death. On receiving his accounts, he was a long time silent; then suddenly awaking, as if from a trance, he repeated, "Once one is two." He appeared to be entirely insensible of his situation; would neither eat nor drink, unless solicited; and took notice of nothing that passed around him. While repeating his accustomed phrase, if anyone corrected him by saying, "Once one is one," his attention was arrested for a moment, and he said, "Ah, right, once one is one;" and then resuming his walk, he continued to repeat, "Once one is two." He died shortly after the traveler left Berlin. This affecting story, whether true or untrue, obviously abounds with lessons of instruction. Alas! how easily is the human mind thrown off its balance; especially when it is stayed on this world only, and has no experimental knowledge of the meaning of the injunction of Scripture, to cast all our cares upon Him who careth for us, and who heareth even the young ravens when they cry. -McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you. 1 Peter 5:7 Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved. Psalm 55:22 I live for those who love me,
Whose hearts are kind and true; For the heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit, too; For all human ties that bind me, For the task my God assigned me, For the bright hopes left behind me, And the good that I can do. I live to learn their story, Who suffered for my sake; To emulate their glory, And follow in their wake; Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, The noble of all ages, Whose deeds crown History's pages, And Time's great volume make. I live to hold communion With all that is divine, To feel there is a union 'Twixt Nature's heart and mine; To profit by affliction, Reap truth from fields of fiction, Grow wiser from conviction, And fulfil God's grand design. I live to hail that season, By gifted minds foretold, When man shall live by reason, And not alone by gold; When man to man united, And every wrong thing righted, The whole world shall be lighted As Eden was of old. I live for those who love me, For those who know me true; For the heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit, too; For the cause that lacks assistance, For the wrongs that need resistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do. -George Linnaeus Banks McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader (portion) |
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