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gladly. 5. Mär'vels, wonders. 6. Pre oc'cu pa'tion, state of having the mind already occupied to the exclusion of anything else. 7. Pěd'ant ry, vain show of learning. 8. Be stōw', give. 9. Vaunt'eth, boasts. 10. Un seem'ly, unbecomingly. 11. In iq'ui ty, evil; sin. I2. Văn’ish, disappear.

LESSON XV.

The Land of Memories.

Abram J. Ryan.

ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN, an American poet, was born at Norfolk, Virginia, in 1839. He was educated in the school of the Christian Brothers at Louisville, and then entered a Catholic seminary at Niagara, New York, to study for the priesthood. But soon after his ordination he became a chaplain in the Confederate army, in which he served until the close of the Civil War. In 1865 he settled in New Orleans, where, in addition to his clerical duties, he edited the Morning Star, a weekly Catholic paper. He was also the founder, and for several years the editor, of The Banner of the South, a religious and political weekly, published at Augusta, Georgia.

For about twelve years he was pastor of St. Mary's church, Mobile, Alabama, and in 1880 he went North to lecture and to publish his poems. His health failing, he obtained permission from his Bishop to retire from active duty in the Church, and removed to Biloxi, Mississippi, where he continued his literary work. He was devoted to the South, and is familiarly known as "the poet-priest of the South."

1. "A land without ruins is a land without memories-a land without memories is a land without liberty! A land that wears a laurel crown may be fair to see; but twine a few sad cypress leaves around the brow of any land, and be that land beautiless and bleak, it becomes lovely in its conse

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crated coronet of sorrow, and it wins the sympathy of the heart and history! Crowns of roses fade; crowns of thorns endure! Calvaries and crucifixes take deepest hold of humanity. The triumphs of Might are transient; they pass away and are forgotten. The sufferings of Right are graven deepest on the chronicles of nations!

2. "Yes, give me a land where the ruins are spread,
And the living tread light on the hearts of the dead!
Yes, give me a land that is blest by the dust,
And bright with the deeds of the down-trodden just!
Yes, give me a land that hath legend and lays
Enshrining the memories of long-vanished days!
Yes, give me a land that hath story and song,
To tell of the strife of the Right with the Wrong!
Yes, give me the land with the grave in each spot,
And names in the graves that shall not be forgot!
Yes, give me the land of the wreck and the tomb,
There's a grandeur in graves—there's a glory in gloom!
For out of the gloom future brightness is born,
As after the night, looms the sunrise of morn;
And the graves of the dead, with the grass overgrown,
May yet form the footstool of liberty's throne;
And each single wreck in the war-path of Might
Shall yet be a rock in the Temple of Right!"

DEFINITIONS.—1. Blēak, cold; cheerless. 2. Con'secra'ted, sacred. 3. Cor'o net, a crown. 4. Cru'ci fix'es, crosses. 5. Trănʼsient, passing; of short duration. 6. Chròn'i cles, records; histories. 7. Leg'end, wonderful story. 8. Lays, songs. 9. En shrin'ing, preserving. 10. Looms, rises in view.

LESSON XVI.

The Nightingale.

S. H. Peabody.

The nightingale is unknown in America, but in England and throughout Europe it is deemed the prince of singers. In the evening, after most of nature's sounds are hushed, the nightingale begins its song, and sings, with little rest, all the night. It rarely sings by day, and those kept in cages are often covered with a cloth to make them sing. It is very shy; even naturalists know but little of its habits. Mudie says: "I watched them carefully for more than five years in a place where they were very abundant, and at the end of that time I was about as wise as at the beginning."

The nightingale begins to sing in England in April. Its music is loudest and most constant when it first comes, for then the males are singing in earnest rivalry to attract their mates. When the female has once made her choice, her male becomes very much attached to her, and, if she should be captured, pines and dies. But his song grows less, and, after the eggs are hatched, ceases altogether. The bird-catchers try to secure the singers during the first week, for then by proper care they may be made to sing a long time.

The listener is astonished to hear a volume of sounds so rich and full proceed from the throat of so small a bird. Besides its strength, its delightful variety and exquisite

harmony make its music most admirable. Sometimes it dwells on a few mournful notes, which begin softly, swell to its full power, and then die away. Sometimes it gives in quick succession a series of sharp, ringing notes, which it ends with ascending notes of a rising chord. The birds which are free do not sing `after midsummer, while those which are caged sing until November, or even until February. The young birds need to be under training of some older one, and will often surpass their teachers; few become first-rate.

The nest of the nightingale is not built in the branches, or in a hole, or hanging in the air, or quite on the ground, but is very near it. It is not easily found unless the movements of the bird betray it. The materials are straw, grass, little sticks, dried leaves, all jumbled together with so little art that one can hardly see it when it is right before him. If the same materials were seen anywhere else, they would seem to have been blown together by the wind, and stopped just there by a fork in the branches. There are four or five smooth olive-brown eggs. The bird is about six inches long, and weighs three-quarters of an ounce. Its colors are dark-brown above and grayish-white below.

Izaak Walton says: "But the nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet, loud music out of the little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind think that miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very laborer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, 'Lord, what

music hast Thou provided for Thy saints in heaven, when Thou affordest such music on earth!'"-Taken from The Golden Treasury.

DEFINITIONS.-I. Ri'val ry, contention; competition. 2. At tǎched', devoted. 3. Pine, waste away; droop. 4. Sur påss', excel; do better than. 5. Mir'a cles, wonderful works. 6. Děs'cants, songs in part; varied melodies.

LESSON XVII.

Three Summer Studies.

James Barron Hope.

JAMES BARRON HOPE-lawyer, soldier, and editor-was born near Norfolk, Virginia, in 1827. He was educated at William and Mary College, and began the practice of law at Hampton. In 1857 he wrote the poem for the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of Jamestown, and in 1858 an ode for the dedication of the Washington monument in Richmond.

In 1861 he entered the Confederate service and fought through the war as captain. Afterwards he settled in Norfolk, where he practiced law.

His best poems are "Arms and the Man" and "Memorial Ode," the latter being written just before his death for the laying of the corner-stone of the Lee monument in Richmond in 1887.

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MORNING.

1. The cock hath crowed. I hear the doors unbarred;

I.

Down to the grass-grown porch my way I take,

And hear, beside the well within the yard,

Full many an ancient quacking, splashing drake
And gabbling goose and noisy brood-hen-all
Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call.

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