is own pleasure? Will he be happier in heaven, for the sacrifices he has made nearth? Which had the most of this world to enjoy, Martyn or Byron ? What is said of Byron?

PRONUNCIATION. -Per-son-a-ges, not per-son-ij-is: prin-ci-pal, not prin-ci-pul: sac-ri-fice, not sa-cri-fis: in-car-nate, not in-car-nit: com-fort, not com-fut: rec-ords, not rec-uds: ex-hi-br-tions, not ex-er-bi-tions: mor-al-i-zing, not mor-er-li-zing.

SPELL AND DEFINE. - 1. Attainable: 2. personages: 3. realized: 4. dominion: 5. degraded: 7. fervid: 8. sympathize: 9. exulting: 10. constituents: 11. impulseş: 12. engrossed: 13. disseminating: 14. moralizing.

LESSON LXXV.

RULE.- When two or more consonants come together, let the pupil be careful to sound each one distinctly. He clinched his fists. He lifts his awful form. He makes his payments. Thou smoothedst his rugged path. The president's speech. He struggles strongly.

MARTYN AND BYRON.-(CONTINUED.)

1. ВотH Henry Martyn and Lord Byron shared the sorrows of life, and their records teach the different workings of the Christian and the worldly mind. Byron lost his mother, and when urged not to give way to sorrow, he burst into an agony of grief, saying, "I had but one friend in the world, and now she is gone!" On the death of some of his early friends, he thus writes: "My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I am withered. I have no resource but my own reflections, and they present no prospect here or hereafter, except the selfish satisfaction of surviving my betters. I am indeed most

wretched."

2. And thus Henry Martyn mourns the loss of one most dear. "Can it be that she has been lying so many months in the cold grave? Would that I could always remember it, or always forget it; but to think a moment on other things, and then feel the remembrance of it come, as if for the first time, rends my heart asunder. O my gracious God, what should I do without Thee! But now thou art manifesting thyself as 'the God of all consolation.' Never was I so near thee. There is nothing in the world for which I could wish to live, except because it may please God to appoint me some work to do. O thou incomprehensibly glorious Savior, what hast thou done to alleviate the sorrows of life!"

3. It is recorded of Byron, that, in society, he generally appeared humorous and prankish; yet, when rallied on his melancholy turn of writing, his constant answer was, that though thus merry and full of laughter, he was, at heart, one of the most miserable wretches in existence.

4. And thus he writes: "Why, at the very hight of desire, and human pleasure, worldly, amorous, ambitious, or even avaricious, does there mingle a certain sense of doubt and sorrow, a fear of what is to come, a doubt of what is? If it were not for hope, what would the future be? A hell! As for the past, what predominates in memory? Hopes baffled! From whatever place we commence, we know where it must all end. And yet what good is there in knowing it? It does not make men wiser or better. If I were to live over again, I do not know what I would change in my life, unless it were for not to have lived at all. All history and experience teach us, that good and evil are pretty equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be desired, is an easy passage out of it. What can it give us but years, and these have little of good but their ending."

5. And thus Martyn writes: "I am happier here in this remote land, where I seldom hear what happens in the world, than I was in England, where there are so many calls to look at things that are seen. The precious Word is now my only study, by means of translations. Time flows on with great rapidity. It seems as if life would all be gone before any thing is done. I sometimes rejoice that I am but twenty-seven, and that, unless God should ordain it otherwise, I may double this number in constant and successful labor. But I shall not cease from my happiness, and scarcely from my labor, by passing into the other world."

6. And thus they make their records at anniversaries, when the mind is called to review life and its labors. Thus Byron writes: "At twelve o'clock I shall have completed thirty-three years! I go to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having

*

lived so long and to so little purpose. minutes past twelve, and I am thirty-three!

Alas, my friend, the years pass swiftly by.'

It is now three

But I do not regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have done."

7. And thus Martyn: "I like to find myself employed usefully, in a way I did not expect or foresee. The coming year is to be a perilous one, but my life is of little consequence, whether I finish the Persian New Testament or not. I look back with pity on myself, when I attached so much importance to my life and labors. The more I see of my own works, the more I am ashamed of them, for coarseness and clumsiness mar all the works of man. I am sick when I look at the wisdom of man, but am relieved by reflecting, that we have a city whose builder and maker is God. The least of his works is refreshing. A dried leaf, or a straw, makes me feel in good company, and complacency and admiration take the place of disgust. What a momentary duration is the life of man! It glides along, rolling onward forever,' may be affirmed of the river; but men pass away as soon as they begin to exist. Well, let the moments pass!

