With a bare bodkin'? Who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life',
But that the dread of something after' death,
That undiscover'd country', from whose bourn
No traveler returns', puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear the ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all';
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry',
And lose the name of action.-SHAKSPEARE.

LESSON V.—THE FOLLY OF CASTLE-BUILDING. 1. ALNAS'CHAR, says the fable, was a very idle fellow, who never would set his hand to any business during his father's life. His father, dying, left to him the value of a hundred drachmas in Persian money. Alnaschar, in order to make the best of it, laid it out in glasses, bottles, and the finest earthenware. These he piled up in a large open basket, and, having made choice of a very little shop, placed the basket at his feet, and leaned his back upon the wall, in expectation of customers. As he sat in this posture, with his eyes upon the basket, he fell into a most amusing train of thought, and was overheard by one of his neighbors, as he talked to himself. “This basket,” says he, “ cost me at the wholesale merchant's a hundred drachmas, which is all I have in the world.

2. “I shall quickly make two hundred of it by selling it in retail. These two hundred drachmas will in a little while rise to four hundred, which of course will amount in time to four thousand. Four thousand drachmas can not fail of making eight thousand. As soon as by this means I am master of ten thousand, I will lay aside my trade of a glass-man and turn jeweler. I shall then deal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of rich stones. When I have got together as much wealth as I can well desire, I will make a purchase of the finest house I can find. I shall then begin to enjoy myself and make a noise in the world. I will not, however, stop there, but still continue my traffic, till I have got together a hundred thousand drachmas.

3. “When I have thus made myself master of a hundred thousand drachmas, I shall naturally set myself on the footing of a prince, and will demand the Grand Vizier's daughter in marriage, after having represented to that minister the in

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formation which I have received of the beauty, wit, discretion, and other high qualities which his daughter possesses. I will let him know, at the same time, that it is my intention to make him a present of a thousand pieces of gold on our marriage night. As soon as I have married the Grand Vizier's daughter, I will make my father-in-law a visit with a grand train and equipage; and when I am placed at his right hand —where I shall be, of course, if it be only to honor his daughter-I will give him the thousand pieces of gold which I promised him, and afterward, to his great surprise, will present him another purse of the same value, with some short speech, as, “Sir, you see I am a man of my word; I always give more than I promise.'

4. “When I have brought the princess to my house, I shall take particular care to keep her in a due respect for me. To this end, I shall confine her to her own apartment, make her a short visit, and talk but little to her. Her women will represent to me that she is inconsolable by reason of my

unkindness, and beg me with tears to caress her, and let her sit down by me; but I shall still remain inexorable, and will turn my back

upon her. Her mother will then come and bring her daughter to me, as I am seated upon my sofa. The daughter, with tears in her eyes, will fling herself at my feet, and beg of me to receive her into my favor. Then will I, to imprint in her a thorough veneration for my person, draw up my legs and

spurn her from me with my foot, in such a manner that she shall fall down several paces from the sofa.”

5. Alnaschar was entirely swallowed up in this chimerical vision, and could not forbear acting with his foot what he had in his thoughts. So that, unluckily striking his basket of brittle ware, which was the foundation of all his grandeur, he kicked his glasses to a great distance from him into the street, and broke them into ten thousand pieces. ADDISON.

LESSON VI.—THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.

Matt., xxv., 35.
1. A POOR wayfaring man of grief

Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief

That I could never answer nay.
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.

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2. Once, when my scanty meal was spread,

He entered-not a word he spake-
Just perishing for want of bread.

I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again ;
Mine was an angel's portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,

The crust was manna to my taste. 3. I spied him where a fountain burst

Clear from the rock; his strength was gone;
The heedless water mocked his thirst;

He heard it, saw it hurrying on-
I ran, and raised the sufferer up;
Twice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipp'd, and returned it running o'er;

I drank, and never thirsted more.
4. 'Twas night. The floods were out; it blew

A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and flew

To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
I laid him on my couch to rest;
Then made the ground my bed, and seemed

In Eden's garden while I dreamed.
5. Stripp'd, wounded, beaten nigh to death,

I found him by the highway side;
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,

Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment. Ile was healed.
I had myself a wound concealed,
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And
peace
bound

up my broken heart. 6. In prison I saw him next, condemned

To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,

And honored him, midst shame and scorn.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die:
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,

But the free spirit cried “I will.” 7. Then in a moment to my

view The stranger started from disguise ; The tokens in his hands I knew

My Savior stood before my eyes. He spake, and my poor name he named — “Of me thou hast not been ashamed; These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not, thou didst them unto me.”—MONTGOMERY.

LESSON VII.--SCENE BETWEEN BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
Cas. Must I endure all this'?

Bru. All this' ? ay', more': Fret till your proud heart break;
Go show your slaves how choleric' you are',
And make your bondmen' tremble. Must budge'?
Must I observe you'? must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor' ? By the gods',
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split' you; for, from this day forth',
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this' ?
Bru. You say you are a better' soldier:
Let it appear' so; make your vaunting true',
And it shall please me well': For mine own part',
I shall be glad to learn of noble' men'.

Cas. You wrong' me every way; you wrong' me, Brutus':
I said an elder' soldier, not a better' :
Did I say better' ?

Bru. If you did', I care not'.
Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.
Bru. «Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him.
Cas. I durst not'?
Bru. No.
Cas. What! durst not tempt him'?
Bru. For your life' you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love';
I may' do that I shall be sorry' for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry' for'.
There is no terror', Cassius', in your threats';
For I am arm’d so strong in honesty',
That they pass by me as the idle wind',
Which I respect' not.

I did send to you
For certain sums of gold', which you denied' me-
For I can raise no money by vile means;

-I had rather coin my heart',
And drop my blood' for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions',
Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius'?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so'?
When Marcus Brutus' grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends',
Be ready, gāds, with āll your thūnderbõlts,
Dash' him to pieces !

SAAKSPEARE.

PART III. SECOND DIVISION OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY

AND HEALTH.

(This subject is continued from the Fourth Reader.)
Fig. 1.

The eyelids are here closed: a,

upper eyelid ; 6, lower eyelid; í, SIDE VIEW OF A VERTICAL SECTION OF THE EYE.

transparent cornea, immediately beneath the eyelid; 1, anterior chamber of the aqueous humor; 30, posterior chamber of the aqueous humor; m, the iris, with its circular opening called “the pupil," in the direction toward which v is pointing; t, the crystalline humor or lens; 8, 8, the vitreous humor; e, e, between these passes the optic nerve; 0, 0, the retina, which is an expansion of the optic nerve spreading over the vitreous humor. The retina is considered the inner coat of the eye. Next outward of this is j, ja the choroid coat, of a dark color, and filled with minute branches of blood vessels. Adjoining this

is. h, h, the sclerotic coat, or white of the eye, into which the cornea fits like a watch-glass into its case; r, capsular artery.

LESSON 1.—THE WINDOW OF THE SOUL. 1. THE EYE has been appropriately called the “window of the soul.” It opens to us, by its wonderful mechanism, a world of beauty, enabling us to perceive the form, color, size,

, and position of surrounding objects; and it probably contributes more to the enjoyment and happiness of man than any other of the organs through which mind holds communion with the external world.

2. A general knowledge of its structure and action, as a living instrument of vision, may be gathered from the drawing above, by the aid of a brief description. The eyelids—the shutters to this window—which open and close to admit or exclude the light, stand also as watchful guardians to protect the instrument from danger; and by their involuntary action the hard and transparent cornea at the front of the eye is kept constantly lubricated, and free from dust.

3. Back of this cornea is a chamber containing the aqueous, or watery humor; and suspended in this is a circular curtain, the colored iris, which has the power of contracting and dilating, to regulate the quantity of light that enters the round

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