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day, and secured a decided victory to the Prussians. General Von Manteufel took the colours from Schwerin's hands, and delivered them again to the ensign to whom they belonged; but he had no sooner received them than he was killed by a cannon ball which struck him in the breast.

The field-marshal's body was conveyed to a neighbouring convent, to which the king went to view it; and it is said was so much affected as to shed tears. To commemorate this event, a plate was engraved by Berger, from a painting by Frisch, painter to the court; and the king caused a marble statue of the general to be erected in William's Place at Berlin.

Schwerin, who was of low stature, but active and vigorous, had an engaging and impressive countenance. He was a severe disciplinarian, enforced subordination with strictness, and possessed a most delicate sense of honour, which it was the dearest object of his heart to maintain. He knew how to preserve his dignity with princes of the royal blood, and always obliged them to treat him with respect. The king often consulted him on different points, and was greatly mortified when Schwerin disapproved of his plans, although he never ventured to do so but from mature reflection. He entertained an unfeigned reverence for religion, honoured those who truly obeyed its dictates, and often used to say that a brave general ought to be a good Christian.

ཤ ཤ ན ན ཀ ན ཉ

1. What memorable battle was fought on this day, in 1757? 2. How did Schwerin encourage his men to advance ?

3. What did the last effort of Schwerin secure?

4. To what place was the body of the field-marshal conveyed?

5. What did Frederic to commemorate this event?

LESSON CXXVII.-MAY THE SEVENTH.

The Attraction of Gravitation.

THE attraction of gravitation, commonly called gravity, is that principle in nature by which distant bodies tend towards each other, instances of which occur perpetually in the falling of bodies to the earth; for whether a glass fall from my hand, or a loose tile from the roof of a house, or an apple or pear from a tree, all these happen by the attraction of gravity. It is by this power that all kinds of bodies have a tendency or direction to the earth,

THE ATTRACTION OF GRAVITATION.

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upon which, unless supported, they will fall in lines nearly perpendicular to its surface.

Smoke, vapour, effluvia, steam, and other light bodies, have been thought exceptions to this general rule, inasmuch as formerly it was a current opinion that they possessed no weight. The fallacy of this idea has been evinced by the discovery of the air-pump; for in an exhausted receiver, that is, in a glass jar from which the air has been extracted by means of the air-pump, both smoke and steam descend, by their own weight, as completely as a lump of lead, or any other ponderous body. But the reason of the ascension of smoke and steam is, that they are lighter than the surrounding atmosphere; for, in their ascent, the instant they reach that part of it in which the air is of the same weight as themselves, that very instant they cease to rise.

Sir Isaac Newton, that great luminary of science, was led to make some of his important discoveries by seeing an apple fall from a tree, which circumstance arrested his attention, and set him thinking by what means the apple came to the ground. A person unacquainted with philosophy would say the apple fell because the stalk gave way; and there not being any thing to support it, the apple must fall. But if there were nothing to keep it up, does it follow that it must come to the ground? An apple is inanimate, and inanimate things cannot move of themselves: some force, then, out of itself acts upon it, otherwise it would remain for ever where it was, notwithstanding it were loosened from the tree; for there are only two ways in which it could be moved; the first, by its own power of motion, which it has not; the second, by the power of somewhat else moving it; and the latter was the subject of the philosopher's research.

But as every thing falls to the ground as well as an apple, when there is nothing to support it, there must be an universal cause of this tendency to fall. Now if things out of the earth cannot move themselves to it, there can be no other cause of their coming together than that the earth draws or attracts them. In short, after deep meditation, Sir Isaac Newton discovered that there was a law in nature called attraction, by virtue of which every particle of matter, that is, every thing of which the material world is composed, draws towards it, as a centre, every other particle of matter, with a force proportioned to its size and distance.

Now as the globe of the earth is a prodigious mass of

matter, when compared with all other substances in its vicinity (being several million times larger than any thing belonging to it), it destroys the effect of this attraction between smaller bodies, by drawing them to itself with mighty force, which occasions their falling; and this is called the gravitation of bodies, or what gives them weight. When we lift up any thing, we act contrary to this force, for which reason it seems heavy to us; and it will be heavier the more matter it contains, since thereby the earth's attraction for it is proportionably increased. This attraction or gravitation acts upon every thing alike, animate or inanimate; and the reason why we do not firmly adhere to it is, that we have a power of self-motion, and can, to a certain degree, overcome the attraction of the earth.

1. What is meant by gravity, or the attraction of gravitation ?

2. By what circumstance was Sir Isaac Newton led to make some of his most important discoveries?

3. What law in nature did Sir Isaac Newton discover?

LESSON CXXVIII.

The Lark

MAY THE EIGHTH.

a Parable.

IN the balmy morning of a spring day a farmer walked with his son into the field. The cool morning wind played with the silver locks of the old man, and lifted the blooming stems of the field, so that they appeared like a cloud over the waving grain.

And the good old man said, "Behold, how active nature is for our good! With the same breath which cools our cheeks she makes our fields fruitful, so that our barns are filled.

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Eighty years have I witnessed this, and still it is as pleasing to me as though I saw it to-day for the first time. It may easily be the last! For have I not reached the limit of human life!"

Thus the old man spake. Then the son pressed his hand, and was grieved in his heart.

But the father said, "Why do you mourn? Behold, my day is ended, and my evening has come. If a new morning is to break upon me, it must first be night. But it will appear to me like a night of summer, cool and lovely, when the evening twilight melts into the twilight of morning."

THE SABBATH MORN.

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"Oh, my father!" said the son; "how can you speak so composedly of that which will be to us the cause of severe affliction. You have given me an emblem of your death. Oh, give me an emblem of your life, my father!"

Then the old man replied, "That I can easily do. For the life of a farmer is simple, like nature which surrounds him. See the lark yonder; do you observe how it arises out of the corn-field singing! It does not soar so near the farmer for nothing! For it is the emblem of his life.

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'Behold, it is born and matured in the lap of maternal earth, and feeds itself in the nourishing furrow. Among the waving stems it builds its nest, and hatches its eggs, and takes care of its young. And the animating exhalations of the ground and the green field strengthen its wings and the voice of its bosom. But now it arises towards heaven, and looks down from above on the stems, and grain, and the tender mother, and upwards at the light, which rears the stems, and in the cloud, which sends dew and rain on the earth. As soon as morning begins to dawn it is on the wing, to salute the early messenger of approaching day. And when the evening sun is sinking below the horizon, it rises again to drink of his last celestial beams. Thus it lives a two-fold life, the one silently, in the still shade of the nourishing furrow and the green stems, and the other, singing in the bright regions of a higher world of light. But its two-fold life is only one. For, behold, it rises only to descend, and descends only to rise again!”

Thus the old man spake. And the son fervently pressed the hand of his father and said, "Ah yes, my father, such has been your life! Oh, may it be a source of joy to us yet a long time to come!"

Thereupon the old man replied, "The clod is too heavy for me! Why do you envy me the undivided life of pure harmony and brighter light!

"The day is sultry. Come, let us return home."

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How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour; hush'd
The ploughboy's whistle and the milk-maid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath

Of tedded grass, mingled with faded flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze.
Sounds the most faint attract the ear -the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,

The distant bleating, mid-way up the hill;
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale,
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard at intervals
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.
With dove-like wings, peace o'er yon village broods!
The dizzy mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din
Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness.
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare
Stops and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large;
And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls,
His iron-arm'd hoofs gleam in the morning ray.
But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys.

Hail, SABBATH! thee I hail, the poor man's day!
On other days, the man of toil is doom'd
To eat his joyless bread, lonely; the ground

Both seat and board; screen'd from the Winter's cold,
And Summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree; -
But on this day, embosom'd in his home,

He shares the frugal meal with those he loves;
With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy
Of giving thanks to God—not thanks of form,
A word and a grimace, but reverently,
With cover'd face, and upward earnest eye.

Hail, SABBATH! thee I hail, the poor man's day!
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke;
While wandering slowly up the river's side,
He meditates on HIM whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its root; and while he thus surveys
With elevated joy each rural charm,

He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope,
That heaven may be one SABBATH without end!

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