They waft us sooner o'er

This life's tempestuous sea,
Soon we shall reach the blissful shore

Of blest eternity!'"

8. Such was the experience of those who in youth completed their course. The poet has well described his own career:

"A wandering mass of shapeless flame,

A pathless comet and a curse,
The menace of the universe;

Still rolling on with innate force,
Without a sphere, without a course,
A bright deformity on high,
The monster of the upper sky!"

9. In holy writ we read of those who are "raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness forever." The lips of man may not apply these terrific words to any whose doom is yet to be disclosed; but there is a passage which none can fear to apply. "Those that are wise, shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness, as stars forever and forever!"

MISS BEECHER.

QUESTIONS. - Which had the most comfort in seasons of affliction, Byron or Martyn? How did Byron feel when he was enjoying himself most? How did Martyn feel when he was cut off from most of the pleasures that Byron was seeking? What is described as the difference of their feelings at their birth days? What poetic description may be applied to Byron ?

ARTICULATION. - Dif-fer-ent, not dif-f'rent: con-so-la-tion, not con-s'la-tion: in-com-pre-hens-i-bly, not in-com-pren-si-bly: glo-ri-ous, not glo-r'ous: mis-er-a-ble, not mis-rr-ble: am-or-ous, not am'rous: av-a-ri-cious, not av'ri-cious: pre-dom-i-nates, not pre-dom'nates: mem-o-ry, not mem'ry: com-pa-ny, not com-p'ny: fir-ma-ment, not firm'ment.

SPELL AND DEFINE.-1. Resource: 2. asunder: 3. rallied: 4 experience: 5. translations, successful: 6. completed: 7. perilous, clumsiness, duration: 8. universe, sphere, deformity, monster.

LESSON LXXVI.

RULE. When similar sounds come at the end of one word, and at the beginning of the next, they must not be blended into one. He sinks sorrowing to the tomb. Man loves society. Time flies swiftly. The birds sing.

Words to be Spelled and Defined.

1. En-tranc'-ed, p. (pro. en-transt') charm- | 26. Me'-te-or, n. a luminous body passing ed, filled with rapture.

9. Whiles, adv. (put for whilst or while). 19. Gar-land, n. a wreath of flowers.

through the air.

1.

BYRON.

HE touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced.
As some vast river of unfailing source,
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed,
And oped new fountains in the human heart.

5. Where fancy halted, weary in her flight,
In other men, his, fresh as morning rose,
And soared untrodden hights, and seemed at home,
Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great,
Beneath their argument seemed struggling whiles,

10. He from above descending, stooped to touch
The loftiest thought; and proudly stooped, as though
It scarce deserved his verse. With nature's self

He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest
At will with all her glorious majesty.

15. He laid his hand upon "the ocean's mane,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks;
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines;
And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend;
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,

20. In sportive twist, the lightning's fiery wing,
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God,
Marching upon the storm in vengeance seemed,
Then turned, and with the grasshopper, which sung
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed.

25. Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were ;

Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms
His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce
As equals deemed.

As some fierce comet of tremendous size,

30. To which the stars did reverence as it passed;
So he through learning and through fancy took
His flight sublime; and on the loftiest top
Of fame's dread mountain sat; not soiled, and worn,
As if he from the earth had labored up;

35. But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair,

He looked, which down from higher regions came,
And perched it there, to see what lay beneath.
Great man! the nations gazed, and wondered much,
And praised: and many called his evil, good.

40. Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness:
And kings to do him honor took delight.
Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame;
Beyond desire, beyond ambition full,
He died; he died of what? Of wretchedness.

45. Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump

Of fame: drank early, deeply drank; drank draughts
That common millions might have quenched, then died
Of thirst, because there was no more to drink.
His goddess nature, wooed, embraced, enjoyed,
50. Fell from his arms abhorred; his passions died;
Died, all but dreary, solitary pride;
And all his sympathies in being died.
As some ill-guided bark, well built and tall,
Which angry tides cast on our desert shore,

55. And then retiring, leave it there to rot
And molder in the winds and rains of heaven;
So he, cut from the sympathies of life,
And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge,