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diff --git a/17378.txt b/17378.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..764012e --- /dev/null +++ b/17378.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18056 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Successful Recitations, by Various, Edited by +Alfred H. Miles + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Successful Recitations + + +Author: Various + +Editor: Alfred H. Miles + +Release Date: December 22, 2005 [eBook #17378] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUCCESSFUL RECITATIONS*** + + +E-text prepared by Roy Brown + + + +SUCCESSFUL RECITATIONS + +Edited by + +ALFRED H. MILES + +1901 + + + + + + + +"Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly +on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had +as lief the town-crier spoke my lines."--_Hamlet_. SHAKESPEARE. + + + + +London: +S. H. Bousfield & Co., Ld., +Norfolk House, Norfolk Street W.C. +London: +Printed by H. Virtue And Company, Limited. +City Road. + + + + + +PREFACE. + +Many things go to the making of a successful recitation. + +A clear aim and a simple style are among the first of these: the +subtleties which make the charm of much of the best poetry are lost +in all but the best platform work. The picturesque and the dramatic +are also essential elements; pictures are the pleasures of the eyes, +whether physical or mental, and incident is the very soul of +interest. + +The easiest, and therefore often the most successful, recitations are +those which recite themselves; that is, recitations so charged with +the picturesque or the dramatic elements that they command attention +and excite interest in spite of poor elocution and even bad delivery. +The trouble with these is that they are usually soon recognized, and +once recognized are soon done to death. There are pieces, too, which, +depending upon the charm of novelty, are popular or successful for a +time only, but there are also others which, vitalised by more +enduring qualities, are things of beauty and a "joy for ever." + +But after all it is not the Editor who determines what are and what +are not successful recitations. It is time, the Editor of Editors, +and the public, our worthy and approved good masters. It is the +public that has made the selection which makes up the bulk of this +volume, though the Editor has added a large number of new and less +known pieces which he confidently offers for public approval. The +majority of the pieces in the following pages _are_ successful +recitations, the remainder can surely be made so. + + A.H.M. + + + + + + +THE ROYAL RECITER. + + + + + +PREFATORY. + +True Patriotism is the outcome of National home-feeling and +self-respect. + +Home-feeling is born of the loving associations and happy memories +which belong to individual and National experience; self-respect is +the result of a wise and modest contemplation of personal or National +virtues. + +The man who does not respect himself is not likely to command the +respect of others. And the Nation which takes no pride in its history +is not likely to make a history of which it can be proud. + +But self-respect involves self-restraint, and no man who wishes to +retain his own respect and to merit the respect of others would think +of advertising his own virtues or bragging of his own deeds. Nor +would any Nation wishing to stand well in its own eyes and in the +eyes of the world boast of its own conquests over weaker foes or +shout itself hoarse in the exuberance of vainglory. + +Patriotism is not to be measured by ostentation any more than truth +is to be estimated by volubility. + +The history of England is full of incidents in which her children may +well take an honest pride, and no one need be debarred from taking a +pride in them because there are other incidents which fill them with +a sense of shame. As a rule it will be found that the sources of +pride belong to the people themselves, and that the sources of shame +belong to their rulers. It would be difficult to find words strong +enough to condemn the campaign of robbery and murder conducted by the +Black Prince against the peaceful inhabitants of Southern France in +1356, but it would be still more difficult to do justice to the +magnificent pluck and grit which enabled 8,000 Englishmen at Poitiers +to put to flight no less than 60,000 of the chosen chivalry of +France. The wire-pullers of state-craft have often worked with +ignoble aims, but those who suffer in the working out of political +schemes often sanctify the service by their self-sacrifice. There is +always Glory at the cannon's mouth. + +In these days when the word Patriot is used both as a party badge and +as a term of reproach, and when those who measure their patriotism by +the standards of good feeling and self-respect are denied the right +to the use of the term though they have an equal love for their +country and take an equal pride in their country's honourable +achievements, it seems necessary to define the word before one +applies it to oneself or puts one's name to what may be called +patriotic verse. + +It is a bad day for any country when false standards of patriotism +prevail, and at such times it is clearly the duty of intelligent +patriotism to uphold true ones. + + ALFRED H. MILES. +_October_, 1901. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + NAME. AUTHOR. + +John Bull and His Island Alfred H. Miles +The Red Rose of War F. Harald Williams +England Eliza Cook +A Song for Australia W. C. Bennet +The Ploughshare of Old England Eliza Cook +The Story of Abel Tasman Frances S. Lewin +The Groom's Story A. Conan Doyle +The Hardest Part I ever Played Re Henry +The Story of Mr. King David Christie Murray +The Art of Poetry From "Town Topics" +The King of Brentford's Testament W. M. Thackeray. +"Universally Respected" J. Brunton Stephens +The Amenities of Shopping Leopold Wagner +Shamus O'Brien J. S. Le Fanu +Home, Sweet Home William Thomson +The Cane Bottom'd Chair W. M. Thackeray +The Alma W. C. Bennet +The Mameluke Charge Sir F. H. Doyle +My Lady's Leap Campbell Rae-Brown +A Song for the end of the Season J. R. Planche +The Aged Pilot-man Mark Twain +Tim Keyser's Nose Max Adeler +The Lost Expression Marshall Steele +A Night Scene Robert B. Brough +Karl the Martyr Frances Whiteside +The Romance of Tenachelle Hercules Ellis +Michael Flynn William Thomson +A Night with a Stork William G. Wilcox +An Unmusical Neighbour William Thomson +The Chalice David Christie Murray +Livingstone Henry Lloyd +In Swanage Bay Mrs. Craik +Ballad of Sir John Franklin G. H. Boker +Phadrig Crohoore J. S. Le Fanu +Cupid's Arrows Eliza Cook +The Crocodile's Dinner Party E. Vinton Blake +"Two Souls with but a Single Thought" William Thomson +A Risky Ride Campbell Rae-Brown +On Marriage Josh Billings +The Romance of Carrigcleena Hercules Ellis +The False Fontanlee W. C. Roscoe +The Legend of St. Laura Thomas Love Peacock +David Shaw, Hero J. Buckham +Brotherhood Alfred H. Miles +The Straight Rider H. S. M. +Women and Work Alfred H. Miles +A Country Story Alfred H. Miles +The Beggar Maid Lord Tennyson +The Vengeance of Kafur Clinton Scollard +The Wishing Well V. W. Cloud +The Two Church Builders John G. Saxe +The Captain of the Northfleet Gerald Massey +The Happiest Land H. W. Longfellow +The Pipes of Lucknow J. G. Whittier +The Battle of the Baltic Thomas Campbell +The Grave Spoilers Hercules Ellis +Bow-Meeting Song Reginald Heber +The Ballad of Rou Lord Lytton +Bingen on the Rhine Hon. Mrs. Norton +Deeds, not Words Captain Marryat +Old King Cole Alfred H. Miles +The Green Domino Anonymous +The Legend Beautiful H. W. Longfellow +The Bell of Atri H. W. Longfellow +The Storm Adelaide A. Proctor +The Three Rulers Adelaide A. Proctor +The Horn of Egremont Castle William Wordsworth +The Miracle of the Roses Robert Southey +The Bridal of Malahide Gerald Griffin +The Daughter of Meath T. Haynes Bayley +Glenara Thomas Campbell +A Fable for Musicians Clara D. Bates +Onward. A Tale of the S.E.R. Anonymous +The Declaration N. P. Willis +Love and Age Thomas Love Peacock +Half an Hour before Supper Bret Harte +He Worried About It S. W. Foss +Astronomy made Easy Anonymous +Brother Watkins John B. Gough +Logic Anonymous +The Pride of Battery B F. H. Gassaway +The Dandy Fifth F. H. Gassaway +Bay Billy F. H. Gassaway +The Old Veteran Bayard Taylor +Santa Claus Alfred H. Miles + + + + +THE +ROYAL RECITER + +_EDITED BY ALFRED H. MILES_. + + + + + +JOHN BULL AND HIS ISLAND. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + +There's a doughty little Island in the ocean,-- + The dainty little darling of the free; +That pulses with the patriots' emotion, + And the palpitating music of the sea: +She is first in her loyalty to duty; + She is first in the annals of the brave; +She is first in her chivalry and beauty, + And first in the succour of the slave! +Then here's to the pride of the ocean! + Here's to the pearl of the sea! +Here's to the land of the heart and the hand + That fight for the right of the free! +Here's to the spirit of duty, + Bearing her banners along-- +Peacefully furled in the van of the world + Or waving and braving the wrong. + +There's an open-hearted fellow in the Island, + Who loves the little Island to the full; +Who cultivates the lowland and the highland + With a lover's loving care--John Bull +His look is the welcome of a neighbour; + His hand is the offer of a friend; +His word is the liberty of labour; + His blow the beginning of the end. +Then here's to the Lord of the Island; + Highland and lowland and lea; +And here's to the team--be it horse, be it steam-- + He drives from the sea to the sea, +Here's to his nod for the stranger; + Here's to his grip for a friend; +And here's to the hand, on the sea, or the land, + Ever ready the right to defend. + +There's a troop of trusty children from the Island + Who've planted Englands up and down the sea; +Who cultivate the lowland and the highland + And fly the gallant colours of the free: +Their hearts are as loyal as their mother's; + Their hands are as ready as their sire's +Their bond is a union of brothers,-- + Who fear not a holocaust of fires! +Then here's to the Sons of the nation + Flying the flag of the free; +Holding the farm and the station, + Keeping the Gates of the Sea; +Handed and banded together, + In Arts, and in Arms, and in Song, +Father and son, united as one, + Bearing her Banners along, +Peacefully furled in the van of the world, + Or waving and braving the wrong! + + + + +THE RED ROSE OF WAR. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + +God hath gone forth in solemn might to shake + The peoples of the earth, +Through the long shadow and the fires that make + New altar and new hearth! +And with the besom of red war He sweeps + The sin and woe away, +To purge with fountains from His ancient deeps + The dust of old decay. +O not in anger but in Love He speaks + From tempest round Him drawn, +Unveiling thus the fair white mountain peaks + Which tremble into dawn. + +Not otherwise would Truth be all our own + Unless by flood and flame, +When the last word of Destiny is known-- + God's fresh revealed Name. +For thence do windows burst in Heaven and light + Breaks on our darkened lands, +And sovereign Mercy may fulfil through night + The Justice it demands. +Ah, not in evil but for endless good + He bids the sluices run +And death, to mould His blessed Brotherhood + Which had not else begun. + +For if the great Arch-builder comes to frame + Yet broader empires, then +He lays the stones in blood and splendid shame + With glorious lives of men. +He takes our richest and requires the whole + Nor is content with less, +He cannot rear by a divided dole + The walls of Righteousness. +And so He forms His grand foundations deep + Not on our golden toys, +But in the twilight where the mourners weep + Of broken hearts and joys. + +And He will only have the best or nought, + A full and willing price, +When the tall towers eternal are upwrought + With tears and sacrifice. +Our sighs and prayers, the loveliness of loss, + The passion and the pain +And sharpest nails of every noble cross, + Were never borne in vain. +That fragrant faith the incense of His courts, + Whereon this dim world thrives +And hardly gains at length His peaceful ports, +Is wrung from bruised lives. + +Lo, when grim battle rages and is shed + A dreadful crimson dew, +God is at work and of the gallant dead + He maketh man anew. +The hero courage, the endurance stout, + The self-renouncing will, +The shock of onset and the thunder shout + That triumph over ill-- +All wreak His purpose though at bitter cost + And fashion forth His plan, +While not a single sob or ache is lost + Which in His Breath began. + +Each act august, which bravely in despite + Of suffering dared to be, +Is one with the grand order infinite + Which sets the kingdoms free. +The pleading wound, the piteous eye that opes + Again to nought but pangs, +Are jewels and sweet pledges of those hopes + On which His empire hangs. +But if we travail in the furnace hot + And feel its blasting ire, +He learns with us the anguish of our lot + And walketh in the fire. + +He wills no waste, no burden is too much + In the most bitter strife; +Beneath the direst buffet is His touch, + Who holds the pruning knife. +We are redeemed through sorrow, and the thorn + That pierces is His kiss, +As through the grave of grief we are re-born + And out of the abyss. +The blood of nations is the precious seed + Wherewith He plants our gates +And from the victory of the virile deed + Spring churches and new states. + +And they that fall though but a little space + Fall only in His hand, +And with their lives they pave the fearful place + Whereon the pillars stand. +God treads no more the winepress of His wrath + As once He did alone, +He bids us share with Him the perilous path + The altar and the throne. +When from the iron clash and stormy stress + Which mark His wondrous way, +Shines forth all haloed round with holiness + The rose of perfect day. + + + + +ENGLAND. + +BY ELIZA COOK. + + +My heart is pledg'd in wedded faith to England's "Merrie Isle," +I love each low and straggling cot, each famed ancestral pile; +I'm happy when my steps are free upon the sunny glade, +I'm glad and proud amid the crowd that throng its mart of trade; +I gaze upon our open port, where Commerce mounts her throne, +Where every flag that comes 'ere now has lower'd to our own. +Look round the globe and tell me can ye find more blazon'd names, +Among its cities and its streams, than London and the Thames? + +My soul is link'd right tenderly to every shady copse, +I prize the creeping violets, the tall and fragrant hops; +The citron tree or spicy grove for me would never yield, +A perfume half so grateful as the lilies of the field. +Our songsters too, oh! who shall dare to breathe one slighting word, +Their plumage dazzles not--yet say can sweeter strains be heard? +Let other feathers vaunt the dyes of deepest rainbow flush, +Give me old England's nightingale, its robin, and its thrush. + +I'd freely rove through Tempe's vale, or scale the giant Alp, +Where roses list the bulbul's late, or snow-wreaths crown the scalp; +I'd pause to hear soft Venice streams plash back to boatman's oar, +Or hearken to the Western flood in wild and falling roar; +I'd tread the vast of mountain range, or spot serene and flower'd, +I ne'er could see too many of the wonders God has shower'd; +Yet though I stood on fairest earth, beneath the bluest heaven, +Could I forget _our_ summer sky, _our_ Windermere and Devon? + +I'd own a brother in the good and brave of any land, +Nor would I ask his clime or creed before I gave my hand; +Let but the deeds be ever such that all the world may know, +And little reck "the place of birth," or colour of the brow; +Yet though I hail'd a foreign name among the first and best, +Our own transcendent stars of fame would rise within my breast; +I'd point to hundreds who have done the most 'ere done by man, +And cry "There's England's glory scroll," do better if you can! + + + + +A SONG FOR AUSTRALIA + +_GOD BLESS THE DEAR OLD LAND_, + +BY WILLIAM COX BENNET. + + +A thousand leagues below the line, 'neath southern stars and skies, +'Mid alien seas, a land that's ours, our own new England lies; +From north to south, six thousand miles heave white with ocean foam, +Between the dear old land we've left and this our new-found home; +Yet what though ocean stretch between--though here this hour we + stand! +Our hearts, thank God! are English still; God bless the dear old + land! +"To England!" men, a bumper brim; up, brothers, glass in hand! +"England!" I give you "England!" boys; "God bless the dear old land!" + +O what a greatness she makes ours? her past is all our own, +And such a past as she can boast, and brothers, she alone; +Her mighty ones the night of time triumphant shining through, +Of them our sons shall proudly say, "They were our fathers too;" +For us her living glory shines that has through ages shone; +Let's match it with a kindred blaze, through ages to live on; +Thank God! her great free tongue is ours; up brothers, glass in hand! +Here's "England," freedom's boast and ours; "God bless the dear old + land!" + +For us, from priests and kings she won rights of such priceless worth +As make the races from her sprung the freemen of the earth; +Free faith, free thought, free speech, free laws, she won through + bitter strife, +That we might breathe unfetter'd air and live unshackled life; +Her freedom boys, thank God! is ours, and little need she fear, +That we'll allow a right she won to die or wither here; +Free-born, to her who made us free, up brothers glass in hand! +"Hope of the free," here's "England!" boys, "God bless the dear old + land!" + +They say that dangers cloud her way, that despots lour and threat; +What matters that? her mighty arm can smite and conquer yet; +Let Europe's tyrants all combine, she'll meet them with a smile; +Hers are Trafalgar's broadsides still--the hearts that won the Nile: +We are but young; we're growing fast; but with what loving pride, +In danger's hour, to front the storm, we'll range us at her side; +We'll pay the debt we owe her then; up brothers glass in hand! +"May God confound her enemies! God bless the dear old land!" + + + + +THE PLOUGHSHARE OF OLD ENGLAND. + +BY ELIZA COOK. + + +The Sailor boasts his stately ship, the bulwark of the Isle; +The Soldier loves his sword, and sings of tented plains the while; +But we will hang the ploughshare up within our fathers' halls, +And guard it as the deity of plenteous festivals: + +We'll pluck the brilliant poppies, and the far-famed barley-corn, +To wreathe with bursting wheat-ears that outshine the saffron morn; +We'll crown it with a glowing heart, and pledge our fertile land, +The ploughshare of old England, and her sturdy peasant band! + +The work it does is good and blest, and may be proudly told, +We see it in the teeming barns, and fields of waving gold: +Its metal is unsullied, no blood-stain lingers there; +God speed it well, and let it thrive unshackled everywhere. + +The bark may rest upon the wave, the spear may gather dust, +But never may the prow that cuts the furrow lie and rust. +Fill up! fill up! with glowing heart, and pledge our fertile land, +The ploughshare of old England, and her sturdy peasant band. + + + + +THE STORY OF ABEL TASMAN. + +(DISCOVERER OF TASMANIA.) + +BY FRANCES S. LEWIN. + + +Bold and brave, and strong and stalwart, + Captain of a ship was he, +And his heart was proudly thrilling + With the dreams of chivalry. +One fair maiden, sweet though stately, + Lingered in his every dream, +Touching all his hopes of glory + With a brighter, nobler gleam. + +Daughter of a haughty father, + Daughter of an ancient race, +Yet her wilful heart surrendered, + Conquered by his handsome face; +And she spent her days in looking + Out across the southern seas, +Picturing how his bark was carried + Onward by the favouring breeze. + +Little wonder that she loved him, + Abel Tasman brave and tall; +Though the wealthy planters sought her, + He was dearer than them all. +Dearer still, because her father + Said to him, with distant pride, +"Darest thou, a simple captain, + Seek my daughter for thy bride?" + +But at length the gallant seaman + Won himself an honoured name; +When again he met the maiden, + At her feet he laid his fame: +Said to her, "My country sends me, + Trusted with a high command, +With the 'Zeehan' and the 'Heemskirk,' + To explore the southern strand." + +"I must claim it for my country, + Plant her flag upon its shore; +But I hope to win you, darling, + When the dangerous cruise is o'er." +And her haughty sire relenting, + Did not care to say him nay: +Flushing high with love and valour, + Sailed the gallant far away. + +And the captain, Abel Tasman, + Sailing under southern skies, +Mingled with his hopes of glory, + Thoughts of one with starlight eyes. +Onward sailed he, where the crested + White waves broke around his ship, +With the lovelight in his true eyes, + And the song upon his lip. + +Onward sailed he, ever onward, + Faithful as the stars above; +Many a cape and headland pointing + Tells the legend of his love: +For he linked their names together, + Speeding swiftly o'er the wave-- +Tasman's Isle and Cape Maria, + Still they bear the names he gave. + +Toil and tempest soon were over, + And he turned him home again, +Seeking her who was his guiding + Star across the trackless main. +Strange it seems the eager captain + Thus should hurry from his prize, +When a thousand scenes of wonder + Stood revealed before his eyes. + +But those eyes were always looking, + Out toward the Java seas, +Where the maid he loved was waiting-- + Dearer prize to him than these. +But his mission was accomplished, + And a new and added gem +Sparkled with a wondrous lustre + In the Dutch king's diadem. + +Little did the gallant seaman + Think that in the days to be, +England's hand should proudly wrest it + From his land's supremacy. + + + + +THE GROOM'S STORY. + +BY A. CONAN DOYLE. + + +Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, sir. That's true. +The big bay 'orse in the further stall--the one wot's next to you. +I've seen some better 'orses; I've seldom seen a wuss, +But 'e 'olds the bloomin' record, an' that's good enough for us. + +We knew as it was in 'im. 'E's thoroughbred, three part, +We bought 'im for to race 'im, but we found 'e 'ad no 'eart; +For 'e was sad and thoughtful, and amazin' dignified, +It seemed a kind o' liberty to drive 'im or to ride; + +For 'e never seemed a-thinkin' of what 'e 'ad to do. +But 'is thoughts was set on 'igher things, admirin' of the view. +'E looked a puffect pictur, and a pictur 'e would stay, +'E wouldn't even switch 'is tail to drive the flies away. + +And yet we knew 'twas in 'im; we knew as 'e could fly; +But what we couldn't get at was 'ow to make 'im try. +We'd almost turned the job up, until at last one day, +We got the last yard out of 'm in a most amazin' way. + +It was all along o' master; which master 'as the name +Of a reg'lar true blue sportsman, an' always acts the same; +But we all 'as weaker moments, which master 'e 'ad one, +An' 'e went and bought a motor-car when motor-cars begun. + +I seed it in the stable yard--it fairly turned me sick-- +A greasy, wheezy, engine as can neither buck nor kick. +You've a screw to drive it forard, and a screw to make it stop, +For it was foaled in a smithy stove an' bred in a blacksmith's shop. + +It didn't want no stable, it didn't ask no groom, +It didn't need no nothin' but a bit o' standin' room. +Just fill it up with paraffin an' it would go all day, +Which the same should be agin the law if I could 'ave my way. + +Well, master took 'is motor-car, an' moted 'ere an' there, +A frightenin' the 'orses an' a poisenin' the air. +'E wore a bloomin' yachtin' cap, but Lor!--what _did_ 'e know, +Excep' that if you turn a screw the thing would stop or go? + +An' then one day it wouldn't go. 'E screwed and screwed again +But somethin' jammed, an' there 'e stuck in the mud of a country + lane. +It 'urt 'is pride most cruel, but what was 'e to do? +So at last 'e bade me fetch a 'orse to pull the motor through. + +This was the 'orse we fetched 'im; an' when we reached the car, +We braced 'im tight and proper to the middle of the bar, +And buckled up 'is traces and lashed them to each side, +While 'e 'eld 'is 'ead so 'aughtily, an' looked most dignified. + +Not bad tempered, mind you, but kind of pained and vexed, +And 'e seemed to say, "Well, bli' me! wot _will_ they ask me next? +I've put up with some liberties, but this caps all by far, +To be assistant engine to a crocky motor car!" + +Well, master, 'e was in the car, a-fiddlin' with the gear, +An' the 'orse was meditatin', an' I was standin' near, +When master 'e touched somethin'--what it was we'll never know-- +But it sort o' spurred the boiler up and made the engine go. + +"'Old 'ard, old gal!" says master, and "Gently then!" says I, +But an engine wont 'eed coaxin' an' it ain't no use to try; +So first 'e pulled a lever, an' then 'e turned a screw, +But the thing kept crawlin' forrard spite of all that 'e could do. + +And first it went quite slowly, and the 'orse went also slow, +But 'e 'ad to buck up faster when the wheels began to go; +For the car kept crowdin' on 'im and buttin' 'im along, +An' in less than 'alf a minute, sir, that 'orse was goin' strong. + +At first 'e walked quite dignified, an' then 'e had to trot, +And then 'e tried to canter when the pace became too 'ot. +'E looked 'is very 'aughtiest, as if 'e didn't mind, +And all the time the motor-car was pushin' 'im be'ind. + +Now, master lost 'is 'ead when 'e found 'e couldn't stop, +And 'e pulled a valve or somethin' an' somethin' else went pop, +An' somethin' else went fizzywig, an' in a flash or less, +That blessed car was goin' like a limited express. + +Master 'eld the steerin' gear, an' kept the road all right, +And away they whizzed and clattered--my aunt! it was a sight. +'E seemed the finest draught 'orse as ever lived by far, +For all the country Juggins thought 'twas 'im wot pulled the car. + +'E was stretchin' like a grey'ound, 'e was goin' all 'e knew, +But it bumped an' shoved be'ind 'im, for all that 'e could do; +It butted 'im and boosted 'im an' spanked 'im on a'ead, +Till 'e broke the ten-mile record, same as I already said. + +Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, sir. That's true. +The only time we ever found what that 'ere 'orse could do. +Some say it wasn't 'ardly fair, and the papers made a fuss, +But 'e broke the ten-mile record, and that's good enough for us. + +You see that 'orse's tail, sir? You don't! no more do we, +Which really ain't surprisin', for 'e 'as no tail to see; +That engine wore it off 'im before master made it stop, +And all the road was litter'd like a bloomin' barber's shop. + +And master? Well, it cured 'im. 'E altered from that day, +And come back to 'is 'orses in the good old-fashioned way. +And if you wants to git the sack, the quickest way by far, +Is to 'int as 'ow you think 'e ought to keep a motorcar. + + + + +THE HARDEST PART I EVER PLAYED. + +BY RE HENRY. + + +I come of an acting family. We all took to the stage as young ducks +take to the water; and though we are none of us geniuses,--yet we got +on. + +My three brothers are at the present time starring, either in the +provinces or in America; my two elder sisters, having strutted and +fretted their hour upon the stage, are married to respectable City +men; I, Sybil Gascoigne, have acted almost as long as I can remember; +the little ones, Kate and Dick, are still at school, but when they +leave the first thing they do will be to look out for an engagement. + +I do not think we were ever any of us very much in love with the +profession. We took things easily. Of course there were some parts we +liked better than others, but we played everything that came in our +way--Comedy, Farce, Melodrama. My elder sisters quitted the stage +before they had much time to distinguish themselves. They were each +in turn, on their marriage, honoured with a paragraph in the +principal dramatic papers, but no one said the stage had sustained an +irreparable loss, or that the profession was robbed of one of its +brightest ornaments. + +I was following very much in my sisters' footsteps. The critics +always spoke well of me. I never got a slating in my life, but then +before the criticism was in print I could almost have repeated word +for word the phrases that would be used. + +"Miss Gascoigne was painstaking and intelligent as usual." + +"The part was safe in the hands of that promising young actress, +Sybil Gascoigne." + +With opinions such as these I was well content. My salary was +regularly paid, I could always reckon on a good engagement, and even +if my profession failed me there was Jack to fall back upon, and Jack +was substantial enough to fall back upon with no risk of hurting +oneself. He was six feet two, with broad, square shoulders, and +arms--well, when Jack's arms were round you you felt as if you did +not want anything else in the world. At least, that is how I felt. +Jack ought to have been in the Life Guards, and he would have been +only a wealthy uncle offered to do something for him, and of course +such an offer was not to be refused, and the "something" turned out +to be a clerkship in the uncle's business "with a view to a +partnership" as the advertisements say. Now the business was not a +pretty or a romantic one--it had something to do with leather--but it +was extremely profitable, and as I looked forward to one day sharing +all Jack's worldly goods I did not grumble at the leather. Not that +Jack had ever yet said a word to me which I could construe into a +downright offer. He had looked, certainly, but then with eyes like +his there is no knowing what they may imply. They were dark blue +eyes, and his hair was bright brown, with a touch of yellow in it, +and his moustache was tawny, and his skin was sunburnt to a healthy +red. We had been introduced in quite the orthodox way. We had not +fallen in love across the footlights. He seldom came to see me act, +but sometimes he would drop in to supper, perhaps on his way from a +dinner or to a dance, and if I could make him stay with us until it +was too late to go to that dance, what a happy girl I used to be! + +My mother, with the circumspection that belongs to mothers, told me +that he was only flirting, and that I had better turn my attention to +somebody else. Somebody else! As if any one were worth even looking +at after Jack Curtis. I pitied every girl who was not engaged to him. +How could my sisters be happy? Resigned, content, they might be; but +to be married and done for, and afterwards to meet Jack--well, +imagination failed me to depict the awfulness of such a calamity. + +It was quite time he spoke--there can be no doubt of that; although +Jack Curtis was too charming to be bound by the rules which govern +ordinary mortals. Still, I could not help feeling uneasy and +apprehensive. How could I tell how he carried on at those gay and +festive scenes in which I was not included? A proud earl's lovely +daughter might be yearning to bestow her hand upon him. A duchess +might have marked him for her own. Possibly my jealous fears +exaggerated the importance of the society in which he moved, but it +seemed to me that if Jack had been bidden to a friendly dinner at +Buckingham Palace it was only what might be expected. + +Well, there came a night when we expected Jack to supper and he +appeared not. Only, in his place, a few lines to say that he was +going to start at once for his holiday. A friend had just invited him +to join him on his yacht. He added in a postscript: "I will write +later." He did _not_ write. Hours, days, weeks passed, and not a word +did we hear. "It is a break-off," said my mother consolingly. "He had +got tired of us all, and he thought this the easiest way of letting +us know. I told you there was an understanding between him and Isabel +Chisholm--any one could see that with half an eye." + +I turned away shuddering. + +"Terrible gales," said my father, rustling the newspaper comfortably +in his easy chair. "Great disasters among the shipping. I shouldn't +wonder if the yacht young what's-his-name went out in were come to +grief." + +I grew pale, and thin, and dispirited. I knew the ladies of our +company made nasty remarks about me. One day I overheard two of them +talking. + +"She never was much of an actress, and now she merely walks through +her part. They never had any feeling for art, not one of those +Gascoigne girls." + +No feeling for art! What a low, mean, spiteful, wicked thing to say. +And the worst of it was that it was so true. + +I resolved at once that I would do something desperate. The last +piece brought out at our theatre had been a "frost." It had dragged +along until the advertisements were able to announce "Fifteenth Night +of the Great Realistic Drama." And various scathing paragraphs from +the papers were pruned down and weeded till they seemed unstinted +praise. Thus: "It was not the fault of the management that the new +play was so far from being a triumphant success," was cut down to one +modest sentence, "A triumphant success." "A few enthusiastic cheers +from personal friends alone broke the ominous silence when the +curtain fell," became briefly "Enthusiastic cheers." + +But nobody was deceived. One week the public were informed that they +could book their seats a month in advance; the next that the +successful drama had to be withdrawn at the height of its popularity, +owing to other arrangements. What the other arrangements were to be +our manager was at his wit's end to decide. There only wanted three +weeks to the close of the season. Fired with a wild ambition born of +suspense and disappointment, I suggested that Shakespeare should fill +the breach. "Romeo and Juliet," with me, Sybil Gascoigne, as the +heroine. + +"Pshaw!" said our good-humoured manager, "you do not know what you +are talking about. Juliet! You have not the depth, the temperament, +the experience for a Juliet. She had more knowledge of life at +thirteen than most of our English maids have at thirty. To represent +Juliet correctly an actress must have the face and figure of a young +girl, with the heart and mind of a woman, and of a woman who has +suffered." + +"And have I not suffered? Do you think because you see me tripping +through some foolish, insipid _role_ that I am capable of nothing +better? Give me a chance and see what I can do." + + "Oh! bid me leap, rather than marry Paris," + +I began, and declaimed the speech with such despairing vigour that +our manager was impressed. + +Well, the end of it was that he yielded to my suggestion. + +It seemed a prosperous time to float a new Juliet. At a +neighbouring theatre a lovely foreign actress was playing the part +nightly to crowded houses. We might get some of the overflow, or the +public would come for the sake of comparing native with imported +talent. Oh! the faces of my traducers, who had said, "Those +Gascoigne girls have no feeling for art," when it was known that they +were out of the bill, and that Sybil Gascoigne was to play +Shakespeare. I absolutely forgot Jack for one moment. But the next, +my grief, my desolation, were present with me with more acuteness +than ever. And I was glad that it was so. Such agony as I was +enduring would surely make me play Juliet as it had never been played +before. + +At rehearsals I could see I created a sensation. I felt that I was +grand in my hapless love, my desperate grief. I should make myself a +name. If Jack were dead or had forsaken me, my art should be all in +all. + +The morning before the all important evening dawned, I had lain awake +nearly an hour, as my custom was of nights how, thinking of Jack, +wondering if ever woman had so much cause to grieve as I. Then I +rose, practised taking the friar's potion, and throwing myself upon +the bed, until my mother came up and told me to go to sleep, or my +eyes would be red and hollow in the morning. But I told my mother +that hollow eyes and pale cheeks were necessary to me now--that my +career depended upon the depths of my despair. + +"To-morrow, mother, let no one disturb me on any account. Keep away +letters, newspapers, everything. Tomorrow I am Juliet or nothing." + +My mother promised, and I got some hours of undisturbed slumber. + +Rehearsal was over--the last rehearsal. I had gone through my part +thinking of my woes. I had swallowed the draught as if it had indeed +been a potion to put me out of all remembrance of my misery. I had +snatched the dagger and stabbed myself with great satisfaction, and I +felt I should at least have the comfort of confounding my enemies and +triumphing over them. + +I was passing Charing Cross Station, delayed by the streams of +vehicles issuing forth, when in a hansom at a little distance I saw a +form--a face--which made me start and tremble, and turn hot and cold, +and red and white, all at the same time. It could not be Jack. It +ought not, must not, should not be Jack. Had I not to act in +suffering and despair to-night? Well, even if he had returned in +safety from his cruise it was without a thought of me in his heart. +He was engaged--married--for aught I knew. It was possible, nay, +certain, that I should never see him again. + +And yet I ran all the way home. And yet I told the servant +breathlessly--"If any visitors call I do not wish to be disturbed." +And yet I made my mother repeat the promise she had given me the +previous night. Then I flew to my den at the top of the house; bolted +myself in, and set a chair against the door as if I were afraid of +anyone making a forcible entry. I stuffed my fingers in my ears, and +went over my part with vigour, with more noise even than was +absolutely necessary. Still, how strangely I seemed to hear every +sound. A hansom passing--no, a hansom drawing up at our house. I went +as far from the window as possible. I wedged myself up between the +sofa and the wall, and I shut my eyes firmly. Surely there were +unaccustomed sounds about, talking and laughing, as if something +pleasant had happened. Presently heavy footsteps came bounding up, +two steps at a time. Oh! should I have the courage not to answer if +it should be Jack? + +But it was not. Kitty's voice shouted-- + +"Sybil, Sybil, come down. Here's----" + +"Kitty, be quiet," I called out furiously. "If you do not hold your +tongue, if you do not go away from the door immediately, I'll--I'll +shoot you." + +She went away, and I heard her telling them downstairs that she +believed Sybil had gone mad. + +I waited a little longer,--then I stole to the window. + +Surely Juliet would not be spoiled by the sight of a visitor leaving +the house. But there was no one leaving. Indeed, I saw the prospect +of a fresh arrival--Isabel Chisholm was coming up the street in a +brand new costume and hat to match. Her fringe was curled to +perfection. A tiny veil was arranged coquettishly just above her +nose. Flesh and blood could not stand this. Downstairs I darted, +without even waiting for a look in the glass. Into the drawing-room I +bounced, and there, in his six feet two of comely manliness, stood +Jack, my Jack, more bronzed and handsome and loveable than ever. He +whom I had been mourning for by turns as dead and faithless, but whom +I now knew was neither; for he came towards me with both hands +outstretched, and he held mine in such a loving clasp, and he looked +at me with eyes which I knew were reading just such another tale as +that written on his own face. + +Then when the knock sounded which heralded Miss Chisholm, he said:-- + +"Come into another room, Sybil; I have so much to say to you." + +And in that other room he told me of his adventures and perils, and +how through them all he had thought of me and wondered, if he never +came back alive, whether I should be sorry, and, if he did come back, +whether I would promise to be his darling little wife, very, very +soon. + +But all this, though far more beautiful than poet ever wrote, was not +Shakespeare, and I was to act Juliet at night--Juliet the wretched, +the heartbroken--while my own spirits were dancing, and my pulses +bounding with joy and delight unutterable. + +Well, I need hardly tell you my Juliet was not a success. I was +conscious of tripping about the stage in an airy, elated way, which +was allowable only during the earlier scenes; but when I should have +been tragic and desperate, I was still brimming over with new found +joy. All through Juliet's grand monologue, where she swallows the +poison, ran the refrain--"Jack has come home, I am going to marry +Jack." I had an awful fear once that I mixed two names a little, and +called on Jackimo when I should have said Romeo, and when my speech +was over and I lay motionless on the bed, I gave myself up to such +delightful thoughts that Capulet or the Friar, I forget which, +bending over the couch to assure himself that I was really dead, +whispered-- + +"Keep quiet, you're grinning." + +I was very glad when the play was over. We often read the reverse +side of the picture--of how the clown cracks jokes while his heart is +breaking; perhaps his only mother-in-law passing away without his +arms to support her. But no one has ever written of the Juliet who +goes through terror, suffering, and despair, to the tune of "Jack's +returned, I'm going to marry Jack." + + + + +THE STORY OF MR. KING. + +BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY. + + +This is the story of Mr. King, + American citizen--Phineas K., + Whom I met in Orkhanie, far away +From freshening cocktail and genial sling. +A little man with twinkling eyes, +And a nose like a hawk's, and lips drawn thin, + And a little imperial stuck on his chin, + And about him always a cheerful grin, +Dashed with a comic and quaint surprise. + +That very night a loot of wine + Made correspondents and doctors glad, +And the little man, unask'd to dine, + Sat down and shar'd in all we had. +For none said nay, this ready hand + Reach'd after pillau, and fowl, and drink, + And he toss'd off his liquor without a wink, +And wielded a knife like a warrior's brand. +With a buccaneering, swaggering look + He sang his song, and he crack'd his jest, +And he bullied the waiter and curs'd the cook +With a charming self-approving zest. + +We wanted doctors: he was a doctor; + Had we wanted a prince it had been the same. +Admiral, general, cobbler, proctor-- + A man may be anything. What's in a name? +The wounded were dying, the dead lay thick +In the hospital beds beside the quick. +Any man with a steady nerve + And a ready hand, who knew how to obey, +In those stern times might well deserve + His fifty piastres daily pay. + +So Mr. King, as assistant surgeon, + Bandaged, and dosed, and nursed, and dressed, + And worked, as he ate and drank, with zest, +Until he began to blossom and burgeon +To redness of features and fulness of cheek, +And his starven hands grew plump and sleek. +But for all sign of wealth he wore +He swaggered neither less nor more. +He talked the stuff he talked before, +And bragged as he had bragged of yore, +With his Yankee chaff and his Yankee slang, +And his Yankee bounce and his Yankee twang. +And, to tell the truth, we all held clear +Of the impudent little adventurer; +And any man with an eye might see +That, though he bore it merrily, +He recognised the tacit scorn +Which dwelt about him night and morn. + +The Turks fought well, as most men fight + For life and faith, and hearth and home. +But, from Teliche and Etrepol, left and right, + The Muscov swirled, like the swirling foam +On the rack of a tempest driven sea. + And foot by foot staunch Mehemit Ali + Was driven along the Lojan valley, + Till he sat his battered forces down + Just northward of the little town, +And waited on war's destiny. + +War's destiny came, and line by line + His forces broke and fled. +And for three days in Orkhanie town +The arabas went up and down + With loads of dying and dead; +Till at last in a rush of panic fear, +The hardest bitten warriors there +Turn'd with the cowardly Bazouk +And the vile Tchircasse and forsook +The final fort, in headlong flight, +For near Kamirli's sheltering height; +While through the darkness of the night + The cannon belched their hate +Against the flying crowd; and far +And near the soldiers of the Tsar +Pour'd onward towards the spoil of war + In haste precipitate. + +And the little adventurer sat in a shed +With one woman dying, and one woman dead. +Nothing he knew of the late defeat, +Nothing of Mehemit's enforced retreat; +For he spoke no word of the Turkish tongue, +And had seen no Englishman all day long. +So he sat there, calm, with a flask of rum, +And a cigarette 'twixt finger and thumb, +Tranquilly smoking, and watching the smoke, +And probably hatching some stupid joke, +When in at the door, without a word, +Burst a Circassian, hand on sword. +And the sword leapt out of its sheath, as a flame + Breaks from the coals when the fire is stirred. +And Mr. King, with a "What's _your_ game?" + Faced the Tchircasse with the wild-beast eyes. +"Naow, what do you want?" said Mr. King. + Quoth the savage, in English, "The woman dies!" +"Waat," said the impostor, "you'll take your fling, +At least in the first case, along of a son +Of Columbia, daughter of Albion." + +The Tchircasse moved to the side of the bed. + A distaff was leaning against the wall, + And Mr. King, with arms at length, + Gave it a swing, with all his strength, +And crashed it full at the villain's head, + And dropped him, pistols and daggers and all. +Then sword in hand, he raged through the door, +And there were three hundred savages more, +All hungry for murder, and loot, and worse! + +Mr. King bore down with an oath and a curse, + Bore down on the chief with the slain man's sword +He saw at a glance the state of the case; + He knew without need of a single word +That the Turk had flown and the Russ was near, + And the Tchircasse held _his_ midday revel; +So he laid himself out to curse and swear, + And he raged like an eloquent devil. + +They listen'd, in a mute surprise, + Amaz'd that any single man should dare + Harangue an armed crowd with such an air, +And such commanding anger in his eyes; +Till, thinking him at least an English lord, +The Tchircasse leader lower'd his sword, +Spoke a few words in his own tongue, and bow'd, +And slowly rode away with all his men. +Then Mr. King turn'd to his task again: +Sought a rough araba with bullocks twain; +Haled up the unwilling brutes with might and main, +Laid the poor wounded woman gently down, +And calmly drove her from the rescued town! + +And Mr. King, when we heard the story, +Was a little abash'd by the hero's glory; +And, "Look you here, you boys; you may laff +But I ain't the man to start at chaff. +I know without any jaw from you, +'Twas a darned nonsensical thing to do; +But I tell you plain--and I mean it, too-- +For all it was such a ridiculous thing, +I should do it again!" said Mr. King. + + + + +THE ART OF "POETRY." + +FROM "TOWN TOPICS." + +I ask not much! but let th' "dank wynd" moan, + "Shimmer th' woold" and "rive the wanton surge;" +I ask not much; grant but an "eery drone," + Some "wilding frondage" and a "bosky dirge;" +Grant me but these, and add a regal flush + Of "sundered hearts upreared upon a byre;" +Throw in some yearnings and a "darksome hush," + And--asking nothing more--I'll smite th' lyre. + +Yea, I will smite th' falt'ring, quiv'ring strings, + And magazines shall buy my murky stunts; +Too long I've held my hand to honest things, + Too long I've borne rejections and affronts; +Now will I be profound and recondite, + Yea, working all th' symbols and th' "props;" +Now will I write of "morn" and "yesternight;" + Now will I gush great gobs of soulful slops. + +Yea, I will smite! Grant me but "swerveless wynd," + And I will pipe a cadence rife with thrills; +With "nearness" and "foreverness" I'll bind + A "downflung sheaf" of outslants, paeans and trills; +Pass me th' "quenchless gleam of Titian hair," + And eke th' "oozing forest's woozy clumps;" +Now will I go upon a metric tear + And smite th' lyre with great resounding thumps. + + + + +THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. + +W. M. THACKERAY. + + The noble King of Brentford + Was old and very sick, + He summon'd his physicians + To wait upon him quick: + They stepp'd into their coaches + And brought their best physick. + + They cramm'd their gracious master + With potion and with pill; + They drenched him and they bled him: + They could not cure his ill. + "Go fetch," says he, "my lawyer; + I'd better make my will." + + The monarch's Royal mandate + The lawyer did obey; + The thought of six-and-eightpence + Did make his heart full gay. + "What is't," says he, "your Majesty + Would wish of me to-day?" + + "The doctors have belabour'd me + With potion and with pill: + My hours of life are counted, + O man of tape and quill! + Sit down and mend a pen or two; + I want to make my will. + + "O'er all the land of Brentford + I'm lord, and eke of Kew: + I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents; + My debts are but a few; + And to inherit after me + I have but children two. + + "Prince Thomas is my eldest son; + A sober prince is he, + And from the day we breech'd him + Till now--he's twenty-three-- + He never caused disquiet + To his poor mamma or me. + + "At school they never flogg'd him; + At college, though not fast, + Yet his little-go and great-go + He creditably pass'd, + And made his year's allowance + For eighteen months to last. + + "He never owed a shilling, + Went never drunk to bed, + He has not two ideas + Within his honest head-- + In all respects he differs + From my second son, Prince Ned. + + "When Tom has half his income + Laid by at the year's end, + Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver + That rightly he may spend, + But sponges on a tradesman, + Or borrows from a friend. + + "While Tom his legal studies + Most soberly pursues, + Poor Ned must pass his mornings + A-dawdling with the Muse: + While Tom frequents his banker, + Young Ned frequents the Jews. + + "Ned drives about in buggies, + Tom sometimes takes a 'bus; + Ah, cruel fate, why made you + My children differ thus? + Why make of Tom a _dullard_, + And Ned a _genius_?' + + "You'll cut him with a shilling," + Exclaimed the man of writs: + "I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, + "Sir Lawyer, as befits, + And portion both their fortunes + Unto their several wits." + + "Your Grace knows best," the lawyer said; + "On your commands I wait." + "Be silent, sir," says Brentford, + "A plague upon your prate! + Come take your pen and paper, + And write as I dictate." + + The will as Brentford spoke it + Was writ and signed and closed; + He bade the lawyer leave him, + And turn'd him round and dozed; + And next week in the churchyard + The good old King reposed. + + Tom, dressed in crape and hatband, + Of mourners was the chief; + In bitter self-upbraidings + Poor Edward showed his grief: + Tom hid his fat white countenance + In his pocket-handkerchief. + + Ned's eyes were full of weeping, + He falter'd in his walk; + Tom never shed a tear, + But onwards he did stalk, + As pompous, black, and solemn + As any catafalque. + + And when the bones of Brentford-- + That gentle King and just-- + With bell and book and candle + Were duly laid in dust, + "Now, gentlemen," says Thomas, + "Let business be discussed. + + "When late our sire beloved + Was taken deadly ill, + Sir Lawyer, you attended him + (I mean to tax your bill); + And, as you signed and wrote it, + I prithee read the will" + + The lawyer wiped his spectacles, + And drew the parchment out; + And all the Brentford family + Sat eager round about: + Poor Ned was somewhat anxious, + But Tom had ne'er a doubt. + + "My son, as I make ready + To seek my last long home, + Some cares I have for Neddy, + But none for thee, my Tom: + Sobriety and order + You ne'er departed from. + + "Ned hath a brilliant genius, + And thou a plodding brain; + On thee I think with pleasure, + On him with doubt and pain." + ("You see, good Ned," says Thomas, + "What he thought about us twain.") + + "Though small was your allowance, + You saved a little store; + And those who save a little + Shall get a plenty more." + As the lawyer read this compliment, + Tom's eyes were running o'er. + + "The tortoise and the hare, Tom, + Set out at each his pace; + The hare it was the fleeter, + The tortoise won the race; + And since the world's beginning + This ever was the case. + + "Ned's genius, blithe and singing, + Steps gaily o'er the ground; + As steadily you trudge it, + He clears it with a bound; + But dulness has stout legs, Tom, + And wind that's wondrous sound. + + "O'er fruit and flowers alike, Tom, + You pass with plodding feet; + You heed not one nor t'other, + But onwards go your beat; + While genius stops to loiter + With all that he may meet; + + "And ever as he wanders, + Will have a pretext fine + For sleeping in the morning, + Or loitering to dine, + Or dozing in the shade, + Or basking in the shine. + + "Your little steady eyes, Tom, + Though not so bright as those + That restless round about him + His flashing genius throws, + Are excellently suited + To look before your nose. + + "Thank Heaven, then, for the blinkers + It placed before your eyes; + The stupidest are strongest, + The witty are not wise; + Oh, bless your good stupidity! + It is your dearest prize. + + "And though my lands are wide, + And plenty is my gold, + Still better gifts from Nature, + My Thomas, do you hold-- + A brain that's thick and heavy, + A heart that's dull and cold. + + "Too dull to feel depression, + Too hard to heed distress, + Too cold to yield to passion + Or silly tenderness. + March on--your road is open + To wealth, Tom, and success. + + "Ned sinneth in extravagance, + And you in greedy lust." + ("I' faith," says Ned, "our father + Is less polite than just.") + "In you, son Tom, I've confidence, + But Ned I cannot trust. + + "Wherefore my lease and copyholds, + My lands and tenements, + My parks, my farms, and orchards, + My houses and my rents, + My Dutch stock and my Spanish stock, + My five and three per cents, + + "I leave to you, my Thomas"-- + ("What, all?" poor Edward said, + "Well, well, I should have spent them, + And Tom's a prudent head ")-- + "I leave to you, my Thomas,-- + To you IN TRUST for Ned." + + The wrath and consternation + What poet e'er could trace + That at this fatal passage + Came o'er Prince Tom his face; + The wonder of the company, + And honest Ned's amaze? + + "'Tis surely some mistake," + Good-naturedly cries Ned; + The lawyer answered gravely, + "'Tis even as I said; + 'Twas thus his gracious Majesty + Ordain'd on his death-bed. + + "See, here the will is witness'd + And here's his autograph." + "In truth, our father's writing," + Says Edward with a laugh; + "But thou shalt not be a loser, Tom; + We'll share it half and half." + + "Alas! my kind young gentleman, + This sharing cannot be; + 'Tis written in the testament + That Brentford spoke to me, + 'I do forbid Prince Ned to give + Prince Tom a halfpenny. + + "'He hath a store of money, + But ne'er was known to lend it; + He never helped his brother; + The poor he ne'er befriended; + He hath no need of property + Who knows not how to spend it. + + "'Poor Edward knows but how to spend, + And thrifty Tom to hoard; + Let Thomas be the steward then, + And Edward be the lord; + And as the honest labourer + Is worthy his reward, + + "'I pray Prince Ned, my second son, + And my successor dear, + To pay to his intendant + Five hundred pounds a year; + And to think of his old father, + And live and make good cheer.'" + +Such was old Brentford's honest testament. + He did devise his moneys for the best, + And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. +Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent; + But his good sire was wrong, it is confess'd, +To say his son, young Thomas, never lent. + He did. Young Thomas lent at interest, +And nobly took his twenty-five per cent. + +Long time the famous reign of Ned endured + O'er Chiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew, +But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. +And when both died, as mortal men will do, +'Twas commonly reported that the steward + Was very much the richer of the two. + + + + +UNIVERSALLY RESPECTED. + +BY J. BRUNTON STEPHENS. + + +I. + +Biggs was missing: Biggs had vanished; all the town was in a ferment; + For if ever man was looked to for an edifying end, +With due mortuary outfit, and a popular interment, +It was Biggs, the universal guide, philosopher, and friend. + +But the man had simply vanished; speculation wove no tissue + That would hold a drop of water; each new theory fell flat. +It was most unsatisfactory, and hanging on the issue + Were a thousand wagers ranging from a pony to a hat. + +Not a trace could search discover in the township or without it, + And the river had been dragged from morn till night with no avail. +His continuity had ceased, and that was all about it, + And there wasn't ev'n a grease-spot left behind to tell the tale. + +That so staid a man as Biggs was should be swallowed up in mystery + Lent an increment to wonder--he who trod no doubtful paths, +But stood square to his surroundings, with no cloud upon his history, + As the much-respected lessee of the Corporation Baths. + +His affairs were all in order; since the year the alligator + With a startled river bather made attempt to coalesce, +The resulting wave of decency had greater grown and greater, + And the Corporation Baths had been a marvellous success. + +Nor could trouble in the household solve the riddle of his clearance, + For his bride was now in heaven, and the issue of the match +Was a patient drudge whose virtues were as plain as her appearance-- + Just the sort whereto no scandal could conceivably attach. + +So the Whither and the Why alike mysterious were counted; + And as Faith steps in to aid where baffled Reason must retire, +There were those averred so good a man as Biggs might well have + mounted + Up to glory like Elijah in a chariot of fire! + +For indeed he was a good man; when he sat beside the portal + Of the Bath-house at his pigeon-hole, a saint within a frame, +We used to think his face was as the face of an immortal, + As he handed us our tickets, and took payment for the same. + +And, Oh, the sweet advice with which he made of such occasion + A duplicate detergent for our morals and our limbs-- +For he taught us that decorum was the essence of salvation, + And that cleanliness and godliness were merely synonyms; + +But that open-air ablution in the river was a treason + To the purer instincts, fit for dogs and aborigines, +And that wrath at such misconduct was the providential reason + For the jaws of alligators and the tails of stingarees. + +But, alas, our friend was gone, our guide, philosopher, and tutor, + And we doubled our potations, just to clear the inner view; +But we only saw the darklier through the bottom of the pewter, + And the mystery seemed likewise to be multiplied by two. + +And the worst was that our failure to unriddle the enigma + In the "rags" of rival towns was made a byword and a scoff, +Till each soul in the community felt branded with the stigma + Of the unexplained suspicion of poor Biggs's taking off. + +So a dozen of us rose and swore this thing should be no longer: + Though the means that Nature furnished had been tried without + result, +There were forces supersensual that higher were and stronger, + And with consentaneous clamour we pronounced for the occult. + +Then Joe Thomson slung a tenner, and Jack Robinson a tanner, + And each according to his means respectively disbursed; +And a letter in your humble servant's most seductive manner + Was despatched to Sludge the Medium, recently of Darlinghurst. + +II. + +"I am Biggs," the spirit said ('twas through the medium's lips he + said it; + But the voice that spoke, the accent, too, were Biggs's very own, +Be it, therefore, not set down to our unmerited discredit, + That collectively we sickened as we recognised the tone). + +"From a saurian interior, Christian friends, I now address you"-- + (And "Oh heaven!" or its correlative, groaned shuddering we)-- +"While there yet remains a scrap of my identity, for, bless you, + This ungodly alligator's fast assimilating me. + +"For although through nine abysmal days I've fought with his + digestion, + Being hostile to his processes and loth to pulpify, +It is rapidly becoming a most complicated question + How much of me is crocodile, how much of him is I. + +"And, Oh, my friends, 'tis sorrow's crown of sorrow to remember + That this sacrilegious reptile owed me nought but gratitude, +For I bought him from a showman twenty years since come November, + And I dropped him in the river for his own and others' good. + +"It had grieved me that the spouses of our townsmen, and their + daughters, + Should be shocked by river bathers and their indecorous ways, +So I cast my bread, that is, my alligator, on the waters, + And I found it, in a credit balance, after many days. + +"Years I waited, but at last there came the rumour long-expected, + And the out-of-door ablutionists forsook their wicked paths, +And the issues of my handiwork divinely were directed + In a constant flow of custom to the Corporation Baths. + +"'Twas a weakling when I bought it; 'twas so young that you could + pet it; + But with all its disadvantages I reckoned it would do; +And it did: Oh, lay the moral well to heart and don't forget it-- + Put decorum first, and all things shall be added unto you. + +"Lies! all lies! I've done with virtue. Why should _I_ be interested + In the cause of moral progress that I served so long in vain, +When the fifteen hundred odd I've so judiciously invested + Will but go to pay the debts of some young rip who marries Jane? + +"But the reptile overcomes me; my identity is sinking; + Let me hasten to the finish; let my words be few and fit. +I was walking by the river in the starry silence, thinking + Of what Providence had done for me, and I had done for it; + +"I had reached the saurian's rumoured haunt, where oft in fatal folly + I had dropped garotted dogs to keep his carnal craving up" +(Said Joe Thomson, in a whisper, "That explains my Highland colley!" + Said Bob Williams, _sotto voce_, "That explains my Dandy pup!"). + +"I had passed to moral questions, and found comfort in the notion + That fools are none the worse for things not being what they seem, +When, behold, a seeming log became instinct with life and motion, + And with sudden curvature of tail upset me in the stream. + +"Then my leg, as in a vice"--but here the revelation faltered, + And the medium rose and shook himself, remarking with a smile +That the requisite conditions were irrevocably altered, + For the personality of Biggs was lost in crocodile. + +Now, whether Sludge's story would succeed in holding water + Is more, perhaps, than one has any business to suspect; +But I know that on the strength of it I married Biggs's daughter, + And I found a certain portion of the narrative correct. + + + + +THE AMENITIES OF SHOPPING. + +BY LEOPOLD WAGNER. + + +If there is one thing I do dislike, it is to go into a draper's shop. +To my mind, it is not a man's business at all; it is one essentially +feminine. I have never been able to reconcile, myself to the +troublesome formalities one has to go through in these marts of +female finery; there seems to be no such thing as to pop inside for +a trifling article, lay down your money for it, and get away again. +No; the system of trade pursued at such establishments is undoubtedly +to get you to sit down, with leisure to look about you, and coax you +into buying things you don't want. + +Years ago, when I was living in lonely lodgings, I had occasion one +Saturday night to slip into the nearest draper's shop for some pins. +"I only want a farthing's worth of pins," I observed, +apologetically, to the bald-headed shopwalker who pounced down upon +me. "Please to step this way." To my astonishment he marched me to +the extreme end of the shop, thence through an opening in the side +wall, past another long double row of dames and damsels of all sorts +and sizes making purchases, and finally referred me to a young lady +whose special function in life seemed to consist in selling pins to +adventurous young gentlemen like myself. She was an extremely good +looking young lady too, and I felt considerably embarrassed at the +insignificance of my purchase. "And the next thing, please?" she +asked, during the wrapping-up process. I informed her, as politely +as I could, that I did not require anything more. + +"Gloves, handkerchiefs, collars, shirts, neckties--?" + +"No thank you," I returned, "I only came in for the pins." But I was +not to be let off so easily. + +Utterly ignoring the humble penny that I had laid down on the +counter, she showed me samples of almost everything in the shop +suitable for male wear. Blushing to the roots of my hair, I implored +her to spare herself further trouble, as my wardrobe was already +extensive. Then she showed me a sample silk umbrella. I was unwilling +to rush away abruptly from the presence of such a charming young +lady, but she provoked me to it; indeed, I was only prevented from +carrying out my design by my failure to discern the hole in the wall +through which I had been inveigled into that department. "If you +would be so good as to give me my change," I stammered out, feeling +heartily ashamed at the thought of wanting the change at all. +"Certainly sir." Then she proceeded to make out the bill. "Oh, never +mind about the bill," I said, "I'm rather in a hurry." Of this appeal +she took no notice. "Sign, please," she said to the young lady at her +elbow. "Pins, one farthing," she added to my utter confusion. The +second young lady made a wild flourish over the bill with her pencil +and turned away. My fair tormentor slowly wrapped my penny in the +bill, screwed up the whole inside a large wooden ball, jerked a +dangling cord at her elbow, then stood looking me straight in the +face as the ball went rolling along a set of tramway lines over our +heads to the other end of the shop. That was the most melancholy game +at skittles I ever took part in. It seemed an age before the ball +came back to us, whereupon the young lady took out the bill and my +change--a halfpenny. "We haven't a farthing in the place," she said +innocently, "What else will you take for it?" "Oh, it doesn't matter +at all," I returned, anxious only to rush away from the spot--which I +did. It was a good quarter-of-an-hour before I gained the street. +During that interval, I strayed into the carpet department, upset an +old lady, fell sprawling over a chair, rushed into the arms of the +shopwalker, knocked down a huge stack of flannels, trod on some +unfortunate young fellow's corn, making him howl with pain, and last, +not least, ran foul of a perambulator laden with a baby and the usual +Saturday night's marketing in the doorway. + +I entered that shop full of hope and promise; I left it a melancholy +man. + +Though not quite so exciting as the foregoing, there is an intimate +connection between that incident and the one I shall now dwell upon. +Let me tell the tale as I told it to my wife. The other day I brought +home a neat little Japanese basket--a mere knick-knack, costing only +twopence. "Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed my wife. "Wherever did you get +this?" "I bought it at a large shop in Regent Street," I answered, +"but it cost me a great deal of trouble to get it." Pressed for +particulars, I continued: + +"I was amusing myself by looking at the shops, when I saw a lot of +these little Japanese baskets in the corner of a large window, +plainly marked twopence each. So I stepped inside to buy one. The +door was promptly opened for me by a black boy, resplendent in +gold-faced livery. He made me a profound salaam, as a gentleman of +aristocratic bearing came forward to meet me. 'And what may I have +the pleasure of showing you?' he inquired. 'Oh!' I returned, not +without some misgivings, 'I only want one of those little Japanese +baskets which you have in one corner of the window, marked, I +believe, twopence each.' 'Certainly, sir. Will you be so kind as to +step into this department?' he said. + +"Meekly I followed him through long avenues of silks, damasks, +brocades, and other costly examples of Oriental luxury in all the +tints of the rainbow. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable at the +thought of causing him so much trouble, when he paused at the +entrance to another department, and called out, 'Japanese baskets, +please.' Then turning to me, he said, 'If you will be good enough to +step forward, they will be most happy to serve you.' I did so, and +found myself on the threshold of an Eastern bazaar. Another nobleman +now took me in hand. 'And what may I have the pleasure----' he began, +making a courteous bow. 'I only want one of those little Japanese +baskets which you have in a corner of your window, marked, I believe, +twopence each--or, possibly, they may be two shillings?' I said in a +shaky voice. 'No, sir, quite right--they are twopence each,' he +replied, to my great relief; for I had begun to suspect they might be +two guineas. 'Will you do me the favour to step this way?' While +following at his side, I asked myself whether, at the end of my +travels, I should ever be able to find my way back again; so +bewildering were the ramifications through which we passed. Presently +he handed me over to another nobleman, who, having learned my +pleasure (which by this time had developed rather painful +tendencies), graciously escorted me to the further end of a long +counter, and begged me to take a chair. A stylishly-dressed young +lady sailed towards us behind the counter. 'I shall feel extremely +obliged,' said the nobleman to her, 'If you will be so good as to +request Miss Doubleyou to step down, and serve this gentleman. 'Yes, +sir,' answered the young lady, as she vanished somewhere behind me; +for my eyes were now following the retreating figure of the nobleman. +After a little while I heard a pattering of feet, and, looking round, +beheld some tokens of a young lady descending a spiral staircase. She +was behind the counter the next moment and then I made a discovery. +It was the same young lady who had served me with the farthing's +worth of pins years before! I recognised her at once, and I suspect +the recognition was mutual. But, of course, she never betrayed the +least emotion.'And what article may I have the pleasure to serve you +with?' she asked, m the still small voice of a duchess. There was a +gulping sensation in my throat as I answered, 'You have, I believe, +in one corner of one of your windows a number of little Japanese +baskets, marked, if my eyes did not deceive me, twopence each. (The +graceful nod of her head was reassuring.) I should be very glad to +become the possessor of one of those articles.' 'Certainly, sir, I'll +bring it to you,' she answered. 'Oh, thank you!' I returned, +delighted at the prospect; and so she departed on her errand of +mercy. + +"Whether, by the rules of the establishment, it was necessary for her +to obtain a written permission from each of those three noblemen to +pass over their territory and invade the shop window, or whether she +lost herself in the numerous windings and turnings through which I +had been conducted in perfect safety, I cannot say; I only know that +she was gone a very long time. But when at last she made her +reappearance with one of those little Japanese baskets in her hand, +and beaming with smiles, I felt I owed her an everlasting debt of +gratitude. She did not ask me if there was any other article she +could have the pleasure of showing me; she had asked me that before +and she remembered that I was proof against her persuasiveness! The +fair creature simply made a movement towards the spiral staircase, +as I thought, to fetch down a witness to the important transaction, +until my eyes rested on some tissue paper. 'Pray don't stay to wrap +it up,' I exclaimed, 'my pockets are ample,' and my thanks were +profuse. Seizing the coveted treasure, I laid my twopence down on the +counter and walked straight forward in a contrary direction to that +by which I had entered, gladdened by the prospect that I was making +direct for the street. If anyone had arrested my progress for the +sake of further formalities, I should unquestionably have knocked +them down. But everyone must have seen the glare of defiant +desperation flashing from my restless eyes and no one dared to bar +my egress. As I emerged from that shop into Regent Street, I felt as +exhausted as if I had just bought a grand piano or a suite of +furniture. 'Really,' I said to my wife in conclusion, 'if I could +have foreseen all the trouble in store for me over buying this +little Japanese basket, price twopence, it would have been still +reposing with its companions in the corner of that magnificent shop +window in Regent Street.'" + +She promised to prize it all the more on that account. And now, when +I look at that little Japanese basket, my mind wanders back to the +farthing's worth of pins I purchased in my old bachelor days. + + + + +SHAMUS O'BRIEN: A TALE OF '98. + +BY J. SHERIDAN LE FANU. + + + Jist afther the war, in the year '98, + As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, + 'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got, + To hang him by thrial--barrin' sich as was shot.-- + There was trial by jury goin' on in the light, + And martial-law hangin' the lavins by night + It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon: + If he got past the judges--he'd meet a dragoon; + An' whether the sodgers or judges gev sintance, + The divil an hour they gev for repintance. + An' it's many's the boy that was then on his keepin', + Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin'; + An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned for to sell it, + A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet-- + Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day, + With the _heath_ for their _barrack, revenge_ for their _pay_. + + The bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all, + Was Shamus O'Brien, o' the town iv Glingall. + His limbs were well-set, an' his body was light, + An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white. + But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, + And his cheeks never warmed with the blush of the red; + But for all that he wasn't an ugly young bye, + For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye, + So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so bright, + Like a fire-flash crossing the depth of the night; + He was the best mower that ever was seen, + The handsomest hurler that ever has been. + An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare, + An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare; + Be gorra, the whole world gev in to him there. + + An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, + An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought, + An' it's many the one can remember right well + The quare things he done: an' it's often heerd tell + How he lathered the yeomen, himself agin' four, + An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore.-- + + But the fox _must_ sleep sometimes, the wild deer _must_ rest, + An' treachery play on the blood iv the best.-- + Afther many brave actions of power and pride, + An' many a hard night on the bleak mountain's side, + An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast, + In the darkness of night he was taken at last. + + Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon, + For the door of the prison must close on you soon, + An' take your last look on her dim lovely light, + That falls on the mountain and valley this night;-- + One look at the village, one look at the flood, + An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood. + Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill, + An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still; + Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' wake, + And farewell to the girl that would die for your sake.-- + + An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail, + An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail; + The fleet limbs wor chained, an' the sthrong hands wor bound, + An' he laid down his length on the cowld prison ground. + An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there, + As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air; + An' happy rememberances crowding on ever, + As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river, + Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by, + Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye. + But the tears didn't fall, for the pride of his heart + Would not suffer _one_ drop down his pale cheek to start; + Then he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave, + An' he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, + By the hopes of the good, an' the cause of the brave, + That when he was mouldering low in the grave + His enemies never should have it to boast + His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost; + His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry, + For, undaunted he _lived_, and undaunted he'd _die_. + + Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone, + The terrible day iv the thrial kem on; + There _was sich_ a crowd there was scarce room to stand, + The sodgers on guard, the dhragoons sword-in-hand. + An' the court-house so full that the people were bothered. + Attorneys an' criers were just upon smothered; + An' counsellers almost gev over for dead. + The jury sat up in their box overhead; + An' the judge on the bench so detarmined an' big, + With his gown on his back, and an illigent wig; + Then silence was called, and the minute 'twas said + The court was as still as the heart of the dead, + An' they heard but the turn of a key in a lock,-- + An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock.-- + + For a minute he turned his eye round on the throng, + An' he looked at the irons, so firm and so strong, + An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, + A chance of escape, nor a word to defend; + Then he folded his arms as he stood there alone, + As calm and as cold as a statue of stone; + And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, + An' Jim didn't hear it, nor mind it a taste, + An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, and he says, + "Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase?" + An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread + As Shamus O'Brien made answer and said: + + "My lord, if you ask me, if ever a time + I have thought any treason, or done any crime + That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, + The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear, + Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow, + Before God and the world I would answer you, _No!_' + But--if you would ask me, as I think it like, + If in the rebellion I carried a pike, + An' fought for me counthry from op'ning to close, + An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes, + I answer you, _Yes_; and I tell you again, + Though I stand here to perish, I glory that _then_ + In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry, + An' that _now_ for _her_ sake I am ready to die." + + Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright, + An' the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light; + By my sowl, it's himself was a crabbed ould chap! + In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. + Then Shamus' mother in the crowd standin' by, + Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry: + "O, judge! darlin', don't, O, O, don't say the word! + The crathur is young, O, have mercy, my lord; + He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin';-- + You don't know him, my lord--don't give him to ruin!-- + He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted;-- + Don't part us for ever, that's been so long parted. + Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord, + An' God will forgive you--O, don't say the word!" + + That was the first minute O'Brien was shaken, + When he saw he was not quite forgot or forsaken; + An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother, + The big tears kem runnin' one afther th' other; + An' two or three times he endeavoured to spake, + But the sthrong manly voice seem'd to falther and break; + But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride, + He conquered and masthered his griefs swelling tide, + "An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart + For, sooner or later, the dearest _must_ part; + And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear + On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer, + To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast + From labour, and sorrow, for ever shall rest. + Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more, + Don't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour; + For I wish, when my head's lyin' undher the raven, + No thrue man can say that I died like a craven!" + Then facin' the judge Shamus bent down his head, + An' that minute the solemn death-sintance was said. + + The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, + An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky;-- + But why are the men standin' idle so late? + An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street? + What come they to talk of? what come they to see? + An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree?-- + O, Shamus O'Brien! pray fervent and fast, + May the saints take your soul, for _this_ day is your _last_; + Pray fast, an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh, + When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die.-- + An' fasther an' fasther, the crowd gathered there, + Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair; + An' whisky was sellin', an' cussamuck too, + An' the men and the women enjoying the view. + An' ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark, + There was no sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark; + An' be gorra, 'twas thrue too, for never sich scruge, + Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge. + For thousands were gathered there, if there was one, + All waitin' such time as the hangin' kem on. + + At last they threw open the big prison-gate, + An' out came the sheriffs an' sodgers in state, + An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it, + Not _paler_, but _prouder_ than ever, that minute, + An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, + Wid prayin' an' blessin', and all the girls cryin', + The wild wailin' sound it kem on by degrees, + Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. + On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone, + An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on; + At every side swellin' around of the cart, + A sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. + + Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand, + An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand; + An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground, + An' Shamus O'Brien throws one look around. + Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still, + Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turn chill, + An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare, + For the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare; + An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer. + + But the priest has done _more_, for his hands he unbound, + And with one daring spring Jim has leaped to the ground; + Bang! bang! go the carbines, and clash goes the sabres; + He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him, neighbours. + Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,-- + By heaven he's free!--than thunder more loud, + By one _shout_ from the people the heavens were shaken-- + _One_ shout that the dead of the world might awaken. + Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, + But if you want hangin', it's yourself you must hang; + To-night he'll be sleeping in Atherloe Glin, + An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in.-- + The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that, + An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat; + An' the sheriffs were both of them punished severely, + An' fined like the divil for bein' done fairly. + + + + +HOME, SWEET HOME. + +BY WILLIAM THOMSON. + + + Sawtan i' the law court + Wis once, sae I've heard tell-- + "Oh! but hame is hamely!" + Quo' Sawtan to himsel.' + + + + +THE CANE-BOTTOM'D CHAIR. + +BY W.M. THACKERAY. + + + + In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, + And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, + Away from the world and its toils and its cares, + I've a snug little kingdom up four pairs of stairs. + + To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, + But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure; + And the view I behold on a sunshiny day + Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. + + This snug little chamber is cramm'd in all nooks + With worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, + And foolish old odds and foolish old ends, + Crack'd bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends. + + Old armour, prints, pictures, pipes, china (all crack'd), + Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed; + A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see; + What matter? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. + + No better divan need the Sultan require, + Than the creaking old sofa, that basks by the fire; + And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get + From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. + + That praying-rug came from a Turcoman's camp; + By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp; + A Mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn: + 'Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. + + Long, long through the hours, and the night, and the chimes, + Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times; + As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie + This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. + + But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest, + There's one that I love and I cherish the best: + For the finest of couches that's padded with hair + I never would change thee, my cane-bottom'd chair. + + Tis a bandy-legg'd, high-shoulder'd, worm-eaten seat, + With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet; + But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, + I bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottom'd chair. + + If chairs have but feeling, in holding such charms, + A thrill must have pass'd through your wither'd old arms! + I look'd and I long'd, and I wish'd in despair; + I wish'd myself turn'd to a cane-bottom'd chair. + + It was but a moment she sat in this place, + She'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile on her face! + A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, + And she sat there, and bloom'd in my cane-bottom'd chair. + + And so I have valued my chair ever since, + Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince; + Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare, + The queen of my heart and my cane-bottom'd chair. + + When the candles burn low, and the company's gone, + In the silence of night as I sit here alone-- + I sit here, alone, but we yet are a pair-- + My Fanny I see in my cane-bottom'd chair. + + She comes from the past and revisits my room; + She looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom + So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, + And yonder she sits in my cane-bottom'd chair. + + + + +THE ALMA. + +September 20th, + +1854. BY WILLIAM C. BENNET. + + + + Yes--clash, ye pealing steeples! + Ye grim-mouthed cannon, roar! + Tell what each heart is feeling, + From shore to throbbing shore! + What every shouting city, + What every home would say, + The triumph and the rapture + That swell our hearts to-day. + + And did they say, O England, + That now thy blood was cold, + That from thee had departed + The might thou hadst of old! + Tell them no deed more stirring + Than this thy sons have done, + Than this, no nobler triumph, + Their conquering arms have won. + + The mighty fleet bore seaward; + We hushed our hearts in fear, + In awe of what each moment + Might utter to our ear; + For the air grew thick with murmurs + That stilled the hearer's breath, + With sounds that told of battle, + Of victory and of death. + + We knew they could but conquer; + O fearless hearts, we knew + The name and fame of England + Could but be safe with you. + We knew no ranks more dauntless + The rush of bayonets bore, + Through all Spain's fields of carnage, + Or thine, Ferozepore. + + O red day of the Alma! + O when thy tale was heard, + How was the heart of England + With pride and gladness stirred! + How did our peopled cities + All else forget, to tell + Ye living, how ye conquered, + And how, O dead, ye fell. + + Glory to those who led you! + Glory to those they led! + Fame to the dauntless living! + Fame to the peaceful dead! + Honour, for ever, honour + To those whose bloody swords + Struck back the baffled despot, + And smote to flight his hordes! + + On, with your fierce burst onward! + On, sweep the foe before, + Till the great sea-hold's volleys + Roll through the ghastly roar! + Till your resistless onset + The mighty fortress know, + And storm-won fort and rampart + Your conquering standards show. + + Yes--clash, ye bells, in triumph! + Yes--roar, ye cannon, roar! + Not for the living only, + But for those who come no more. + For the brave hearts coldly lying + In their far-off gory graves, + By the Alma's reddened waters, + And the Euxine's dashing waves. + + For thee, thou weeping mother, + We grieve; our pity hears + Thy wail, O wife; the fallen, + For them we have no tears; + No--but with pride we name them, + For grief their memory wrongs; + Our proudest thoughts shall claim them, + And our exalting songs. + + Heights of the rocky Alma, + The flags that scaled you bore + "Plassey," "Quebec," and "Blenheim," + And many a triumph more; + And they shall show your glory + Till men shall silent be, + Of Waterloo and Maida + Moultan and Meanee. + + I look; another glory + Methinks they give to fame; + By Badajoz and Bhurtpoor + Streams out another name; + From captured fleet and city, + And fort, the thick clouds roll, + And on the flags above them + Is writ "Sebastopol." + + + + +THE MAMELUKE CHARGE. + +BY SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE. + + + Let the Arab courser go + Headlong on the silent foe; + Their plumes may shine like mountain snow, + Like fire their iron tubes may glow, + Their cannon death on death may throw, + Their pomp, their pride, their strength, we know, + But--let the Arab courser go. + + The Arab horse is free and bold, + His blood is noble from of old, + Through dams, and sires, many a one, + Up to the steed of Solomon. + He needs no spur to rouse his ire, + His limbs of beauty never tire, + Then, give the Arab horse the rein, + And their dark squares will close in vain. + Though loud the death-shot peal, and louder, + He will only neigh the prouder; + Though nigh the death-flash glare, and nigher, + He will face the storm of fire; + He will leap the mound of slain, + Only let him have the rein. + + The Arab horse will not shrink back, + Though death confront him in his track, + The Arab horse will not shrink back, + And shall his rider's arm be slack? + No!--By the God who gave us life, + Our souls are ready for the strife. + We need no serried lines, to show + A gallant bearing to the foe. + We need no trumpet to awake The thirst, + which blood alone can slake. + What is it that can stop our course, + Free riders of the Arab horse? + + Go--brave the desert wind of fire; + Go--beard the lightning's look of ire; + Drive back the ravening flames, which leap + In thunder from the mountain steep; + But dream not, men of fifes and drums, + To stop the Arab when he comes: + Not tides of fire, not walls of rock, + Could shield you from that earthquake shock. + Come, brethren, come, too long we stay, + The shades of night have rolled away, + Too fast the golden moments fleet, + Charge, ere another pulse has beat; + Charge--like the tiger on the fawn-- + Before another breath is drawn. + + + + +MY LADY'S LEAP. + +BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN. + + + My lady's leap! that's it, sir,-- + That's what we call it 'ere;-- + It's a nasty jump for a man, sir, + Let alone for a woman to clear. + D'ye see the fencing around it? + And the cross as folk can tell, + That this is the very spot, sir, + Where her sweet young ladyship fell? + + I've lived in his lordship's family + For goin' on forty year. + And the tears will come a wellin' + Whenever I think of her; + For my mem'ry takes me backwards + To the days when by my side + She would sit in her tiny saddle + As I taught her the way to ride. + + But she didn't want much teachin';-- + Lor' bless ye, afore she was eight + There wasn't a fence in the county + Nor ever a five-barred gate + But what she'd leap, aye, and laugh at. + I think now I hear the ring + Of her voice, shouting, "Now then, lassie!" + As over a ditch she'd spring. + + How proud I was of my mistress, + When round the country-side + I'd hear folks talking of her, sir, + And how she used to ride! + Every one knew my young mistress, + "My lady of Hislop Chase;" + And, what's more, every one loved her, + And her sunny, angel face. + + Lord Hislop lost his wife, sir, + When Lady Vi' was born. + And never man aged so quickly: + He grew haggard and white and worn + In less than a week. Then after, + At times, he'd grow queer and wild; + And only one thing saved him-- + His love for his only child. + He worshipped her like an idol; + He loved her, folks said too well; + And God sent the end as a judgment,-- + But how that may be who can tell? + + I don't know how it all happened-- + I heard the story you see, + In bits and scraps,--just here and there; + But, sir, 'atween you and me, + In putting them all together, + I think I've a good idea + As how the Master got swindled, + And things at the "Chase" went queer. + He'd a notion to leave Miss Vi'let + Rich, I fancy, you know; + For now and ag'in I noticed + He'd take in his head to go + Away for a time--to London,-- + And I, who knew him so well, + Could see as he came home worried. + Aye, sir! I could read--could tell + As things had gone wrong with Master. + I was right: 'twas that tale so old! + He'd lost in that great big gamble, + In that cursed greed for gold. + + And then the worst came to the worst, sir. + "The old Chase must go from us, Vi'!" + Her father told her one morning, + "My child! oh, my child! I would die + Ten thousand deaths rather than tell you + What price our freedom would cost." + And then, in a voice hoarse and broken, + He told her how all had been lost. + They say, sir, the girl answered proudly, + "I know, father, what you would say: + The man who has swindled you, duped you, + Will return you your own if you pay + His price--my hand. Don't speak, father! + You know what I'm saying is true; + And, father, I know Paul Delaunay, + Yes, better, far better, than you. + Go, tell him I'll wed him to-morrow, + On this one condition--list here,-- + That he beats me across the country + From Hislop to Motecombe Mere. + But say that should I chance to beat him + He must give back everything--all + Of what he has robbed you, father: + That's the message I send Sir Paul." + + Two men watched that ride across country + At the break of an autumn day: + Young Hilton, the son of the Squire, + And I, sir. They started away + And came through the first field together, + Then leaped the first fence neck and neck; + On, on again, riding like mad, sir, + Jumping all without hinder or check. + In this, the last field 'fore the finish, + You could save half a minute or more + By leaping the stone wall and brooklet; + But never, sir, never before, + Had anyone ever attempted + That leap; it was madness, but, sir, + My young mistress knew that Delaunay + Was too great a coward and cur + To follow; and, what's more, she knew, sir, + That she _must_ be first in the race-- + For the sake of the Hislop honour, + To win back the dear old Chase. + + I looked at young Hilton beside me-- + A finer lad never walked: + I don't think he thought as I knew, sir, + Their secret, for I'd never talked; + But I'd known for a long time, you see, sir, + As he and my lady Vi' + Had loved and would love for ever. + At last from his lips came a cry, + "Good God! she never will clear it!" + Then he turned his face to the ground; + While I--I looked on in terror, + Watched her, sir, taking that bound. + With a cold sweat bathing my forehead, + I saw her sweep onward, and gasped-- + "For Heaven's sake, stop, Lady Vi'let!" + A laugh was her answer. She passed + On, on, like a shimmer of lightning, + And then came her last great leap-- + The next, sir, I saw of my lady + Was a crushed and mangled heap. + Delaunay? No, he didn't follow, + Nor even drew rein when she fell; + But rode on, the longest way round, sir. + When he came back to claim her--well, + She was dead in the arms of her lover-- + Claspt tight in his mad embrace;-- + With her life-blood staining her tresses, + And a sad, sweet smile on her face. + + I heard the last words that she uttered-- + "My love! tell my father I tried + To do what was best for his honour; + For you and for him I have died." + + + + +A SONG FOR THE END OF THE SEASON. + +BY J.R. PLANCHE. + +(_FROM THE "DRAMATIC COLLEGE ANNUAL."_) + + + Sir John has this moment gone by + In the brougham that was to be mine, + But, my dear, I'm not going to cry, + Though I know where he's going to dine. + I shall meet him at Lady Gay's ball + With that girl to his arm clinging fast, + But it won't, love, disturb me at all, + I've recovered my spirits at last! + + I was horribly low for a week, + For I could not go out anywhere + Without hearing, "You know they don't speak;" + Or, "I'm told it's all broken off there." + But the Earl whispered something last night, + I sha'n't say exactly what past, + But of this, dear, be satisfied quite, + I've recovered my spirits at last! + + + + +THE AGED PILOT MAN. + +BY MARK TWAIN. + + + On the Erie Canal, it was, + All on a summer's day, + I sailed forth with my parents + Far away to Albany. + + From out the clouds at noon that day + There came a dreadful storm, + That piled the billows high about, + And filled us with alarm. + + A man came rushing from a house, + "Tie up your boat I pray! + Tie up your boat, tie up, alas! + Tie up while yet you may." + + Our captain cast one glance astern, + Then forward glanced he, + And said, "My wife and little ones + I never more shall see." + + Said Dollinger the pilot man, + In noble words, but few-- + "Fear not, but lean on Dollinger, + And he will fetch you through." + + The boat drove on, the frightened mules + Tore through the rain and wind, + And bravely still in danger's post, + The whip-boy strode behind. + + "Come 'board, come 'board," the captain cried, + "Nor tempt so wild a storm;" + But still the raging mules advanced, + And still the boy strode on. + + Then said the captain to us all, + "Alas, 'tis plain to me, + The greater danger is not there, + But here upon the sea. + + So let us strive, while life remains, + To save all souls on board, + And then if die at last we must, + I ... _cannot_ speak the word!" + + Said Dollinger the pilot man, + Tow'ring above the crew, + "Fear not, but trust in Dollinger, + And he will fetch you through." + + "Low bridge! low bridge!" all heads went down, + The labouring bark sped on; + A mill we passed, we passed a church, + Hamlets, and fields of corn; + + And all the world came out to see, + And chased along the shore, + Crying, "Alas, the sheeted rain, + The wind, the tempest's roar! + Alas, the gallant ship and crew, + Can _nothing_ help them more?" + + And from our deck sad eyes looked out + Across the stormy scene: + The tossing wake of billows aft, + The bending forests green, + + The chickens sheltered under carts, + In lee of barn the cows, + The skurrying swine with straw in mouth, + The wild spray from our bows! + + "She balances? + She wavers! + _Now_ let her go about! + If she misses stays and broaches to + We're all"--[then with a shout,] + "Huray! huray! + Avast! belay! + Take in more sail! + Lor! what a gale! + Ho, boy, haul taut on the hind mule's tail!" + + "Ho! lighten ship! ho! man the pump! + Ho, hostler, heave the lead!" + "A quarter-three!--'tis shoaling fast! + Three feet large!--three-e feet!-- + 'Tis three feet scant!" I cried in fright, + "Oh, is there _no_ retreat?" + + Said Dollinger the pilot man, + As on the vessel flew, + "Fear not, but trust in Dollinger, + And he will fetch you through." + + A panic struck the bravest hearts, + The boldest cheek turned pale; + For plain to all, this shoaling said + A leak had burst the ditch's bed! + And, straight as bolt from crossbow sped, + Our ship swept on, with shoaling lead, + Before the fearful gale! + + "Sever the tow-line! Stop the mules!" + Too late! .... There comes a shock! + + * * * * * + + Another length, and the fated craft + Would have swum in the saving lock! + + Then gathered together the shipwrecked crew + And took one last embrace, + While sorrowful tears from despairing eyes + Ran down each hopeless face; + And some did think of their little ones + Whom they never more might see, + And others of waiting wives at home, + And mothers that grieved would be. + + But of all the children of misery there + On that poor sinking frame, + But one spake words of hope and faith, + And I worshipped as they came: + Said Dollinger the pilot man-- + (O brave heart strong and true!)-- + "Fear not, but trust in Dollinger, + For he will fetch you through." + + Lo! scarce the words have passed his lips + The dauntless prophet say'th, + When every soul about him seeth + A wonder crown his faith! + + And count ye all, both great and small, + As numbered with the dead! + For mariner for forty year, + On Erie, boy and man, + I never yet saw such a storm, + Or one 't with it began! + + So overboard a keg of nails + And anvils three we threw, + Likewise four bales of gunny-sacks, + Two hundred pounds of glue, + Two sacks of corn, four ditto wheat, + A box of books, a cow, + A violin, Lord Byron's works, + A rip-saw and a sow. + + A curve! a curve; the dangers grow! + "Labbord!--stabbord!--s-t-e-a-d-y!--so!-- + _Hard-a.-port_, Dol!--hellum-a-lee! + Haw the head mule!--the aft one gee! + Luff!--bring her to the wind!" + + For straight a farmer brought a plank,-- + (Mysteriously inspired)-- + And laying it unto the ship, + In silent awe retired. + Then every sufferer stood amazed + That pilot man before; + A moment stood. Then wondering turned, + And speechless walked ashore. + + + + +TIM KEYSER'S NOSE. + +BY MAX ADELER. + + Tim Keyser lived at Wilmington, + He had a monstrous nose, + Which was a great deal redder + Than the very reddest rose, + And was completely capable + Of most terrific blows. + + He wandered down one Christmas-day + To skate upon the creek, + And there upon the smoothest ice + He slid along so slick, + The people were amazed to see + Him cut it up so quick; + + The exercise excited thirst, + And so, to get a drink, + He cut an opening in the ice, + And lay down on the brink. + Says he, "I'll dip my nose right in, + And sip it up, I think." + + But while his nose was thus immersed + Six inches in the stream, + A very hungry pickerel + Was attracted by the gleam, + And darting up, it gave a snap, + And Keyser gave a scream. + + Tim Keyser then was well assured + He had a famous bite; + To pull that pickerel up he tried, + And tugged with all his might; + But the disgusting pickerel had + The better of the fight. + + And just as Mr. Keyser thought + His nose would split in two, + The pickerel gave his tail a twist, + And pulled Tim Keyser through, + And he was scudding through the waves + The first thing that he knew. + + Then onward swam the savage fish + With swiftness towards its nest, + Still chewing Mr. Keyser's nose, + While Mr. Keyser guessed + What kind of policy would suit + His circumstances best. + + Just then his nose was tickled + With a spear of grass close by; + Tim Keyser gave a sneeze which burst + The pickerel into "pi," + And blew its bones, the ice, and waves + A thousand feet on high. + + Tim Keyser swam up to the top, + A breath of air to take, + And finding broken ice, he hooked + His nose upon a cake, + And gloried in a nose that could + Such a concussion make. + + His Christmas dinner on that day + He tackled with a vim; + And thanked his stars, as shuddering + He thought upon his swim, + That that wild pickerel had not + Spent Christmas eating him. + + + + +THE LOST EXPRESSION. + +BY MARSHALL STEELE. + + +Oh! I fell in love with Dora, and my heart was all a-glow, +For I never met before a girl who took my fancy so; +She had eyes--no! cheeks a-blushing with the peach's ripening flush, +Was ecstatically gushing--and I like a girl to gush. +She'd the loveliest of faces, and the goldenest of hair, +And all customary graces lovers fancy in the fair. + +Now, she doated on romances, she was yearnful and refined, +She had sentimental fancies of a most aesthetic kind, +She was sensitive, fantastic, tender, too, as she was fair, +But alas! she was not plastic, as I owned in my despair. +And, for all she was so gentle, yet she gave me this rebuff-- +Though I might be sentimental, I'd not sentiment enough. + +Then I _did_ grow sentimental, for that seemed to be my part, +And I talked in transcendental fashion that might move her heart, +Sighed to live in fairy grottoes with my Dora all alone, +And I studied cracker mottoes, which I quoted as my own. +Thus I strove to be romantic, but I failed upon the whole, +And she nearly drove me frantic when she said I had not "soul." + +So, despair tinged all my passion, sorrow mingled with my love, +Though I wooed her in a fashion which the stones of Rome might move, +Though I wrote her fervid sonnets with the fervour underlined, +Though I bought her gloves and bonnets of the most artistic kind, +Yet for me life held no pleasure, and my sorrow grew acute +That she smiled upon my presents, but she frowned upon my suit. + +All in vain seemed love and longing till upon one fateful day +Hopes anew came on me thronging, as I heard my Dora say-- +"Richard mine, I saw you sobbing o'er my photograph last night, +With a look that set me throbbing with unspeakable delight. +Wide your eyelids you were oping and your look was far from hence +With a passionate wild hoping that was soulful and intense. + +"I have seen that look on Irving and sometimes on Beerbohm Tree, +And it seems to be observing joy and rapture yet to be. +In the nostril elevated and the lip that lightly curled +Was a cold scorn indicated of this vulgar nether world. +I could marry that expression. Show it once again then, do! +And I meekly make profession--I--I--I will marry you!" + +Joy was then my heart's possession, joy and rapturous content, +For I'd practised that expression, and I knew just what she meant: +So my eyebrows up I lifted and I stared with all my might +And my right-hand nostril shifted somewhat further to the right, +But I quite forgot--sad error was this dire mnemonic slip!-- +I forgot in doubt and terror how to move my lower lip! + +With one eyebrow elevated down I dropped my dexter lid, +Never mortal dislocated all his features as I did, +For I moved them in my folly right and left and up and down, +Till she asked if I was qualifying for the part of clown. +And I left in deep depression when she showed me to the door, +Saying, "Bring back that expression, sir, or never see me more!" + +Then before my looking-glass I sought, and sought for months in vain, +That expression which, alas! I had forgotten, to my pain, +And I said then, feeling poorly, "I'll go seek the haunts of men, +I could reproduce it surely, if I met with it again: +For, whose-ever--peer's or peasant's--face that heavenly look might + wear, +He should never leave my presence till I copied it, I swear." + +Could I meet a schoolboy, madly pleased the day that school begins, +Or a father smiling gladly, when the nurse says "Sir, it's twins!" +Or a well-placed politician who no better place desires, +But achieves his one ambition on the day that he retires, +That expression--'tis my sure hope--on their faces I should get, +So I searched for them through Europe, but I haven't found them yet. + +Then I lunched one day with Irving, once I dined with Mr. Tree, +Who in intervals of serving made such faces up at me. +But they failed me, though the former once a look upon me hurled, +Which expressed how the barn-stormer shows disdain of all the world, +And his look of rapture when I rose to go was quite immense, +Though not either now or then I thought it soulful or intense. + +But at last, some long months later--'twas a dinner I was at +In the City--"Bring me, waiter," someone said, "some more green fat." +'Twas my _vis-a-vis_ was speaking, and an Alderman was he; +On his radiant face, and reeking, was the hope of joy to be. +He had all that lost expression, every detail showing plain, +Soulfulness, hope of possession, joy, intensity, disdain. + +Then I sought to make him merry, and I plied him with old port, +Claret, burgundy, Bass, sherry, and a little something short; +And this guzzler, by me aided, kept on soaking all the while, +Till that lost expression faded to an idiotic smile, +And his speech grew thick and thicker, and his mind began to roam, +Till he finished off his liquor and I drove him to my home. + +There with coils of rope I strapped him to my sofa, firm and fast, +Douched him, doused him, bled and tapped him, till I sobered him at + last, +To that lost expression led him--that was all that I was at-- +As for days and weeks I fed him on suggestions of green fat. +Thus I caught that lost expression, and I cried, "Thrice happy day! +Once again 'tis my possession." Then I turned and fled away. + +Without swerving or digression to my Dora straight I sped, +And she gazed at that expression, then she clapped her hands and + said-- +"You have found it--who'd have thought it?--you have brought it me + again!" +"Yes!" I cried, "and as I've brought it, make me happiest of men." +But--oh! who could tell her sorrow, as she cried in wistful tones?-- +"Dick, I'd marry you to-morrow, but I'm Mrs. Bowler Jones!" + + + + +A NIGHT SCENE. + +BY ROBERT B. BROUGH. + + + Out of the grog-shop, I've stepp'd in the street. + Road, what's the matter? you're loose on your feet; + Staggering, swaggering, reeling about, + Road, you're in liquor, past question or doubt. + + Gas-lamps, be quiet--stand up, if you please. + What the deuce ails you? you're weak in the knees: + Some on your heads--in the gutter some sunk-- + Gas-lamps, I see it, you're all of you drunk. + + Angels and ministers! look at the moon-- + Shining up there like a paper balloon, + Winking like mad at me: Moon, I'm afraid-- + Now I'm convinced--Oh! you tipsy old jade. + + Here's a phenomenon: Look at the stars-- + Jupiter, Ceres, Uranus, and Mars, + Dancing quadrilles; caper'd, shuffl'd and hopp'd. + Heavenly bodies! this ought to be stopp'd. + + Down come the houses! each drunk as a king-- + Can't say I fancy much this sort of thing; + Inside the bar it was safe and all right, + I shall go back there, and stop for the night. + + + + +KARL, THE MARTYR. + +BY FRANCES WHITESIDE. + + + It was the closing of a summer's day, + And trellised branches from encircling trees + Threw silver shadows o'er the golden space. + Where groups of merry-hearted sons of toil + Were met to celebrate a village feast; + Casting away, in frolic sport, the cares + That ever press and crowd and leave their mark + Upon the brows of all whose bread is earned + By daily labour. 'Twas perchance the feast + Of fav'rite saint, or anniversary + Of one of bounteous nature's season gifts + To grateful husbandry--no matter what + The cause of their uniting. Joy beamed forth + On ev'ry face, and the sweet echoes rang + With sounds of honest mirth too rarely heard + In the vast workshop man has made his world, + Where months of toil must pay one day of song. + + Somewhat apart from the assembled throng + There sat a swarthy giant, with a face + So nobly grand that though (unlike the rest) + He wore no festal garb nor laughing mien, + Yet was he study for the painter's art: + He joined not in their sports, but rather seemed + To please his eye with sight of others' joy. + There was a cast of sorrow on his brow, + As though it had been early there. + He sat In listless attitude, yet not devoid + Of gentlest grace, as down his stalwart form + He bent, to catch the playful whisperings, + And note the movements of a bright-hair'd child + Who danced before him in the evening sun, + Holding a tiny brother by the hand. + + He was the village smith (the rolled-up sleeves + And the well-charred leathern apron show'd his craft); + Karl was his name--a man beloved by all. + He was not of the district. He had come + Amongst them ere his forehead bore one trace + Of age or suffering. A wife and child + He had brought with him; but the wife was dead. + Not so the child--who danced before him now + And held a tiny brother by the hand-- + Their mother's last and priceless legacy! + So Karl was happy still that those two lived, + And laughed and danced before him in the sun. + + Yet sadly so. The children both were fair, + Ruddy, and active, though of fragile form; + But to that father's ever watchful eye, + Who had so loved their mother, it was plain + That each inherited the wasting doom + Which cost that mother's life. 'Twas reason more + To work and toil for them by night and day! + Early and late his anvil's ringing sound + Was heard amidst all seasons. Oftentimes + The neighbours asked him why he worked so hard + With only two to care for? He would smile, + Wipe his hot brow, and say, "'Twas done in love + For sake of those in mercy left him still-- + And hers: he might not stay. He could not live + To lose them all." The tenderest of plants + Required the careful'st gardening, and so + He worked on valiantly; and if he marked + An extra gleam of health in Trudchen's cheeks, + A growing strength in little Casper's laugh, + He bowed his head, and felt his work was paid. + Even as now, while sitting 'neath the tree, + He watched the bright-hair'd image of his wife, + Who danced before him in the evening sun, + Holding her tiny brother by the hand. + + The frolics pause: now Casper's laughing head + Rests wearily against his father's knee + In trusting lovingness; while Trudchen runs + To snatch a hasty kiss (the little man, + It may be, wonders if the tiny hand + With which he strives to reach his father's neck + Will ever grow as big and brown as that + He sees imbedded in his sister's curls). + When quick as lightning's flash up starts the smith, + Huddles the frightened children in his arms, + Thrusts them far back--extends his giant frame + And covers them as with Goliath's shield! + + Now hark! a rushing, yelping, panting sound, + So terrible that all stood chilled with fear; + And in the midst of that late joyous throng + Leapt an infuriate hound, with flaming eyes, + Half-open mouth, and fiercely bristling hair, + Proving that madness tore the brute to death. + One spring from Karl, and the wild thing was seized, + Fast prison'd in the stalwart Vulcan's gripe. + + A sharp, shrill cry of agony from Karl + Was mingled with the hound's low fever'd growl. + And all with horror saw the creature's teeth + Fixed in the blacksmith's shoulder. None had power + To rescue him; for scarcely could you count + A moment's space ere both had disappeared-- + The man and dog. The smith had leapt a fence + And gained the forest with a frantic rush, + Bearing the hideous mischief in his arms. + + A long receding cry came on the ear, + Showing how swift their flight; and fainter grew + The sound: ere well a man had time to think + What might be done for help, the sound was hushed, + Lost in the very distance. Women crouched + And huddled up their children in their arms; + Men flew to seek their weapons. 'Twas a change + So swift and fearful, none could realise + Its actual horrors--for a time. But now, + The panic past, to rescue and pursuit! + + Crash! through the brake into the forest track; + But pitchy darkness, caused by closing night + And foliage dense, impedes the avengers' way; + When lo! they trip o'er something in their path! + + It was the bleeding body of the hound, + Warm, but quite dead. No other trace of Karl + Was near at hand; they called his name; in vain + They sought him in the forest all night through; + Living or dead, he was not to be found. + At break of day they left the fruitless search. + + Next morning, as an anxious village group + Stood meditating plans what best to do, + Came little Trudchen, who, in simple tones, + Said, "Father's at the forge--I heard him there + Working long hours ago; but he is angry. + I raised the latch: he bade me to be gone. + What have I done to make him chide me so?" + And then her bright blue eyes ran o'er with tears. + "The child's been dreaming through this troubled night," + Said a kind dame, and drew the child towards her. + But the sad answers of the girl were such + As led them all to seek her father's forge + (It lay beyond the village some short span). + They forced the door, and there beheld the smith. + + His sinewy frame was drawn to its full height; + And round his loins a double chain of iron, + Wrought with true workman skill, was riveted + Fast to an anvil of enormous weight. + He stood as pale and statue-like as death. + + Now let his own words close the hapless tale: + "I killed the hound, you know; but not until + His maddening venom through my veins had passed. + I knew full well the death in store for me, + And would not answer when you called my name; + But crouched among the brushwood, while I thought + Over some plan. I know my giant strength, + And dare not trust it after reason's loss. + Why! I might turn and rend whom most I love. + I've made all fast now. 'Tis a hideous death. + I thought to plunge me in the deep, still pool + That skirts the forest--to avoid it; but + I thought that for the suicide's poor shift + I would not throw away my chance of heaven, + And meeting one who made earth heaven to me. + So I came home and forged these chains about me: + Full well I know no human hand can rend them, + And now am safe from harming those I love. + Keep off, good friends! Should God prolong my life, + Throw me such food as nature may require. + Look to my babes. This you are bound to do; + For by my deadly grasp on that poor hound, + How many of you have I saved from death + Such as I now await? But hence away! + The poison works! these chains must try their strength. + My brain's on fire! with me 'twill soon be night." + + Too true his words! the brave, great-hearted Karl, + A raving maniac, battled with his chains + For three fierce days. The fourth saw him free; + For Death's strong hand had loosed the martyr's bonds; + Where his freed spirit soars, who dares to doubt? + + + + +THE ROMANCE OF TENACHELLE. + +BY HERCULES ELLIS. + + + On panting steeds they hurry on, + Kildare, and Darcy's lovely daughter-- + On panting steeds they hurry on; + To cross the Barrow's water; + Within her father's dungeon chained, + Kildare her gentle heart had gained; + Now love and she have broke his chain, + And he is free! is free again. + + His cloak, by forest boughs is rent, + The long night's toilsome journey showing; + His helm's white plume is wet, and bent, + And backwards o'er his shoulders flowing; + Pale is the lovely lady's cheek, + Her eyes grow dim, her hand is weak; + And, feebly, tries she to sustain, + Her falling horse, with silken rein. + + "Now, clasp thy fair arms round my neck," + Kildare cried to the lovely lady; + "Thy weight black Memnon will not check, + Nor stay his gallop, swift and steady;" + The blush, one moment, dyed her cheek; + The next, her arms are round his neck; + And placed before him on his horse, + They haste, together, on their course. + + "Oh! Gerald," cried the lady fair, + Now backward o'er his shoulder gazing, + "I see Red Raymond, in our rear, + And Owen, Darcy's banner raising-- + Mother of Mercy! now I see + My father, in their company; + Oh! Gerald, leave me here, and fly, + Enough! enough! for one to die!" + + "My own dear love; my own dear love!" + Kildare cried to the lovely lady, + "Fear not, black Memnon yet shall prove, + Than all their steeds, more swift and steady: + But to guide well my gallant horse, + Tasks eye, and hand, and utmost force; + Then look for me, my love, and tell, + What see'st thou now at Tenachelle?" + + "I see, I see," the lady cried, + "Now bursting o'er its green banks narrow, + And through the valley spreading wide, + In one vast flood, the Barrow! + The bridge of Tenachelle now seems, + A dark stripe o'er the rushing streams; + For nought above the flood is shown, + Except its parapet alone." + + "But can'st thou see," Earl Gerald said, + "My faithful Gallowglasses standing? + Waves the green plume on Milo's head, + For me, at Tenachelle commanding?" + "No men are there," the lady said, + "No living thing, no human aid; + The trees appear, like isles of green, + Nought else, through all the vale is seen." + + Deep agony through Gerald passed; + Oh! must she fall, the noble-hearted; + And must this morning prove their last, + By kinsmen and by friends deserted? + Sure treason must have made its way, + Within the courts of Castle Ley; + And kept away the mail-clad ranks + He ordered to the Barrow's banks. + + "The chase comes fast," the lady cries; + "Both whip and spur I see them plying; + Sir Robert Verdon foremost hies, + Through Regan's forest flying; + Each moment on our course they gain, + Alas! why did I break thy chain, + And urge thee, from thy prison, here, + To make the mossy turf thy bier?" + + "Cheer up! cheer up! my own dear maid," + Kildare cried to the weeping lady; + "Soon, soon, shall come the promised aid, + With shield and lance for battle ready; + Look out, while swift we ride, and tell + What see'st thou now at Tenachelle. + Does aught on Clemgaum's Hill now move? + Cheer up, and look, my own dear love!" + + "Still higher swells the rushing tide," + The lady said, "along the river; + The bridge wall's rent, with breaches wide, + Beneath its force the arches quiver. + But on Clemgaum I see no plumes; + From Offaly no succour comes; + No banner floats, no trumpet's blown-- + Alas! alas! we are alone. + + "And now, O God! I see behind, + My father to Red Raymond lending, + His war-horse, fleeter than the wind, + And on our chase, the traitor sending: + He holds the lighted aquebus, + Bearing death to both of us; + Speed, my gallant Memnon, speed, + Nor let us 'neath the ruffian bleed." + + "Thy love saved _me_ at risk of life," + Kildare cried, "when the axe was wielding; + And now I joy, my own dear wife, + To think my breast _thy_ life is shielding; + Thank Heaven no bolt can now reach thee, + That shall not first have passed through me; + For death were mercy to the thought, + That thou, for me, to death were brought." + + And now they reach the trembling bridge, + Through flooded bottoms swiftly rushing; + Along it heaves a foaming ridge, + Through its rent walls the torrent's gushing. + Across the bridge their way they make, + 'Neath Memnon's hoofs the arches shake; + While fierce as hate, and fleet as wind, + Red Raymond follows fast behind. + + They've gained, they've gained the farther side! + Through clouds of foam, stout Memnon dashes; + And, as they swiftly onward ride, + Beneath his feet the vext flood splashes. + But as they reach the floodless ground, + The valley rings with a sharp sound; + The aquebus has hurled its rain, + And by it gallant Memnon's slain. + + And now behind loud rose the cry-- + "The bridge! beware! the bridge is breaking!" + Backwards the scared pursuers fly, + While, like a tyrant, his wrath wreaking, + Rushed the flood, the strong bridge rending, + And its fragments downwards sending; + In its throat Red Raymond swallowed, + While above him the flood bellowed. + + Hissing, roaring, in its course, + The shattered bridge before it spurning, + The flood burst down, with giant force, + The oaks of centuries upturning. + The awed pursuers stood aghast; + All hope to reach Kildare's now past + Blest be the Barrow, which thus rose, + To save true lovers from their foes! + + And now o'er Clemgaum's Hill appear, + Their white plumes on the breezes dancing, + A gallant troop, with shield and spear, + From Offaley with aid advancing. + Quick to Kildare his soldiers ride, + And raise him up from Memnon's side; + Unhurt he stands, and to his breast, + The Lady Anna Darcy's pressed. + + "Kinsmen and friends," exclaimed Kildare, + "Behold my bride, the fair and fearless, + Who broke my chain, and brought me here, + In truth, in love, and beauty, peerless. + Here, at the bridge of Tenachelle, + Amid the friends I love so well, + I swear that until life depart, + She'll rule my home, my soul, my heart!" + + + + +MICHAEL FLYNN. + +BY WILLIAM THOMSON. + + + Said Michael Flynn, the lab'ring man, + "Yis, sorr, although oi'm poor, + Sooner than live on charity + I'd beg from door to door." + + + + +A NIGHT WITH A STORK. + +BY WILLIAM G. WILCOX. + + +Four individuals--namely, my wife, my infant son, my +maid-of-all-work, and myself, occupy one of a row of very small +houses in the suburbs of London. I am a thoroughly domesticated +man, and notwithstanding that my occupation necessitates absence +from my dwelling between the hours of 9 A.M. and 5 P.M., my heart +is usually at home with my diminutive household. My wife and I love +regularity and quiet above all things; and although, since the +arrival of my son and heir, we have not enjoyed that perfect peace +which was ours during the first years of our married life, yet his +powerful little lungs, I am bound to say, have failed to make ours a +noisy house. + +Up to the time when the incident occurred which I am going to tell +you about our regularity had remained undisturbed, and we got up, +went to bed, dined, breakfasted, and took tea at the same time, day +after day. Well, as I say, we had been going on in this clockwork +fashion for a considerable time, when the other morning the postman +brought a letter to our door, and on looking at the direction, I +found that it came from an old, rich, and very eccentric uncle of +mine, with whom--hem! for certain reasons, we wished to remain on the +best of terms. + +"What can Uncle Martin have to write about?" was our simultaneous +exclamation. "The present for baby at last, I do believe, James," +added my wife; "a cheque, perhaps, or----" I opened the letter and +read:-- + + "MARTIN HOUSE, HERTS., + "_October 17th_. + + "DEAR NEPHEW,--You may perhaps have heard that I am forming an + aviary here. A friend in Rotterdam has written to me to say that + he has sent by the boat, which will arrive in London to-morrow + afternoon, a very intelligent parrot and a fine stork. As the + vessel arrives too late for them to be sent on the same night, + I shall be obliged by your taking the birds home, and forwarding + them to me the next morning. With my respects to your good lady, + + "I remain, + + "Your affectionate Uncle, + + "RALPH MARTIN." + +We looked at each other for a moment in silence, and then my wife +said, "James, what is a stork?" + +"A stork, my dear, is a--a--sort of ostrich, I think." + +"An ostrich! why that's an enormous----" + +"Yes, my dear, the creature that puts its head in the sand, and kicks +when it's pursued, you know." + +"James, the horrid thing shall _not_ come here! If it should kick +baby we should never forgive ourselves." + +"No, no, my dear, I don't think the _stork_ is at all ferocious. No, +it can't be. Stork! stork! I always associate storks with chimneys. +Yes, abroad, I think in Holland, or Germany, or somewhere, the stork +sweeps the chimneys with its long legs from the top. But let's see +what the Natural History says, my dear. That will tell us all about +it. Stork--um--um--'hind toe short, middle toe long, and joined to +the outer one by a large membrane, and by a smaller one to the inner +toe.' Well, _that_ won't matter much for one night, will it, dear? +'His height often exceeds four feet.'" + +"_Four_ feet!!!" interrupted my wife. "James, how high are you?" + +"Well, my dear, really, comparisons are exceedingly +disagreeable--um--um--'appetite extremely voracious,' and his +food--hulloa! 'frogs, mice, worms, snails, and eels!'" + +"Frogs, mice, worms, snails, and eels," repeated my wife. "James, do +you expect me to provide supper and breakfast of this description for +the horrid thing?" + +"Well, my dear, we must do our best for baby's sake, you know, for +baby's sake," and, getting my hat, I left as usual for the office. I +passed anything but a pleasant day there, my thoughts constantly +reverting to our expected visitors. At four o'clock I took a cab to +the docks, and on arriving there inquired for the ship, which was +pointed out to me as "the one with the crowd on the quay." On driving +up I discovered why there was a crowd, and the discovery did not +bring comfort with it. On the deck, on one leg, stood the stork. +Whether it was the sea voyage, or the leaving his home, or, that +being a stork of high moral principle, he was grieving at the +persistent swearing of the parrot, I do not know, but I never saw a +more melancholy looking object in my life. + +I went down on the deck, and did not like the expression of relief +that came over the captain's face when he found what I had come for. +The transmission of the parrot from the ship to the cab was an easy +matter, as he was in a cage; but the stork was merely tethered by one +leg; and although he did his best, when brought to the foot of the +ladder, in trying to get up, he failed utterly, and had to be half +shoved, half hauled all the way. Even then he persisted in getting +outside of every bar--like this. After a great deal of trouble we got +him to the top. I hurried him into the cab, and telling the man to +drive as quickly as possible, got in with my guests. At first I had +to keep dodging my head about to keep my face away from his bill, as +he turned round; but all of a sudden he broke the little window at +the back of the cab, thrust his head through, and would keep it +there, notwithstanding that I kept pulling him back. Consequently +when we drove up to my house there was a mob of about a thousand +strong around us. I got him in as well as I could, and shut the door. + +How can I describe the spending of that evening? How can I get +sufficient power out of the English language to let you know what a +nuisance that bird was to us? How can I tell you of the cool manner +in which he inspected our domestic arrangements, walking slowly from +room to room, and standing on one leg till his curiosity was +satisfied, or how describe the expression of wretchedness that he +threw over his entire person when he was tethered to the banisters, +and found out that, owing to our limited accommodation he was to +remain in the hall all night, or picture the way in which he ate the +snails specially provided for him, verifying to the letter the +naturalist's description of his appetite. How can you who have _not_ +had a stork staying with you have any idea of the change that came +over his temper after his supper, how he pecked at everybody who came +near him; how he stood sentinel at the foot of the stairs; how my +wife and I made fruitless attempts to get past, followed by +ignominious retreats; how at last we outmanoeuvred him by +throwing a tablecloth over his head, and then rushing by him, gained +the top of the stairs before he could disentangle himself. + +Added to all this we had to endure language from that parrot which +was really shocking: indeed, so scurrilous did he become that we had +at last to take him and lock him up in the coal-hole, where, owing to +the darkness of his bedroom, or from fatigue, he presently swore +himself to sleep. + +Well, by this time, we were quite ready for rest, and the +forgetfulness which, we hoped, sleep would bring with it; but our +peace was not to last long. About 2 A.M. my wife clutched my hair and +woke me up. "James, James, listen!" I listened. I heard a sort of +scrambling noise outside the door. "The water running into the +cistern, my dear," I said sleepily. + +"James, don't be absurd; that horrid thing has broken its string, and +is coming upstairs." + +I listened again. It really sounded like it. + +"James, if you don't go at once, _I_ must. You know the nursery door +is always left open, and if that horrid thing should get in to +baby----" + +"But, my dear," said I, "what am I to do in my present defenceless +state of clothing, if he should take to pecking?" + +My wife's expression of contempt at the idea of considering myself +before the baby determined me at once, come what might, to go and do +him battle. Out I went, and there, sure enough, he was on the +landing resting himself after his unusual exertion by tucking up one +leg. He looked so subdued that I was about to take him by the string +and lead him downstairs, when he drew back his head, and in less time +than it takes to relate, I was back in my room, bleeding from a +severe wound in the leg. I shouted out to the nurse to shut the door, +and determined to let the infamous bird go where he liked. I bound up +my leg and went to bed again; but the thought that there was a stork +wandering about the house prevented me from getting any more sleep. +From certain sounds that we heard, we had little doubt that he was +spending some of his time in the cupboard where we kept our surplus +crockery, and an inspection the next day confirmed this. + +In the morning I ventured cautiously out, and finding he was in our +spare bedroom, I shut the door upon him. I then sent for a large +sack, and with the help of the tablecloth, and the boy who cleans our +boots, we got him into it without any further personal damage. I took +him off in this way to the station, and confided him and the parrot +to the guard of the early train. As the train moved off, I heard a +yell and a very improper expression from the guard. I have reason to +believe that the stork had freed himself from the wrapper, and had +begun pecking again. + +We have determined that, taking our chance about a place in my +uncle's will, we will never again have anything to do with any +foreign birds, however much he may ask and desire it. + + + + +AN UNMUSICAL NEIGHBOUR. + +BY WILLIAM THOMSON. + + + I once knew a man who was musical mad-- + A hundred years old was the fiddle he had; + I never complained, but whenever he played + I wished I had lived when that fiddle was made. + + + + +THE CHALICE. + +BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY. + + + Swift, storm-scud, raced the morning sky, + As light along the road I fared; + Stern was the way, yet glad was I, + Though feet and breast and brow were bared; + For fancy, like a happy child, + Ran on before and turned and smiled. + + The track grew fair with turf and tree, + The air was blithe with bird and flower. + Boon nature's gentlest wizardry + Was potent with the bounteous hour: + A raptured languor o'er me crept; + I laid me down at noon and slept. + + I woke, and there, as in a dream, + Which holds some boding fear of wrong, + By fog-bound fen and sluggard stream + I dragged my leaden steps along. + My blood ran ice; I turned and spied + A shrouded figure at my side. + + "And who art thou that pacest here?" + He answered like a hollow wind, + Not heard by any outer ear, + But in dim chambers of the mind. + "I walk," he said, "in ways of shame, + The comrade of thy wasted fame." + + A passion clamoured in my breast, + For mirthless laughter, and I laughed; + In mine the phantom's cold hand pressed + A cup, and in self's spite I quaffed. + It clung like slime; 'twas black like ink: + Death is less bitter than that drink. + + "This chalice scarce can fail," said he, + "Till thou and I shall fail from earth;' + And we will walk in company, + And waste the night with shameful mirth. + I pledge thy fate; now pledge thou mine." + I pledged him in the bitter wine. + + "Had'st thou not slept at noon," he said, + "Thou should'st have walked in praise and fame. + Now loathest thou thine heart and head, + And both thine eyes are blind with shame." + His voice was like a hollow wind + In dim death-chambers in the mind. + + He turned; he bared a demon face; + He filled the night with ribald song; + For many a league, in evil case, + We danced our leaden feet along. + And every rood, in that foul wine, + I pledged his fate: he drank to mine. + + "What comfort has thou?" suddenly + To me my phantom comrade saith. + "I know," said I, "where'er I lie, + The end of each man's road is death. + I pray that I may find it soon; + I weary of night's changeless moon." + + Then, in such lays of hideous mirth + As never tainted human breath, + He cursed all things of human worth-- + Made mock of life and scorn of death. + "Art weary?" quoth he; and said I: + "Fain here to lay me down and die." + + "Then join," he saith, "my roundelay; + Curse God and die, and make an end. + Fled is thine hope, and done thy day; + The fleshworm is thine only friend. + Thy mouth is fouled, and he, I ween, + Alone can scour thy palate clean." + + I said: "I justify the rod; + I claim its heaviest stripe mine own. + Did justice cease to dwell with God, + Then God were toppled from His throne! + Fill up thy chalice to the brink-- + Thy bitterest, and I will drink." + + With looks like any devil's grim, + He poured the brewage till it ran + With fetid horror at the brim. + "Now, drink," he gibed, "and play the man!" + He stretched the chalice forth. It stank + That my soul failed me, and I drank. + + With loathing soul and quivering flesh + I drank, and lo! the draught I took + Was limpid-clear, and sweet and fresh + As ever came from summer brook + Or fountain, where the trees have made + Long from the sun a pleasant shade. + + He hurled the chalice to the sky; + A bright hand caught it; and was gone. + He blessed me with a sovereign eye, + And like a god's his visage shone, + And there he took me by the hand, + And led me towards another land. + + + + +LIVINGSTONE. + +Buried in Westminster Abbey, April, 1874. + +BY HENRY LLOYD. + + + With solemn march and slow a soldier comes, + In conquest fallen; home we bring him dead; + Stand silent by, beat low the muffled drums, + Uncover ye, and bow the reverent head. + + Where ghostly echoes dwell and grey light falls, + Where Kings and Heroes rest in honoured sleep; + Their names steel bitten on the sacred walls, + Inter his dust, while England bends to weep. + + Stir not ye Kings and Heroes in your rest, + Lest these poor bones dishonour such as you; + This man was both, though nodding plume or crest + Ne'er waved above his eye so bright and true. + + By no sad orphan is his name abhorred, + A hero, yet no battered shield he brings. + Nor on his bier a blood encrusted sword; + Nor as his trophies Kings, nor crowns of Kings. + + War hath its heroes, Peace hath hers as well, + Armed by Heaven's King from Heaven's armoury; + And this dead man was one, who fought and fell, + Life less his choice, than death and victory. + + To do his work with purpose iron strong, + To loose the captive, set the prisoner free; + To heal the hideous sore of deadly wrong + Kept festering by greed and cruelty; + + Love on his banner, Pity in his heart; + His lofty soul moved on with single aim; + 'Mid deadly perils bore a noble part, + And, dying, left a pure, unsullied name. + + Thro' dreary miles of foul eternal swamp, + And over lonely leagues of burning sand, + He wrought his purpose; Faith his quenchless lamp, + And Truth his sword held as in giant's hand. + + His lot was as his sorrowing Master's lot, + Nowhere to lay his weary honoured head; + "My limbs they fail me, and my brow is hot; + Build me a hut--wherein--to die," he said. + + "Ah, England, I shall see thee nevermore. + Farewell, my loved ones, far o'er ocean's foam; + Ye watch in vain on that dear mother shore," + He looked to Heaven and cried, "I'm going home." + + Home, sweetest word that ever man has made, + Home, after weariness and toil and pain; + Home to his Father's house all unafraid, + Home to his rest, no more to weep again. + + How found they him, this hero of all time? + Dead on his knees, as if at last he said: + "Into thy hands, O God!" with faith sublime; + And death looked on, scarce knowing he was dead. + + O British land, that breedeth sturdy men, + Be proud to hold our hero's honoured bones; + Land that he wrought for with his life and pen, + Write, write his glory in enduring stones. + + Tell how he lived and died, how fought and fell, + So in the world's glad future, looming dim; + The children of the lands he loved so well, + Shall learn his name and love to honour him. + + + + +IN SWANAGE BAY. + +BY MRS. CRAIK. + + + "'Twas five-and-forty year ago, + Just such another morn, + The fishermen were on the beach, + The reapers in the corn; + My tale is true, young gentlemen, + As sure as you were born. + + "My tale's all true, young gentlemen," + The fond old boatman cried + Unto the sullen, angry lads, + Who vain obedience tried: + "Mind what your father says to you, + And don't go out this tide. + + "Just such a shiny sea as this, + Smooth as a pond, you'd say, + And white gulls flying, and the crafts + Down Channel making way; + And the Isle of Wight, all glittering bright, + Seen clear from Swanage Bay. + + "The Battery Point, the Race beyond, + Just as to-day you see; + This was, I think, the very stone + Where sat Dick, Dolly, and me; + She was our little sister, sirs, + A small child, just turned three. + + "And Dick was mighty fond of her: + Though a big lad and bold, + He'd carry her like any nurse, + Almost from birth, I'm told; + For mother sickened soon, and died + When Doll was eight months old. + + "We sat and watched a little boat, + Her name the 'Tricksy Jane,' + A queer old tub laid up ashore, + But we could see her plain. + To see her and not haul her up + Cost us a deal of pain. + + "Said Dick to me, 'Let's have a pull; + Father will never know: + He's busy in his wheat up there, + And cannot see us go; + These landsmen are such cowards if + A puff of wind does blow. + + "'I've been to France and back three times-- + Who knows best, dad or me, + Whether a ship's seaworthy or not? + Dolly, wilt go to sea?' + And Dolly laughed and hugged him tight, + As pleased as she could be. + + "I don't mean, sirs, to blame poor Dick: + What he did, sure I'd do; + And many a sail in 'Tricksy Jane' + We'd had when she was new. + Father was always sharp; and what + He said, he meant it too. + + "But now the sky had not a cloud, + The bay looked smooth as glass; + Our Dick could manage any boat, + As neat as ever was. + And Dolly crowed, 'Me go to sea!' + The jolly little lass! + + "Well, sirs, we went: a pair of oars; + My jacket for a sail: + Just round 'Old Harry and his Wife'-- + Those rocks there, within hail; + And we came back.----D'ye want to hear + The end o' the old man's tale? + + "Ay, ay, we came back past that point, + But then a. breeze up-sprung; + Dick shouted, 'Hoy! down sail!' and pulled + With all his might among + The white sea-horses that upreared + So terrible and strong. + + "I pulled too: I was blind with fear; + But I could hear Dick's breath + Coming and going, as he told + Dolly to creep beneath + His jacket, and not hold him so: + We rowed for life or death. + + "We almost reached the sheltered bay, + We could see father stand + Upon the little jetty here, + His sickle in his hand; + The houses white, the yellow fields, + The safe and pleasant land. + + "And Dick, though pale as any ghost, + Had only said to me, + 'We're all right now, old lad!' when up + A wave rolled--drenched us three-- + One lurch, and then I felt the chill + And roar of blinding sea. + + "I don't remember much but that: + You see I'm safe and sound; + I have been wrecked four times since then-- + Seen queer sights, I'll be bound. + I think folks sleep beneath the deep + As calm as underground." + + "But Dick and Dolly?" "Well, Poor Dick! + I saw him rise and cling + Unto the gunwale of the boat-- + Floating keel up--and sing + Out loud, 'Where's Doll?'--I hear him yet + As clear as anything. + + "'Where's Dolly?' I no answer made; + For she dropped like a stone + Down through the deep sea; and it closed: + The little thing was gone! + 'Where's Doll?' three times; then Dick loosed hold, + And left me there alone. + + * * * * * + + "It's five-and-forty year since then," + Muttered the boatman grey, + And drew his rough hand o'er his eyes, + And stared across the bay; + "Just five-and-forty year," and not + Another word did say. + + "But Dolly?" ask the children all, + As they about him stand. + "Poor Doll! she floated back next tide + With sea-weed in her hand. + She's buried o'er that hill you see, + In a churchyard on land. + + "But where Dick lies, God knows! He'll find + Our Dick at Judgment-day." + The boatman fell to mending nets, + The boys ran off to play; + And the sun shone and the waves danced + In quiet Swanage Bay. + + + + +BALLAD OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. + +BY GEORGE HENRY BOKER. + + + "O, whither sail you, SIR JOHN FRANKLIN?" + Cried a whaler in Baffin's Bay. + "To know if between the land and the pole + I may find a broad sea-way." + + "I charge you back, SIR JOHN FRANKLIN, + As you would live and thrive; + For between the land and the frozen pole + No man may sail alive." + + But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, + And spoke unto his men: + "Half England is wrong, if he is right; + Bear off to westward then." + + "O, whither sail you, SIR JOHN FRANKLIN?" + Cried the little Esquimaux. + "Between your land and the polar star + My goodly vessels go." + + "Come down, if you would journey there," + The little Indian said; + "And change your cloth for fur clothing, + Your vessel for a sled." + + But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, + And the crew laughed with him, too:-- + "A sailor to change from ship to sled, + I ween were something new!" + + All through the long, long polar day, + The vessels westward sped; + And wherever the sails of Sir John were blown, + The ice gave way and fled: + + Gave way with many a hollow groan, + And with many a surly roar; + But it murmured and threatened on every side, + And closed where he sailed before. + + "Ho! see ye not, my merry men, + The broad and open sea? + Bethink ye what the whaler said, + Think of the little Indian's sled!" + The crew laughed out in glee. + + "Sir John, Sir John, 'tis bitter cold, + The scud drives on the breeze, + The ice comes looming from the north, + The very sunbeams freeze." + + "Bright summer goes, dark winter comes-- + We cannot rule the year; + But long ere summer's sun goes down, + On yonder sea we'll steer." + + The dripping icebergs dipped and rose, + And floundered down the gale; + The ships were stayed, the yards were manned, + And furled the useless sail + + "The summer's gone, the winter's come, + We sail not yonder sea: + Why sail we not, SIR JOHN FRANKLIN?" + A silent man was he. + + "The summer goes, the winter comes-- + We cannot rule the year." + "I ween we cannot rule the ways, + Sir John, wherein we'd steer!" + + The cruel ice came floating on, + And closed beneath the lee, + Till the thickening waters dashed no more; + 'Twas ice around, behind, before-- + Oh God! there is no sea! + + What think you of the whaler now? + What of the Esquimaux? + A sled were better than a ship, + To cruise through ice and snow. + + Down sank the baleful crimson sun, + The northern light came out, + And glared upon the ice-bound ships, + And shook its spears about. + + The snow came down, storm breeding storm, + And on the decks were laid: + Till the weary sailor, sick at heart, + Sank down beside his spade. + + "Sir John, the night is black and long, + The hissing wind is bleak, + The hard green ice is strong as death-- + I prithee, Captain, speak!" + + "The night is neither bright nor short, + The singing breeze is cold; + The ice is not so strong as hope-- + The heart of man is bold!" + + "What hope can scale this icy wall, + High o'er the main flag-staff? + Above the ridges the wolf and bear + Look down with a patient settled stare, + Look down on us and laugh." + + "The summer, went, the winter came-- + We could not rule the year; + But summer will melt the ice again, + And open a path to the sunny main, + Whereon our ships shall steer." + + The winter went, the summer went, + The winter came around: + But the hard green ice was strong as death, + And the voice of hope sank to a breath, + Yet caught at every sound. + + "Hark! heard ye not the noise of guns? + And there, and there again?" + "'Tis some uneasy iceberg's roar, + As he turns in the frozen main." + + "Hurrah! hurrah! the Esquimaux + Across the ice-fields steal: + God give them grace for their charity!" + "Ye pray for the silly seal." + + "Sir John, where are the English fields, + And where are the English trees, + And where are the little English flowers + That open in the breeze?" + + "Be still, be still, my brave sailors! + You shall see the fields again, + And smell the scent of the opening flowers, + The grass, and the waving grain." + + "Oh! when shall I see my orphan child? + My Mary waits for me." + "Oh! when shall I see my old mother, + And pray at her trembling knee?" + + "Be still, be still, my brave sailors! + Think not such thoughts again." + But a tear froze slowly on his cheek; + He thought of Lady Jane. + + Ah! bitter, bitter grows the cold, + The ice grows more and more; + More settled stare the wolf and bear, + More patient than before. + + "Oh! think you, good Sir John Franklin, + We'll ever see the land? + 'Twas cruel to send us here to starve, + Without a helping hand. + + "'Twas cruel, Sir John, to send us here, + So far from help and home, + To starve and freeze on this lonely sea: + I ween, the Lord of the Admiralty + Would rather send than come." + + "Oh! whether we starve to death alone, + Or sail to our own country, + We have done what man has never done-- + The truth is found, the secret won-- + We passed the Northern Sea!" + + + + +PHADRIG CROHOORE. + +BY JAMES SHERIDAN LE FANU. + + +Oh, Phadrig Crohoore was a broth of a boy, + And he stood six feet eight; +And his arm was as round as another man's thigh,-- + 'Tis Phadrig was great. + +His hair was as black as the shadows of night, +And it hung over scars got in many a fight. +And his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud, +And his eye flashed like lightning from under a cloud,-- +And there wasn't a girl from thirty-five under, +Sorra matter how cross, but he could come round her; +But of all whom he smiled on so sweetly, but one +Was the girl of his heart, and he loved her alone. +As warm as the sun, as the rock firm and sure, +Was the love of the heart of young Phadrig Crohoore. +He would die for a smile from his Kathleen O'Brien, +For his love, like his hatred, was strong as a lion. + +But one Michael O'Hanlon loved Kathleen as well +As he hated Crohoore--and that same I can tell. +And O'Brien liked him, for they were all the same parties-- +The O'Hanlons, O'Briens, O'Ryans, M'Carthies; +And they all went together in hating Crohoore, +For many's the bating he gave them before. +So O'Hanlon makes up to O'Brien, and says he: +"I'll marry your daughter if you'll give her to me." + +So the match was made up, and when Shrovetide came on +The company assembled--three hundred if one! +The O'Hanlon's, of course, turned out strong on that day, +And the pipers and fiddlers were tearing away; +There was laughing, and roaring, and jigging, and flinging, +And joking and blessing, and kissing and singing, +And they were all merry; why not, to be sure, +That O'Hanlon got inside of Phadrig Crohoore; +And they all talked and laughed, the length of the table, +Aiting and drinking while they were able-- +With the piping and fiddling, and roaring like thunder, +Och! you'd think your head fairly was splitting asunder; +And the priest shouted, "Silence, ye blabblers, agin," +And he took up his prayer-book and was going to begin, +And they all held their funning, and jigging, and bawling, +So silent, you'd notice the smallest pin falling; +And the priest was beginning to read, when the door +Was flung back to the wall, and in walked Crohoore. + +Oh! Phadrig Crohoore was a broth of a boy, + And he stood six feet eight; +His arm was as big as another man's thigh,-- + 'Tis Phadrig was great. + +As he walked slowly up, watched by many a bright eye, +As a dark cloud moves on through the stars in the sky-- +None dared to oppose him, for Phadrig was great, +Till he stood, all alone, just in front of the seat +Where O'Hanlon and Kathleen, his beautiful bride, +Were seated together, the two side by side. +He looked on Kathleen till her poor heart near broke, +Then he turned to her father, O'Brien, and spoke, +And his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud, +And his eyes flashed like lightning from under a cloud: + +"I did not come here like a tame, crawling mouse; +I stand like a man, in my enemy's house. +In the field, on the road, Phadrig never knew fear +Of his foemen, and God knows he now scorns it here. +I ask but your leave, for three minutes or four, +To speak to the girl whom I ne'er may see more." +Then he turned to Kathleen, and his voice changed its tone, +For he thought of the days when he called her his own; +And said he, "Kathleen, bawn, is it true what I hear-- +Is this match your free choice, without threat'ning or fear? +If so, say the word, and I'll turn and depart-- +Cheated once, but once only, by woman's false heart." +Oh! sorrow and love made the poor girl quite dumb; +She tried hard to speak, but the words wouldn't come, +For the sound of his voice, as he stood there fornint her, +Struck cold on her heart, like the night-wind in winter, +And the tears in her blue eyes were trembling to flow, +And her cheeks were as pale as the moonbeams on snow. +Then the heart of bold Phadrig swelled high in its place, +For he knew by one look in that beautiful face, +That though strangers and foemen their pledged hands might sever, +Her heart was still his, and his only, for ever. + +Then he lifted his voice, like an eagle's hoarse call, +And cried out--"She is mine yet, in spite of ye all." +But up jumped O'Hanlon, and a tall chap was he, +And he gazed on bold Phadrig as fierce as could be; +And says he--"By my fathers, before you go out, +Bold Phadrig Crohoore, you must stand for a bout." +Then Phadrig made answer--"I'll do my endeavour;" +And with one blow he stretched out O'Hanlon for ever! + +Then he caught up his Kathleen, and rushed to the door, +He leaped on his horse, and he swung her before; +And they all were so bothered that not a man stirred +Till the galloping hoofs on the pavement were heard. +Then up they all started, like bees in a swarm, +And they riz a great shout, like the burst of a storm; +And they ran, and they jumped, and they shouted galore; +But Phadrig or Kathleen they never saw more. + +But those days are gone by, and his, too, are o'er, +And the grass it grows over the grave of Crohoore, +For he wouldn't be aisy or quiet at all; +As he lived a brave boy, he resolved so to fall, +So he took a good pike--for Phadrig was great-- +And he died for old Ireland in the year ninety-eight. + + + + +CUPID'S ARROWS. + +BY ELIZA COOK. + + +Young Cupid went storming to Vulcan one day, + And besought him to look at his arrow; +"'Tis useless," he cried, "you must mend it, I say, + 'Tisn't fit to let fly at a sparrow. +There's something that's wrong in the shaft or the dart, + For it flutters quite false to my aim; +'Tis an age since it fairly went home to the heart, + And the world really jests at my name. + +"I have straighten'd, I've bent, I've tried all, I declare, + I've perfumed it with sweetest of sighs; +'Tis feather'd with ringlets my mother might wear, + And the barb gleams with light from young eyes; +But it falls without touching--I'll break it, I vow, + For there's Hymen beginning to pout; +He's complaining his torch burns so dull and so low, + That Zephyr might puff it right out." + +Little Cupid went on with his pitiful tale, + Till Vulcan the weapon restored; +"There, take it, young sir; try it now--if it fail, + I will ask neither fee nor reward." +The urchin shot out, and rare havoc he made, + The wounded and dead were untold; +But no wonder the rogue had such slaughtering trade, + For the arrow was laden with _gold_. + + + + +THE CROCODILE'S DINNER PARTY. + +BY E. VINTON BLAKE. + +_FROM "GOOD CHEER_." + + + A wily crocodile + Who dwelt upon the Nile, + Bethought himself one day to give a dinner. + "Economy," said he, + "Is chief of all with me, + And shall considered be--as I'm a sinner!" + + With paper, pen and ink, + He sat him down to think; + And first of all, Sir Lion he invited; + The northern wolf who dwells + In rocky Arctic dells; + The Leopard and the Lynx, by blood united. + + Then Mr. Fox the shrewd-- + No lover he of good-- + And Madam Duck with sober step and stately; + And Mr. Frog serene + In garb of bottle green, + Who warbled bass, and bore himself sedately. + + Sir Crocodile, content, + The invitations sent. + The day was come--his guests were all assembled; + They fancied that some guile + Lurked in his ample smile; + Each on the other looked, and somewhat trembled. + + A lengthy time they wait + Their hunger waxes great; + And still the host in conversation dallies. + At last the table's laid, + With covered dishes spread, + And out in haste the hungry party sallies. + + But when--the covers raised-- + On empty plates they gazed, + Each on the other looked with dire intention; + Ma'am Duck sat last of all, + And Mr. Frog was small;-- + She softly swallowed him, and made no mention! + + This Mr. Fox perceives, + And saying, "By your leaves, + Some punishment is due for this transgression." + He gobbled her in haste, + Then much to his distaste, + By Mr. Lynx was taken in possession! + + The Wolf without a pause, + In spite of teeth and claws, + Left nothing of the Lynx to tell the story; + The Leopard all irate + At his relation's fate, + Made mince meat of that wolfish monster hoary. + + The Lion raised his head; + "Since I am king," he said, + "It ill befits the king to lack his dinner!" + Then on the Leopard sprang, + With might of claw and fang, + And made a meal upon that spotted sinner!-- + + Then saw in sudden fear + Sir Crocodile draw near, + And heard him speak, with feelings of distraction; + "Since all of you have dined + Well suited to your mind, + You surely cannot grudge _me_ satisfaction!" + + And sooth, a deal of guile + Lurked in his ample smile, + As down his throat the roaring lion hasted; + "Economy with me, + Is chief of all," said he, + "And I am truly glad to see there's nothing wasted." + + + + +"TWO SOULS WITH BUT A SINGLE THOUGHT." + +BY WILLIAM THOMSON. + + + "My soul is at the gate!" + The sighing lover said. + He wound his arms around her form + And kissed her golden head. + + "My _sole_ is at the gate!" + The maiden's father said. + The lover rubbed the smitten part, + And from the garden fled. + + + + +A RISKY RIDE. + +BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN. + + + "A risky ride," they called it. + Lor bless ye, there wasn't no risk: + I knew if I gave 'er 'er head, sir, + That "Painted Lady" would whisk + Like a rocket through all the horses, + And win in a fine old style, + With "the field" all a-tailin' behind 'er + In a kind of a' Indian file. + + * * * * * + + You didn't know old Josh Grinley-- + "Old Josh o' the Whitelands Farm," + As his father had tilled afore 'im, + And his afore 'im.--No harm + Ever touched one of the Grinleys + When the 'Ollingtons owned the lands; + But they ruined themselves through racing, + And it passed into other hands. + Ain't ye heard how Lord 'Ollington died, sir, + On that day when "Midlothian Maid" + Broke down when just winning the "Stewards'"? + Every farthing he'd left was laid + On the old mare's chance; and vict'ry + Seemed fairly within his grasp + When she stumbled--went clean to pieces. + With a cry of despair--a gasp-- + Lord 'Ollington staggered backwards; + A red stream flowed from his mouth, + And he died--with the shouts ringing round him: + "Beaten by Queen o' the South!" + But I'm going on anyhow,--ain't I? + I began about my ride; + And I'm talking now like a novel + Of how Lord 'Ollington died. + + Don't ask me to tell how I'm bred, sir; + Put my "pedigree" down as "unknown," + But a good 'un to go when he's "wanted," + From whatever dam he was thrown. + Old Joshua--he's been my mother + And father all rolled into one;-- + It was 'im as bred and trained me; + Got me "ready" and "fit" to run. + It's been whispered he saved my life, sir-- + Picked me up one winter's night, + Wrapped up in a shawl or summat,-- + The tale's like enough to be right. + It's just what he would do,--bless 'im! + Yes, I owed every atom to him: + So you'll guess how I felt that mornin', + When, with eyes all wet and dim, + He told me the new folk would give 'im + But two weeks to pay his arrears; + Then he cried like a little child, sir. + When I saw the old fellow's tears, + My young blood boiled madly within me; + I knew how he'd struggled and fought + 'Gainst years of bad seasons and harvests; + How nobly but vainly he'd sought + To make both ends meet at the "Whitelands." + "They never will do it!" I cry. + "You've lived all your life at the 'Farm,' Josh, + And you'll still live on there till you die! + 'Tain't for me to tell stable secrets, + But I know--well, just what I know: + Go! say that in less than a month, Josh, + You'll pay every penny you owe." + + * * * * * + + "A couple o' hundred" was wanted + To pull good old Joshua right; + I was only a lad; but I'd "fifty"-- + My money went that night, + Every penny on "Painted Lady" + For the "Stakes" in the coming week. + I should 'ave backed her afore, sir; + But waited for master to speak + As to what he intended a-doing, + I thought 'twas a "plant"--d'ye see? + With a bit o' "rope" in the question, + So I'd let "Painted Lady" be. + I knew she _could_ win in a canter, + As long as there wasn't no "fake." + And now--well, I meant that she _should_ win, + For poor old Josh Grinley's sake. + + * * * * * + + The three-year old "Painted Lady" + Had never been beat in her life; + And I'd always 'ad the mount, sir; + But rumours now 'gan to get rife + That something was wrong with the "filly". + The "bookies" thought everything "square"-- + For them--so they "laid quite freely" + Good odds 'gainst the master's mare! + When he'd gone abroad in the summer + He had given us orders to train + "The Lady" for this 'ere race, sir; + We'd never heard from him again. + And, seeing the "bookies" a-layin', + I thought they knew more than I: + But _now_ I thought with a chuckle, + Let each look out for his eye. + The morning before the race, sir, + The owner turned up. With a smile + I showed 'im the mare--"There she is, sir, + Goin' jist in 'er same old style. + We'll win in a common canter, + 'Painted Lady' and I, Sir Hugh, + As we've always done afore, sir; + As we always mean to do." + + He looked at me just for a moment, + A shade of care seemed to pass + All over his handsome features. + Then he kicked at a tuft o' grass, + In a sort of a pet, then stammered, + As he lifted his eyes from his shoes, + "I'm sorry, my lad--very sorry, + But to-morrow the mare must _lose_." + He turned on his heel. I stood stroking + My "Lady's" soft shining skin, + Then I muttered, "I'm sorry, sir, very, + But to-morrow the mare must _win_." + + + * * * * * + + I was 'tween two stools, as they say, sir-- + If I disobeyed orders, Sir Hugh + Would "sack" me as safe as a trivet, + So I thought what I'd better do. + I wasn't so long, for I shouted, + "I've hit it! I'll _win_ this 'ere race, + And I'll lay fifty pounds to a sov'reign + As I don't get the 'kick' from my place." + + * * * * * + + The day of the race: bell's a-ringin' + To clear the course for the start. + I gets to an out-o'-way corner; + Then, quickly as lightning, I dart + My hand 'neath my silken jacket, + Pops a tiny phial to my lips, + Then off to mount "Painted Lady"-- + Sharp into the saddle I slips. + In a minute or two we were streaming + Down the course at a nailing pace; + But I lets the mare take it easy, + For I feels as I've got the race + Well in hand. "No, nothing can touch ye: + You'll win!" I cries--"Now then, my dear!" + All at once I feels fairly silly; + Then I comes over right down queer. + I dig my knees into her girths, sir; + I let the reins go--then I fall + Back faint, and dizzy, and drowsy-- + "Painted Lady" sweeps on past them all. + She can't make out what's a happenin', + Flies on--maddened, scared with fright-- + And wins--by how far? well, don't know, sir, + But the rest hadn't come in sight. + I was took from the saddle, lifeless; + I've heard as they thought me dead; + And after I rallied--"'Twas funny! + 'Twas curious--very!" they said. + + * * * * * + + The matter was all hushed up, sir; + Sir Hugh dussn't show 'is hands. + I'm head "boss" now in the stables. + Josh stayed--and died--down at the 'Lands. + + + + +ON MARRIAGE. + +BY JOSH BILLINGS. + + +Marriage iz a fair transaction on the face ov it. + +But thare iz quite too often put up jobs in it. + +It iz an old institushun, older than the pyramids, and az phull ov +hyrogliphicks that noboddy kan parse. + +History holds its tounge who the pair waz who fust put on the +silken harness, and promised tew work kind in it, thru thick and +thin, up hill and down, and on the level, rain or shine, survive or +perish, sink or swim, drown or flote. + +But whoever they waz they must hav made a good thing out ov it, or +so menny ov their posterity would not hav harnessed up since and drov +out. + +Thare iz a grate moral grip in marriage; it iz the mortar that +holds the soshull bricks together. + +But there ain't but darn few pholks who put their money in matrimony +who could set down and giv a good written opinyun whi on arth they +cum to did it. + +This iz a grate proof that it iz one ov them natral kind ov +acksidents that must happen, jist az birds fly out ov the nest, when +they hav feathers enuff, without being able tew tell why. + +Sum marry for buty, and never diskover their mistake; this iz lucky. + +Sum marry for money, and--don't see it. + +Sum marry for pedigree, and feel big for six months, and then very +sensibly cum tew the conclusion that pedigree ain't no better than +skimmilk. + +Sum marry ter pleze their relashons, and are surprised tew learn that +their relashuns don't care a cuss for them afterwards. + +Sum marry bekause they hav bin highsted sum where else; this iz a +cross match, a bay and a sorrel; pride may make it endurable. + +Sum marry for love without a cent in the pocket, nor a friend in the +world, nor a drop ov pedigree. This looks desperate, _but it iz the +strength ov the game_. + +If marrying for love ain't a suckcess, then matrimony iz a ded beet. + +Sum marry bekauze they think wimmin will be skarse next year, and liv +tew wonder how the crop holds out. + +Sum marry tew get rid of themselfs, and diskover that the game waz +one that two could play at, and neither win. + +Sum marry the seckond time to git even, and find it a gambling game, +the more they put down, the less they take up. + +Sum marry tew be happy, and not finding it, wonder whare all the +happiness on earth goes to when it dies. + +Sum marry, they kan't tell whi, and liv, they kan't tell how. + +Almoste every boddy gits married, and it iz a good joke. + +Sum marry in haste, and then set down and think it careful over. + +Sum think it over careful fust, and then set down and marry. + +Both ways are right, if they hit the mark. + +Sum marry rakes tew convert them. This iz a little risky, and takes a +smart missionary to do it. + +Sum marry coquetts. This iz like buying a poor farm, heavily +mortgaged, and working the ballance ov yure days tew clear oph the +mortgages. + + + + +THE ROMANCE OF CARRIGCLEENA. + +BY HERCULES ELLIS. + + + "Oh! wizard, to thine aid I fly, + With weary feet, and bosom aching; + And if thou spurn my prayer, I die; + For oh! my heart! my heart! is breaking: + Oh! tell me where my Gerald's gone-- + My loved, my beautiful, my own; + And, though in farthest lands he be; + To my true lover's side I'll flee." + + "Daughter," the aged wizard said, + "For what cause hath thy Gerald parted? + I cannot lend my mystic aid, + Except to lovers, faithful hearted; + My magic wand would lose its might-- + I could not read my spells aright-- + All skill would from my soul depart, + If I should aid the false in heart." + + "Oh! father, my fond heart was true," + Cried Ellen, "to my Gerald ever; + No change its stream of love e'er knew, + Save that it deepened like yon river: + True, as the rose to summer sun, + That droops, when its loved lord is gone, + And sheds its bloom, from day to day, + And fades, and pines, and dies away. + + "Betrothed, with my dear sire's consent, + Each morn beheld my Gerald coming; + Each day, in converse sweet, was spent; + And, ere he went, dark eve was glooming: + But one day, as he crossed the plain, + I saw a cloud descend, like rain, + And bear him, in its skirts, away-- + Oh! hour of grief, oh! woeful day! + + "They sought my Gerald many a day, + 'Mid winter's snow, and summer's blossom; + At length, his memory passed away, + From all, except his Ellen's bosom. + But there his love still glows and grows, + Unchanged by time, unchecked by woes; + And, led by it, I've made my way, + To seek thy aid, in dark Iveagh." + + He traced a circle with his wand, + Around the spot, where they were standing; + He held a volume in his hand, + All writ, with spells of power commanding: + He read a spell--then looked--in vain, + Southward, across the lake of Lene; + Then to the east, and western side; + But, when he northward looked, he cried-- + + "I see! I see your Gerald now! + In Carrigcleena's fairy dwelling; + Deep sorrow sits upon his brow, + Though Cleena tales of love is telling-- + Cleena, most gentle, and most fair, + Of all the daughters of the air; + The fairy queen, whose smiles of light, + Preserves from sorrow and from blight. + + "Her love has borne him from thy arms, + And keeps him in those fairy regions, + Where Cleena blooms in matchless charms, + Attended by her fairy legions. + Yet kind and merciful's the queen; + And if thy woe by her were seen, + And all thy constancy were known, + Brave Gerald yet might be thine own." + + "Oh! father," the pale maiden cried, + "Hath he forgotten quite his Ellen? + Thinks he no more of Shannon's side, + Where love so long had made his dwelling?" + "Alas! fair maid, I cannot tell + The thoughts that in the bosom dwell; + For ah! all vain is magic art, + To read the secrets of the heart." + + To Carrigcleena Ellen wends, + With aching breast, and footsteps weary; + Low on her knees the maiden bends, + Before that rocky hill of fairy; + Pale as the moonbeam is her cheek; + With trembling fear she scarce can speak; + In agony her hands she clasps; + And thus her love-taught prayer she gasps. + + "Oh! Cleena, queen of fairy charms, + Have mercy on my love-lorn maiden; + Restore my Gerald to my arms-- + Behold! behold! how sorrow laden + And faint, and way-worn, here I kneel; + And, with clasped hands, to thee appeal: + Give to my heart, oh! Cleena give, + The being in whose love I live! + + "Break not my heart, whose truth you see, + Oh! break it not by now refusing; + For Gerald's all the world to me, + Whilst thou hast all the world for choosing: + Oh! Cleena, fairest of the fair, + Grant now a love-lorn maiden's prayer; + Or, if to yield him you deny, + Let me behold him once, and die." + + Her prayer of love thus Ellen poured, + With streaming eyes and bosom heaving; + And, at each faint heart-wringing word, + Her soul seemed its fair prison leaving: + The linnet, on the hawthorn tree, + Stood hushed by her deep misery; + And the soft summer evening gale + Seemed echoing the maiden's wail. + + And now the solid rocks divide, + A glorious fairy hall disclosing; + There Cleena stands, and by her side, + In slumber, Gerald seems reposing: + She wakes him from his fairy trance; + And, hand in hand, they both advance; + And, now, the queen of fairy charms + Gives Gerald to his Ellen's arms. + + "Be happy," lovely Cleena cried, + "Oh! lovers true, and fair, and peerless; + All vain is magic, to divide + Such hearts, so constant, and so fearless. + Be happy, as you have been true, + For Cleena's blessing rests on you; + And joy, and wealth, and power, shall give, + As long as upon earth you live." + + + + +THE FALSE FONTANLEE. + +BY WILLIAM CALDWELL ROSCOE. + + + Alas, that knight of noble birth + Should ever fall from fitting worth! + Alas, that guilty treachery + Should stain the blood of Fontanlee! + + The king hath lent a listening ear, + And blacker grew his face to hear: + "By Cross," he cried, "if thou speak right, + The Fontanlee is a traitor knight!" + + Outstepped Sir Robert of Fontanlee, + A young knight and a fair to see; + Outstepped Sir Stephen of Fontanlee. + Sir Robert's second brother was he; + Outstepped Sir John of Fontanlee, + He was the youngest of the three. + + There are three gloves on the oaken boards, + And three white hands on their hilted swords: + "On horse or foot, by day or night, + We stand to do our father right." + + The Baron Tranmere hath bent his knee, + And gathered him up the gages three: + "Ye are young knights, and loyal, I wis, + And ye know not how false your father is. + + "Put on, put on your armour bright; + And God in heaven help the right!" + "God help the right!" the sons replied; + And straightway on their armour did. + + The Baron Tranmere hath mounted his horse, + And ridden him down the battle-course; + The young Sir Robert lifted his eyes, + Looked fairly up in the open skies: + + "If my father was true in deed and in word, + Fight, O God, with my righteous sword; + If my father was false in deed or in word, + Let me lie at length on the battle-sward!" + + The Baron Tranmere hath turned his horse, + And ridden him down the battle-course; + Sir Robert's visor is crushed and marred, + And he lies his length on the battle-sward. + + Sir Stephen's was an angry blade-- + I scarce may speak the words he said: + "Though Heaven itself were false," cried he, + "True is my father of Fontanlee! + + "And, brother, as Heaven goes with the wrong, + If this lying baron should lay me along, + Strike another blow for our good renown." + "Doubt me not," said the young knight John. + + The Baron Tranmere hath turned his horse, + And ridden him down the battle-course; + In bold Sir Stephen's best life-blood + His spear's point is wet to the wood. + + The young knight John hath bent his knee, + And speaks his soul right solemnly: + "Whatever seemeth good to Thee, + The same, O Lord, attend on me. + + "What though my brothers lie along, + My father's faith is firm and strong: + Perchance thy deeply-hid intent + Doth need some nobler instrument. + + "Let faithless hearts give heed to fear, + I will not falter in my prayer: + If ever guilty treachery + Did stain the blood of Fontanlee,-- + + "As such an 'if' doth stain my lips, + Though truth lie hidden in eclipse,-- + Let yonder lance-head pierce my breast, + And my soul seek its endless rest." + + Never a whit did young John yield + When the lance ran through his painted shield; + Never a whit debased his crest, + When the lance ran into his tender breast. + + "What is this? what is this, thou young Sir John, + That runs so fast from thine armour down?" + "Oh, this is my heart's blood, I feel, + And it wets me through from the waist to the heel." + + Sights of sadness many a one + A man may meet beneath the sun; + But a sadder sight did never man see + Than lies in the Hall of Fontanlee. + + There are three corses manly and fair, + Each in its armour, and each on its bier; + There are three squires weeping and wan, + Every one with his head on his hand, + + Every one with his hand on his knee, + At the foot of his master silently + Sitting, and weeping bitterly + For the broken honour of Fontanlee. + + Who is this at their sides that stands? + "Lift, O squires, your heads from your hands; + Tell me who these dead men be + That lie in the Hall of the Fontanlee." + + "This is Sir Robert of Fontanlee, + A young knight and a fair to see; + This is Sir Stephen of Fontanlee, + Sir Robert's second brother was he; + This is Sir John of Fontanlee, + He was the youngest of the three. + + "For their father's truth did they + Freely give their lives away, + And till he doth home return, + Sadly here we sit and mourn." + + These sad words they having said, + Every one down sank his head; + Till in accents strangely spoken, + At their sides was silence broken. + + "I do bring you news from far, + False was the Fontanlee in war! + --Unbend your bright swords from my breast, + I that do speak do know it best." + Wide he flung his mantle free; + Lo, it was the Fontanlee! + + Then the squires like stricken men + Sank into their seats again, + And their cheeks in wet tears steeping + Fresh and faster fell a weeping. + + He with footsteps soft and slow + Round to his sons' heads did go; + Sadly he looked on every one, + And stooped and kissed the youngest, John. + + Then his weary head down bending, + "Heart," said he, "too much offending, + Break, and let me only be + Blotted out of memory." + + Thrice with crimson cheek he stood, + And thrice he swallowed the salt blood; + Then outpoured the torrent red; + And the false Fontanlee lay dead. + + + + + +THE LEGEND OF SAINT LAURA. + +BY THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK. + + + Saint Laura, in her sleep of death, + Preserves beneath the tomb + --'Tis willed where what is willed must be-- + In incorruptibility, + Her beauty and her bloom. + + So pure her maiden life had been, + So free from earthly stain, + 'Twas fixed in fate by Heaven's own Queen + That till the earth's last closing scene + She should unchanged remain. + + Within a deep sarcophagus + Of alabaster sheen, + With sculptured lid of roses white, + She slumbered in unbroken night, + By mortal eyes unseen. + + Above her marble couch was reared + A monumental shrine, + Where cloistered sisters gathering round, + Made night and morn the aisle resound + With choristry divine. + + The abbess died; and in her pride + Her parting mandate said + They should her final rest provide, + The alabaster couch beside, + Where slept the sainted dead. + + The abbess came of princely race; + The nuns might not gainsay; + And sadly passed the timid band, + To execute the high command + They dared not disobey. + + The monument was opened then; + It gave to general sight + The alabaster couch alone; + But all its lucid substance shone + With preternatural light. + + They laid the corpse within the shrine; + They closed its doors again; + But nameless terror seemed to fall, + Throughout the livelong night, on all + Who formed the funeral train. + + Lo! on the morrow morn, still closed + The monument was found; + But in its robes funereal drest, + The corse they had consigned to rest + Lay on the stony ground. + + Fear and amazement seized on all; + They called on Mary's aid; + And in the tomb, unclosed again, + With choral hymn and funeral train, + The corse again was laid. + + But with the incorruptible + Corruption might not rest; + The lonely chapel's stone-paved floor + Received the ejected corse once more, + In robes funereal drest. + + So was it found when morning beamed; + In solemn suppliant strain + The nuns implored all saints in heaven, + That rest might to the corse be given, + Which they entombed again. + + On the third night a watch was kept + By many a friar and nun; + Trembling, all knelt in fervent prayer, + Till on the dreary midnight air + Rolled the deep bell-toll "One!" + + The saint within the opening tomb + Like marble statue stood; + All fell to earth in deep dismay; + And through their ranks she passed away, + In calm unchanging mood. + + No answering sound her footsteps raised + Along the stony floor; + Silent as death, severe as fate, + She glided through the chapel gate, + And none beheld her more. + + The alabaster couch was gone; + The tomb was void and bare; + For the last time, with hasty rite, + Even 'mid the terror of the night, + They laid the abbess there. + + 'Tis said the abbess rests not well + In that sepulchral pile; + But yearly, when the night comes round + As dies of "one" the bell's deep sound + She flits along the aisle. + + But whither passed the virgin saint? + To slumber far away, + Destined by Mary to endure, + Unaltered in her semblance pure, + Until the judgment day! + + + + +DAVID SHAW, HERO. + +BY JAMES BUCKHAM. + + +The saviour, and not the slayer, he is the braver man. +So far my text--but the story? Thus, then, it runs; from Spokane +Rolled out the overland mail train, late by an hour. In the cab +David Shaw, at your service, dressed in his blouse of drab. +Grimed by the smoke and the cinders. "Feed her well, Jim," he said; +(Jim was his fireman.) "_Make up time!_" On and on they sped; + +Dust from the wheels up-flying; smoke rolling out behind; +The long train thundering, swaying; the roar of the cloven wind; +Shaw, with his hand on the lever, looking out straight ahead. +How she did rock, old Six-forty! How like a storm they sped. + +Leavenworth--thirty minutes gained in the thrilling race. +Now for the hills--keener look-out, or a letting down of the pace. +Hardly a pound of the steam less! David Shaw straightened back, +Hand like steel on the lever, face like flint to the track. + +God!--look there! Down the mountain, right ahead of the train, +Acres of sand and forest sliding down to the plain! +What to do? Why, jump, Dave! Take the chance, while you can. +The train is doomed--save your own life! Think of the children, man! + +Well, what did he, this hero, face to face with grim death? +Grasped the throttle--reversed it--shrieked "_Down brakes!_" in a + breath. +Stood to his post, without flinching, clear-headed, open-eyed, +Till the train stood still with a shudder, and he--went down with the + slide! + +Saved?--yes, saved! Ninety people snatched from an awful grave. +One life under the sand, there. All that he had, he gave, +Man to the last inch! Hero?--noblest of heroes, yea; +Worthy the shaft and the tablet, worthy the song and the bay! + + + + +BROTHERHOOD. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + I am my brother's keeper, + And I the duty own; + For no man liveth to himself + Or to himself alone; + And we must bear together + A common weal and woe, + In all we are, in all we have, + In all we feel and know. + + I am my brother's keeper, + In all that I can be, + Of high and pure example, + Of true integrity; + A guide to go before him, + In darkness and in light; + A very cloud of snow by day, + A cloud of fire by night. + + I am my brother's keeper, + In all that I can say, + To help him on his journey + To cheer him by the way; + To succour him in weakness, + To solace him in woe; + To strengthen him in conflict, + And fit him for the foe. + + I am my brother's keeper, + In all that I can do + To save him from temptation, + To help him to be true; + To stay him if he stumble, + To lift him if he fall; + To stand beside him though his sin + Has severed him from all. + + I am my brother's keeper, + In sickness and in health; + In triumph and in failure, + In poverty and wealth; + His champion in danger, + His advocate in blame, + The herald of his honour, + The hider of his shame. + + And though he prove unworthy, + He is my brother still, + And I must render right for wrong + And give him good for ill; + My standard must not alter + For folly, fault, or whim, + And to be true unto myself + I must be true to him. + + And all men are my brothers + Wherever they may be, + And he is most my proper care + Who most has need of me; + Who most may need my counsel, + My influence, my pelf, + And most of all who needs _my_ strength + To save him from _myself_. + + For all I have of power + Beyond what he can wield, + Is not a weapon of offence + But a protecting shield, + Which _I_ must hold before him + To save him from his foe, + E'en though _I_ be the enemy + That longs to strike the blow. + + I am my brother's keeper, + And must be to the end-- + A neighbour to the neighbourless, + And to the friendless, friend; + His weakness lays it on me, + My strength involves it too, + And common love for common life + Will bear the burden through. + + + + + +THE STRAIGHT RIDER. + +_(FROM "BLACK AND WHITE?" BY PERMISSION.)_ + + +"My _dear_ Mabel, how pale you look! It is this hot room. I am sure +Lord Saint Sinnes will not mind taking you for a little turn in the +garden--between the dances." + +My Lord Saint Sinnes--or Billy Sinnes as he is usually called by his +friends--shuffled in his high collar. It is a remarkable collar, +nearly related to a cuff, and it keeps Lord Saint Innes in +remembrance of his chin. If it were not that this plain young +nobleman were essentially a gentleman, one might easily mistake him +for a groom. Moreover, like other persons of equine tastes, he has +the pleasant fancy of affecting a tight and horsey "cut" in clothes +never intended for the saddle. + +The girl, addressed by her somewhat overpowering mother as Mabel, +takes the proffered arm with a murmured acquiescence and a quivering +lip. She is paler than before. + +Over his stiff collar Lord Saint Sinnes looks down at her--with +something of the deep intuition which makes him the finest +steeplechaser in England. Perhaps he notes the quiver of the lip, the +sinews drawn tense about her throat. Such silent signals of distress +are his business. Certainly he notes the little shiver of abject fear +which passes through the girl's slight form as they pass out of the +room together. Their departure is noted by several persons--mostly +_chaperons_. + +"He must do it to-night," murmurs the girl's mother with a complacent +smile on her worldly, cruel face, "and then Mabel will soon see +that--the other--was all a mistake." + +Some mothers believe such worn-out theories as this--and others--are +merely heartless. + +Lord Saint Sinnes leads the way deliberately to the most secluded +part of the garden. There are two chairs at the end of a narrow +pathway. Mabel sits down hopelessly. She is a quiet-eyed little girl, +with brown hair and gentle ways. Just--in a word--the sort of girl +who usually engages the affections of blushing, open-air, horsey men. +She has no spirit, and those who know her mother are not surprised. +She is going to say yes, because she dare not say no. At least two +lives are going to be wrecked at the end of the narrow path. + +Lord Saint Sinnes sits down at her side and contemplates his pointed +toes. Then he looks at her--his clean-shaven face very grave--with +the eye of the steeplechase rider. + +"Miss Maddison"--jerk of the chin and pull at collar--"you're in a +ghastly fright." + +Miss Maddison draws in a sudden breath, like a sob, and looks at her +lacework handkerchief. + +"You think I'm going to ask you to marry me?" + +Still no answer. The stiff collar gleams in the light of a Chinese +lantern. Lord Saint Sinnes's linen is a matter of proverb. + +"But I'm not. I'm not such a cad as that." + +The girl raises her head, as if she hears a far-off sound. + +"I know that old worn----. I daresay I would give great satisfaction +to some people if I did! But ... I can't help that." + +Mabel is bending forward, hiding her face. A tear falls on her silk +dress with a little dull flop. Young Saint Sinnes looks at +her--almost as if he were going to take her in his arms. Then he +shuts his upper teeth over his lower lip, hard--just as he does when +riding at the water jump. + +"A fellow mayn't be much to look at," he says, gruffly, "but he can +ride straight, for all that." + +Mabel half turns her head, and he has the satisfaction of concluding +that she has no fault to find with his riding. + +"Of course," he says, abruptly, "there is s'm' other fellow?" + +After a pause, Miss Maddison nods. + +"Miss Maddison," says Lord Saint Sinnes, rising and jerking his knees +back after the manner of horsey persons, "you can go back into that +room and take your Bible oath that I never asked you to marry me." + +Mabel rises also. She wants to say something, but there is a lump in +her throat. + +"Some people," he goes on, "will say that you bungled it, others that +I behaved abominably, but--but we know better, eh?" + +He offers his arm, and they walk toward the house. + +Suddenly he stops, and fidgets in his collar. + +"Don't trouble about me," he says, simply. "I shan't marry anyone +else--I couldn't do that--but--but I didn't suspect until to-night, +y'know, that there was another man, and a chap must ride straight, +you know." + +H. S. M. + + + + +WOMEN AND WORK. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + +"Always a hindrance, are we? You didn't think that of old; +With never a han' to help a man, and only a tongue to scold? +Timid as hares in danger--weak as a lamb in strife, +With never a heart to bear a part in the rattle and battle of life! +Just fit to see to the children and manage the home affairs, +With only a head for butter and bread, a soul for tables and chairs? +Where would you be to-morrow if half of the lie were true? +It's well some women are weak at heart, if only for saving you. + +"We haven't much time to be merry who marry a struggling man, +Making and mending and saving and spending, and doing the best we + can. +Skimming and scamming and plotting and planning, and making the done + for do, +Grinding the mill with the old grist still and turning the old into + new; +Picking and paring and shaving and sharing, and when not enough for + us all, +Giving up tea that whatever may be the 'bacca sha'n't go to the wall; +With never a rest from the riot and zest, the hustle and bustle and + noise +Of the boys who all try to be men like you, and the girls who all try + to be boys. + +"You know the tale of the eagle that carried the child away +To its eyrie high in the mountain sky, grim and rugged and gray; +Of the sailor who climbed to save it, who, ere he had half-way sped +Up the mountain wild, _met_ mother and child returning as from the + dead +There's many a bearded giant had never have grown a span, +If in peril's power in childhood's hour he'd had to wait for a man. +And who is the one among you but is living and hale to-day, +Because he was tied to a woman's side in the old home far away? + +"You have heard the tale of the lifeboat, and the women of Mumbles + Head, +Who, when the men stood shivering by, or out from the danger fled, +Tore their shawls into striplets and knotted them end to end, +And then went down to the gates of death for father and brother and + friend. +Deeper and deeper into the sea, ready of heart and head, +Hauling them home through the blinding foam, and raising them from + the dead. +There's many of you to-morrow who, but for a woman's hand, +Would be drifting about with the shore lights out and never a chance + to land. + +"You've read of the noble woman in the midst of a Border fray +Who held her own in a castle lone, for her lord who was far away. +For the children who gather'd round her and the home that she loved + so well, +And the deathless fame of a woman's name whom nothing but love could + quell. +Who, when the men would have yielded, with her own sweet lily hand, +Led them straight from the postern gate, and drove the foe from the + land. +There's many a little homestead that is cosy and sung to-day, +Because of a woman who stood in the door and kept the wolves at bay. + +"Only a hindrance are we? then we'll be a hindrance still. +We hinder the devil and all his works, and I reckon he takes it ill. +We do the work that is nearest, and that is the surest plan, +But if ever you want a hero, and you cannot wait for a man, +You need not tell us the chances, you've only the need to show, +And there's many a woman in all the world who is willing and ready + to go, +For trust in trial, for work in woe, for comfort and care in sorrow, +The wives of the world are its strength to-day, the daughters it's + hope to-morrow." + + + + +A COUNTRY STORY. + +(Founded on an old Legend.) + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + +At the little town of Norton, in a famous western shire, +There dwelt a sightless maiden with her venerated sire. +To him she was the legacy her mother had bequeathed; +To her he was the very sun that warmed the air she breathed. + +Old Alec was a carter, and he moved from town to town, +Taking parcels from the "The Wheatsheaf" to "The Mitre" or "The + Crown;" +And on festival occasions would the sightless maiden ride +To the old cathedral city by the honest carter's side. + +Ere he tended to his duty at the market or the fair +He would seek the lofty Gothic pile, and leave the maiden there, +That the choir's joyous singing and the organ's solemn strain +Might beguile her simple fancy till he journeyed home again. + +On the fair autumnal evening of a bright September day +She had heard the choir singing, she had heard the canons pray; +And the good old dean was preaching with simple words and wise +Of Him who gave the maiden life and touched the poor man's eyes. + +And her tears fell fast and thickly as the good old preacher said +That even now He cures the blind and raises up the dead; +And he aptly went on speaking of the blinding death of sin, +And urged them to be seeking for life and light within. + +'Mid the mighty organ's pealing in the voluntary rare, +Through the fine oak-panelled ceiling went the maiden's broken + prayer +That she might but for a moment be allowed to have her sight, +To see old Alec's honest face that tranquil autumn night. + +That He of old who sweetly upon Bartimeus smiled +Would gaze in like compassion on an English peasant child: +That He who once in pity stood beside the maiden's bed, +Would take her hand within His own and raise her from the dead. + +The maiden's small petition, and the choir's grander praise, +Reached the shining gates of heaven, 'mid the sun's declining rays, +And the King who heard the praises, turned to listen to the prayer, +With a smile that shone more brightly than the richest jewel there. + +And before the organ ended, ay, before the prayer was done, +An angel guard came flying through "the kingdom of the sun," +From the land of lofty praises to which God's elect aspire +To the old cathedral city of that famous western shire. + +And the maiden's prayer was answered; she gazed with eager sight +At the tesselated pavement, at the window's painted light; +And her heart beat fast and wildly as she realized the scene, +With the choir's slow procession, and the old white-headed dean. + +Till she saw old Alec waiting, and arose for his embrace, +While a radiant light was stealing o'er her pallid upturned face, +But her spirit soaring higher flew beyond the realms of night, +For God Himself had turned for her all darkness into light. + + + + +THE BEGGAR MAID. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + Her arms across her breast she laid; + She was more fair than words can say: + Bare-footed came the beggar maid + Before the king Cophetua. + In robe and crown the king stept down, + To meet and greet her on her way; + "It is no wonder," said the lords, + "She is more beautiful than day." + + As shines the moon in clouded skies, + She in her poor attire was seen: + One praised her ankles, one her eyes, + One her dark hair and lovesome mien. + So sweet a face, such angel grace, + In all that land had never been: + Cophetua sware a royal oath: + "This beggar maid shall be my queen!" + + + + +THE VENGEANCE OF KAFUR. + +BY CLINTON SCOLLARD. + + + From fair Damascus, as the day grew late, + Passed Kafur homeward through St. Thomas' gate + Betwixt the pleasure-gardens where he heard + Vie with the lute the twilight-wakened bird. + But song touched not his heavy heart, nor yet + The lovely lines of gold and violet, + A guerdon left by the departing sun + To grace the brow of Anti-Lebanon. + Upon his soul a crushing burden weighed, + And to his eyes the swiftly-gathering shade + Seemed but the presage of his doom to be,-- + Death, and the triumph of his enemy. + + "_One slain by slander_" cried he, with a laugh, + "Thus should the poets frame my epitaph, + Above whose mouldering dust it will be said, + 'Blessed be Allah that the hound is dead!'" + Out rang a rhythmic revel as he spake + From joyous bulbuls in the poplar brake, + Hailing the night's first blossom in the sky. + And now, with failing foot, he drew anigh + The orchard-garden where his home was hid + Pomegranate shade and jasmine bloom amid. + + Despair mocked at him from the latticed gate + Where Love and Happiness had lain in wait + With tender greetings, and the lights within + Gleamed on the grave of Bliss that once had been. + Fair Hope who daily poured into his ear + Her rainbow promises gave way to Fear + Who smote him blindly, leaving him to moan + With bitter tears before the gateway prone. + + Soft seemed the wind in sympathy to grieve, + When lo! a sudden hand touched Kafur's sleeve, + And then a voice cried, echoing his name, + "Behold the proofs to put thy foe to shame!'" + Up sprang the prostrate man, and while he stood + Gripping the proffered scrip in marvelhood, + He who had brought deliverance slipped from sight; + Thus Joy made instant day of Kafur's night. + + "Allah is just," he said.... Then burning ire + With vengeance visions filled his brain like fire; + And to his bosom, anguish-torn but late, + Delirious with delight he hugged his hate. + "Revenge!" cried he; "why wait until the morn? + This night mine enemy shall know my scorn." + The stars looked down in wo'nder overhead + As backward Kafur toward Damascus sped. + + The wind, that erst had joined him in his grief, + Now whispered strangely to the walnut leaf; + Into the bird's song pleading notes had crept, + The happy fountains in the gardens wept, + And e'en the river, with its restless roll, + Seemed calling "pity" unto Kafur's soul. + + "Allah" he cried, "O chasten thou my heart; + Move me to mercy, and a nobler part!" + Slow strode he on, the while a new-born grace + Softened the rigid outlines of his face, + Nor paused he till he struck, as ne'er before, + A ringing summons on his foeman's door. + + His mantle half across his features thrown, + He won the spacious inner court unknown, + Where, on a deep divan, lay stretched his foe, + Sipping his sherbet cool with Hermon snow; + Who, when he looked on Kafur, hurled his hate + Upon him, wrathful and infuriate, + Bidding him swift begone, and think to feel + A judge's sentence and a jailer's steel. + + "Hark ye!" cried Kafur, at this burst of rage + Holding aloft a rolled parchment page; + "Prayers and not threats were more to thy behoof; + Thine is the danger, see! I hold the proof. + Should I seek out the Caliph in his bower + To-morrow when the mid-muezzin hour + Has passed, and lay before his eyes this scrip, + Silence would seal forevermore thy lip. + + "Ay! quail and cringe and crook the supple knee, + And beg thy life of me, thine enemy, + Whom thou, a moment since, didst doom to death. + I will not breathe suspicion's lightest breath + Against thy vaunted fame: and even though + Before all men thou'st sworn thyself my foe, + And pledged thyself wrongly to wreak on me + Thy utmost power of mortal injury, + In spite of this, should I be first to die + And win the bowers of the blest on high, + Beside the golden gate of Paradise + Thee will I wait with ever-watchful eyes, + Ready to plead forgiveness for thy sin, + If thou shouldst come, and shouldst not enter in. + + "Should Allah hear my plea, how sweet! how sweet! + For then would Kafur's vengeance be complete." + + + + +THE WISHING WELL. + +BY VIRGINIA WOODWARD CLOUD. + + + Around its shining edge three sat them down, + Beyond the desert, 'neath the palms' green ring. + "I wish," spake one, "the gems of Izza's crown, + For then would I be Izza and a King!" + + Another, "I the royal robe he wears, + To hear men say, 'Behold, a King walks here!'" + And cried the third, "Now by his long gray hairs + I'd have his throne! Then should men cringe and fear!" + + They quaffed the blessed draught and went their way + To where the city's gilded turrets shone; + Then from the shadowed palms, where rested they, + Stepped one, with bowed gray head, and passed alone. + + His arms upon his breast, his eyes down bent, + Against the fading light a shadow straight; + Across the yellow sand, musing, he went + Where in the sunset gleamed the city's gate. + + Lo, the next morrow a command did bring + To three who tarried in that city's wall, + Which bade them hasten straightway to the King, + Izza, the Great, and straightway went they all, + + With questioning and wonder in each mind. + Majestic on his gleaming throne was he, + Izza the Just, the kingliest of his kind! + His eagle gaze upon the strangers three + + Bent, to the first he spake, "Something doth tell + Me that to-day my jewelled crown should lie + Upon thy brow, that it be proven well + How any man may be a king thereby." + + And to the second, "Still the same hath told + That thou shalt don this robe of royalty, + And"--to the third--"that thou this sceptre hold + To show a king to such a man as I!" + + And straightway it was done. Then Izza spake + Unto the guards and said, "Go! Bring thee now + From out the city wall a child to make + Its first obeisance to the King. Speed thou!" + + In Izza's name, Izza, the great and good, + Went this strange word 'mid stir and trumpet's ring, + And straightway came along and wondering stood + A child within the presence of the King. + + The King? Her dark eyes, flashing, fearless gazed + To where 'mid pomp and splendor three there sate. + One, 'neath a glittering crown, shrunk sore amazed; + One cringed upon the carven throne of state, + + The third, wrapped with a royal robe, hung low + His head in awkward shame, and could not see + Beyond the blazoned hem, that was to show + How any man thus garbed a king might be! + + Wondering, paused the child, then turned to where + One stood apart, his arms across his breast; + No crown upon the silver of his hair, + Black-gowned and still, of stately mien possessed; + + No 'broidered robe nor gemmed device to tell + Whose was that brow, majestic with its mind; + But lo, one look, and straight she prostrate fell + Before great Izza, kingliest of his kind! + + * * * * * + + Around the shining Well, at close of day, + Beyond the desert, 'neath the palms' green ring, + Three stopped to quaff a draught and paused to say + "Life to great Izza! Long may he be King!" + + + + +THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS. + +BY JOHN G. SAXE. + + + A famous king would build a church, + A temple vast and grand; + And that the praise might be his own, + He gave a strict command + That none should add the smallest gift + To aid the work he planned. + + And when the mighty dome was done, + Within the noble frame, + Upon a tablet broad and fair, + In letters all aflame + With burnished gold, the people read + The royal builder's name. + + Now when the king, elate with pride, + That night had sought his bed, + He dreamed he saw an angel come + (A halo round his head), + Erase the royal name and write + Another in its stead. + + What could it be? Three times that night + That wondrous vision came; + Three times he saw that angel hand + Erase the royal name, + And write a woman's in its stead + In letters all aflame. + + Whose could it be? He gave command + To all about his throne + To seek the owner of the name + That on the tablet shone; + And so it was, the courtiers found + A widow poor and lone. + + The king, enraged at what he heard, + Cried, "Bring the culprit here!" + And to the woman trembling sore, + He said, "'Tis very clear + That thou hast broken my command: + Now let the truth appear!" + + "Your majesty," the widow said, + "I can't deny the truth; + I love the Lord--my Lord and yours-- + And so in simple sooth, + I broke your Majesty's command + (I crave your royal ruth). + + "And since I had no money, Sire, + Why, I could only pray + That God would bless your Majesty;' + And when along the way + The horses drew the stones, I gave + To one a wisp of hay!" + + "Ah! now I see," the king exclaimed, + "Self-glory was my aim: + The woman gave for love of God, + And not for worldly fame-- + 'Tis my command the tablet bear + The pious widow's name!" + + + + +THE CAPTAIN OF THE NORTHFLEET, + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + So often is the proud deed done + By men like this at Duty's call; + So many are the honours won + For us, we cannot wear them all! + + They make the heroic common-place, + And dying thus the natural way; + And yet, our world-wide English race + Feels nobler, for that death, To-day! + + It stirs us with a sense of wings + That strive to lift the earthiest soul; + It brings the thoughts that fathom things + To anchor fast where billows roll. + + Love was so new, and life so sweet, + But at the call he left the wine, + And sprang full-statured to his feet, + Responsive to the touch divine. + + "_ Nay, dear, I cannot see you die. + For me, I have my work to do + Up here. Down to the boat. Good-bye, + God bless you. I shall see it through_." + + We read, until the vision dims + And drowns; but, ere the pang be past, + A tide of triumph overbrims + And breaks with light from heaven at last. + + Through all the blackness of that night + A glory streams from out the gloom; + His steadfast spirit lifts the light + That shines till Night is overcome. + + The sea will do its worst, and life + Be sobbed out in a bubbling breath; + But firmly in the coward strife + There stands a man who has conquered Death! + + A soul that masters wind and wave, + And towers above a sinking deck; + A bridge across the gaping grave; + A rainbow rising o'er the wreck. + + Others he saved; he saved the name + Unsullied that he gave his wife: + And dying with so pure an aim, + He had no need to save his life! + + Lord! how they shame the life we live, + These sailors of our sea-girt isle, + Who cheerily take what Thou mayst give, + And go down with a heavenward smile! + + The men who sow their lives to yield + A glorious crop in lives to be: + Who turn to England's harvest-field + The unfruitful furrows of the sea. + + With such a breed of men so brave, + The Old Land has not had her day; + But long her strength, with crested wave, + Shall ride the Seas, the proud old way. + + + + +THE HAPPIEST LAND. + +BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. + + + There sat one day in quiet, + By an alehouse on the Rhine, + Four hale and hearty fellows, + And drank the precious wine. + + The landlord's daughter filled their cups + Around the rustic board; + Then sat they all so calm and still, + And spake not one rude word. + + But when the maid departed, + A Swabian raised his hand, + And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, + "Long live the Swabian land! + + "The greatest kingdom upon earth + Cannot with that compare; + With all the stout and hardy men + And the nut-brown maidens there." + + "Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,-- + And dashed his beard with wine; + "I had rather live in Lapland, + Than that Swabian land of thine! + + "The goodliest land on all this earth + It is the Saxon land! + There have I as many maidens + As fingers on this hand!" + + "Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!" + A bold Bohemian cries; + "If there's a heaven upon this earth, + In Bohemia it lies: + + "There the tailor blows the flute, + And the cobbler blows the horn, + And the miner blows the bugle, + Over mountain gorge and bourn!" + + * * * * * + + And then the landlord's daughter + Up to heaven raised her hand, + And said, "Ye may no more contend-- + There lies the happiest land." + + + + +THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW. + +September 24th, 1857. + +BY J. G. WHITTIER. + + + Pipes of the misty moorlands, + Voice of the glens and hills; + The droning of the torrents, + The treble of the rills! + Not the braes of broom and heather, + Nor the mountains dark with rain, + Nor maiden bower, nor border tower + Have heard your sweetest strain! + + Dear to the lowland reaper, + And plaided mountaineer,-- + To the cottage and the castle + The Scottish pipes are dear;-- + Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch + O'er mountain, loch, and glade; + But the sweetest of all music + The pipes at Lucknow played. + + Day by day the Indian tiger + Louder yelled and nearer crept; + Round and round the jungle serpent + Near and nearer circles swept. + "Pray for rescue, wives and mothers,-- + Pray to-day!" the soldier said; + "To-morrow, death's between us + And the wrong and shame we dread." + + Oh! they listened, looked, and waited, + Till their hope became despair; + And the sobs of low bewailing + Filled the pauses of their prayer. + Then up spake a Scottish maiden, + With her ear unto the ground: + "Dinna ye hear it?--dinna ye hear it? + The pipes o' Havelock sound!" + + Hushed the wounded man his groaning; + Hushed the wife her little ones; + Alone they heard the drum-roll + And the roar of Sepoy guns. + But to sounds of home and childhood + The Highland ear was true; + As her mother's cradle crooning + The mountain pipes she knew. + + Like the march of soundless music + Through the vision of the seer,-- + More of feeling than of hearing, + Of the heart than of the ear,-- + She knew the droning pibroch + She knew the Campbell's call: + "Hark! hear ye no' MacGregor's,-- + The grandest o' them all." + + Oh! they listened, dumb and breathless, + And they caught the sound at last; + Faint and far beyond the Goomtee + Rose and fell the piper's blast! + Then a burst of wild thanksgiving + Mingled woman's voice and man's; + "God be praised!--the march of Havelock! + The piping of the clans!" + + Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance, + Sharp and shrill as swords at strife, + Came the wild MacGregor's clan-call, + Stinging all the air to life. + But when the far-off dust cloud + To plaided legions grew, + Full tenderly and blithsomely + The pipes of rescue blew! + + Round the silver domes of Lucknow, + Moslem mosque and pagan shrine, + Breathed the air to Britons dearest, + The air of Auld Lang Syne; + O'er the cruel roll of war-drums + Rose that sweet and homelike strain; + And the tartan clove the turban, + As the Goomtee cleaves the plain. + + Dear to the corn-land reaper, + And plaided mountaineer,-- + To the cottage and the castle + The piper's song is dear; + Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch + O'er mountain, glen, and glade, + But the sweetest of all music + The pipes at Lucknow played! + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. + +BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + + Of Nelson and the North, + Sing the glorious day's renown, + When to battle fierce came forth + All the might of Denmark's crown, + And her arms along the deep proudly shone; + By each gun the lighted brand, + In a bold determined hand, + And the prince of all the land + Led them on.-- + + Like leviathans afloat, + Lay their bulwarks on the brine; + While the sign of battle flew + On the lofty British line: + It was ten of April morn by the chime: + As they drifted on their path, + There was silence deep as death; + And the boldest held his breath + For a time.-- + + But the might of England flush'd + To anticipate the scene; + And her van the fleeter rush'd + O'er the deadly space between. + "Hearts of Oak!" our captains cried; when each gun + From its adamantine lips + Spread a death-shade round the ships, + Like the hurricane eclipse + Of the sun. + + Again! again! again! + And the havoc did not slack, + Till a feeble cheer the Dane + To our cheering sent us back;-- + Their shots along the deep slowly boom:-- + Then ceased--and all is wail, + As they strike the shatter'd sail; + Or, in conflagration pale, + Light the gloom.-- + + Out spoke the victor then, + As he hail'd them o'er the wave; + "Ye are brothers! ye are men! + And we conquer but to save:-- + So peace instead of death let us bring: + But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, + With the crews, at England's feet, + And make submission meet + To our king."-- + + Then Denmark bless'd our chief, + That he gave her wounds repose; + And the sounds of joy and grief + From her people wildly rose, + As Death withdrew his shades from the day. + While the sun look'd smiling bright + O'er a wild and woeful sight, + Where the fires of funeral light + Died away. + + Now joy, old England, raise! + For the tidings of thy might, + By the festal cities' blaze, + While the wine-cup shines in light; + And yet amidst that joy and uproar, + Let us think of them that sleep, + Full many a fathom deep, + By thy wild and stormy steep, + Elsinore! + + Brave hearts! to Britain's pride + Once so faithful and so true, + On the deck of fame that died,-- + With the gallant good Riou, + Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! + While the hollow mournful rolls, + And the mermaid's song condoles, + Singing glory to the souls + Of the brave! + + + + +THE GRAVE SPOILERS. + +BY HERCULES ELLIS. + + + They dragged our heroes from the graves, + In which their honoured dust was lying; + They dragged them forth--base, coward slaves + And hung their bones on gibbets flying. + Ireton, our dauntless Ironside, + And Bradshaw, faithful judge, and fearless, + And Cromwell, Britain's chosen guide, + In fight in faith, and council, peerless. + The bravest of our glorious brave! + The tyrant's terror in his grave. + + In felon chains, they hung the dead-- + The noble dead, in glory lying: + Before whose living face they fled, + Like chaff before the tempest flying. + They fled before them, foot and horse, + In craven flight their safety seeking; + And now they gloat around each corse, + In coward scoff their hatred wreaking. + Oh! God, that men could own, as kings, + Such paltry, dastard, soulless things. + + Their dust is scattered o'er the land + They loved, and freed, and crowned with glory; + Their great names bear the felon's brand; + 'Mongst murderers is placed their story. + But idly their grave-spoilers thought, + Disgrace, which fled in life before them, + By craven judges could be brought, + To spread in death, its shadow o'er them. + For chain, nor judge, nor dastard king, + Can make disgrace around them cling. + + Their dry bones rattle in the wind, + That sweeps the land they died in freeing; + But the brave heroes rest enshrined, + In cenotaphs of God's decreeing: + Embalmed in every noble breast, + Inscribed on each brave heart their story, + All honoured shall the heroes rest, + Their country's boast--their race's glory. + On every tongue shall be their name; + In every land shall live their fame. + + But fouler than the noisome dust, + That reeks your rotting bones encasing, + Shall be your fame, ye sons of lust, + And sloth, and every vice debasing! + Insulters of the glorious dead, + While honour in our land is dwelling, + Above your tombs shall Britons tread, + And cry, while scorn each breast is swelling-- + "HERE LIE THE DASTARD, CAITIFF SLAVES, + WHO DRAGGED OUR HEROES FROM THEIR GRAVES." + + + + + +BOW-MEETING SONG. + +BY REGINALD HEBER. + + + Ye spirits of our fathers, + The hardy, bold, and free, + Who chased o'er Cressy's gory field + A fourfold enemy! + From us who love your sylvan game, + To you the song shall flow, + To the fame of your name + Who so bravely bent the bow. + + 'Twas merry then in England + (Our ancient records tell), + With Robin Hood and Little John + Who dwelt by down and dell; + And yet we love the bold outlaw + Who braved a tyrant foe, + Whose cheer was the deer, + And his only friend the bow. + + 'Twas merry then in England + In autumn's dewy morn, + When echo started from her hill + To hear the bugle-horn. + And beauty, mirth, and warrior worth + In garb of green did go + The shade to invade + With the arrow and the bow. + + Ye spirits of our fathers! + Extend to us your care, + Among your children yet are found + The valiant and the fair, + 'Tis merry yet in Old England, + Full well her archers know, + And shame on their name + Who despise the British bow! + + + + +THE BALLAD OF ROU. + +BY LORD LYTTON. + + +From Blois to Senlis, wave by wave, rolled on the Norman flood, +And Frank on Frank went drifting down the weltering tide of blood; +There was not left in all the land a castle wall to fire, +And not a wife but wailed a lord, a child but mourned a sire. +To Charles the king, the mitred monks, the mailed barons flew, +While, shaking earth, behind them strode, the thunder march of Rou. + +"O king," then cried those barons bold, "in vain are mace and mail, +We fall before the Norman axe, as corn before the flail." +"And vainly," cry the pious monks, "by Mary's shrine we kneel, +For prayers, like arrows glance aside, against the Norman steel." +The barons groaned, the shavelings wept, while near and nearer drew, +As death-birds round their scented feast, the raven flags of Rou. + +Then said King Charles, "Where thousands fail, what king can stand + alone? +The strength of kings is in the men that gather round the throne. +When war dismays my barons bold, 'tis time for war to cease; +When Heaven forsakes my pious monks the will of Heaven is peace. +Go forth, my monks, with mass and rood the Norman camp unto, +And to the fold, with shepherd crook, entice this grisly Rou. + +"I'll give him all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure, +And Gille, my child, shall be his bride, to bind him fast and sure; +Let him but kiss the Christian cross, and sheathe the heathen sword, +And hold the lands I cannot keep, a fief from Charles his lord." +Forth went the pastors of the Church, the Shepherd's work to do, +And wrap the golden fleece around the tiger loins of Rou. + +Psalm-chanting came the shaven monks, within the camp of dread; +Amidst his warriors, Norman Rou stood taller by a head. +Out spoke the Frank archbishop then, a priest devout and sage, +"When peace and plenty wait thy word, what need of war and rage? +Why waste a land as fair as aught beneath the arch of blue, +Which might be thine to sow and reap?--Thus saith the king to Rou: + +"'I'll give thee all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure, +And Gille, my fairest child, as bride, to bind thee fast and sure; +If thou but kneel to Christ our God, and sheathe thy paynim sword, +And hold thy land, the Church's son, a fief from Charles thy lord.'" +The Norman on his warriors looked--to counsel they withdrew; +The Saints took pity on the Franks, and moved the soul of Rou. + +So back he strode, and thus he spoke, to that archbishop meek, +"I take the land thy king bestows, from Eure to Michael-peak, +I take the maid, or foul or fair, a bargain with the coast, +And for thy creed,--a sea-king's gods are those that give the most. +So hie thee back, and tell thy chief to make his proffer true, +And he shall find a docile son, and ye a saint in Rou." + +So o'er the border stream of Epte came Rou the Norman, where, +Begirt with barons, sat the king, enthroned at green St. Clair; +He placed his hand in Charles's hand,--loud shouted all the throng, +But tears were in King Charles's eyes--the grip of Rou was strong. +"Now kiss the foot," the bishop said, "that homage still is due;" +Then dark the frown and stern the smile of that grim convert Rou. + +He takes the foot, as if the foot to slavish lips to bring; +The Normans scowl; he tilts the throne and backward falls the king. +Loud laugh the joyous Norman men.--pale stare the Franks aghast; +And Rou lifts up his head as from the wind springs up the mast: +"I said I would adore a God, but not a mortal too; +The foot that fled before a foe let cowards kiss!" said Rou. + + + + +BINGEN ON THE RHINE. + +BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON. + + +A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers-- +There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; +But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, +And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. +The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, +And he said: "I never more shall see my own, my native land; +Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine, +For I was born at Bingen--at Bingen on the Rhine! + +"Tell my Brothers and Companions, when they meet and crowd around +To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground. +That we fought the battle bravely--and, when the day was done, +Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. +And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars,-- +The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars! +But some were young,--and suddenly beheld life's morn decline,-- +And one there came from Bingen--fair Bingen on the Rhine! + +"Tell my Mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, +And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage: +For my father was a soldier, and, even as a child, +My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; +And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, +I let them take whate'er they would--but kept my father's sword; +And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, +On the cottage-wall at Bingen,--calm Bingen on the Rhine! + +"Tell my Sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, +When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread; +But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, +For her brother was a soldier, too,--and not afraid to die. +And, if a comrade seek her love, I ask her, in my name, +To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame; +And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine), +For the honour of old Bingen,--dear Bingen on the Rhine! + +"There's another--not a Sister,--in the happy days gone by, +You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye: +Too innocent for coquetry; too fond for idle scorning;-- +Oh, friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest + mourning! +Tell her, the last night of my life--(for, ere this moon be risen, +My body will be out of pain--my soul be out of prison), +I dreamed I stood with _her_, and saw the yellow sunlight shine +On the vine-clad hills of Bingen--fair Bingen on the Rhine! + +"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along--I heard, or seemed to hear, +The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear! +And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, +That echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; +And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk, +Down many a path belov'd of yore, and well-remembered walk; +And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine... +But we'll meet no more at Bingen,--loved Bingen on the Rhine!" + +His voice grew faint and hoarser,--his grasp was childish weak,-- +His eyes put on a dying look,--he sighed and ceased to speak: +His comrade bent to lift him, ... but the spark of life had fled! +The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land was dead! +And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down +On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown; +Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, +As it shone on distant Bingen--fair Bingen on the Rhine! + + + + +DEEDS NOT WORDS. + +BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT. + + +The Captain stood on the carronade--first lieutenant, says he, +Send all my merry men aft here, for they must list to me; +I haven't the gift of the gab, my sons--because I'm bred to the sea; +That ship there is a Frenchman, who means to fight with we. + + Odds blood, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea, + I've fought 'gainst every odds--but I've gained the victory. + +That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don't take _she_, +'Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture _we_; +I haven't the gift of the gab, my boys; so each man to his gun, +If she's not mine in half an hour, I'll flog each mother's son. + + Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea, + I've fought 'gainst every odds--and I've gained the victory. + +We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough +I little thought, he said, that your men were of such stuff; +The Captain took the Frenchman's sword, a low bow made to he; +I haven't the gift of the gab, monsieur, but polite I wish to be. + + Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea, + I've fought 'gainst every odds--and I've gained the victory. + +Our Captain sent for all of us; my merry men said he, +I haven't the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be: +You've done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun; +If you hadn't, you villains, as sure as day, I'd have flogged each + mother's son. + + Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I'm at sea, + I'll fight 'gainst every odds--and I'll gain the victory. + + + + +OLD KING COLE. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + Old King Cole was a merry old soul, + A merry old soul was he! + He would call for his pipe, he would call for his glass, + He would call for his fiddlers three; + With loving care and reason rare, + He ruled his subjects true-- + Who used to sing, "Long live the King!" + And He--"the people too!" + + Old King Cole was a musical soul, + A musical soul was he! + He used to boast what pleased him most + Was nothing but fiddle-de-dee! + But his pipe and his glass he loved--alas! + As much as his fiddlers three, + And by time he was done with the other and the one, + He was pretty well done, was he! + + Old King Cole was a kingly soul, + A kingly soul was he! + He governed well, the records tell, + The brave, the fair, the free; + He used to say, by night and day, + "I rule by right divine! + My subjects free belong to me, + And all that's theirs is mine!" + + Old King Cole was a worthy soul, + A worthy soul was he! + From motives pure he tried to cure + All greed and vanity; + So if he found--the country round + A slave to gold inclined, + He would take it away, and bid him pray + For a more contented mind. + + Old King Cole was a good old soul, + A good old soul was he! + And social life from civil strife + He guarded royally, + For when he caught the knaves who fought + O'er houses, land, or store, + He would take it himself, whether kind or pelf, + That they shouldn't fall out any more. + + Old King Cole was a thoughtful soul, + A thoughtful soul was he! + And he said it may be, if they all agree, + They may all disagree with me. + I must organise routs and tournament bouts, + And open a Senate, said he; + Play the outs on the ins and the ins on the outs, + And the party that wins wins me. + + So Old King Cole, constitutional soul, + (Constitutional soul was he)! + With royal nous, a parliament house + He built for his people free. + And they talked all day and they talked all night, + And they'd die, but they wouldn't agree + Until black was white, and wrong was right, + And he said, "It works to a T." + + Old King Cole was a gay old soul, + A gay old soul was he! + If he chanced to meet a maiden sweet, + He'd be sure to say "kitchi kitchi kee;" + And then if her papa, her auntie or mamma, + Should suddenly appear upon the scene, + He would put the matter straight with an office in the state + If they'd promise not to go and tell the queen. + + Old Queen Cole was a dear old soul, + A dear old soul was she! + Her hair was as red as a rose--'tis said-- + Her eyes were as green as a pea; + At beck and call for rout and ball, + She won the world's huzzahs. + At fetes and plays and matinees + Receptions and bazaars. + + When Old King Cole, with his pipe and bowl, + At a smoking concert presided, + His queen would be at a five-o'clock tea, + At the palace where she resided; + And so they governed, ruled, and reigned, + O'er subjects great and small, + And never was heard a seditious word + In castle, cot, or hall. + + + + + +THE GREEN DOMINO. + + +In the latter part of the reign of Louis XV. of France the masquerade +was an entertainment in high estimation, and was often given, at an +immense cost, on court days, and such occasions of rejoicing. As +persons of all ranks might gain admission to these spectacles, +provided they could afford the purchase of the ticket, very strange +_rencontres_ frequently took place at them, and exhibitions almost as +curious, in the way of disguise or assumption of character. But +perhaps the most whimsical among the genuine surprises recorded at +any of these spectacles was that which occurred in Paris on the 15th +of October, on the day when the Dauphin (son of Louis XV.) attained +the age of one-and-twenty. + +At this fete, which was of a peculiarly glittering character--so much +so, that the details of it are given at great length by the +historians of the day--the strange demeanour of a man in a green +domino, early in the evening, excited attention. This mask, who +showed nothing remarkable as to figure--though tall, rather, and of +robust proportion--seemed to be gifted with an _appetite_, not merely +past human conception, but passing the fancies of even romance. + + The dragon of old, who churches ate + (He used to come on a Sunday), + Whole congregations were to him + But a dish of Salmagundi,-- + +he was but a nibbler--a mere fool--to this stranger of the green +domino. He passed from chamber to chamber--from table to table of +refreshments--not tasting, but devouring--devastating--all before +him. At one board he despatched a fowl, two-thirds of a ham, and +half-a-dozen bottles of champagne; and, the very next moment, he was +found seated in another apartment performing the same feat, with a +stomach better than at first. This strange course went on until the +company (who at first had been amused by it) became alarmed and +tumultuous. + +"Is it the same mask--or are there several dressed alike?" demanded +an officer of guards as the green domino rose from a seat opposite to +him and quitted the apartment. + +"I have seen but one--and, by Heaven, here he is again," exclaimed +the party to whom the query was addressed. + +The green domino spoke not a word, but proceeded straight to the +vacant seat which he had just left, and again commenced supping, as +though he had fasted for the half of a campaign. + +At length the confusion which this proceeding created became +universal; and the cause reached the ear of the Dauphin. + +"He is the very devil, your highness!" exclaimed an old +nobleman--"saving your Highness's presence--or wants but a tail to +be so!" + +"Say, rather he should be some famished poet, by his appetite," +replied the Prince, laughing. "But there must be some juggling; he +spills all his wine, and hides the provisions under his robe." + +Even while they were speaking, the green domino entered the room in +which they were talking, and, as usual, proceeded to the table of +refreshments. + +"See here, my lord!" cried one--"I have seen him do this thrice!" + +"I, twice!"--"I, five times!"--"and I, fifteen." + +This was too much. The master of the ceremonies was questioned. He +knew nothing--and the green domino was interrupted as he was carrying +a bumper of claret to his lips. + +"The Prince's desire is, that Monsieur who wears the green domino +should unmask." The stranger hesitated. + +"The command with which his Highness honours Monsieur is perfectly +absolute." + +Against that which is absolute there is no contending. The green man +threw off his mask and domino; and proved to be a private trooper of +the Irish dragoons! + +"And in the name of gluttony, my good friend (not to ask how you +gained admission), how have you contrived," said the Prince, "to sup +to-night so many times?" + +"Sire, I was but beginning to sup, with reverence be it said, when +your royal message interrupted me." + +"Beginning!" exclaimed the Dauphin in amazement; "then what is it I +have heard and seen? Where are the herds of oxen that have +disappeared, and the hampers of Burgundy? I insist upon knowing how +this is!" + +"It is Sire," returned the soldier, "may it please your Grace, that +the troop to which I belong is to-day on guard. We have purchased one +ticket among us, and provided this green domino, which fits us all. +By which means the whole of the front rank, being myself the last +man, have supped, if the truth must be told, at discretion; and the +leader of the rear rank, saving your Highness's commands, is now +waiting outside the door to take his turn." + + + + +THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. + +BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. + + + "Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!" + That is what the vision said. + + In his chamber all alone, + Kneeling on the floor of stone, + Prayed the Monk in deep contrition + For his sins of indecision, + Prayed for greater self-denial + In temptation and in trial; + It was noonday by the dial, + And the Monk was all alone. + + Suddenly, as if it lightened, + An unwonted splendour brightened + All within him and without him + In that narrow cell of stone; + And he saw the Blessed Vision + Of our Lord, with light Elysian + Like a vesture wrapped about Him, + Like a garment round Him thrown. + Not as crucified and slain, + Not in agonies of pain, + Not with bleeding hands and feet, + Did the Monk his Master see; + But as in the village street, + In the house or harvest-field, + Halt and lame and blind He healed, + When He walked in Galilee. + + In an attitude imploring, + Hands upon his bosom crossed, + Wondering, worshipping, adoring, + Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. + "Lord," he thought, "in Heaven that reignest, + Who am I that thus Thou deignest + To reveal Thyself to me? + Who am I, that from the centre + Of Thy glory Thou shouldst enter + This poor cell my guest to be?" + + Then amid his exaltation, + Loud the convent-bell appalling, + From its belfry calling, calling, + Rang through court and corridor, + With persistent iteration + He had never heard before. + It was now the appointed hour + When alike, in shine or shower, + Winter's cold or summer's heat, + To the convent portals came + All the blind and halt and lame, + All the beggars of the street, + For their daily dole of food + Dealt them by the brotherhood; + And their almoner was he + Who upon his bended knee, + Wrapt in silent ecstasy + Of divinest self-surrender, + Saw the Vision and the splendour. + + Deep distress and hesitation + Mingled with his adoration; + Should he go or should he stay? + Should he leave the poor to wait + Hungry at the convent gate + Till the Vision passed away? + Should he slight his heavenly guest, + Slight this visitant celestial, + For a crowd of ragged, bestial + Beggars at the convent gate? + Would the Vision there remain? + Would the Vision come again? + + Then a voice within his breast + Whispered, audible and clear, + As if to the outward ear: + "Do thy duty; that is best; + Leave unto thy Lord the rest!" + + Straightway to his feet he started, + And, with longing look intent + On the Blessed Vision bent, + Slowly from his cell departed, + Slowly on his errand went. + + At the gate the poor were waiting, + Looking through the iron grating, + With that terror in the eye + That is only seen in those + Who amid their wants and woes + Hear the sound of doors that close + And of feet that pass them by; + Grown familiar with disfavour, + Grown familiar with the savour + Of the bread by which men die! + But to-day, they know not why, + Like the gate of Paradise + Seemed the convent gate to rise, + Like a sacrament divine + Seemed to them the bread and wine. + In his heart the Monk was praying, + Thinking of the homeless poor, + What they suffer and endure; + What we see not, what we see; + And the inward voice was saying: + "Whatsoever thing thou doest + To the least of Mine and lowest + That thou doest unto Me." + + Unto Me! But had the Vision + Come to him in beggar's clothing, + Come a mendicant imploring, + Would he then have knelt adoring, + Or have listened with derision + And have turned away with loathing? + + Thus his conscience put the question, + Full of troublesome suggestion, + As at length, with hurried pace, + Toward his cell he turned his face, + And beheld the convent bright + With a supernatural light, + Like a luminous cloud expanding + Over floor and wall and ceiling. + + But he paused with awe-struck feeling + At the threshold of his door; + For the Vision still was standing + As he left it there before, + When the convent bell appalling, + From its belfry calling, calling, + Summoned him to feed the poor. + Through the long hour intervening + It had waited his return, + And he felt his bosom burn, + Comprehending all the meaning, + When the Blessed Vision said: + "Hadst thou stayed I must have fled!" + + + + +THE BELL OF ATRI. + +BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. + + + At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town + Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, + One of those little places that have run + Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, + And then sat down to rest, as if to say, + "I climb no further upward, come what may,"-- + The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame, + So many monarchs since have borne the name, + Had a great bell hung in the market-place + Beneath a roof, projecting some small space, + By way of shelter from the sun and rain. + Then rode he through the streets with all his train, + And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long; + Made proclamation, that whenever wrong + Was done to any man, he should but ring + The great bell in the square, and he, the King, + Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. + Such was the proclamation of King John. + + How swift the happy days in Atri sped, + What wrongs were righted, need not here be said. + Suffice it that, as all things must decay, + The hempen rope at length was worn away, + Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand, + Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, + Till one, who noted this in passing by, + Mended the rope with braids of briony, + So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine + Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. + + By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt + A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, + Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods, + Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods, + Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports + And prodigalities of camps and courts;-- + Loved, or had loved them; for at last, grown old, + His only passion was the love of gold. + + He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, + Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds, + Kept but one steed, his favourite steed of all, + To starve and shiver in a naked stall, + And day by day sat brooding in his chair, + Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. + At length he said: "What is the use or need + To keep at my own cost this lazy steed, + Eating his head off in my stables here, + When rents are low and provender is dear? + Let him go feed upon the public ways: + I want him only for the holidays." + So the old steed was turned into the heat + Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street; + And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn, + Barked at by dogs, and torn by briar and thorn. + + One afternoon, as in that sultry clime + It is the custom in the summer time, + With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, + The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed; + When suddenly upon their senses fell + The loud alarum of the accusing bell! + The Syndic started from his deep repose, + Turned on his coach, and listened, and then rose + And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace + Went panting forth into the market-place, + Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung, + Reiterating with persistent tongue, + In half-articulate jargon, the old song: + "Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong!" + But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade, + He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, + No shape of human form of woman born, + But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, + Who with uplifted head and eager eye + Was tugging at the vines of briony. + "Domeneddio!" cried the Syndic straight, + "This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state! + He calls for justice, being sore distressed, + And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." + + Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd + Had rolled together like a summer cloud, + And told the story of the wretched beast + In five-and-twenty different ways at least, + With much gesticulation and appeal + To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. + The Knight was called and questioned; in reply + Did not confess the fact, did not deny; + + Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, + And set at nought the Syndic and the rest, + Maintaining, in an angry undertone, + That he should do what pleased him with his own. + And thereupon the Syndic gravely read + The proclamation of the King; then said: + "Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, + But cometh back on foot, and begs its way; + Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds + Of flowers of chivalry, and not of weeds! + These are familiar proverbs; but I fear + They never yet have reached your knightly ear. + What fair renown, what honour, what repute + Can come to you from starving this poor brute? + He who serves well and speaks not, merits more + Than they who clamour loudest at the door. + Therefore the law decrees that as this steed + Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed + To comfort his old age, and to provide + Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." + + The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all + Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. + The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, + And cried aloud: "Right well it pleaseth me! + Church-bells at best but ring us to the door; + But go not into mass; my bell doth more: + It cometh into court and pleads the cause + Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws; + And this shall make, in every Christian clime, + The Bell of Atri famous for all time." + + + + +THE STORM. + +BY ADELAIDE PROCTOR. + + + The tempest rages wild and high, + The waves lift up their voice and cry + Fierce answers to the angry sky,-- + Miserere Domine. + + Through the black night and driving rain, + A ship is struggling, all in vain + To live upon the stormy main;-- + Miserere Domine. + + The thunders roar, the lightnings glare, + Vain is it now to strive or dare; + A cry goes up of great despair,-- + Miserere Domine. + + The stormy voices of the main, + The moaning wind, the pelting rain + Beat on the nursery window pane:-- + Miserere Domine. + + Warm curtained was the little bed, + Soft pillowed was the little head; + "The storm will wake the child," they said: + Miserere Domine. + + Cowering among his pillows white + He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright, + "Father save those at sea to-night!" + Miserere Domine. + + The morning shone all clear and gay, + On a ship at anchor in the bay, + And on a little child at play,-- + Gloria tibi Domine! + + + + + +THE THREE RULERS. + +BY ADELAIDE PROCTOR. + + + I saw a Ruler take his stand + And trample on a mighty land; + The People crouched before his beck, + His iron heel was on their neck, + His name shone bright through blood and pain, + His sword flashed back their praise again. + + I saw another Ruler rise-- + His words were noble, good and wise; + With the calm sceptre of his pen + He ruled the minds, and thoughts of men; + Some scoffed, some praised, while many heard, + Only a few obeyed his word. + + Another Ruler then I saw-- + Love and sweet Pity were his law: + The greatest and the least had part + (Yet most the unhappy) in his heart-- + The People in a mighty band, + Rose up and drove him from the land! + + + + +THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE. + +BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. + + + Ere the brothers though the gateway + Issued forth with old and young, + To the Horn Sir Eustace pointed, + Which for ages there had hung. + Horn it was which none could sound, + No one upon living ground, + Save He who came as rightful Heir + To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair. + + Heirs from times of earliest record + Had the House of Lucie borne, + Who of right had held the lordship + Claimed by proof upon the horn: + Each at the appointed hour + Tried the horn--it owned his power; + He was acknowledged; and the blast + Which good Sir Eustace sounded was the last. + + With his lance Sir Eustace pointed, + And to Hubert thus said he: + "What I speak this horn shall witness + For thy better memory. + Hear, then, and neglect me not! + At this time, and on this spot, + The words are uttered from my heart, + As my last earnest prayer ere we depart. + + "On good service we are going, + Life to risk by sea and land, + In which course if Christ our Saviour + Do my sinful soul demand, + Hither come thou back straightway, + Hubert, if alive that day; + Return, and sound the horn, that we + May have a living house still left in thee!" + + "Fear not," quickly answered Hubert: + "As I am thy father's son, + What thou askest, noble brother, + With God's favour, shall be done." + So were both right well content: + Forth they from the castle went, + And at the head of their array + To Palestine the brothers took their way. + + Side by side they fought (the Lucies + Were a line for valour famed), + And where'er their strokes alighted, + There the Saracens were tamed. + Whence, then, could it come--the thought-- + By what evil spirit brought? + Oh! can a brave man wish to take + His brother's life, for lands' and castle's sake? + + "Sir!" the ruffians said to Hubert, + "Deep he lies in Jordan's flood." + Stricken by this ill assurance, + Pale and trembling Hubert stood. + "Take your earnings.--Oh! that I + Could have _seen_ my brother die!" + It was a pang that vexed him then, + And oft returned, again, and yet again. + + Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace! + Nor of him were tidings heard; + Wherefore, bold as day, the murderer + Back again to England steered. + To his castle Hubert sped; + Nothing has he now to dread. + But silent and by stealth he came, + And at an hour which nobody could name. + + None could tell if it were night-time, + Night or day, at even or morn; + No one's eye had seen him enter, + No one's ear had heard the horn. + But bold Hubert lives in glee: + Months and years went smilingly; + With plenty was his table spread, + And bright the lady is who shares his bed. + + Likewise he had sons and daughters; + And, as good men do, he sate + At his board by these surrounded, + Flourishing in fair estate. + And while thus in open day + Once he sate, as old books say, + A blast was uttered from the horn, + Where by the castle-gate it hung forlorn, + + 'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace! + He has come to claim his right: + Ancient castle, woods, and mountains + Hear the challenge with delight. + Hubert! though the blast be blown, + He is helpless and alone: + Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word! + And there he may be lodged, and thou be lord! + + Speak!--astounded Hubert cannot; + And, if power to speak he had, + All are daunted, all the household + Smitten to the heart and sad. + 'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be + Living man it must be he! + Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, + And by a postern-gate he slunk away. + + Long and long was he unheard of: + To his brother then he came, + Made confession, asked forgiveness, + Asked it by a brother's name, + And by all the saints in heaven; + And of Eustace was forgiven: + Then in a convent went to hide + His melancholy head, and there he died. + + But Sir Eustace, whom good angels + Had preserved from murderers' hands, + And from pagan chains had rescued, + Lived with honour on his lands. + Sons he had, saw sons of theirs: + And through ages, heirs of heirs, + A long posterity renowned + Sounded the horn which they alone could sound. + + + + +THE MIRACLE OF THE ROSES. + +BY ROBERT SOUTHEY. + + + There dwelt in Bethlehem a Jewish maid, + And Zillah was her name, so passing fair + That all Judea spake the virgin's praise. + He who had seen her eyes' dark radiance, + How it revealed her soul, and what a soul + Beamed in the mild effulgence, woe to him! + For not in solitude, for not in crowds, + Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid + Her imaged form, which followed everywhere, + And filled the heart, and fixed the absent eye. + Alas for him! her bosom owned no love + Save the strong ardour of religious zeal; + For Zillah upon heaven had centred all + Her spirit's deep affections. So for her + Her tribe's men sighed in vain, yet reverenced + The obdurate virtue that destroy'd their hopes. + + One man there was, a vain and wretched man, + Who saw, desired, despaired, and hated her: + His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek + E'en till the flush of angry modesty + Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more. + She loathed the man, for Hamuel's eye was bold, + And the strong workings of brute selfishness + Had moulded his broad features; and she feared + The bitterness of wounded vanity + That with a fiendish hue would overcast + His faint and lying smile. Nor vain her fear, + For Hamuel vowed revenge, and laid a plot + Against her virgin fame. He spread abroad + Whispers that travel fast, and ill reports + That soon obtain belief; how Zillah's eye, + When in the temple heavenward it was raised, + Did swim with rapturous zeal, but there were those + Who had beheld the enthusiast's melting glance + With other feelings filled:--that 'twas a task + Of easy sort to play the saint by day + Before the public eye, but that all eyes + Were closed at night;--that Zillah's life was foul, + Yea, forfeit to the law. + + Shame--shame to man, + That he should trust so easily the tongue + Which stabs another's fame! The ill report + Was heard, repeated, and believed,--and soon, + For Hamuel by his well-schemed villainy + Produced such semblances of guilt,--the maid + Was to the fire condemned! + + Without the walls + There was a barren field; a place abhorred, + For it was there where wretched criminals + Received their death! and there they fixed the stake, + And piled the fuel round, which should consume + The injured maid, abandoned, as it seemed, + By God and man. + + The assembled Bethlehemites + Beheld the scene, and when they saw the maid + Bound to the stake, with what calm holiness + She lifted up her patient looks to heaven, + They doubted of her guilt.-- + + With other thoughts + Stood Hamuel near the pile; him savage joy + Led thitherward, but now within his heart + Unwonted feelings stirred, and the first pangs + Of wakening guilt, anticipant of hell! + + The eye of Zillah as it glanced around + Fell on the slanderer once, and rested there + A moment; like a dagger did it pierce, + And struck into his soul a cureless wound. + Conscience! thou God within us! not in the hour + Of triumph dost thou spare the guilty wretch, + Not in the hour of infamy and death + Forsake the virtuous!-- + + They draw near the stake-- + They bring the torch!--hold, hold your erring hands! + Yet quench the rising flames!--O God, protect, + They reach the suffering maid!--O God, protect + The innocent one! They rose, they spread, they raged;-- + The breath of God went forth; the ascending fire + Beneath its influence bent, and all its flames, + In one long lightning-flash concentrating, + Darted and blasted Hamuel--him alone! + + Hark what a fearful scream the multitude + Pour forth!--and yet more miracles! the stake + Branches and buds, and spreading its green leaves, + Embowers and canopies the innocent maid + Who there stands glorified; and roses, then + First seen on earth since Paradise was lost, + Profusely blossom round her, white and red, + In all their rich variety of hues; + And fragrance such as our first parents breathed + In Eden, she inhales, vouchsafed to her + A presage sure of Paradise regained. + + + + +THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE. + +BY GERALD GRIFFIN. + + + The joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide, + The fresh wind is singing along the seaside; + The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers, + And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers + + Swell, swell the gay measure! roll trumpet and drum! + 'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendour they come! + The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide, + For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride. + + What years, ere the latter, of earthly delight, + The future shall scatter o'er them in its flight! + What blissful caresses shall fortune bestow, + Ere those dark-flowing tresses fall white as the snow! + + Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed: + With accents that falter her promise is made-- + From father and mother for ever to part, + For him and no other to treasure her heart. + + The words are repeated, the bridal is done, + The rite is completed--the two, they are one; + The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart, + That must not be broken till life shall depart. + + Hark! 'Mid the gay clangour that compassed their car, + Loud accents in anger come mingling afar! + The foe's on the border! his weapons resound + Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found! + + As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold, + When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold, + So rises already the chief in his mail, + While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale. + + "Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife, + For sister and mother, for children and wife! + O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain, + Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain!" + + Farrah! to the battle!--They form into line-- + The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine! + Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue-- + On, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do! + + The eve is declining in lone Malahide; + The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride; + She marks them unheeding--her heart is afar, + Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war. + + Hark!--loud from the mountain--'tis victory's cry! + O'er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky! + The foe has retreated! he flees to the shore; + The spoiler's defeated--the combat is o'er! + + With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come-- + But why have they muffled the lance and the drum? + What form do they carry aloft on his shield? + And where does he tarry, the lord of the field? + + Ye saw him at morning, how gallant and gay! + In bridal adorning, the star of the day; + Now, weep for the lover--his triumph is sped, + His hope it is over! the chieftain is dead! + + But, O! for the maiden who mourns for that chief, + With heart overladen and rending with grief! + She sinks on the meadow--in one morning-tide, + A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride! + + Ye maidens attending, forbear to condole! + Your comfort is rending the depths of her soul: + True--true, 'twas a story for ages of pride; + He died in his glory--but, oh, he _has_ died! + + The war-cloak she raises all mournfully now, + And steadfastly gazes upon the cold brow; + That glance may for ever unaltered remain, + But the bridegroom will never return it again. + + The dead-bells are tolling in sad Malahide, + The death-wail is rolling along the seaside; + The crowds, heavy-hearted, withdraw from the green, + For the sun has departed that brightened the scene! + + How scant was the warning, how briefly revealed, + Before on that morning, death's chalice was filled! + Thus passes each pleasure that earth can supply-- + Thus joy has its measure--we live but to die! + + + + +THE DAUGHTER OF MEATH. + +BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY. + + + Turgesius, the chief of a turbulent band, + Came over from Norway and conquer'd the land: + Rebellion had smooth'd the invader's career, + The natives shrank from him, in hate, or in fear; + While Erin's proud spirit seem'd slumb'ring in peace, + In secret it panted for death--or release. + + The tumult of battle was hush'd for awhile,-- + Turgesius was monarch of Erin's fair isle, + The sword of the conqueror slept in its sheath, + His triumphs were honour'd with trophy and wreath; + The princes of Erin despair'd of relief, + And knelt to the lawless Norwegian chief. + + His heart knew the charm of a woman's sweet smile; + But ne'er, till he came to this beautiful isle, + Did he know with what mild, yet resistless control, + That sweet smile can conquer a conqueror's soul: + And oh! 'mid the sweet smiles most sure to enthral, + He soon met with one--he thought sweetest of all. + + The brave Prince of Meath had a daughter as fair + As the pearls of Loch Neagh which encircled her hair; + The tyrant beheld her, and cried, "She shall come + To reign as the queen of my gay mountain home; + Ere sunset to-morrow hath crimson'd the sea, + Melachlin, send forth thy young daughter to me!" + + Awhile paused the Prince--too indignant to speak, + There burn'd a reply in his glance--on his cheek: + But quickly that hurried expression was gone, + And calm was his manner, and mild was his tone. + He answered--"Ere sunset hath crimson'd the sea, + To-morrow--I'll send my young daughter to thee. + + "At sunset to-morrow your palace forsake, + With twenty young chiefs seek the isle on yon lake; + And there, in its coolest and pleasantest shades, + My child shall await you with twenty fair maids: + Yes--bright as my armour the damsels shall be + I send with my daughter, Turgesius, to thee." + + Turgesius return'd to his palace; to him + The sports of that evening seem'd languid and dim; + And tediously long was the darkness of night, + And slowly the morning unfolded its light; + The sun seem'd to linger--as if it would be + An age ere his setting would crimson the sea. + + At length came the moment--the King and his band + With rapture push'd out their light boat from the land; + And bright shone the gems on the armour, and bright + Flash'd their fast-moving oars in the setting sun's light; + And long ere they landed, they saw though the trees + The maiden's white garments that waved in the breeze. + + More strong in the lake was the dash of each oar, + More swift the gay vessel flew on to the shore; + Its keel touch'd the pebbles--but over the surf + The youths in a moment had leap'd to the turf, + And rushed to a shady retreat in the wood, + Where many veiled forms mute and motionless stood. + + "Say, which is Melachlin's fair daughter? away + With these veils," cried Turgesius, "no longer delay; + Resistance is vain, we will quickly behold + Which robe hides the loveliest face in its fold; + These clouds shall no longer o'ershadow our bliss, + Let each seize a veil--and my trophy be this!" + + He seized a white veil, and before him appear'd + No fearful, weak girl--but a foe to be fear'd! + A youth--who sprang forth from his female disguise, + Like lightning that flashes from calm summer skies: + His hand grasp'd a weapon, and wild was the joy + That shone in the glance of the warrior boy. + + And under each white robe a youth was conceal'd, + Who met his opponent with sword and with shield. + Turgesius was slain--and the maidens were blest, + Melachlin's fair daughter more blithe than the rest; + And ere the last sunbeam had crimson'd the sea, + They hailed the boy-victors--and Erin was free! + + + + +GLENARA. + +BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + + O, heard ye yon pibroch sound sad on the gale, + Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? + 'Tis the Chief of Glenara laments for his dear, + And her sire and her people are called to the bier. + + Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud: + Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud: + Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around; + They marched all in silence--they looked to the ground. + + In silence they reached over mountains and moor, + To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar: + "Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn: + Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern. + + "And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, + Why fold ye your mantles? why cloud ye your brows?" + So spake the rude chieftain; no answer is made, + But each mantle unfolding, a dagger displayed! + + "I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," + Cried a voice from the kinsmen all wrathful and loud; + "And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem: + Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" + + Oh, pale grew the cheek of the chieftain, I ween, + When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen! + Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn-- + 'Twas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn: + + "I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her grief, + I dreamed that her lord was a barbarous chief; + On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem:-- + Glenara! Glenara! now read me MY dream!" + + In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, + And the desert revealed where his lady was found; + From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne; + Now joy to the house of the fair Ellen of Lorn! + + + + +A FABLE FOR MUSICIANS. + +BY CLARA DOTY BATES. + + + He grew as a red-headed thistle + Might grow, a mere vagabond weed-- + Little Frieder--as gay with his whistle + As water-wagtail on a reed-- + Blithe that was indeed! + + He had a little old fiddle, + A shabby and wonderful thing, + Patched at end, patched and glued in the middle + Oft lacking a key or a string, + But, oh, it could sing! + + Barber's 'prentice was Frieder, but having + No sense of the true barber's art, + He cut every face in the shaving, + Pulled hair, and left gashes and smart, + Getting blows for his part. + + Blows he liked not, and so off he started + One morning, his fortune to seek, + Comb and fiddle his all, yet light-hearted + As long as his fiddle could squeak, + Be it ever so weak. + + Ran away! Highway rutted or dusty + Seemed velvety grass to his feet; + Sang the birds; his own stout legs were trusty; + To his hunger a black crust was sweet, + And life seemed complete. + + Towards twilight he came to a meadow + Where a lovely green water, outlaid + Like a looking-glass, held in clear shadow + Low iris-grown shores--every blade + Its double had made. + + Neck, the Nixie, lived under this water, + In a palace of glass, far below + Where fishes might swim, or the otter + Could dive, or a sunbeam could go, + Or a lily root grow. + + And, lo, Frieder spied him that minute + In a little red coat, sitting there + By the pond, with his feet hanging in it, + And clawing his knotted green hair + In a comic despair. + + Green hair, full of duck weed, and tangled + With snail shells, and moss and eel-grass + It was, and it straggled and dangled + Over forehead and shoulders--alas, + A wild hopeless mass. + + "Good evening," hailed Frieder, "I know you, + Sir Neck, the Pond Nixie! I pray + You will come to the shore, and I'll show you + How hair should be combed, if I may, + The real barber's way." + + Neck swam like a frog to him, grinning, + And Frieder attacked the green mane + That had neither end nor beginning! + Neck bore like a hero the strain + Of the pulling and pain. + + Till at length, without whimper or whining + The task of the combing was done, + And each lock was as smooth and as shining + As long iris leaves in the sun-- + Soft as silk that is spun. + + Then Neck thrust his hand in the rushes + And pulled out his own violin, + And played--why, it seemed as if thrushes + Had song-perches under his chin, + So sweet was the din. + + The barber boy's heart fell to throbbing; + "Herr Neck"--this was all he could say, + Between fits of laughing and sobbing-- + "Herr Neck, oh, pray teach me to play + In that wonderful way!" + + Neck glanced at the comb. "Will you give it + For this little fiddle?" he cried. + "My comb--why, of course you can have it, + And jacket and supper beside!" + Eager Frieder replied. + + Neck flung down his fiddle, and catching + The comb at arm's length, dived below. + And Frieder, the instrument snatching + Across the weird strings drew the bow, + To and fro--to and fro! + + Till out of the forest came springing + Roebuck and rabbit and deer; + Till the nightingale stopped in its singing + And the black flitter-mice crowded near, + The sweet music to hear. + + * * * * * + + Forth from that moment went Frieder + Far countries and kingdoms to roam, + Of all earth's musicians the leader, + King's castles and courts for a home, + But, alas, for his comb! + + Gold he had, but a comb again, never! + And his hair in a wild disarray + Henceforth grew at random.--And ever + Musicians to this very day + Wear theirs the same way! + + + + +"ONWARD." +_A TALE OF THE S. E. RAILWAY_. + +ANONYMOUS. + + +No doubt you've 'eard the tale, sir. Thanks,--'arf o' stout and mild. +Of the man who did his dooty, though it might have killed his child. +He was only a railway porter, yet he earned undy'n' fame. +Well!--Mine's a similar story, though the end ain't quite the same. + +I were pointsman on the South Eastern, with an only child--a girl +As got switched to a houtside porter, though fit to 'ave married a + pearl. +With a back as straight as a tunnel, and lovely carrotty 'air, +She used to bring me my dinner, sir, and couldn't she take her + share!-- + +One day she strayed on the metals, and fell asleep on the track; +I didn't 'appen to miss her, sir, or I should ha' called her back. +She'd gone quite out of earshot, and I daresen't leave my post, +For the lightnin' express was comin', but four hours late at the + most! + +'Ave you ever seen the "lightnin'" thunder through New Cross? +Fourteen miles an hour, sir, with stoppages, of course. +And just in the track of the monster was where my darling slept. +I could hear the rattle already, as nearer the monster crept! + +I might turn the train on the sidin', but I glanced at the loop line + and saw +That right on the outer metals was lyin' a bundle of straw; +And right in the track of the "lightnin'" was where my darlin' laid, +But the loop line 'ud smash up the engine, and there'd be no + dividend paid + +I thought of the awful disaster, of the blood and the coroner's + 'quest; +Of the verdict, "No blame to the pointsman, he did it all for the + best!" +And I thought of the compensation the Co. would 'ave to pay +If I turned the train on the sidin' where the 'eap of stubble lay. + +So I switched her off on the main, sir, and she thundered by like a + snail, +And I didn't recover my senses till I'd drunk 'arf a gallon o' ale. +For though only a common pointsman, I've a father's feelings, too, +So I sank down in a faint, sir, as my Polly was 'id from view. + +And now comes the strangest part, sir, my Polly was roused by the + sound. +You think she escaped the engine by lyin' flat on the ground? +No! always a good 'un to run, sir, by jove she must 'ave flown, +For she raced the "lightnin' express," sir, till the engine was + puffed and blown!!! + +When next you see the boss, sir, tell him o' what I did, +How I nobly done my dooty, though it might a killed my kid; +And you may, if you like, spare a trifle for the agony I endured, +When I thought that my Polly was killed, sir, and I 'adn't got her + insured! + + + + +THE DECLARATION. + +BY NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. + + + 'Twas late, and the gay company was gone, + And light lay soft on the deserted room + From alabaster vases, and a scent + Of orange leaves, and sweet verbena came + Through the unshutter'd window on the air. + And the rich pictures with their dark old tints + Hung like a twilight landscape, and all things + Seem'd hush'd into a slumber. Isabel, + The dark-eyed spiritual Isabel + Was leaning on her harp, and I had stay'd + To whisper what I could not when the crowd + Hung on her look like worshippers. I knelt, + And with the fervour of a lip unused + To the cool breath of reason, told my love. + There was no answer, and I took the hand + That rested on the strings, and press'd a kiss + Upon it unforbidden--and again + Besought her, that this silent evidence + That I was not indifferent to her heart, + Might have the seal of one sweet syllable. + I kiss'd the small white fingers as I spoke. + And she withdrew them gently, and upraised + Her forehead from its resting-place, and look'd + Earnestly on me--_She had been asleep!_ + + + + +LOVE AND AGE. + +BY THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK. + + + I played with you 'mid cowslips blowing, + When I was six and you were four; + When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing, + Were pleasures soon to please no more. + Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather, + With little playmates, to and fro, + We wandered hand in hand together; + But that was sixty years ago. + + You grew a lovely roseate maiden. + And still our early love was strong; + Still with no care our days were laden, + They glided joyously along: + And I did love you very dearly, + How dearly words want power to show; + I thought your heart was touched as nearly; + But that was fifty years ago. + + Then other lovers came around you, + Your beauty grew from year to year, + And many a splendid circle found you + The centre of its glittering sphere. + I saw you then, first vows forsaking, + On rank and wealth your hand bestow;' + Oh, then I thought my heart was breaking,-- + But that was forty years ago. + + And I lived on, to wed another: + No cause she gave me to repine; + And when I heard you were a mother, + I did not wish the children mine. + My own young flock, in fair progression, + Made up a pleasant Christmas row: + My joy in them was past expression,-- + But that was thirty years ago. + + You grew a matron plump and comely, + You dwelt in fashion's brightest blaze; + My earthly lot was far more homely; + But I too had my festal days. + No merrier eyes have ever glistened + Around the hearth-stone's wintry glow, + Than when my youngest child was christened,-- + But that was twenty years ago. + + Time passed. My eldest girl was married, + And I am now a grandsire gray! + One pet of four years old I've carried + Among the wild-flowered meads to play. + In our old fields of childish pleasure, + Where now, as then, the cowslips blow, + She fills her basket's ample measure,-- + And that is not ten years ago. + + But though first love's impassioned blindness + Has passed away in colder light, + I still have thought of you with kindness, + And shall do, till our last good-night + The ever-rolling silent hours + Will bring a time we shall not know, + When our young days of gathering flowers + Will be a hundred years ago. + + + + +HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. + +BY BRET HARTE. + + +"So she's here, your unknown Dulcinea--the lady you met on the train, +And you really believe she would know you if you were to meet her + again?" + +"Of course," he replied, "she would know me; there was never + womankind yet +Forgot the effect she inspired. She excuses, but does not forget." + +"Then you told her your love?" asked the elder; while the younger + looked up with a smile: +"I sat by her side half an hour--what else was I doing the while? + +"What, sit by the side of a woman as fair as the sun in the sky, +And look somewhere else lest the dazzle flash back from your own to + her eye? + +"No, I hold that the speech of the tongue be as frank and as bold as + the look, +And I held up myself to herself--that was more than she got from her + book." + +"Young blood!" laughed the elder; "no doubt you are voicing the mode + of to-day: +But then we old fogies at least gave the lady some chance for delay. + +"There's my wife--(you must know)--we first met on the journey from + Florence to Rome; +It took me three weeks to discover who was she, and where was her + home; + +"Three more to be duly presented; three more ere I saw her again; +And a year ere my romance _began_ where yours ended that day on the + train." + +"Oh, that was the style of the stage-coach; we travel to-day by + express; +Forty miles to the hour," he answered, "won't admit of a passion + that's less." + +"But what if you make a mistake?" quoth the elder. The younger half + sighed. +"What happens when signals are wrong or switches misplaced?" he + replied. + +"Very well, I must bow to your wisdom," the elder returned, "but + submit +Your chances of winning this woman your boldness has bettered no + whit. + +"Why, you do not at best know her name. And what if I try your ideal +With something, if not quite so fair, at least more _en regle_ and + real? + +"Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist--you shall + follow--this way. +My dear, will you not add your grace to entreat Mr. Rapid to stay? + +"My wife, Mr. Rapid--Eh, what? Why, he's gone--yet he said he would + come. +How rude! I don't wonder, my dear, you are properly crimson and + dumb?" + + + + +HE WORRIED ABOUT IT. + +BY S. W. FOSS. + + + "The Sun will give out in ten million years more; + It will sure give out then, if it doesn't before." + And he worried about it; + It would surely give out, so the scientists said + And they proved it in many a book he had read, + And the whole mighty universe then would be dead. + And he worried about it. + + "Or some day the earth will fall into the sun, + Just as sure and as straight, as if shot from a gun." + And he worried about it. + "For when gravitation unbuckles her straps, + Just picture," he said, "what a fearful collapse! + It will come in a few million ages, perhaps." + And he worried about it. + + "The earth will become far too small for the race, + And we'll pay at a fabulous rate for our space." + And he worried about it. + "The earth will be crowded so much without doubt, + There will hardly be room for one's tongue to stick out, + Nor room for one's thoughts when they'd wander about." + And he worried about it. + + "And in ten thousand years, there's no manner of doubt, + Our lumber supply and our coal will give out." + And he worried about it: + "And then the Ice Age will return cold and raw, + Frozen men will stand stiff with arms stretched out in awe, + As if vainly beseeching a general thaw." + And he worried about it. + + His wife took in washing (two shillings a day). + He didn't worry about it. + His daughter sewed shirts, the rude grocer to pay. + He didn't worry about it. + While his wife beat her tireless rub-a-dub-dub + On the washboard drum in her old wooden tub, + He sat by the fire and he just let her rub. + He didn't worry about it, + + + + +ASTRONOMY MADE EASY. + + +I saw and heard him as I was going home the other evening. A big +telescope was pointed heavenward from the public square, and he +stood beside it and thoughtfully inquired,-- + +"Is it possible, gentlemen, that you do not care to view the +beautiful works of nature above the earth? Can it be true that men of +your intellectual appearance will sordidly cling to ten cents, rather +than take a look through this telescope and bring the beauties of +heaven within one and a half miles of your eyes?" + +The appeal was too much for one young man to resist. He was a tall +young man, with a long face, high cheek bones, and an anxious look. +He looked at the ten cents and then at the telescope, hesitated for a +single moment, and then took his seat on the stool. + +"Here is a young man who prefers to feast his soul with scientific +knowledge rather than become a sordid, grasping, avaricious +capitalist," remarked the astronomer, as he arranged the instrument. +"Fall back, you people who prefer the paltry sum of ten cents to a +view of the starry heavens, and give this noble young man plenty of +room!" + +The noble young man removed his hat, placed his eye to the +instrument, a cloth was thrown over his head, and the astronomer +continued:-- + +"Behold the bright star of Venus! A sight of this star is worth a +thousand dollars to any man who prefers education to money." There +was an instant of deep silence, and then the young man exclaimed:-- + +"I say!" + +I stood behind him, and knew that the telescope pointed at the fifth +storey of a building across the square, where a dance was in +progress. + +"All people indulge in exclamations of admiration as they view the +beauties and mysteries of nature," remarked the astronomer. "Young +man, tell the crowd what you see." + +"I see a feller hugging a girl!" was the prompt reply. "And if there +isn't a dozen of them!" + +"And yet," continued the astronomer, "there are sordid wretches in +this crowd who hang to ten cents in preference to observing such +sights as these in ethereal space. Venus is millions of miles away, +and yet by means of this telescope and by paying ten cents this +intellectual young man is enabled to observe the inhabitants of that +far-off world hugging each other just as natural as they do in this!" + + +The instrument was wheeled around to bear on the tower of the +engine-house some distance away, and the astronomer, continued:-- + +"Behold the beauties and the wonders of Saturn! This star, to the +naked eye, appears no larger than a pin's point, and yet for the +paltry sum of ten cents this noble young man is placed within one +mile of it!" + +"Well, this beats all!" murmured the young man, as he slapped his +leg. + +"Tell me what you see, my friend." + +"I see two fellows in a small room, smoking cigars and playing +chess!" was the prompt reply. + +"Saturn is 86,000,000 of miles from this town," continued the +astronomer, "and yet the insignificant sum of ten cents has enabled +this progressive young man to learn for himself that the celestial +beings enjoy themselves pretty much as we do in this world. I venture +to say that there is not a man in this crowd who ever knew before +that the inhabitants of Saturn knew anything about chess or cigars." + +Once more he wheeled the instrument round. This time it got the range +of the upper storey of a tenement-house on the hill The young man had +scarcely taken a glance through the tube, when he yelled out:-- + +"Great guns! But what planet is this?" + +"You are now looking at Uranus," replied the professor. "Uranus is +97,502,304 miles distant from the earth, and yet I warrant that it +doesn't appear over eighty rods away to you. Will you be kind enough, +my friend, to tell this crowd what you see?" + +"Give it to him! That's it! Go it old woman!" shouted the young man, +slapping one leg and then the other. + +"Speak up, my friend. What do you see?" + +"By jove! she's got him by the hair now! Why, she'll beat him +hollow!" + +"Will you be kind enough, my friend, to allay the curiosity of your +friends?" + +"Whoop! that's it; now she's got him. Toughest fight I ever saw!" +cried the young man as he moved back and slapped his thigh. + +The professor covered up the instrument slowly and carefully, picked +up and unlocked a satchel which had been lying near his feet, and +then softly said:-- + +"Gentlemen, we will pause here for a moment. When a man tells you +after this that the planet of Saturn is not inhabited, tell him that +you know better, that it is not only inhabited, but that the married +couples up there have family fights the same as on this mundane +sphere. In about ten minutes I will be ready again to explain the +wonders and beauties of the sparkling heavens to such of you as +prefer a million dollars' worth of scientific knowledge to ten cents +in vile dross. Meanwhile permit me to call your attention to my +celebrated toothache drops, the only perfect remedy yet invented for +aching teeth." + + + + +BROTHER WATKINS. + +BY JOHN B. GOUGH. + + +An old southern preacher, who had a great habit of talking through +his nose, left one congregation and came to another. The first Sunday +he addressed his new congregation he went on about as follows:-- + +My beloved brederin, before I take my text, I must tell you of +parting with my old congregation-ah, on the morning of last +Sabbath-ah I entered into my church to preach my farewell +discourse-ah. Before me sat the old fadders and mothers of Israel-ah. +The tears course down their furrowed cheeks, their tottering forms +and quivering lips breathed out a sad fare-ye-well Brother +Watkins-ah. + +Behind them sat middle-aged men and matrons, youth and vigour bloomed +from every countenance, and as they looked up, I thought I could see +in their dreamy eyes fare-ye-well Brother Watkins-ah. + +Behind them sat the little boys and girls I had baptised and gathered +into the Sabbath school. Ofttimes had they been rude and boisterous; +but now their merry laugh was hushed and in the silence I could hear +fare-ye-well Brother Watkins-ah. + +Away in the back seats and along the aisles stood and sat the +coloured bretherin with their black faces and honest hearts, and as +they looked up I thought I could see in their eyes fare-ye-well +Brother Watkins-ah. + +When I had finished my discourse, and shaken hands with the +bretherin-ah, I went out to take a last look at the church-ah, and +the broken steps-ah, the flopping blinds-ah, and the moss-covered +roof-ah, suggested fare-ye-well Brother Watkins-ah. + +I mounted my old grey mare with all my earthly possessions in my +saddle-bags, and as I passed down the street the servant girls stood +in the doors-ah and waved their brooms with a fare-ye-well Brother +Watkins-ah. + +As I passed out of the village, I thought I could hear the wind-ah +moaning through the waving branches of the trees, fare-ye-well +Brother Watkins-ah. + +I came on to the creek, and as the old mare stopped to drink I +thought I could hear the water rippling over the pebbles, +fare-ye-well Brother Watkins-ah. Even the little fishes-ah, as their +bright fins glistened in the sunlight-ah, gathered round to say as +best they could, fare-ye-well Brother Watkins-ah. + +I was slowly passing up the hill meditating-ah on the sad +vicissitudes of life-ah, when out bounded a big hog from the fence +corner-ah with an a-boo a-boo and I came to the ground-ah, with my +saddle bags-ah by my side-ah, and as the old mare ran up the hill-ah, +she waved her tail back at me-ah seemingly to say-ah, fare-ye-well +Brother Watkins-ah. + + + + +LOGIC. + +ANONYMOUS. + + + I. HER RESPECTABLE PAPA'S. + + "My dear, be sensible! Upon my word, + This--for a woman even--is absurd. + His income's not a hundred pounds, I know. + He's not worth loving."--"But I love him so." + + II. HER MOTHER'S. + + "You silly child, he is well made and tall; + But looks are far from being all in all. + His social standing's low, his family's low. + He's not worth loving."--"And I love him so." + + III. HER ETERNAL FRIEND'S. + + "Is that he picking up the fallen fan? + My dear! he's such an awkward, ugly man! + You must be certain, pet, to answer 'No.' + He's not worth loving."--" And I love him so." + + IV. HER BROTHER'S. + + "By jove! were I a girl--through horrid hap-- + I wouldn't have a milk-and-water chap. + The man has not a single spark of 'go.' + He's not worth loving."--" Yet I love him so." + + V. HER OWN. + + "And were he everything to which I've listened, + Though he were ugly, awkward (and he isn't), + Poor, lowly-born, and destitute of 'go,' + He _is_ worth loving, for I love him so." + + + + +THE PRIDE OF BATTERY B. + +BY F.H. GASSAWAY. + + + South Mountain towered on our right + Far off the river lay; + And over on the wooded height + We kept their lines at bay. + + At last the muttering guns were stilled, + The day died slow and wan; + At last the gunners' pipes were filled, + The sergeant's yarns began. + + When, as the wind a moment blew + Aside the fragrant flood, + Our brushwood razed, before our view + A little maiden stood. + + A tiny tot of six or seven, + From fireside fresh she seemed; + Of such a little one in heaven + I know one soldier dreamed. + + And as she stood, her little hand + Went to her curly head; + In grave salute, "And who are you?" + At length the sergeant said. + + "Where is your home?" he growled again. + She lisped out, "Who is me? + Why, don't you know I'm little Jane, + The pride of Battery B? + + "My home? Why, that was burnt away, + And Pa and Ma is dead; + But now I ride the guns all day, + Along with Sergeant Ned. + + "And I've a drum that's not a toy, + And a cap with feathers too; + And I march beside the drummer-boy + On Sundays at review. + + "But now our baccy's all give out + The men can't have their smoke, + And so they're cross; why even Ned + Won't play with me, and joke! + + "And the big colonel said to-day-- + I hate to hear him swear-- + 'I'd give a leg for a good smoke + Like the Yanks have over there.' + + "And so I thought when beat the drum, + And the big guns were still, + I'd creep beneath the tent, and come + Out here across the hill. + + "And beg, good Mr. Yankee-men, + You'd give me some Long Jack; + Please do, when we get some again, + I'll surely bring it back. + + "And so I came; for Ned, says he, + 'If you do what you say, + You'll be a general yet, maybe, + And ride a prancing bay.'" + + We brimmed her tiny apron o'er,-- + You should have heard her laugh, + As each man from his scanty store + Shook out a generous half. + + To kiss the little mouth stooped down + A score of grimy men, + Until the sergeant's husky voice + Said "'Tention, squad?" and then, + + We gave her escort till good-night + The little waif we bid, + Then watched her toddle out of sight, + Or else 'twas tears that hid. + + Her baby form nor turned about, + A man nor spoke a word, + Until at length a far faint shout + Upon the wind we heard, + + We sent it back, and cast sad eyes + Upon the scene around, + That baby's hand had touched the ties + That brother's once had bound. + + That's all, save when the dawn awoke: + Again the work of hell, + And through the sullen clouds of smoke + The screaming missiles fell. + + Our colonel often rubbed his glass, + And marvelled much to see, + Not a single shell that whole day fell + In the camp of Battery B. + + + +THE DANDY FIFTH. + +BY F.H. GASSAWAY. + + + 'Twas the time of the working men's great strike, + When all the land stood still + At the sudden roar from the hungry mouths + That labour could not fill; + When the thunder of the railroad ceased, + And startled towns could spy + A hundred blazing factories + Painting each midnight sky. + + Through Philadelphia's surging streets + Marched the brown ranks of toil, + The grimy legions of the shops, + The tillers of the soil; + White-faced militia-men looked on, + And women shrank with dread; + 'Twas muscle against money then-- + 'Twas riches against bread. + + Once, as the mighty mob tramped on, + A carriage stopped the way, + Upon the silken seat of which + A young patrician lay. + And as, with haughty glance, he swept + Along the jeering crowd, + A white-haired blacksmith in the ranks + Took off his cap and bowed. + + That night the Labour League was met, + And soon the chairman said: + "There hides a Judas in our midst; + One man who bows his head, + Who bends the coward's servile knee + When capital rolls by." + "Down with him! Kill the traitor cur!" + Rang out the savage cry. + + Up rose the blacksmith, then, and held + Erect his head of grey-- + "I am no traitor, though I bowed + To a rich man's son to-day; + And though you kill me as I stand-- + As like you mean to do-- + I want to tell you a story short, + And I ask you'll hear me through. + + "I was one of those who enlisted first, + The old flag to defend, + With Pope and Hallick, with 'Mac' and Grant, + I followed to the end; + And 'twas somewhere down on the Rapidan, + When the Union cause looked drear, + That a regiment of rich young bloods + Came down to us from here. + + "Their uniforms were by tailors cut, + They brought hampers of good wine; + And every squad had a nigger, too, + To keep their boots in shine; + They'd nought to say to us dusty 'vets,' + And through the whole brigade, + We called them the kid-gloved Dandy Fifth + When we passed them on parade. + + "Well, they were sent to hold a fort + The Rebs tried hard to take, + 'Twas the key of all our line which naught + While it held out could break, + But a fearful fight we lost just then, + The reserve came up too late; + And on that fort, and the Dandy Fifth, + Hung the whole division's fate. + + "Three times we tried to take them aid, + And each time back we fell, + Though once we could hear the fort's far guns + Boom like a funeral knell; + Till at length Joe Hooker's corps came up, + An' then straight through we broke; + How we cheered as we saw those dandy coats + Still back of the drifting smoke. + + "With the bands at play and the colours spread + We swarmed up the parapet, + But the sight that silenced our welcome shout + I shall never in life forget. + Four days before had their water gone-- + They bad dreaded that the most-- + The next their last scant rations went, + And each man looked a ghost, + + "As he stood, gaunt-eyed, behind his gun, + Like a crippled stag at bay, + And watched starvation--but not defeat-- + Draw nearer every day. + Of all the Fifth, not four-score men + Could in their places stand, + And their white lips told a fearful tale, + As we grasped each bloodless hand. + + "The rest in the stupor of famine lay, + Save here and there a few + In death sat rigid against the guns, + Grim sentinels in blue; + And their Col'nel, _he_ could not speak nor stir, + But we saw his proud eye thrill + As he simply glanced at the shot-scarred staff + Where the old flag floated still! + + "Now, I hate the tyrants who grind us down, + While the wolf snarls at our door, + And the men who've risen from us--to laugh + At the misery of the poor; + But I tell you, mates, while this weak old hand + I have left the strength to lift, + It will touch my cap to the proudest swell + Who fought in the Dandy Fifth!" + + + + +"BAY BILLY." + +BY F.H. GASSAWAY. + + + 'Twas the last fight at Fredericksburg-- + Perhaps the day you reck-- + Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine, + Kept Early's men in check. + Just where Wade Hampton boomed away + The fight went neck and neck. + + All day we held the weaker wing, + And held it with a will; + Five several stubborn times we charged + The battery on the hill, + And five times beaten back, re-formed, + And kept our columns still. + + At last from out the centre fight + Spurred up a general's aid. + "That battery _must_ silenced be!" + He cried, as past he sped. + Our colonel simply touched his cap, + And then, with measured tread, + + To lead the crouching line once more + The grand old fellow came. + No wounded man but raised his head + And strove to gasp his name, + And those who could not speak nor stir + "God blessed him" just the same. + + For he was all the world to us, + That hero grey and grim; + Right well he knew that fearful slope + We'd climb with none but him, + Though while his white head led the way + We'd charge hell's portals in. + + This time we were not half-way up, + When, 'midst the storm of shell, + Our leader, with his sword upraised, + Beneath our bay'nets fell; + And, as we bore him back, the foe + Set up a joyous yell. + + Our hearts went with him. Back we swept, + And when the bugle said, + "Up, charge, again!" no man was there + But hung his dogged head. + "We've no one left to lead us now," + The sullen soldiers said. + + Just then, before the laggard line, + The colonel's horse we spied-- + Bay Billy, with his trappings on, + His nostrils swelling wide, + As though still on his gallant back + His master sat astride. + + Right royally he took the place + That was his old of wont, + And with a neigh, that seemed to say, + Above the battle's brunt, + "How can the Twenty-second charge + If I am not in front?" + + Like statues we stood rooted there, + And gazed a little space; + Above that floating mane we missed + The dear familiar face; + But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire, + And it gave us hearts of grace. + + No bugle-call could rouse us all + As that brave sight had done; + Down all the battered line we felt + A lightning impulse run; + Up, up the hill we followed Bill, + And captured every gun! + + And when upon the conquered height + Died out the battle's hum; + Vainly 'mid living and the dead + We sought our leader dumb; + It seemed as if a spectre steed + To win that day had come. + + At last the morning broke. The lark + Sang in the merry skies, + As if to e'en the sleepers there + It said awake, arise!-- + Though naught but that last trump of all + Could ope their heavy eyes. + + And then once more, with banners gay, + Stretched out the long brigade; + Trimly upon the furrowed field + The troops stood on parade, + And bravely 'mid the ranks we closed + The gaps the fight had made. + + Not half the Twenty-second's men + Were in their place that morn, + And Corp'ral Dick, who yester-morn + Stood six brave fellows on, + Now touched my elbow in the ranks, + For all between were gone. + + Ah! who forgets that dreary hour + When, as with misty eyes, + To call the old familiar roll + The solemn sergeant tries-- + One feels that thumping of the heart + As no prompt voice replies. + + And as in falt'ring tone and slow + The last few names were said, + Across the field some missing horse + Toiled up with weary tread. + It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick + Bay Billy's name was read. + + Yes! there the old bay hero stood, + All safe from battle's harms, + And ere an order could be heard, + Or the bugle's quick alarms, + Down all the front, from end to end, + The troops presented arms! + + Not all the shoulder-straps on earth + Could still our mighty cheer. + And ever from that famous day, + When rang the roll-call clear, + Bay Billy's name was read, and then + The whole line answered "Here!" + + + + +THE OLD VETERAN. + +BY BAYARD TAYLOR. + + + An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came, + He sought the Chief who led him on many a field of fame-- + The Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose, + And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. + + "Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, + "The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side? + Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane? + 'Tis true I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again." + + "Have I forgotten?" said the Chief: "my brave old soldier, no! + And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; + But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and + gray, + And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." + + "But, General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, + "The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now; + They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white and blue, + And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true." + + "I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun, + To get the range of traitors' hearts, and prick them one by one. + Your Minie rifles and such arms, it ain't worth while to try; + I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry" + + "God bless you, comrade!" said the Chief,--"God bless your loyal + heart! + But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a part; + They'll plant our sacred banner firm, in each rebellious town, + And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down!" + + "But, General!"--still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, + "I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide; + And some you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least can I; + So give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die!" + + "If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command + Put me upon the ramparts with the flag-staff in my hand: + No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell may fly, + I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die!" + + "I'm ready, General; so you let a post to me be given, + Where Washington can look at me, as he looks down from Heaven, + And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne,-- + 'There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane!'" + + "And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors fly, + When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky, + If any shot should pierce through me, and lay me on my face, + My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place!" + + + + +SANTA CLAUS. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + The bells were ringing their cheerful chimes + In the old grey belfry tow'r, + The choir were singing their carols betimes + In the wintry midnight hour, + The waits were playing with eerie drawl + "The mistletoe hung in the castle hall," + And the old policeman was stomping his feet + As he quiver'd and shiver'd along on his beat; + + The snow was falling as fast as it could + O'er city and hamlet, forest and wood, + And Jack Frost, busy with might and main, + Was sketching away at each window-pane; + + Father Christinas was travelling fast, + Mid the fall of the snow and the howl of the blast, + With millions of turkeys for millions to taste, + And millions of puddings all tied to his waist, + And millions of mince-pies that scented the air, + To cover the country with Christmas fare,-- + + When over the hills, from far away, + Came Santa Claus with the dawn of day; + He rode on a cycle, as seasons do, + With Christmas behind him a-tandem too; + His pockets were bigger than sacks from the mill-- + The Soho Bazaar would not one of them fill, + And the Lowther Arcade and the good things that stock it + Would travel with ease in his tiniest pocket. + And these were all full of delights and surprises + For gifts and rewards and for presents and prizes. + + Little knick-knackeries, beautiful toys + For mas and papas and for girls and for boys + There were dolls of all sorts, there were dolls of all sizes, + In comical costumes and funny disguises,-- + Dolls of all countries and dolls of all climes, + Dolls of all ages and dolls of all times; + Soldier dolls, sailor dolls, red, white and blue; + Khaki dolls, darkie dolls, trusty and true; + Curio Chinese and quaint little Japs, + Nid-nodding at nothing, the queer little chaps; + Bigger dolls, nigger dolls woolly and black, + With never a coat or a shirt to their back. + Dolls made of china and dolls made of wood, + Dutch dolls and such dolls, and all of them good; + Dolls of fat features, and dolls with more pointed ones, + Dolls that were rigid and dolls that were jointed ones, + Dolls made of sawdust and dolls made of wax, + Dolls that go "bye-bye" when laid on their backs, + Dolls that are silent when nobody teases them, + Dolls that will cry when one pinches or squeezes them; + Dolls with fair faces and eyes bright of hue, + The black and the brunette, the blond and the blue; + Bride dolls and bridegrooms, the meekest of spouses; + And hundreds and thousands of pretty dolls' houses. + And as for the furniture--think for a day + He brought all you'll think of and all I could say! + + And then there were playthings and puzzles and games. + With all kinds of objects and all sorts of names,-- + Musical instruments, boxes and glasses, + And fiddles and faddles of various classes; + Mandolins ready for fingers and thumbs, + And banjos and tambourines, trumpets and drums. + + Noah's arks, animals, reptiles and mammals, + Mammoths and crocodiles, cobras and camels; + Lions and tigers as tame as a cat, + Eagles and vultures as blind as a bat; + Bears upon bear-poles and monkeys on sticks, + Foxes in farmyards at mischievous tricks; + Monkeys on dogs too, and dogs too on bicycles, + Clumsy old elephants triking on tricycles; + Horses on rockers and horses on wheels, + But never a one that could show you his heels. + + There were tops for the whip, there were tops for the string, + There were tops that would hum, there were tops that would + sing; + There were hoops made of iron and hoops made of wood, + And hoop-sticks to match them, as strong and as good; + There were books full of pictures and books full of rhymes, + There were songs for the seasons and tales for the times; + Pen-knives and pen-wipers, pencils and slates, + Wheelers and rockers and rollers and skates; + Bags full of marbles and boxes of bricks, + And bundles and bundles of canes and of sticks. + + There were "prams" for the girls, there were "trams" for the + boys, + And thousands of clever mechanical toys,-- + Engines and carriages running on rails, + Steamers and sailers that carry the mails; + Flags of all nations, and ships for all seas-- + The Red Sea, the Black Sea, or what sea you please-- + That tick it by clockwork or puff it by steam, + Or outsail the weather or go with the stream; + Carriages drawn by a couple of bays, + 'Buses and hansoms, and waggons and drays, + Coaches and curricles, rallis and gigs-- + All sorts of wheelers, with all sorts of rigs. + + Cricket and croquet, and bat, trap, and ball, + And tennis--but really the list would appal. + There were balls for the mouth, there were balls for the feet, + There were balls you could play with and balls you could eat, + There were balls made of leather and balls made of candy, + Balls of all sizes, from footballs to brandy. + + And then came the boxes of curious games, + With all sorts of objects and all sorts of names,-- + Lotto and Ludo, the Fox and the Geese, + Halma and Solitaire--all of a piece; + Go-bang and Ringolette, Hook-it and Quoits, + For junior endeavours and senior exploits; + And Skittles and Spellicans, Tiddle-de-winks-- + But one mustn't mention the half that one thinks; + Chessmen and draughtsmen, and hoards upon hoards + Of chess and backgammon and bagatelle boards; + And boxes of dominoes, boxes of dice, + And boxes of tricks you can try in a trice. + + And Santa Claus went with his wonderful load + Through street after street, and through road after road, + And crept through the keyholes--or some other way; + He got down the chimneys--so some people say: + But, one way or other, he managed to creep + Where all the good children were lying asleep; + And when he got there, all the stockings in rows + That were ready hung up he cramm'd full to the toes + With the many good things he had brought with the day + From over the hills and far away. + + And Santa Claus smiled as he look'd on the faces + Of all the good children asleep in their places, + And laugh'd out so loud as to almost awaken + One sharp little fellow who great pains had taken; + His socks were too small--for he'd hopes of great riches-- + So, tying the legs, he had hung up his breeches! + And surely the tears almost came in his eyes + As he open'd a letter with joy and surprise + That he took from a stocking hung up to a bed, + And surely they fell as the letter he read; + 'Twas a little girl's hand, and said, "Dear Santer Claws, + Don't fordit baby's sox--they's hung up to the drors." + + But wasn't there laughter and shouting and noise + From the boys and the girls, and the girls and the boys, + When they counted the good things the good Saint had brought + them, + And laid them all out on their pillows to sort them. + Such wonderful voices, such wonderful lungs, + It was just like another confusion of tongues, + A Babel of chatter from master and miss-- + And I don't think they've left off from that day to this. + + Ah! good little people, if thus you shall find + Rich treasures provided, be grateful and mind, + In the midst of your pleasures, a moment to pause, + And think about Christmas and good Santa Claus! + + Remember, in weary and desolate places, + With tears in their eyes and with grime on the faces, + The children of poverty, sorrow and weep, + With little to cheer them awake or asleep; + And remember that you who have much and to spare, + Can brighten their eyes and can lighten their cares, + If you take the example and work to the cause + Of your own benefactor, the good Santa Claus. + + You need not climb chimneys in tempest and storm, + Nor creep into keyholes in fairy-like form; + You've a magical key for the dreariest place + In the light of your eyes and the smile of your face. + And remember the joy that you give to another + Will gladden your own heart as well as the other; + For troubles are halved when together we bear them, + And pleasures are doubled whenever we share them. + + + + + +THE IMPERIAL RECITER + + + + + + + +"And we are peacemen, also; crying for +Peace, peace at any price--though it be war! +We must live free, at peace, or each man dies +With death-clutch fast for ever on the prize." + --GERALD MASSEY. + + + + +The Editor's thanks are due to the Rev. A. Frewen Aylward for the use +of the poem "Adsum," and to Messrs. Harmsworth Bros, for permission +to include Mr. Rudyard Kipling's phenomenal success, "The +Absent-Minded Beggar," in this collection; also to Messrs. Harper and +Brothers, of New York, for special permission to copy from "Harper's +Magazine" the poem "Sheltered," by Sarah Orme Jewett; to Messrs. +Chatto and Windus for permission to use "Mrs. B.'s Alarms," from +"Humorous Stories," by the late James Payn; to Miss Palgrave and to +Messrs. Macmillan and Co., for the use of "England Once More," by the +late F. T. Palgrave; to Mr. Clement Scott for permission to include +"Sound the Assembly" and "The Midnight Charge"; to Mr. F. Harald +Williams and Mr. Gerald Massey for generous and unrestricted use of +their respective war poems, and to numerous other authors and +publishers for the use of copyright pieces. + + + + +PREFATORY. + + +There is a true and a false Imperialism. There is the Imperialism of +the vulgar braggart, who thinks that one Englishman can fight ten men +of any other nationality under the sun; and there is the Imperialism +of the man of thought, who believes in the destiny of the English +race, who does not shrink from the responsibilities of power from +"craven fear of being great," and who holds that an Englishman ought +to be ready to face _twenty_ men if need be, of any nationality, +including his own, rather than surrender a trust or sacrifice a +principle. The first would base empire on vanity and brute force, +inspired by the vulgar reflection-- + + "We've got the men, we've got the ships, we've got the money too." + +The second does not seek empire, but will not shrink from the +responsibilities of its growth, and in all matters of international +dispute believes with Solomon, that "He that is slow to wrath is of +great understanding," and in all matters of international +relationship that "Righteousness exalteth a nation." + +The rapid and solid growth of the British Empire has been due largely +to two characteristics of its rule--the integrity of its justice and +the soundness of its finance. Native races everywhere appeal with +confidence to the justice of our courts, and find in the integrity of +our fiscal system relief from the oppressive taxation of barbarous +governments. + +These blessings we owe, and with them the strength of our empire, not +to the force of our arms in the field, but to the subordination of +the military to the civil spirit, both in peace and war. + +Other nations fail in their attempts at colonisation because they +proceed on military lines. With them it is the soldier first and the +civilian where he can. England succeeds because she proceeds on +_industrial_ lines. With her it is the plough where it may be and the +sword where it must. + +The military spirit never yet built up an enduring empire, and the +danger of military success is that it is apt to confuse means and +ends in the public mind, and to encourage the subordination of the +civil to the military spirit in national institutions. Such a result +could only be disastrous to the British Empire, and so, while +rejoicing in the success of the British arms, it behoves us to oppose +with all our strength the growth of the military spirit. + +The seventh decade of the nineteenth century saw the realisation of +one of the greatest facts of our time, the federation of the German +states in one great military empire. The tenth decade has realised a +greater fact, the federation of the British colonies in a great +social and commercial empire. The German Empire must fall to pieces +if it continues to subordinate the civil to the military Spirit in +its national policy. The British Empire can never perish while it is +true to the Fatherhood of God and the Brotherhood of Man. + +Signs of the growth of a military spirit are to be seen in the +advocacy of some form of conscription or compulsory service for home +defence; and this, too, at a time when the ends of the earth have +been sending us _volunteers_ in abundance to espouse a foreign +quarrel. + +Such advocates neither understand the national history nor the +English character. Were England in any real danger there would be no +need for forced service, and service forced without need would breed +revolution. The nation that cannot depend upon its volunteers for +its home defence is not worth defending. + + ALFRED H. MILES. +_October 1, 1900_. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + NAME. AUTHOR. + +The Englishman Eliza Cook +England goes to Battle Gerald Massey +England Once More F. T. Palgrave +God Defend the Right F. Harold Williams +The Volunteer Alfred H. Miles +Down in Australia Gerald Massey +Australia Speaks Gerald Massey +An Imperial Reply Gerald Massey +The Boys' Return Gerald Massey +"Sound the Assembly!" Clement Scott +The Absent-Minded Beggar Rudyard Kipling +For the Empire F. Harald Williams +Wanted--a Cromwell F. Harald Williams +England's Ironsides F. Harald Williams +The Three Cherry-Stones Anonymous +The Midshipman's Funeral Darley Dale +Ladysmith F. Harald Williams +The Six-inch Gun "The Bombshell" +St. Patrick's Day F. Harald Williams +The Hero of Omdurman F. Harald Williams +Boot and Saddle F. Harald Williams +The Midnight Charge Clement Scott +Mafeking--"Adsum!" A. Frewen Aylward +The Fight at Rorke's Drift Emily Pfeiffer +Relieved! (At Mafeking) "Daily Express" +How Sam Hodge Won the V.C. Jeffrey Prowse +The Relief of Lucknow R.T.S. Lowell +A Ballad of War M.B. Smedley +The Alma R.C. Trench +After Alma Gerald Massey +Balaclava--The Charge of the Light Lord Tennyson +Brigade +After Balaclava James Williams +Inkerman Gerald Massey +Killed in Action F. Harald Williams +At the Breach Sarah Williams +Santa Filomena H.W. Longfellow +The Little Hatchet Story Burdette +The Loss of the _Birkenhead_ Sir F.H. Doyle +Elihu Alice Carey +The Last of the _Eurydice_ Sir Noel Paton +The Warden of the Cinque Ports H.W. Longfellow +England's Dead Felicia Hemans +Mehrab Khan Sir F.H. Doyle +The Red Thread of Honour Sir F.H. Doyle +The Private of the Buffs Sir F.H. Doyle +A Fisherman's Song Alfred H. Miles +The Field of Waterloo Lord Byron +The Lay of the Brave Cameron J. S. Blackie +A Song for Stout Workers J. S. Blackie +At the Burial of a Veteran Alfred H. Miles +Napoleon and the British Sailor Thomas Campbell +The Burial of Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe +At Trafalgar Gerald Massey +Camperdown Alfred H. Miles +The Armada Lord Macaulay +Mr. Barker's Picture Max Adeler +The Wooden Leg Max Adeler +The Enchanted Shirt Colonel John Hay +Jim Bludso Colonel John Hay +Freedom J.R. Lowell +The Coortin' J.R. Lowell +The Heritage J.R. Lowell +Lady Clare Lord Tennyson +Break, Break, Break Lord Tennyson +The Lord of Burleigh Lord Tennyson +Dora Lord Tennyson +Mrs. B.'s Alarms James Payn +Sheltered Sarah Orme Jewett +Guild's Signal Bret Harte +Bill Mason's Bride Bret Harte +The Clown's Baby "St. Nicholas" +Aunt Tabitha O. Wendell Holmes +Little Orphant Annie J. Whitcomb Riley +The Limitations of Youth Eugene Field +Rubinstein's Playing Anonymous +Obituary William Thomson +The Editor's Story Alfred H. Miles +Nat Ricket Alfred H. Miles +'Spatially Jim "Harper's Magazine" +'Arry's Ancient Mariner Campbell Rae-Brown +The Amateur Orlando George T. Lanigan +A Ballad of a Bazaar Campbell Rae-Brown +A Parental Ode Thomas Hood +'Twas ever Thus Henry S. Leigh +Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question Mary Mapes Dodge +The Heathen Chinee Bret Harte +Ho-ho of the Golden Belt John G. Saxe +The Hired Squirrel Laura Sanford +Ballad of the Trailing Skirt New York "Life" +To the Girl in Khaki "Modern Society" +The Tender Heart Helen G. Cone +A Song of Saratoga John G. Saxe +The Sea Eva L. Ogden +A Tale of a Nose Charles F. Adams +Leedle Yawcob Strauss Charles F. Adams +Dot Baby of Mine Charles F. Adams +A Dutchman's Mistake Charles F. Adams +The Owl Critic James T. Fields +The True Story of King Marshmallow Anonymous +The Jackdaw of Rheims R.H. Barham +Tubal Cain Charles Mackay +The Three Preachers Charles Mackay +Say not the Struggle A.H. Clough +Patriotism Lord Tennyson +To-day and To-morrow Gerald Massey +Ring Out, Wild Bells Lord Tennyson +"Rule, Britannia!" James Thomson + + + + +THE +IMPERIAL RECITER. +_EDITED BY ALFRED H. MILES_. + + + + + + +THE ENGLISHMAN. + +BY ELIZA COOK. + + + There's a land that bears a well-known name, + Though it is but a little spot; + I say 'tis the first on the scroll of fame, + And who shall aver it is not? + Of the deathless ones who shine and live + In arms, in arts, or song, + The brightest the whole wide world can give + To that little land belong. + 'Tis the star of the Earth--deny it who can-- + The Island-home of the Englishman. + + There's a flag that waves o'er every sea, + No matter when or where; + And to treat that flag as aught but the free + Is more than the strongest dare. + For the lion spirits that tread the deck + Have carried the palm of the brave; + And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck, + But never float o'er a slave; + Its honour is stainless--deny it who can-- + And this is the flag of the Englishman. + + There's a heart that beats with burning glow, + The wrong'd and the weak to defend; + And strikes as soon for a trampled foe + As it does for a soul-bound friend. + It nurtures a deep and honest love, + The passions of faith and pride, + And yearns with the fondness of a dove, + To the light of its own fireside, + 'Tis a rich rough gem--deny it who can-- + And this is the heart of an Englishman. + + The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone + And boldly claim his right, + For he calls such a vast domain his own + That the sun never sets on his might. + Let the haughty stranger seek to know + The place of his home and birth; + And a flush will pour from cheek to brow + While he tells of his native earth; + For a glorious charter--deny it who can-- + Is breathed in the words, "I'm an Englishman." + + + + + +ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE. + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + Now, glory to our England, + She arises, calm and grand, + The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- + The good sword in her hand! + Our royal right on battle-ground + Was aye to bear the brunt: + Ho! brave heart, with one passionate bound, + Take the old place in front! + Now glory to our England, + As she rises, calm and grand, + The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- + The good sword in her hand! + + Who would not fight for England? + Who would not fling a life + I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, + And glory in the strife? + Her stem is thorny, but doth burst + A glorious Rose a-top! + And shall our proud Rose wither? First + We'll drain life's dearest drop! + Who would not fight for England? + Who would not fling a life + I' the ring, to meet a tyrant's gage, + And glory in the strife? + + To battle goes our England, + As gallant and as gay + As lover to the altar, on + A merry marriage-day. + A weary night she stood to watch + The clouds of dawn up-rolled; + And her young heroes strain to match + The valour of the old. + To battle goes our England, + As gallant and as gay + As lover to the altar, on + A merry marriage-day. + + Now, fair befall our England, + On her proud and perilous road: + And woe and wail to those who make + Her footprints wet with blood. + Up with our red-cross banner--roll + A thunder-peal of drums! + Fight on there, every valiant soul + Have courage! England comes! + Now, fair befall our England, + On her proud and perilous road: + And woe and wail to those who make + Her footprints wet with blood! + + Now, victory to our England! + And where'er she lifts her hand + In freedom's fight, to rescue Right, + God bless the dear old land! + And when the Storm hath passed away, + In glory and in calm, + May she sit down i' the green o' the day, + And sing her peaceful psalm! + Now victory to our England! + And where'er she lifts her hand + In freedom's fight, to rescue Right, + God bless the dear old land! + + + + + +ENGLAND ONCE MORE. + +BY FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE. + + + Old if this England be + The Ship at heart is sound, + And the fairest she and gallantest + That ever sail'd earth round! + And children's children in the years + Far off will live to see + Her silver wings fly round the world, + Free heralds of the free! + While now on Him who long has bless'd + To bless her as of yore, + Once more we cry for England, + England once more! + + They are firm and fine, the masts; + And the keel is straight and true; + Her ancient cross of glory + Rides burning through the blue:-- + And that red sign o'er all the seas + The nations fear and know, + And the strong and stubborn hero-souls + That underneath it go:-- + While now on Him who long has bless'd + To bless her as of yore, + Once more we cry for England, + England once more! + + Prophets of dread and shame, + There is no place for you, + Weak-kneed and craven-breasted, + Among this English crew! + Bluff hearts that cannot learn to yield, + But as the waves run high, + And they can almost touch the night, + Behind it see the sky. + While now on Him who long has bless'd + To bless her as of yore, + Once more we cry for England, + England once more! + + As Past in Present hid, + As old transfused to new, + Through change she lives unchanging, + To self and glory true; + From Alfred's and from Edward's day + Who still has kept the seas, + To him who on his death-morn spoke + Her watchword on the breeze! + While now on Him who long has bless'd + To bless her as of yore, + Once more we cry for England, + England once more! + + What blasts from East and North + What storms that swept the land + Have borne her from her bearings + Since Caesar seized the strand! + Yet that strong loyal heart through all + Has steer'd her sage and free, + --Hope's armour'd Ark in glooming years, + And whole world's sanctuary! + While now on Him who long has bless'd + To bless her as of yore, + Once more we cry for England, + England once more! + + Old keel, old heart of oak, + Though round thee roar and chafe + All storms of life, thy helmsman + Shall make the haven safe! + Then with Honour at the head, and Faith, + And Peace along the wake, + Law blazon'd fair on Freedom's flag, + Thy stately voyage take:-- + While now on Him who long has bless'd + To bless Thee as of yore, + Once more we cry for England, + England once more! + + + + + +GOD DEFEND THE RIGHT. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + + Where Roman eagle never flew + The flag of England flies, + The herald of great empires new + Beneath yet larger skies; + Upon a hundred lands and seas, + And over ransomed slaves + Who poured to her no idle pleas, + The pledge of Freedom waves; + Whatever man may well have done + We have with dauntless might, + And England holds what England won, + And God defends the right. + + Where hardly climb the mountain goats, + On stormy cape and crag, + The refuge of the wanderer floats-- + Our hospitable flag; + While alien banners only mock + With glory's fleeting wraith, + It stands on the eternal rock + Of our eternal faith; + And handed on from sire and son, + It furls not day nor night; + So England holds what England won, + And God defends the right. + + When wrongs cry out for brave redress, + Our justice does not lag, + And in the name of righteousness + Moves on our stainless flag; + The helpless see it proudly shine + And hail the sheltering robe, + That heralds on the thin red line + That girdles round the globe; + A pioneer of truth as none + Before it scatters light, + And England holds what England won, + And God defends the right. + + Beneath the shadow of its peace + Though riddled to a rag, + The down-trod nations gain release, + And rally round the flag; + We fight the battles of the Lord, + And never may we yield + A foot we measure with the sword-- + On the red harvest-field; + And we will not retreat, while one + Stout heart remains to fight; + Let England hold what England won, + And God defend the right. + +THE VOLUNTEER. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + Conscription? Never! The word belongs + To the Foes of Freedom, the Friends of wrongs, + And unto them alone. + The first and worst of the Tyrant's terms, + Barbed to spike at the writhing worms + That crawl about his throne. + Only the mob at a despot's heels + Would juggle a man at Fortune's wheels, + Or conjure one with the die that reels + From the lip of the dice-cup thrown! + The soldier forced to the field of fight, + With never a reck of the wrong or right, + Wherever a flag may wave-- + By the toss of a coin, or a number thrown-- + Fights with a will that is not his own, + A victim and a slave! + + Right is Might in ever a fight, + And Truth is Bravery, + And the Right and True are the Ready too, + When the bolt is hurl'd in the peaceful blue + By the hand of Knavery. + And the Land that fears for its Volunteers + Is a Land of Slavery. + + Compulsion? Never! The word is dead + In a land of Freedom born and bred, + Of old in the years of yore, + Where all by the laws of Freedom wrought + May do as they will, who will as they ought, + And none desire for more. + Who brooks no spur has need of none, + (Who needs a spur is a traitor son,) + And all are ready and all are one + When Freedom calls to the fore! + The soldier forced to the field of war + By the iron hand of a tyrant law, + Wherever a flag may wave, + And the press'd--at best but a coward's 'hest-- + Fight with the bitter, sullen zest, + And the ardour of a slave! + + A hireling? Never! The bought and sold + Are ever the prey of the traitor's gold, + Wherever the fight may be. + Or ever a man will sell his sword, + The highest bidder may buy the gaud + With a coward's niggard fee. + Who buys and sells to the market goes, + And sells his friends as he sells his foes, + So he gain in the main by his country's woes,-- + But the gain is not to the free;-- + For the soldier bought with a price has nought + But his fee to 'fend when the fight is fought, + Wherever the flag may wave. + And he who fights for the loot or pay, + Fights for himself, or ever he may-- + A huckster and a slave! + + Or ever a Free land needs a son + To follow the flag with pike or gun + Upon the field of war, + There's never a need to seek for one + In the dice's throw, or the number's run, + Or the iron grip of the law;-- + All are ready, where all are free, + With never a spur and never a fee, + To fight and 'fend the liberty + That Freemen hold in awe. + The Volunteer is a son sincere, + And ready, or ever the cause appear, + Whole-hearted, free as brave,-- + Ready at call to sally forth + From east and west, and south and north, + Wherever the flag may wave,-- + With never a selfish thought to mar + The sacrifice of the holy war, + And never a self to save. + And the flag shall float in the blue on high + Till the last of the Volunteers shall die, + And Hell shall tear it out of the sky-- + From Freedom's trampled grave! + + Right is Might in ever a fight, + And Truth is Bravery, + And the Right and True are the Ready too, + When the bolt is hurl'd in the peaceful blue + By the hand of Knavery. + And the Land that fears for its Volunteers + Is a Land of Slavery. + + + + +DOWN IN AUSTRALIA. + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + Quaff a cup and send a cheer up for the Old Land! + We have heard the Reapers shout, + For the Harvest going out, + With the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land; + And our message shall be hurled + Ringing right across the world, + There are true hearts beating for you in the Gold Land. + + We are with you in your battles, brave and bold Land! + For the old ancestral tree + Striketh root beneath the sea, + And it beareth fruit of Freedom in the Gold Land! + We shall come, too, if you call, + We shall fight on if you fall; + Shakespere's land shall never be a bought and sold land.... + + O, a terror to the Tyrant is that bold Land! + He remembers how she stood, + With her raiment roll'd in blood, + When the tide of battle burst upon the Old Land; + And he looks with darkened face, + For he knows the hero race + Strike the Harp of Freedom--draw her sword with bold hand.... + + When the smoke of Battle rises from the Old Land + You shall see the Tyrant down! + You shall see her lifted crown + Wears another peerless jewel won with bold hand; + She shall thresh her foes like corn, + They shall eat the bread of scorn; + We will sing her song of triumph in the Gold Land. + + Quaff a cup and send a cheer up for the Old Land! + We have heard the Reapers shout + For the Harvest going out, + Seen the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land; + And our answer shall be hurled + Ringing right across the world,-- + All true hearts are beating for you in the Gold Land. + + + + +AUSTRALIA SPEAKS. + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + What is the News to-day, Boys? + Have they fired the Signal gun? + We answer but one way, Boys; + We are ready for the fray, Boys, + All ready and all one! + + They shall not say we boasted + Of deeds that would be done; + Or sat at home and toasted: + We are marshall'd, drilled, and posted, + All ready and all one! + + We are not as driven cattle + That would the conflict shun. + They have to test our mettle + As _Volunteers_ of Battle, + All ready and all one! + + The life-streams of the Mother + Through all her youngsters run, + And brother stands by brother, + To die with one another, + All ready and all one! + + + + +AN IMPERIAL REPLY. + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + 'Tis glorious, when the thing to do + Is at the supreme instant done! + We count your first fore-running few + A thousand men for every one! + For this true stroke of statesmanship-- + The best Australian poem yet-- + Old England gives your hand the grip, + And binds you with a coronet, + In which the gold o' the Wattle glows + With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose. + + They talked of England growing old, + They said she spoke with feeble voice; + But hear the virile answer rolled + Across the world! Behold her Boys + Come back to her full-statured Men, + To make four-square her fighting ranks. + She feels her youth renewed again, + With heart too full for aught but "Thanks!" + And now the gold o' the Wattle glows + With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose. + + "My Boys have come of age to-day," + The proud old mother smiling said. + "They write a brand-new page to-day, + By far-off futures to be read!" + Throughout all lands of British blood, + This stroke hath kindled such a glow; + The Federal links of Brotherhood + Are clasped and welded at a blow. + And aye the gold o' the Wattle glows + With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose. + + + + +THE BOYS' RETURN. + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + Wives, mothers, sweethearts sent + Their dearest; waved their own defenders forth; + And, fit companions for the bravest, went + The Boys, to test their manhood, prove their worth. + + As Sons of those who braved + All dangers; to Earth's ends our Flag unfurled, + The old pioneers of Ocean, who have paved + Our pathway with their bones around the world! + + To-day the City waits, + Proudly a-throb with life about to be: + She welcomes her young warriors in her gates + Of glory, opened to them by the Sea. + + Let no cur bark, or spurt + Defilement, trying to tarnish this fair fame; + No Alien drag our Banner through the dirt + Because it blazons England's noble name. + + Upon the lips of Praise + They lay their own hands, saying, _"We have not won + Great battles for you, nor Immortal bays, + But what your boys were given to do is done!"_ + + When Clouds were closing round + The Island-home, our Pole-star of the North, + Australia fired her Beacons--rose up crowned + With a new dawn upon the ancient earth. + + For us they filled a cup + More rare than any we can brim to them! + The patriot-passion did so lift men up, + They looked as if each wore a diadem! + + Best honours we shall give, + If to that loftier outlook still we climb; + And in our unborn children there shall live + The larger spirit of this great quickening time. + + To-day is the Women's day! + With them there's no more need o' the proud disguise + They wore when their young heroes sailed away; + Soft smiles the dewy fire in loving eyes! + + And, when to the full breast, + O mothers! your re-given ones you take, + And in your long embraces they are blest, + Give them one hug at heart for England's sake. + + The Mother of us all! + Dear to us, near to us, though so far apart; + For whose defence we are sworn to stand or fall + In the same battle as Brothers one at heart. + + All one to bear the brunt, + All one we move together in the march, + Shoulder to shoulder; to the Foe all front, + The wide world round; all heaven one Triumph Arch. + + One in the war of Mind + For clearing earth of all dark Jungle-Powers; + One for the Federation of mankind, + Who will speak one language, and that language ours. + + + + +"SOUND THE ASSEMBLY!" + +BY CLEMENT SCOTT. + +_(From Punch's Souvenir. May 3rd, 1900.)_ + + + Sound the Assembly! Blow, Buglemen, blow! + For England has need of her bravest to-day. + Sound! and the World Universal will know + We shall fight to a finish, in front or at bay. + Sound the Assembly! They'll hear it, and spring + To the saddle, and gallop wherever they're led. + Sound! Every city and village will ring + With the shout "To the front!" It shall never be said-- + + That an Englishman's heart ever failed in its glow + For Queen, or for country, when threatened by foe, + For Liberty, stabbed by oppression and woe, + So, Sound the Assembly! Blow! Buglemen, blow! + Sound the Assembly! + + Sound the Assembly! You'll see, as of yore, + The Service united in heart and in head, + When blue-jackets leap from their ships to the shore + To bring up the guns for their comrades in red! + Sound the Assembly! Our Naval Brigade + Will prove they are sailors and soldiers as well; + They will pull, they will haul, they will march, they will wade, + And dash into furnaces hotter than hell! + + A long pull, a strong pull, a cheery "Yo! ho!" + Do you see that big mountain? 'Tis Jack who will know + To be first at the top, when, by gad! he will crow! + So, Sound the Assembly! Blow, Buglemen, blow! + Sound the Assembly! + + Sound the Assembly! Brave Union Jack! + You have floated triumphant on sea and on shore; + Old England and Scotland are still back to back, + And Ireland, God bless her! is with us once more. + Sound the Assembly! Come! Forward! Quick march! + What! Feather-bed soldiers? Bah! give them the lie. + Divested by war of Society starch + They will shout "'Tis a glorious death to die!"-- + + What land in the world could produce such a show + Of heroes, who face both siroccos and snow, + Rush madly to danger, and never lie low? + So, Sound the Assembly! Blow, Buglemen, blow! + Sound the Assembly! + + Sound the Assembly! Form, citizens, form! + From smoke of the city, from country so green, + A horse of irregulars sweeps like a storm + To defend with their lives their dear country and Queen! + Sound the Assembly! Come! Volunteers, come! + Leave oldsters at grinding and tilling the sod! + Bold Yoemen, enrolled for defence of their home, + Enlist with a cheer for the Empire, thank God!-- + + To the front! to the front! with their faces aglow, + They will march, the dear lads, with a pulse and a go; + Wave flags o'er the Workman, the Johnnie, the Beau, + So, Sound the Assembly! Blow, Buglemen, blow! + Sound the Assembly! + + + + +THE ABSENT-MINDED BEGGAR. + +BY RUDYARD KIPLING. + + +When you've shouted "Rule Britannia"--when you've sung "God Save the + Queen"-- + When you've finished killing Kruger with your mouth-- +Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine + For a gentleman in kharki ordered South? +He's an absent-minded beggar and his weaknesses are great-- + But we and Paul must take him as we find him-- +He is out on active service, wiping something off a slate-- + And he's left a lot o' little things behind him! + +Duke's son--cook's son--son of a hundred kings-- + (Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!) +Each of 'em doing his country's work (and who's to look after their + things?) + Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay--pay--pay! + +There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to, + For he knew he wouldn't get it if he did. +There is gas and coals and vittles, and the house-rent falling due, + And it's more than rather likely there's a kid. +There are girls he walked with casual, they'll be sorry now he's + gone, + For an absent-minded beggar they will find him; +But it ain't the time for sermons with the winter coming on-- + We must help the girl that Tommy's left behind him! + +Cook's son--Duke's son--son of a belted Earl-- + Son of a Lambeth publican--it's all the same to-day! +Each of 'em doing his country's work (and who's to look after the + girl?) + Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay! pay! pay! + +There are families by thousands, far too proud to beg or speak-- + And they'll put their sticks and bedding up the spout, +And they'll live on half o' nothing paid 'em punctual once a week, + 'Cause the man that earned the wage is ordered out. +He's an absent-minded beggar, but he heard his country call, + And his reg'ment didn't need to send to find him: +He chucked his job and joined it--so the job before us all + Is to help the home that Tommy's left behind him! + +Duke's job--cook's job--gardener, baronet, groom-- + Mews or palace or paper-shop--there's someone gone away! +Each of 'em doing his country's work (and who's to look after the + room?) + Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay! pay! pay! + +Let us manage so as later we can look him in the face, + And tell him--what he'd very much prefer-- +That, while he saved the Empire his employer saved his place, + And his mates (that's you and me) looked out for her. +He's an absent-minded beggar, and he may forget it all, + But we do not want his kiddies to remind him, +That we sent 'em to the workhouse while their daddy hammered Paul, + So we'll help the home our Tommy's left behind him! + +Cook's home--Duke's home--home of a millionaire. + (Fifty'thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!) +Each of 'em doing his country's work (and what have you got to + spare?) + Pass the hat for your credit's sake, and pay! pay! pay! + + + + +FOR THE EMPIRE. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + + It is no more place and party, + It is no more begging votes; + But the roaring of steam-packets, + And a rushing of bluejackets + And a rally of redcoats; + For the Empire's will is hearty, + Thundered by united throats. + + We are sick of talk and treason, + There is duty to be done; + By the veteran in danger, + And the lad who is a stranger + Unto strife and shrinks from none; + In the power of right and reason, + Now all classes are but one. + + We have suffered and have yielded, + Till we felt the burning shame; + And long outrage and endurance + Are our glory of assurance + To begin the bloody game; + By our honour are we shielded, + In the might of England's name. + + It is no more fume of faction, + It is no more weary calls; + We are strong in faith and steady, + With the sword of Justice ready + And our iron men and walls; + Since the hour has struck for action, + And red retribution falls. + + We have wrongs, which for redressing + Cry aloud to God at last; + It is woe to him who trifles + When we speak across our rifles + At the great and final cast; + And we seek no other blessing + Than the blotting out the past. + + We will brook no new denial, + We will have no second tale; + And we seek no sordid laurels, + But here fight the ages' quarrels + And for freedom's broadening pale-- + Lo, an Empire on its trial, + Hangs within the awful scale. + + + + +WANTED--A CROMWELL. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + + O for an hour of Cromwell's might + Who raised an Empire out of dust, + And lifted it to noontide light + By simple and heroic trust; + Whose word was like a swordsman's thrust, + And clove its way through crowned night. + We want old England's iron stock, + Hewn of the same eternal rock. + + Where is the man of equal part, + To rule by right divine of power; + With statesman's head and soldier's heart, + And all the ages' dreadful dower + Brought to a bright and perfect flower-- + From whom a nobler course may start? + We hear but faction's fume and cry, + With England in her agony. + + Where is the master mind that reads + The far-off issues of the day, + And with a willing nation pleads + That loves to own a master sway? + Where are the landmarks on the way, + Set up alone by him who leads? + We vainly ask a common creed + To make us one in England's need. + + Is there no man with broader reach + To fill a thorny throne of care, + And bravely act and bravely teach + Because in all he has a share? + No helper who will do and dare, + And stand a bulwark in the breach? + Have we no lord of England's fate, + Though coming from a cottage gate? + + O surely somewhere is the hand + To grasp and guide this reeling realm, + While in the hour-glass sinks the sand + And faints the pilot at the helm; + If billows break to overwhelm, + Yet he will conquer and command. + England is waiting to be led, + If through the dying and the dead. + + We do not seek the party fame + That trafficks in a people's fall, + But one to shield our burning shame + And answer just his country's call; + To weld us in a solid wall, + And kindle with a common flame. + Ah, when she finds the fitting man, + England will do what England can. + + + + +ENGLAND'S IRONSIDES. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + + They are not gone, the old Cromwellian breed, + As witness conquered tides, + And many a pasture sown with crimson seed-- + Our English Ironsides; + And out on kopjes, where the bullets rain, + They serve their Captain, slaying or are slain. + The same grand spirit in the same grim stress + Arms them with stubborn mail; + They see the light of duty's loveliness + And over death prevail. + They never count the price or weigh the odds, + The work is theirs, the victory is God's. + + They are not fled, the old Cromwellian stock, + Where stern the horseman rides, + Or stands the outpost like a lonely rock-- + Our English Ironsides. + Through drift and donga, up the fire-girt crag + They bear the honour of the ancient flag. + What if they starve, or on red pillows lie + Beneath a burning sun? + It is enough to live their day, or die + Ere it has even begun; + They only ask what duty's voice would crave, + And march right on to glory or the grave. + + + + +THE THREE CHERRY-STONES. + +ANONYMOUS. + + +Many years ago, three young gentlemen were lingering over their fruit +and wine at a tavern, when a man of middle age entered the room, +seated himself at a small unoccupied table, and calling the waiter, +ordered a simple meal. His appearance was not such as to arrest +attention. His hair was thin and grey; the expression of his +countenance was sedate, with a slight touch, perhaps, of melancholy; +and he wore a grey surtout with a standing collar, which manifestly +had seen service, if the wearer had not. + +The stranger continued his meal in silence, without lifting his eyes +from the table, until a cherry-stone, sportively snapped from the +thumb and finger of one of the gentlemen, struck him upon his right +ear. His eye was instantly upon the aggressor, and his ready +intelligence gathered from the ill-suppressed merriment of the party +that this petty impertinence was intentional. + +The stranger stooped, and picked up the cherry-stone, and a scarcely +perceptible smile passed over his features as he carefully wrapped it +in a piece of paper, and placed it in his pocket. This singular +procedure upset the gravity of the young gentlemen entirely, and a +burst of laughter proceeded from the group. + +Unmoved by this rudeness, the stranger continued his frugal repast +until another cherry-stone, from the same hand, struck him upon the +right elbow. This also, to the infinite amusement of the party, he +picked from the floor, and carefully deposited with the first. + +Amidst shouts of laughter, a third cherry-stone was soon after +discharged, and struck the stranger upon the left breast. This also +he very deliberately deposited with the other two. + +As he rose, and was engaged in paying for his repast, the gaiety of +these sporting gentlemen became slightly subdued. Having discharged +his reckoning, he walked to the table at which the young men were +sitting, and with that air of dignified calmness which is a thousand +times more terrible than wrath, drew a card from his pocket, and +presented it with perfect civility to the offender, who could do no +other than offer his in return. While the stranger unclosed his +surtout, to take the card from his pocket, he displayed the undress +coat of a military man. The card disclosed his rank, and a brief +inquiry at the bar was sufficient for the rest. He was a captain whom +ill-health and long service had entitled to half-pay. In earlier life +he had been engaged in several affairs of honour, and, in the dialect +of the fancy, was a dead shot. + +The next morning a note arrived at the aggressor's residence, +containing a challenge, in form, and one of the cherry-stones. The +truth then flashed before the challenged party--it was the +challenger's intention to make three bites at this cherry--three +separate affairs out of this unwarrantable frolic! The challenge was +accepted, and the challenged party, in deference to the challenger's +reputed skill with the pistol, had half decided upon the small sword; +but his friends, who were on the alert, soon discovered that the +captain, who had risen by his merit, had, in the earlier days of his +necessity, gained his bread as an accomplished instructor in the use +of that weapon. + +They met, and fired alternately, by lot--the young man had selected +this mode, thinking he might win the first fire--he did--fired, and +missed his opponent. The captain levelled his pistol and fired--the +ball passed through the flap of the right ear; and, as the wounded +man involuntarily put his hand to the place, he remembered that it +was the right ear of his antagonist that the first cherry-stone had +struck. Here ended the first lesson. A month passed. His friends +cherished the hope that he would hear nothing more from the captain, +when another note--a challenge, of course--and another cherry-stone +arrived, with an apology, on the score of ill-health, for delay. + +Again they met--fired simultaneously, and the captain, who was +unhurt, shattered the right elbow of his antagonist--the very point +upon which he had been struck with the second cherry-stone; and here +ended the second lesson. There was something awfully impressive in +the _modus operandi_ and exquisite skill of his antagonist. The third +cherry-stone was still in his possession, and the aggressor had not +forgotten that it had struck the unoffending gentleman upon the left +breast. A month passed--another--and another, of terrible suspense; +but nothing was heard from the captain. + +At length, the gentleman who had been his second in the former duels +once more presented himself, and tendered another note, which, as the +recipient perceived on taking it, contained the last of the +cherry-stones. The note was superscribed in the captain's well-known +hand, but it was the writing evidently of one who wrote feebly. There +was an unusual solemnity also in the manner of him who delivered it. +The seal was broken, and there was the cherry-stone in a blank +envelope. + +"And what, sir, am I to understand by this?" inquired the aggressor. + +"You will understand, sir, that my friend forgives you--he is dead." + + + + +THE MIDSHIPMAN'S FUNERAL. + +BY BARLEY DALE. + + +"Years ago, when I was quite a young man, I was appointed chaplain to +H.M.S. _Octopus_, then on guard at Gibraltar. We had a very nice time +of it, for 'Gib.' is a very gay place, and that winter there was +plenty of fun somewhere nearly every night, and we were asked to most +of the festivities. Now, on board the Octopus was a young midshipman, +whom I will call Munro. He was a handsome young fellow, but rather +delicate, and he had been sent to Gibraltar for the sake of the +climate, in hopes that the sea-air and warm winter might set him up. +He was the life of the ship, and wherever he went he was popular; and +it is possible he might have outgrown his weakness, for I don't think +there was any organic disease at this time, but he got a low fever, +and died in a week. This low fever was very prevalent, and at the +same time that poor young Munro died, an admiral, one of the leading +members of society at 'Gib.,' died of the same disease. As it was +considered infectious, the two bodies were placed in their coffins +and carried to the mortuary till the funeral. Oddly enough, both +funerals were fixed for the same day; Munro's in the morning, and the +admiral's in the afternoon. The admiral's was to be a very grand +affair, all the troops in the garrison were to follow, as well as the +naval officers and sailors on board the guardships; the ceremony was +to be performed by the bishop, assisted by some other clergy while as +for poor Munro, I was to bury him at ten o'clock in the morning, six +men were told off to carry the coffin, and it was left to those who +liked to act as mourners. + +"Well, the day of the funerals arrived, all the ships were decked +with flags half-mast high in honour of the admiral, minute-guns were +fired in honour of the admiral, church bells tolled in honour of the +admiral, while as for poor Munro (one or two of us excepted), no one +thought of him. Ten o'clock came, and I with the doctor and ore of +Munro's comrades, another middy, and the six sailors, who, by the +way, had all volunteered their services, set out for the mortuary; I +had a fancy to follow the poor fellow as far as I could, so I waited +while the jack tars went inside and fetched out the coffin covered +with the union-jack, and Munro's hat and sword on the top, and then +the little procession took its way across the neutral ground to the +English cemetery. I followed the coffin, and the other two brought up +the rear. The sentries did not salute us as we passed them. At last +we reached the cemetery gates. Here I was obliged to relegate my post +of chief mourner to the doctor, while I went into the chapel, put on +my surplice, and went to the door to meet the body. I then proceeded +to bury the poor boy, and when the union-jack was taken off and the +coffin lowered into the grave, I leant over to take one last look; +the doctor did the same, and as our eyes met the same emotion caused +us both to blow our noses violently, and it was in a voice of +suppressed emotion that I concluded the service. + +"I was so disgusted with the way in which the poor boy had been +slighted that I had not intended going to the admiral's funeral; but +after burying Munro I felt more charitably disposed, so I got into my +uniform and duly attended the admiral's obsequies. + +"It was a very grand affair indeed; the streets were thronged with +spectators, every window was filled with eager faces as the enormous +procession passed by. There were five regiments stationed in +Gibraltar at the time, and two men-of-war besides the _Octopus_ lying +in the harbour; detachments from every regiment were sent, three +military bands followed, a battery of artillery, the marines and all +the jack tars in the place, the governor and his staff were there, +and every officer, who was not on the sick list, quartered in +Gibraltar, was present. A firing party was told off to fire over the +grave when all was over, and this brilliant procession was met at the +cemetery-gates by the bishop, attended by several clergymen and a +surpliced choir. I forgot to say that a string of carriages followed +the troops, and the entire procession could not have been much less +than a mile long. + +"As we crossed the neutral ground this time, the sentry, with arms +reversed, saluted us; and the strains of Beethoven's 'Funeral March +of a Hero,' must have been heard all over Gibraltar as the three +bands--one in front, one in the rear, and one in the centre--all +pealed it forth. + +"Of course, not one-third of the funeral _cortege_ could get near the +grave; but I managed to get pretty close. The service proceeded, and +at length the coffin was uncovered to be lowered into the grave; it +was smothered with flowers, but the wreaths were all carefully +removed, and the admiral's cocked-hat and sword, and then the +union-jack was off, and the bishop, the governor, and all the +officers near the grave pressed forward to look at the coffin. + +"They looked once, they started; they looked again, they frowned; +they rubbed their eyes; they looked again, then they whispered; they +sniffed, they snorted, they grumbled; they gave hurried orders to +the sextons, who shovelled some earth on to the coffin, and the +bishop hurriedly finished the service. + +"What do you think they saw when they looked into the grave? + +"Why, poor Munro's coffin! I buried the admiral myself in the +morning, by mistake. The doctor and I found it out at the grave, but +we kept our own counsel."--_Young England_. + + + + +LADYSMITH. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + +I.--LADYSMITH OCCUPIED. + + Flushed with fight and red with glory, + Conquerors if backward flung, + Fresh from triumphs grim and gory, + Toward the goal the Army swung; + Splendid, but with recent laurels + Dimmed by shadow of defeat, + Thirsting yet for nobler quarrels-- + Never dreaming of retreat. + + Day by day they grimly struggled, + Early on and on till late; + Night by night with doom they juggled, + Dodging Death and fighting Fate. + Not a murmur once was spoken, + Stern endurance still unspent, + As with spirit all unbroken + On the bitter march they went. + + Still with weary steps that stumbled + Forward moved that constant tread, + Sleepless, silent, and unhumbled, + On and on the army sped, + Noble sons of noble mothers, + Proud of home and kin and kith, + Brothers to the aid of brothers, + On and on to Ladysmith. + + There, through smoke of onset rifted, + Soldiers who disdained to yield + Had for weal or woe uplifted + England's own broad battle-shield. + Right across the path of pillage + Was that iron rampart thrust, + While beneath it town and village + Safely hid in settled trust. + + Frail and open seemed that shelter + And unguarded to the foes, + Helpless, as the fiery welter + Rocked it in volcanic throes; + But there was defence to bind it + With the force of Destiny, + And an Empire stood behind it + Armed in awful majesty. + + And no fortress ever moulded + Girt securer chosen space, + Than those unseen walls which folded + In their fear that lonely place. + On its Outposts far the scourges + Fell with wrath and crimson rain, + But the fierce assaulting surges + Beat and beat in thunder vain. + +II.--LADYSMITH BESIEGED. + + There they kept the old flag flying + Day by day and prayed relief, + Weary, wounded, doomed, and dying-- + Gallant men and noble chief + By the leaden tempest stricken, + Grandly stood or grandly fell-- + Peril had but power to quicken + Faith that owned such holy spell. + + Not alone the foe without them + Menaced them with fire and shot, + Sickness creeping round about them, + Fever, dysentery, and rot, + Struck the rider and the stallion, + Making merry as at feast + On the pick of each battalion-- + Ruthless, smiting man and beast. + + None were spared and nothing holy, + For the fever claimed the best, + Now the high and now the lowly, + Now the baby at the breast, + All obeyed its mandate, drooping + In the fulness of their power, + Old and young before it stooping, + Bud and blossom, fruit and flower. + + Hunger blanched their dauntless faces, + Furrowed with the lines of lack, + But with stern and stubborn paces + Still they drove the spoiler back. + Round them drew the iron tether + Tighter, but they kept their troth, + All for England's sake together-- + Soldier and civilian both. + + Death and ruin knock and enter, + Hearts may break and homesteads burn, + Yet from that lone faithful centre + Flashed red vengeance in return; + Guardian guns thence hurled defiance + From the brave who lightly took + All their blows in brave reliance, + Which no tempest ever shook. + + Hand to hand they strove and wrestled + Stoutly for that pearl of pride, + Where mid flame and woe it nestled + Down with danger at its side. + Yet like boys released from class time, + Though the blast destroying blew, + There they played and found a pastime + While the Flag unconquered flew. + +III.--LADYSMITH RELIEVED. + + Then, when all seemed lost but glory + With the lustre which it gave, + And Relief an idle story + Murmured by a sealed grave; + While with pallid lips they reckoned + Darkly the enduring days + Famished, lo! Deliverance beckoned + Surely after long delays. + + Wave on wave of martial beauty, + Dashed upon those deadly rocks + At the simple call of duty, + And were broken by the shocks. + Yet that chivalry of splendour, + Though baptized in blood and fire, + Had no thought of mean surrender + Never breathed the word retire. + + Still they weighed the dreadful chances, + Still they gathered up their strength, + By invincible advances + Steeled to win the prize at length. + Fate-like their resolve to sever + Those gaunt bonds of grim despair, + And within the breach for ever + England's honour to repair. + + Came relief at last, endeavour, + Stern, magnificent, and true, + Hoping on and fighting ever, + Forced its gory passage through. + All the rage of pent-up forces, + All the passion seeking vent + Out of vast and solemn sources, + Here renewed their sacrament; + + In the rapture of a greeting + For which thousands fought and bled, + With the saved and saviours meeting + Over our Imperial dead. + Witnesses unseen but tested + Lived again as grander men, + And their awful shadow rested + With a benediction then; + + One who with his wondrous talent + Conquered more than even the sword, + And among the gay and gallant + By his pen was crowned lord. + There they lie in silence lowly + Which no battle now can wake, + And the ground is ever holy + For our English heroes' sake. + + + + +THE SIX-INCH GUN. + +(From the Christmas number of the _Bombshell_, published in Ladysmith +during the siege.) + + + There is a famous hill looks down, + Five miles away, on Ladysmith town, + With a long flat ridge that meets the sky + Almost a thousand feet on high. + And on the ridge there is mounted one + Long-range, terrible six-inch gun. + + And down in the street a bugle is blown, + When the cloud of smoke on the sky is thrown, + For it's sixty seconds before the roar + Reverberates o'er, and a second more + Till the shell comes down with a whiz and stun + From that long-range, terrible six-inch gun. + + And men and women walk up and down + The long, hot streets of Ladysmith town, + And the housewives walk in the usual round, + And the children play till the warning sound-- + Then into their holes they scurry and run + From the whistling shell of the six-inch gun. + + For the shells they weigh a hundred pound, + Bursting wherever they strike the ground, + While the strong concussion shakes the air + And shatters the window-panes everywhere. + And we may laugh, but there's little of fun + In the bursting shell from a six-inch gun. + + Oh! 'twas whistle and jest with the carbineers gay + As they cleaned their steeds at break of day, + But like a thunderclap there fell + In the midst of the horses and men a shell, + And the sight we saw was a fearful one + After that shell from the six-inch gun. + + Though the foe may beset us on every side, + We'll furnish some cheer in this Christmastide; + We will laugh and be gay, but a tear will be shed + And a thought be given to the gallant dead, + Cut off in the midst of their life and fun + By the long-range, terrible six-inch gun. + + + + +ST. PATRICK'S DAY. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + + Here's to the Isle of the Shamrock, + Here's a good English hurrah, + Luck to the Kelt upon kopje or veldt, + Erin Mavourneen gobragh. + The shamrock, the rose, and the thistle, + The shamrock, the rose, and the leek, + One where the bayonets bristle, + One when there's duty to seek. + Each has a need of each other, + Linked on the shore and the wave, + All for the sake of one Mother-- + Honour the Brave. + + Here's to the boys of the Shamrock, + Here's to the gallant and gay, + Bearing the flag upon donga or crag, + Blithely as children at play. + The shamrock, the leek, and the thistle, + The shamrock, the leek, and the rose, + One though the bullets may whistle, + One in a red grave's repose. + Each has a need of his fellows, + Sharing the glory or grave, + Each the same destiny mellows-- + Honour the Brave. + + Here's to the girls of the shamrock, + Here's to the glamour and grace, + Laughing on all, in hovel and hall, + Ever from Erin's young face! + The shamrock, the rose, and the thistle, + The shamrock, the rose, and the leek, + One in the face of a missile, + One when the batteries speak. + Each of himself is delighted + To succour the serf or the slave, + And who can deny them united?-- + Honour the Brave. + + Here's to the wit of the Shamrock, + Here's to the favoured and free, + Giving us store of that magical lore + Learnt but at Nature's own knee! + The shamrock, the leek, and the thistle, + The shamrock, the leek, and the rose, + One when fame writes her epistle, + One where dread dangers enclose. + Each for the others asks only, + Ever to succour and save, + Each without all must be lonely-- + Honour the Brave. + + Here's to the day of the Shamrock, + Here's to the emblem of youth; + Wear it we will on our bosoms and still + Deeper in heart and in truth! + The shamrock, the rose, and the thistle, + The shamrock, the rose, and the leek, + One where grim batteries bristle, + One when there's pleasure to seek. + Each on each other relying, + Trusts, nor for better would rave, + Each for all, living and dying-- + Honour the Brave. + + Here's to the reign of the shamrock, + Here's to the welfare of all, + Bearing its light through the feast and the fight, + Ever at liberty's call. + The shamrock, the leek, and the thistle, + The shamrock, the leek, and the rose, + One where the death-arrows whistle, + One where hilarity flows. + Each from the bog or the heather + Gives all a brother may crave, + Ploughland and city together-- + Honour the Brave. + + + + +THE HERO OF OMDURMAN. + +MAJOR-GENERAL H.A. MACDONALD, C.B., D.S.O. +[_Told in the Ranks_.] + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + + There were lots of lies and tattle + In dispatches and on wire, + But 'twas Mac who saved the battle + When the word came to retire. + "I'll no do it"--he cried, ready + For what peril lay in store, + With his ranks like steel and steady-- + "And I'll see them hanged before! + O, we maun jist fight!" And bolder + Slewed his front the Dervish way, + Smart with shoulder knit to shoulder, + White and black that bloody day. + + Then a hell of fire, and sputtered + Iron blast and leaden hail, + While the Maxims stormed and stuttered + And our rifles did not fail. + For the destiny of nations + With an agony intense, + And our Empire's own foundations + Hung a minute in suspense. + But old Mac was cool as ever, + And his words like leaping flame + Flashed in confident endeavour + To avert that evil shame. + + Swung his lines on hinges, rolling + Right and left like very doom, + Till our fate nigh past controlling + Brake in glory out of gloom. + While upon those awful stages + Throbbed a world's great piston beat, + And the moments seemed as ages + Rung from death and red defeat. + Ah, we lived, indeed, and no man + Recked of wound or any ill, + As we grimly faced the foeman-- + If we died, to conquer still. + + And it felt as though the burden + Of all England gave us might, + Laid on each, who asked no guerdon + But against those odds to fight. + Let the lucky get high stations + And the honour which he won, + Mac desires no decorations + But the gallant service done. + For the rankers bear the losses + And the brunt of every toil, + While they earn for others "crosses" + And the splendour and the spoil. + + + + +BOOT AND SADDLE. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + +A TRUE INCIDENT IN THE MATABELE CAMPAIGN (1893). + + + Mashangombi's was the rat-hole, + Which we had to draw ere day, + Heedless whether this or that hole-- + If we only found a way; + Up among the iron furrows + Of the rocks, where hid in burrows + Safe the rats in shelter lay. + No misgiving, not a fear-- + Nor was I the last astraddle + Nor the hindmost in the rear + When the bugle sounded clear-- + "Boot and saddle!" + + Right away went men and horses, + Both as eager for the fun; + Through the drifts and dried-up courses, + Where like mad the waters run + After storms or through the winters, + Mashing all they meet to splinters-- + Ready, hand and sword and gun. + Every eye was keen to mark, + And the tongue alone seemed idle + Every ear alert to hark + As we scanned each crevice dark-- + Bit and bridle! + + Here and there the startled chirrup + Of strange creatures, as we go, + Standing sometimes in the stirrup, + Just to get a bigger show; + Till we gain our point, the entry-- + There the pass, no sign of sentry, + Not a sound above, below! + Clear the coast, the savage gave + Never hint to south or norward; + Was he napping in his cave, + With that quiet like the grave?-- + Steady, forward! + + Further in; the rats were sleeping; + We would grimly smoke them out, + With a dose of lead for keeping + And a fence of flame about; + They might wake perhaps from shelter, + At our bullets' ghastly pelter, + To the brief and bloody rout!-- + But, next moment, we were wrapt + Down to saddle girth and leather + In the fire of foes unmapt; + _We_ were turned, and fairly trapt-- + "Keep together!" + + On they poured in thousands, hurling + Steel that stabbed and belching ball + From a host of rifles, curling + Serpent-wise around us all. + Front and flank and rear, they tumbled + Nearer, darker, as we fumbled-- + Till we heard the Captain's call, + "Each man for himself, and back!" + So we rushed those rocky mazes, + With that torrent grim and black + Dealing ruin in our track-- + Death and blazes! + + Ah, that bullet! How it shattered + Vein and tissue to the bone; + Dropt me faint and blood-bespattered, + Helpless on a bed of stone! + While the mare which oft had eaten + From my hand, caressed, unbeaten, + Left her master doomed, alone. + Limply then I lay in dread, + Racked with torture, sick and under-- + Hearing, as through vapours red + And with reeling heart and head, + Hoofs of thunder! + + Was I dreaming? By the boulder + Where I huddled as I fell, + Stood the steed beside my shoulder + Faithful, fain to serve me well. + Whinnying softly, then, to screen me + From the foe, she knelt between me + And that circling human hell. + Tenderly she touched my face + With the nose that knew my petting, + Ripe for the last glorious race + And her comrade's own embrace-- + Unforgetting! + + O her haunches heaved and quivered + With the passion freely brought + For the life to be delivered, + Though she first with demons fought; + While her large eyes gleamed and glistened + And her ears down-pointing listened, + Waiting for the answer sought. + Till a sudden wave of might + Set me once again astraddle + On the seat of saving flight, + Plucked from very jaws of night-- + Boot and saddle! + + + + +THE MIDNIGHT CHARGE. + +BY CLEMENT SCOTT. + + +Pass the word to the boys to-night!--lying about midst dying and + dead!-- +Whisper it low; make ready to fight! stand like men at your horses' + head! +Look to your stirrups and swords, my lads, and into your saddles + your pistols thrust; +Then setting your teeth as your fathers did, you'll make the enemy + bite the dust! +What did they call us, boys, at home?--"Feather-bed soldiers!"-- + faith, it's true! +"Kept to be seen in her Majesty's parks, and mightily smart at a + grand review!" +Feather-bed soldiers? Hang their chaff! Where in the world, I should + like to know, +When a war broke out and the country called, was an English soldier + sorry to go? +Brothers in arms and brothers in heart! cavalry! infantry! there and + then; +No matter what careless lives they lived, they were ready to die like + Englishmen! + So pass the word! in the sultry night, + Stand to your saddles! make ready to fight! + +We are sick to death of the scorching sun, and the desert stretching + for miles away; +We are all of us longing to get at the foe, and sweep the sand with + our swords to-day! +Our horses look with piteous eyes--they have little to eat, and + nothing to do; +And the land around is horribly white, and the sky above is terribly + blue. +But it's over now, so the Colonel says: he is ready to start, we are + ready to go: +And the cavalry boys will be led by men--Ewart! and Russell! and + Drury-Lowe! +Just once again let me stroke the mane--let me kiss the neck and feel + the breath +Of the good little horse who will carry me on to the end of the + battle--to life or death! +"Give us a grip of your fist, old man!" let us all keep close when + the charge begins! +God is watching o'er those at home! God have mercy on all our sins! + So pass the word in the dark, and then, + When the bugle sounds, let us mount like men! + +Out we went in the dead of the night! away to the desert, across the + sand-- +Guided alone by the stars of Heaven! a speechless host! a ghostly + band! +No cheery voice the silence broke; forbidden to speak, we could hear + no sound +But the whispered words, "Be firm, my boys!" and the horses' hoofs on + the sandy ground. +"What were we thinking of then?" Look here! if this is the last true + word I speak, +I felt a lump in my throat--just here--and a tear came trickling down + my cheek. +If a man dares say that I funked, he lies! But a man is a man though + he gives his life +For his country's, cause, as a soldier should--he has still got a + heart for his child and wife! +But I still rode on in a kind of dream; I was thinking of home and + the boys--and then +The silence broke! and, a bugle blew! then a voice rang cheerily, + "Charge, my men!" + So pass the word in the thick of the fight, + For England's honour and England's right! + +What is it like, a cavalry charge in the dead of night? I can + scarcely tell, +For when it is over it's like a dream, and when you are in it a kind + of hell! +I should like you to see the officers lead--forgetting their swagger + and Bond Street air-- +Like brothers and men at the head of the troop, while bugles echo and + troopers dare! +With a rush we are in it, and hard at work--there's scarcely a minute + to think or pause-- +For right and left we are fighting hard for the regiment's honour and + country's cause! +Feather-bed warriors! On my life, be they Life Guards red or Horse + Guards blue, +They haven't lost much of the pluck, my boys, that their fathers + showed us at Waterloo! +It isn't for us, who are soldiers bred, to chatter of wars, be they + wrong or right; +We've to keep the oath that we gave our QUEEN! and when we are in + it--we've got to fight! + So pass the word, without any noise, + Bravo, Cavalry! Well done, boys! + +Pass the word to the boys to-night, now that the battle is fairly + won. +A message has come from the EMPRESS-QUEEN--just what we wanted-- + a brief "Well done!" +The sword and stirrup are sorely stained, and the pistol barrels are + empty quite, +And the poor old charger's piteous eyes bear evidence clear of the + desperate fight. +There's many a wound and many a gash, and the sun-burned face is + scarred and red; +There's many a trooper safe and sound, and many a tear for the "pal" + who's dead! +I care so little for rights and wrongs of a terrible war; but the + world at large-- +It knows so well when duty's done!--it will think sometimes of our + cavalry charge! +Brothers in arms and brothers in heart! we have solemnly taken an + oath! and then, +In all the battles throughout the world, we have followed our fathers + like Englishmen! + So pass this blessing the lips between-- + 'Tis the soldier's oath--GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. + + + + +MAFEKING. + +"_ADSUM!_" + +BY REV. A. FREWEN AYLWARD. + +At the evening roll call at the "Charterhouse" School, where +Baden-Powell was educated, it is customary for the boys to respond to +the call of their names by saying "Adsum--I'm here!" + + + Oft as the shades of evening fell, + In the school-boy days of old,-- + The form work done, or the game played well,-- + Clanging aloft the old school bell + Uttered its summons bold; + And a bright lad answered the roll call clear, + "Adsum,--I'm here!" + + A foe-girt town and a captain true + Out on the Afric plain;-- + High overhead his Queen's flag flew, + But foes were many and friends but few; + Who shall guard that flag from stain? + And calm 'mid confusion a voice rang clear, + "Adsum,--I'm here!" + + The slow weeks passed, and no succour came, + Famine and death were rife; + Yet still that banner of deathless fame, + Floated, unsullied by fear or shame, + Over the scene of strife; + And the voice,--though weaker--was full of cheer, + "Adsum,--I'm here!" + + Heaven send, that when many a heart's dismayed, + In dark days yet in store,-- + Should foemen gather; or, faith betrayed, + The country call for a strong man's aid + As she never called before,-- + A voice like his may make answer clear, + Banishing panic, and calming fear, + "Adsum,--I'm here!" + + + + +THE FIGHT AT RORKE'S DRIFT + +(January 23, 1879.) + +BY EMILY PFEIFFER. + + +It was over at Isandula, the bloody work was done, +And the yet unburied dead looked up unblinking at the sun; +Eight hundred men of Britain's best had signed with blood the story +Which England leaves to time, and lay there scanted e'en of glory. + +Stewart Smith lay smiling by the gun he spiked before he died; +But gallant Gardner lived to write a warning and to ride +A race for England's honour and to cross the Buffalo, +To bid them at Rorke's Drift expect the coming of the foe. + +That band of lusty British lads camped in the hostile land +Rose up upon the word with Chard and Bromhead to command; +An hour upon the foe that hardy race had barely won, +But in it all that men could do those British lads had done. + +And when the Zulus on the hill appeared, a dusky host, +They found our gallant English boys' 'pale faces' at their post; +But paler faces were behind, within the barricade-- +The faces of the sick who rose to give their watchers aid. + +Five men to one the first dark wave of battle brought, it bore +Down swiftly, while our youngsters waited steadfast as the shore; +Behind the slender barricade, half-hidden, on their knees, +They marked the stealthy current glide beneath the orchard trees. + +Then forth the volley blazed, then rose the deadly reek of war; +The dusky ranks were thinned; the chieftain slain by young Dunbar, +Rolled headlong and their phalanx broke, but formed as soon as broke, +And with a yell the furies that avenge man's blood awoke. + +The swarthy wave sped on and on, pressed forward by the tide, +Which rose above the bleak hill-top, and swept the bleak hill-side; +It rose upon the hill, and, surging out about its base, +Closed house and barricade within its murderous embrace. + +With savage faces girt, the lads' frail fortress seemed to be +An island all abloom within a black and howling sea; +And only that the savages shot wide, and held the noise +As deadly as the bullets, they had overwhelmed the boys. + +Then in the dusk of day the dusky Kaffirs crept about +The bushes and the prairie-grass, to rise up with a shout, +To step as in a war-dance, all together, and to fling +Their weight against the sick-house till they made its timbers spring. + +When beaten back, they struck their shields, and thought to strike + with fear +Those British hearts,--their answer came, a ringing British cheer! +And the volley we sent after showed the Kaffirs to their cost +The coolness of our temper,--scarce an ounce of shot was lost. + +And the sick men from their vantage at the windows singled out +From among the valiant savages the bravest of the rout; +A pile of fourteen warriors lay dead upon the ground +By the hand of Joseph Williams, and there led up to the mound + +A path of Zulu bodies on the Welshman's line of fire +Ere he perished, dragged out, assegaied, and trampled in their ire; +But the body takes its honour or dishonour from the soul, +And his name is writ in fire upon our nation's long bead-roll. + +Yet, let no name of any man be set above the rest, +Where all were braver than the brave, each better than the best, +Where the sick rose up as heroes, and the sound had hearts for those +Who, in madness of their fever, were contending as with foes. + +For the hospital was blazing, roof and wall, and in its light +The Kaffirs showed like devils, till so deadly grew the fight +That they cowered into cover, and one moment all was still, +When a Kaffir chieftain bellowed forth new orders from the hill. + +Then the Zulu warriors rallied, formed again, and hand to hand +We fought above the barricade; determined was the stand; +Our fellows backed each other up,--no wavering and no haste, +But loading in the Kaffirs' teeth, and not a shot to waste. + +We had held on through the dusk, and we had held on in the light +Of the burning house; and later, in the dimness of the night, +They could see our fairer faces; we could find them by their cries, +By the flash of savage weapons and the glare of savage eyes. + +With the midnight came a change--that angry sea at length was cowed, +Its waves still broke upon us, but fell fainter and less loud; +When the 'pale face' of the dawn rose glimmering from his bed +The last black sullen wave swept off and bore away the dead. + +That island all abloom with English youth, and fortified +With English valour, stood above the wild, retreating tide; +Those lads contemned Canute, and shamed the lesson that he read,-- +For them the hungry waves withdrew, the howling ocean fled. + +Britannia, rule, Britannia! while thy sons resemble thee, +And are islanders, true islanders, wherever they may be; +Island fortified like this, manned with islanders like these, +Will keep thee Lady of thy Land, and Sovereign of all Seas! + + + + +RELIEVED! + +(_AT MAFEKING_.) + + + Said he of the relieving force, + As through the town he sped, + "Art thou in Baden-Powell's Horse?" + The trooper shook his head, + Then drew his hand his mouth across, + Like one who's lately fed. + "Alas! for Baden-Powell's horse-- + It's now in me," he said.--_Daily Express_. + + + + +HOW SAM HODGE WON THE VICTORIA CROSS. + +BY WILLIAM JEFFREY PROWSE. + + +Just a simple little story I've a fancy for inditing; + It shows the funny quarters in which chivalry may lodge, +A story about Africa, and Englishmen, and fighting, + And an unromantic hero by the name of Samuel Hodge. + +"Samuel Hodge!" The words in question never previously filled a + Conspicuous place in fiction or the Chronicles of Fame; +And the Blood and Culture critics, or the Rosa and Matilda + School of Novelists would shudder at the mention of the name. + +It was up the Gambia River--and of _that_ unpleasant station + It is chiefly in connection with the fever that we hear!-- +That my hero with the vulgar and prosaic appellation + Was a private--mind, a private!--and a sturdy pioneer. + +It's a dreary kind of region, where the river mists arising + Roll slowly out to seaward, dropping poison in their track. +And accordingly few gentlemen will find the fact surprising + That a rather small proportion of our garrison comes back! + +It is filthy, it is foetid, it is sordid, it is squalid; + If you tried it for a season, you would very soon repent; +But the British trader likes it, and he finds a reason solid + For the liking, in his profit at the rate of cent, per cent. + +And to guard the British traders, gallant men and merry younkers, + In their coats of blue and scarlet, still are stationed at the + post, +Whilst the migratory natives, who are known as "Tillie-bunkas," + Grub up and down for ground-nuts and chaffer on the coast. + +Furthermore, to help the trader in his laudable vocation, + We have heaps of little treaties with a host of little kings, +And, at times, the coloured caitiffs in their wild inebriation, + Gather round us, little hornets, with uncomfortable stings. + +To my tale:--The King of Barra had been getting rather "sarsy," + In fact, for such an insect, he was coming it too strong, +So we sent a small detachment--it was led by Colonel D'Arcy-- + To drive him from his capital of Tubabecolong! + +Now on due investigation, when his land they had invaded, + They learnt from information which was brought them by the guides +That the worthy King of Barra had completely _barra_caded + The spacious mud-construction where his majesty resides. + +"At it, boys!" said Colonel D'Arcy, and himself was first to enter, + And his fellows tried to follow with the customary cheers; +Through the town he dashed impatient, but had scarcely reached the + centre + Ere he found the task before him was a task for pioneers. + +For so strongly and so stoutly all the gates were palisaded, + The supports could never enter if he did not clear a way:-- +But Sammy Hodge, perceiving how the foe might be "persuaded," + Had certain special talents which he hastened to display. + +Whilst the bullets, then, were flying, and the bayonets were glancing + Whilst the whole affair in fury rather heightened than relaxed, +With axe in hand, and silently, our pioneer advancing +SMOTE THE GATE; AND BADE IT OPEN; AND IT DID--AS IT WAS AXED! + +L'ENVOI. + +Just a word of explanation, it may save us from a quarrel, + I have really no intention--'twould be shameful if I had, +Of preaching you a blatant, democratic kind of moral; + For the "swell, you know," the D'Arcy, fought as bravely as the + "cad!" + +Yet I own that sometimes thinking how a courteous decoration + May be won by shabby service or disreputable dodge, +I regard with more than pleasure--with a sense of consolation-- + The Victoria Cross "For Valour" on the breast of Sammy Hodge! + + + + +THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. + +(October 25, 1857.) + +BY R.T.S. LOWELL. + + + Oh! that last day in Lucknow fort! + We knew that it was the last: + That the enemy's mines had crept surely in, + And the end was coming fast. + + To yield to that foe meant worse than death; + And the men and we all work'd on: + It was one day more, of smoke and roar, + And then it would all be done. + + There was one of us, a corporal's wife, + A fair young gentle thing, + Wasted with fever in the siege, + And her mind was wandering. + + She lay on the ground in her Scottish plaid, + And I took her head on my knee: + "When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said, + "Oh! please then waken me." + + She slept like a child on her father's floor + In the flecking of wood-bine shade, + When the house-dog sprawls by the open door, + And the mother's wheel is stay'd. + + It was smoke and roar, and powder-stench, + And hopeless waiting for death: + But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, + Seem'd scarce to draw her breath. + + I sank to sleep, and I had my dream, + Of an English village-lane, + And wall and garden;--a sudden scream + Brought me back to the roar again. + + Then Jessie Brown stood listening, + And then a broad gladness broke + All over her face, and she took my hand + And drew me near and spoke: + + "_The Highlanders!_ Oh! dinna ye hear + The slogan far awa-- + The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel; + It's the grandest o' them a'. + + "God bless thae bonny Highlanders! + We're saved! we're saved!" she cried: + And fell on her knees, and thanks to God + Pour'd forth, like a full flood-tide. + + Along the battery-line her cry + Had fallen among the men: + And they started, for they were there to die: + Was life so near them then? + + They listen'd, for life: and the rattling fire + Far off, and the far-off roar + Were all:--and the colonel shook his head, + And they turn'd to their guns once more. + + Then Jessie said--"That slogan's dune; + But can ye no hear them, noo,-- + _The Campbells are comin'?_ It's no a dream; + Our succours hae broken through!" + + We heard the roar and the rattle afar + But the pipes we could not hear; + So the men plied their work of hopeless war, + And knew that the end was near. + + It was not long ere it must be heard,-- + A shrilling, ceaseless sound: + It was no noise of the strife afar, + Or the sappers underground. + + It _was_ the pipes of the Highlanders, + And now they play'd "_Auld Lang Syne_:" + It came to our men like the voice of God, + And they shouted along the line. + + And they wept and shook one another's hands, + And the women sobb'd in a crowd: + And every one knelt down where we stood, + And we all thank'd God aloud. + + That happy day when we welcomed them, + Our men put Jessie first; + And the General took her hand, and cheers + From the men, like a volley, burst. + + And the pipers' ribbons and tartan stream'd + Marching round and round our line; + And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, + For the pipes play'd "_Auld Lang Syne_." + + + + +A BALLAD OF WAR. + +BY MENELLA BUTE SMEDLEY. + +(By permission of Messrs. Isbister & Co.) + + + "Oh! were you at war in the red Eastern land? + What did you hear, and what did you see? + Saw you my son, with his sword in his hand? + Sent he, by you, any dear word to me?" + + "I come from red war, in that dire Eastern land; + Three deeds saw I done one might well die to see; + But I know not your son with his sword in his hand; + If you would hear of him, paint him to me." + + "Oh, he is as gentle as south winds in May!" + "'Tis not a gentle place where I have been." + "Oh, he has a smile like the outbreak of day!" + "Where men are dying fast, smiles are not seen." + + "Tell me the mightiest deeds that were done. + Deeds of chief honour, you said you saw three: + You said you saw three--I am sure he did one. + My heart shall discern him, and cry, 'This is he!'" + + "I saw a man scaling a tower of despair, + And he went up alone, and the hosts shouted loud." + "That was my son! Had he streams of fair hair?" + "Nay; it was black as the blackest night-cloud." + + "Did he live?" "No; he died: but the fortress was won, + And they said it was grand for a man to die so." + "Alas for his mother! He was not my son. + Was there no fair-hair'd soldier who humbled the foe?" + + "I saw a man charging in front of his rank, + Thirty yards on, in a hurry to die: + Straight as an arrow hurled into the flank + Of a huge desert-beast, ere the hunter draws nigh." + + "Did he live?" "No; he died: but the battle was won, + And the conquest-cry carried his name through the air. + Be comforted, mother; he was not thy son; + Worn was his forehead, and gray was his hair." + + "Oh! the brow of my son is as smooth as a rose; + I kissed it last night in my dream. I have heard + Two legends of fame from the land of our foes; + But you said there were three; you must tell me the third." + + "I saw a man flash from the trenches and fly + In a battery's face; but it was not to slay: + A poor little drummer had dropp'd down to die, + With his ankle shot through, in the place where he lay. + + "He carried the boy like a babe through the rain, + The death-pouring torrent of grape-shot and shell; + And he walked at a foot's pace because of the pain, + Laid his burden down gently, smiled once, and then fell." + + "Did he live?" "No; he died: but he rescued the boy. + Such a death is more noble than life (so they said). + He had streams of fair hair, and a face full of joy, + And his name"--"Speak it not! 'Tis my son! He is dead! + + "Oh, dig him a grave by the red rowan tree, + Where the spring moss grows softer than fringes of foam! + And lay his bed smoothly, and leave room for me, + For I shall be ready before he comes home. + + "And carve on his tombstone a name and a wreath, + And a tale to touch hearts through the slow-spreading years-- + How he died his noble and beautiful death, + And his mother who longed for him, died of her tears. + + "But what is this face shining in at the door, + With its old smile of peace, and its flow of fair hair? + Are you come, blessed ghost, from the far heavenly shore? + Do not go back alone--let me follow you there!" + + "Oh! clasp me, dear mother. I come to remain; + I come to your heart, and God answers your prayer. + Your son is alive from the hosts of the slain, + And the Cross of our Queen on his breast glitters fair!" + + + + +THE ALMA. + +(September 20, 1854.) +BY RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. + + +Though till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be, +Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea: +Yesterday, unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar known-- +Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown. +In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a deathless name, +And a star for ever shining in the firmament of fame. +Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower and shrine, +Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like thine, +Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head, +Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of the dead. +Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say-- +When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away-- +"He has pass'd from, us, the loved one; but he sleeps with them that + died +By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side." +Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are cold as those +Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds repose, +Thou on England's banners blazon'd with the famous fields of old, +Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold; +And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done, +By that Twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won. +Oh! thou river! dear for ever to the gallant, to the free-- +Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea. + + + + +AFTER ALMA, + +(September 20, 1854.) + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + Our old War-banners on the wind + Were waving merrily o'er them; + The hope of half the world behind-- + The sullen Foe before them! + They trod their march of battle, bold + As death-devoted freemen; + Like those Three Hundred Greeks of old, + Or Rome's immortal Three Men. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow. + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + With towering heart and lightsome feet + They went to their high places; + The fiery valour at white heat + Was kindled in their faces! + Magnificent in battle-robe, + And radiant, as from star-lands, + That spirit shone which girds our globe + With glory, as with garlands! + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + They saw the Angel Iris o'er + Their deluge of grim fire; + And with their life's last tide they bore + The Ark of Freedom higher! + And grander 'tis i' the dash of death + To ride on battle's billows, + When Victory's kisses take the breath, + Than sink on balmiest pillows. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + Brave hearts, with noble feelings flushed; + In valour's ruddy riot + But yesterday! how are ye hushed + Beneath the smile of quiet! + For us they poured their blood like wine, + From life's ripe-gathered clusters; + And far through History's night shall shine + Their deeds with starriest lustres. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + We laid them not in churchyard home, + Beneath our darling daisies: + Where to their grave-mounds Love might come, + And sit and sing their praises. + But soothly sweet shall be their rest + Where Victory's hands have crowned them + To Earth our Mother's bosom pressed, + And Heaven's arms around them. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + Yes, there they lie 'neath Alma's sod, + On pillows dark and gory-- + As brave a host as ever trod + Old England's path to glory. + With head to home and face to sky, + And feet the tyrant spurning, + So grand they look, so proud they lie, + We weep for glorious yearning. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + They in life's outer circle sleep, + As each in death stood sentry! + And like our England's dead still keep + Their watch for kin and country. + Up Alma, in their red footfalls, + Comes Freedom's dawn victorious, + Such graves are courts to festal halls! + They banquet with the Glorious. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + Our Chiefs who matched the men of yore, + And bore our shield's great burden, + The nameless Heroes of the Poor, + They all shall have their guerdon. + In silent eloquence, each life + The Earth holds up to heaven, + And Britain gives for child and wife + As those brave hearts have given. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + The Spirits of our Fathers still + Stand up in battle by us, + And, in our need, on Alma hill, + The Lord of Hosts was nigh us. + Let Joy or Sorrow brim our cup, + 'Tis an exultant story, + How England's Chosen Ones went up + Red Alma's hill to glory. + Ah, Victory! joyful Victory! + Like Love, thou bringest sorrow; + But, O! for such an hour with thee, + Who would not die to-morrow? + + + + +BALACLAVA. + +(October 25, 1854.) +_THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE_. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + Half a league, half a league, + Half a league onward, + All in the valley of Death + Rode the six hundred. + "Forward, the Light Brigade, + Charge for the guns!" he said. + Into the valley of Death + Rode the six hundred. + + "Forward, the Light Brigade!" + Was there a man dismay'd? + Not tho' the soldier knew + Someone had blunder'd. + Theirs not to make reply, + Theirs not to reason why, + Theirs but to do and die. + Into the valley of Death + Rode the six hundred. + + Cannon to right of them, + Cannon to left of them, + Cannon in front of them + Volley'd and thunder'd; + Stormed at with shot and shell, + Boldly they rode and well, + Into the jaws of Death, + Into the mouth of Hell + Rode the six hundred. + + Flash'd all their sabres bare, + Flash'd as they turned in air, + Sabring the gunners there, + Charging an army, while + All the world wonder'd; + Plunged in the battery smoke + Right thro' the line they broke, + Cossack and Russian + Reel'd from the sabre stroke + Shatter'd and sunder'd. + Then they rode back, but not-- + Not the six hundred. + + Cannon to right of them, + Cannon to left of them, + Cannon behind them + Volley'd and thunder'd; + Storm'd at with shot and shell, + While horse and hero fell, + They that had fought so well + Came thro' the jaws of Death + Back from the mouth of Hell, + All that was left of them, + Left of six hundred. + + When can their glory fade? + O, the wild charge they made. + All the world wonder'd. + Honour the charge they made! + Honour the Light Brigade, + Noble six hundred! + + + + +AFTER BALACLAVA, + +BY JAMES WILLIAMS. + + + The fierce wild charge was over; back to old England's shore + Were borne her gallant troopers, who ne'er would battle more; + In hospital at Chatham, by Medway's banks they lay, + Dragoon, hussar, and lancer, survivors of the fray. + + One day there came a message--'twas like a golden ray-- + "Victoria, Britain's noble Queen, will visit you to-day;" + It lighted up each visage, it acted like a spell, + On Britain's wounded heroes, who'd fought for her so well. + + One soldier lay among them, fast fading was his life, + A lancer from the border, from the good old county Fife; + Already was death's icy grasp upon his honest brow, + When through the ward was passed the word, "The Queen is coming + now!" + + The dying Scottish laddie, with hand raised to his head, + Saluted Britain's Sovereign, and with an effort said-- + "And may it please your Majesty, I'm noo aboot to dee, + I'd like to rest wi' mither, beneath the auld raugh tree. + + "But weel I ken, your Majesty, it canna, mauna be, + Yet, God be thanked, I might hae slept wi' ithers o'er the sea, + 'Neath Balaclava's crimsoned sward, where many a comrade fell, + But now I'll rest on Medway's bank, in sound of Christian bell." + + She held a bouquet in her hand, and from it then she chose + For the dying soldier laddie a lovely snow-white rose; + And when the lad they buried, clasped in his hand was seen + The simple little snowy flower, the gift of Britain's Queen. + + + + +INKERMAN. + +(November 5, 1854.) + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + +'Twas midnight ere our guns' loud laugh at their wild work did cease, +And by the smouldering fires of war we lit the pipe of peace. +At four a burst of bells went up through Night's cathedral dark, +It seemed so like our Sabbath chimes, we could but wake, and hark! +So like the bells that call to prayer in the dear land far away; +Their music floated on the air, and kissed us--to betray. +Our camp lay on the rainy hill, all silent as a cloud, +Its very heart of life stood still i' the mist that brought its + shroud; +For Death was walking in the dark, and smiled his smile to see +How all was ranged and ready for a sumptuous jubilee. + +O wily are the Russians, and they came up through the mirk-- +Their feet all shod for silence in the best blood of the Turk! +While in its banks our fiery tide of War serenely slept, +Their subtle serpentry unrolled, and up the hill-side crept. +In the Ruins of the Valley do the birds of carnage stir? +A creaking in the gloom like wheels! feet trample--bullets whir-- +By God! the Foe is on us! Now the bugles with a start +Thrill--like the cry of a wronged queen--to the red roots of the + heart; +And long and loud the wild war-drums with throbbing triumph roll-- +A sound to set the blood on fire, and warm the shivering soul. + +The war-worn and the weary leaped up ready, fresh, and +true! No weak blood curdled white i' the face, no valour turned to + dew. +Majestic as a God defied, arose our little host-- +All for the peak of peril pushed--each for the fieriest post! +Thorough mist, and thorough mire, and o'er the hill brow scowling + grim, +As is the frown of Slaughter when he dreams his dreadful dream. +No sun! but none is needed,--men can feel their way to fight, +The lust of battle in their face--eyes filled with fiery light; +And long ere dawn was red in heaven, upon the dark earth lay +The prophesying morning-red of a great and glorious day. + +As bridegroom leaves his wedded bride in gentle slumbers sealed, +Our England slumbered in the West, when her warriors went afield. +We thought of her, and swore that day to strike immortal blows, +As all along our leagured line the roar of battle rose. +Her banners waved like blessing hands, and we felt it was the hour +For a glorious grip till fingers met in the throat of Russian power, +And at a bound, and with a sound that madly cried to kill, +The lion of Old England leapt in lightnings from the hill. +And there he stood superb, through all that Sabbath of the Sword, +And there he slew, with a terrible scorn, his hunters, horde on + horde. + +All Hell seemed bursting on us, as the yelling legions came-- +The cannon's tongues of quick red fire licked all the hills aflame! +Mad whistling shell, wild sneering shot, with devilish glee went + past, +Like fiendish feet and laughter hurrying down the battle-blast; +And through the air, and round the hills, there ran a wrack sublime +As though Eternity were crashing on the shores of Time. +On bayonets and swords the smile of conscious victory shone, +As down to death we dashed the Rebels plucking at our Throne. +On, on they came with face of flame, and storm of shot and shell-- +Up! up! like heaven-sealers, and we hurled them back to Hell. + +Like the old sea, white-lipped with rage, they dash and foam despair +On ranks of rock, ah! what a prize for the wrecker death was there! +But as 'twere River Pleasaunce, did our fellows take that flood, +A royal throbbing in the pulse that beat voluptuous blood: +The Guards went down to the fight in gray that's growing gory red-- +See! save them, they're surrounded! leap your ramparts of the dead, +And back the desperate battle, for there is but one short stride +Between the Russ and victory! One more tug, you true and tried-- +The Red-Caps crest the hill! with bloody spur, ride, Bosquet, ride! +Down like a flood from Etna foams their valour's burning tide. + +Now, God for Merrie England cry! Hurrah for France the Grand! +We charge the foe together, all abreast, and hand to hand! +He caught a shadowy glimpse across the smoke of Alma's fray +Of the Destroying Angel that shall blast his strength to-day. +We shout and charge together, and again, again, again +Our plunging battle tears its path, and paves it with the slain. +Hurrah! the mighty host doth melt before our fervent heat; +Against our side its breaking heart doth faint and fainter beat. +And O, but 'tis a gallant show, and a merry march, as thus +We sound into the glorious goal with shouts victorious! + +From morn till night we fought our fight, and at the set of sun +Stood conquerors on Inkerman--our Soldiers' Battle won. +That morn their legions stood like corn in its pomp of golden grain! +That night the ruddy sheaves were reaped upon the misty plain! +We cut them down by thunder-strokes, and piled the shocks of slain: +The hill-side like a vintage ran, and reeled Death's harvest-wain. +We had hungry hundreds gone to sup in Paradise that night, +And robes of Immortality our ragged braves bedight! +They fell in boyhood's comely bloom, and bravery's lusty pride; +But they made their bed o' the foemen dead, ere they lay down and + died. + +We gathered round the tent-fire in the evening cold and gray, +And thought of those who ranked with us in battle's rough array, +Our comrades of the morn who came no more from that fell fray! +The salt tears wrung out in the gloom of green dells far away-- +The eyes of lurking Death that in Life's crimson bubbles play-- +The stern white faces of the dead that on the dark ground lay +Like statues of old heroes, cut in precious human clay-- +Some with a smile as life had stopped to music proudly gay-- +The household gods of many a heart all dark and dumb to-day! +And hard hot eyes grew ripe for tears, and hearts sank down to pray. + +From alien lands, and dungeon-grates, how eyes will strain to mark +This waving Sword of Freedom burn and beckon through the dark! +The martyrs stir in their red graves, the rusted armour rings +Adown the long aisles of the dead, where lie the warrior kings. +To the proud Mother England came the radiant victory +With laurels red, and a bitter cup like some last agony. +She took the cup, she drank it up, she raised her laurelled brow: +Her sorrow seemed like solemn joy, she looked so noble now. +The dim divine of distance died--the purpled past grew wan, +As came that crowning glory o'er the heights of Inkerman. + + + + + +KILLED IN ACTION. + +BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS. + + + For him no words, the best were only weak + And could not say what love desires to speak; + For him no praise, no prizes did he ask, + To serve his Queen was a sufficient task; + For him no show, no idle tears be shed, + No fading laurels on that lowly head. + He fought for England, and for her he fell + And did his duty then--and it is well. + + He deemed it but a little act, to give + His life and all, if Freedom thus might live; + And though he found the shock of battle rough, + He might not flinch--the glory was enough. + What if he broke, who would not tamely bend? + He strove for us, and craved no other end. + Nor should we ring too long his dying knell, + He has a soldier's crown--and it is well. + + For him the tomb that is a nation's heart, + And doth endure when crumbling stones depart; + To him the honour, like the brave to stand, + With those who were in danger our right hand; + For him no empty epitaph of dust, + But that he kept for England safe her trust. + He is not dead; but, over war's loud swell, + Heard he his Captain's call--and it is well. + + + + +AT THE BREACH. + +BY SARAH WILLIAMS. + + + All over for me + The struggle and possible glory! + All swept past, + In the rush of my own brigade. + Will charges instead, + And fills up my place in the story; + Well,--'tis well, + By the merry old games we played. + +There's a fellow asleep, the lout! in the shade of the hillock + yonder; +What a dog it must be to drowse in the midst of a time like this! +Why, the horses might neigh contempt at him; what is he like, I + wonder? +If the smoke would but clear away, I have strength in me yet to hiss. + + Will, comrade and friend, + We parted in hurry of battle; + All I heard + Was your sonorous, "Up, my men!" + Soon conquering paeans + Shall cover the cannonade's rattle; + Then, home bells, + Will you think of me sometimes, then? + +How that rascal enjoys his snooze! Would he wake to the touch of + powder? +A reveille of broken bones, or a prick of a sword might do. +"Hai, man! the general wants you;" if I could but for once call + louder: +There is something infectious here, for my eyelids are dropping too. + + Will, can you recall + The time we were lost on the Bright Down? + Coming home late in the day, + As Susie was kneeling to pray, + Little blue eyes and white night-gown, + Saying, "Our Father, who art,-- + Art what?" so she stayed with a start. + "In Heaven," your mother said softly. + And Susie sighed, "So far away!"-- + 'Tis nearer, Will, now, to us all. + +It is strange how that fellow sleeps! stranger still that his sleep + should haunt me; +If I could but command his face, to make sure of the lesser ill: +I will crawl to his side and see, for what should there be to daunt + me? +What there! what there! Holy Father in Heaven, not Will! + + Will, dead Will! + Lying here, I could not feel you! + Will, brave Will! + Oh, alas, for the noble end! + Will, dear Will! + Since no love nor remorse could heal you, + Will, good Will! + Let me die on your breast, old friend! + + + + +SANTA FILOMENA. + +(FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.) + +BY H. W. LONGFELLOW. + +[It was the practice of Florence Nightingale to pay a last visit to +the wards of the military hospital in the Crimea after the doctors +and the other nurses had retired for the night. Bearing a light in +her hand she passed from bed to bed and from ward to ward, until she +became known as "the Lady with the Lamp."] + + + Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, + Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, + Our hearts, in glad surprise, + To higher levels rise. + + The tidal wave of deeper souls + Into our inmost being rolls, + And lifts us unawares, + Out of all meaner cares. + + Honour to those whose words or deeds + Thus help us in our daily needs, + And by their overflow, + Raise us from what is low! + + Thus thought I, as by night I read + Of the great army of the dead, + The trenches cold and damp, + The starved and frozen camp,-- + + The wounded from the battle-plain, + In dreary hospitals of pain, + The cheerless corridors, + The cold and stony floors. + + Lo! in that house of misery + A lady with a lamp I see + Pass through the glimmering gloom + And flit from room to room. + + And slow as in a dream of bliss + The speechless sufferer turns to kiss + Her shadow, as it falls + Upon the darkening walls. + + As if a door in heaven should be + Opened and then closed suddenly, + The vision came and went, + The light shone and was spent. + + On England's annals, through the long + Hereafter of her speech and song, + That light its rays shall cast + From portals of the past. + + A lady with a lamp shall stand + In the great history of the land, + A noble type of good, + Heroic womanhood. + + Nor even shall be wanting here + The palm, the lily, and the spear, + The symbols that of yore + St. Filomena bore. + + + + +THE LITTLE HATCHET STORY. + +WITH OCCASIONAL QUESTIONS BY A FIVE-YEAR-OLD HEARER. + +BY BURDETTE. + + +Mrs. Caruthers had left her infant prodigy, Clarence, in our care for +a little while that she might not be distracted by his innocent +prattle while selecting the material for a new gown. + +He was a bright, intelligent boy, of five summers, with a commendable +thirst for knowledge, and a praiseworthy desire to understand what +was said to him. + +We had described many deep and mysterious things to him, and to +escape the possibility of still more puzzling questions, offered to +tell him a story--_the_ story--the story of George Washington and his +little hatchet. After a few necessary preliminaries we proceeded. + +"Well, one day, George's father--" + +"George who?" asked Clarence. + +"George Washington. He was a little boy, then, just like you. One day +his father--" + +"Whose father?" demanded Clarence, with an encouraging expression of +interest. + +"George Washington's; this great man we are telling you of. One day +George Washington's father gave him a little hatchet for a--" + +"Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted with a gleam +of bewitching intelligence. Most men would have got mad, or betrayed +signs of impatience, but we didn't. We know how to talk to children. +So we went on. + +"George Washington." + +"Who gave him the little hatchet?" + +"His father. And his father--" + +"Whose father?" + +"George Washington's." + +"Oh!" + +"Yes, George Washington's. And his father told him--" + +"Told who?" + +"Told George." + +"Oh, yes, George." + +And we went on, just as patient and as pleasant as you could imagine. +We took up the story right where the boy interrupted, for we could +see he was just crazy to hear the end of it. We said: + +"And he was told--" + +"George told him?" queried Clarence. + +"No, his father told George--" + +"Oh!" + +"Yes, told him he must be careful with the hatchet--" + +"Who must be careful?" + +"George must." + +"Oh!" + +"Yes, must be careful with his hatchet--" + +"What hatchet?" + +"Why, George's." + +"Oh!" + +"Careful with the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop it in +the cistern, or leave it out of doors all night. So George went +around cutting everything he could reach with his hatchet. At last he +came to a splendid apple tree, his father's favourite apple tree, and +cut it down--" + +"Who cut it down?" + +"George did." + +"Oh!" + +"But his father came home and saw it the first thing, and--" + +"Saw the hatchet?" + +"No, saw the apple tree. And he said, 'Who has cut down my favourite +apple tree?'" + +"What apple tree?" + +"George's father's. And everybody said they didn't know anything +about it, and--" + +"Anything about what?" + +"The apple tree." + +"Oh!" + +"And George came up and heard them talking about it--" + +"Heard who talking about it?" + +"Heard his father and the men." + +"What were they talking about?" + +"About the apple tree." + +"What apple tree?" + +"The favourite tree that George had cut down." + +"George who?" + +"George Washington." + +"Oh!" + +"So George came up and heard them talking about it, and he--" + +"What did he cut it down for?" + +"Just to try his little hatchet." + +"Whose little hatchet?" + +"Why, his own, the one his father gave him--" + +"Gave who?" + +"Why, George Washington." + +"Oh!" + +"So George came up, and he said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I--" + +"Who couldn't tell a lie?" + +"George couldn't." + +"Oh, George; oh, yes." + +"It was I who cut down your apple tree; I did--" + +"His father did?" + +"No, no; it was George said this." + +"Said he cut his father?" + +"No, no, no; said he cut down his apple tree." + +"George's apple tree?" + +"No, no; his father's." + +"Oh!" + +"He said--" + +"His father said?" + +"No, no, no; George said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I did it with +my little hatchet.' And his father said, 'Noble boy, I would rather +lose a thousand apple trees than have you tell a lie.'" + +"George did?" + +"No, his father said that." + +"Said he'd rather have a thousand apple trees?" + +"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple trees than--" + +"Said he'd rather George would?" + +"No, said he'd rather he would than have him lie." + +"Oh, George would rather have his father lie?" + +We are patient and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers hadn't +come and got her prodigy at that critical juncture, we don't believe +all Burlington could have pulled us out of the snarl. + +And as Clarence Alencon de Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the +stairs, we heard him telling his ma about a boy who had a father +named George, and he told him to cut down an apple tree, and he said +he'd rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple tree. + + + + +THE LOSS OF THE "BIRKENHEAD." + +(February 25, 1852.) + +SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE. + +[The _Birkenhead_ was lost off the coast of Africa by striking on a +hidden rock, when the soldiers on board sacrificed themselves, in +order that the boats might be left free for the women and children.] + + + Right on our flank the sun was dropping down; + The deep sea heaved around in bright repose; + When, like the wild shriek from some captured town, + A cry of women rose. + + The stout ship _Birkenhead_ lay hard and fast, + Caught without hope upon a hidden rock; + Her timbers thrilled as nerves, when thro' them passed + The spirit of that shock. + + And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks + In danger's hour, before the rush of steel, + Drifted away, disorderly, the planks + From underneath her keel. + + So calm the air--so calm and still the flood, + That low down in its blue translucent glass + We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood, + Pass slowly, then repass. + + They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey! + The sea turned one clear smile! Like things asleep + Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay, + As quiet as the deep. + + Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck, + Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, + Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck + Form'd us in line to die. + + To die!--'twas hard, while the sleek ocean glow'd + Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers: + "_All to the Boats!_" cried one--he was, thank God, + No officer of ours. + + Our English hearts beat true--we would not stir: + That base appeal we heard, but heeded not: + On land, on sea, we had our Colours, sir, + To keep without a spot. + + They shall not say in England, that we fought + With shameful strength, unhonour'd life to seek; + Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought + By trampling down the weak. + + So we made the women with their children go, + The oars ply back again, and yet again; + Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low, + Still, under steadfast men. + + ----What follows, why recall?--The brave who died, + Died without flinching in the bloody surf, + They sleep as well beneath that purple tide + As others under turf. + + They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave, + Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again, + Joint heirs with Christ, because they bled to save + His weak ones, not in vain. + + If that day's work no clasp or medal mark, + If each proud heart no cross of bronze may press, + Nor cannon thunder loud from Tower or Park, + This feel we none the less: + + That those whom God's high grace there saved from ill, + Those also left His martyrs in the bay, + Though not by siege, though not in battle, still + Full well had earned their pay. + + + + +ELIHU. + +BY ALICE CAREY. + + + "O sailor, tell me, tell me true, + Is my little lad--my Elihu-- + A-sailing in your ship?" + The sailor's eyes were dimmed with dew. + "Your little lad? Your Elihu?" + He said with trembling lip; + "What little lad--what ship?" + + What little lad?--as if there could be + Another such a one as he! + "What little lad, do you say? + Why, Elihu, that took to the sea + The moment I put him off my knee. + It was just the other day + The _Grey Swan_ sailed away." + + The other day? The sailor's eyes + Stood wide open with surprise. + "The other day?--the _Swan?_" + His heart began in his throat to rise. + "Ay, ay, sir, here in the cupboard lies + The jacket he had on." + "And so your lad is gone!" + + "Gone with the _Swan_." "And did she stand + With her anchor clutching hold of the sand + For a month, and never stir?" + "Why, to be sure! I've seen from the land, + Like a lover kissing his lady's hand, + The wild sea kissing her-- + A sight to remember, sir." + + "But, my good mother, do you know, + All this was twenty years ago? + I stood on the _Grey Swan's_ deck, + And to that lad I saw you throw-- + Taking it off, as it might be so-- + The kerchief from your neck;" + "Ay, and he'll bring it back." + + "And did the little lawless lad, + That has made you sick and made you sad, + Sail with the _Grey Swan's_ crew?" + "Lawless! the man is going mad; + The best boy ever mother had; + Be sure, he sailed with the crew-- + What would you have him do?" + + "And he has never written line, + Nor sent you word, nor made you sign, + To say he was alive?" + "Hold--if 'twas wrong, the wrong is mine; + Besides, he may be in the brine; + And could he write from the grave? + Tut, man! what would you have?" + + "Gone twenty years! a long, long cruise; + 'Twas wicked thus your love to abuse; + But if the lad still live, + And come back home, think you you can + Forgive him?" "Miserable man! + You're mad as the sea; you rave-- + What have I to forgive?" + + The sailor twitched his shirt so blue, + And from within his bosom drew + The kerchief. She was wild: + "My God!--my Father!--is it true? + My little lad--my Elihu? + And is it?--is it?--is it you? + My blessed boy--my child-- + My dead--my living child!" + + + + +THE LAST OF THE "EURYDICE." + +BY SIR NOEL PATON. + +(Sunday, March 24, 1878.) + + + The training ship _Eurydice_-- + As tight a craft, I ween, + As ever bore brave men who loved + Their country and their queen-- + Built when a ship, sir, _was_ a ship, + And not a steam-machine. + + Six months or more she had been out, + Cruising the Indian Sea; + And now, with all her canvas bent-- + A fresh breeze blowing free-- + Up Channel in her pride she came, + The brave _Eurydice_. + + On Saturday it was we saw + The English cliffs appear, + And fore and aft from man and boy + Uprang one mighty cheer; + While many a rough-and-ready hand + Dashed off the gathering tear. + + We saw the heads of Dorset rise + Fair in the Sabbath sun. + We marked each hamlet gleaming white, + The church spires one by one. + We thought we heard the church bells ring + To hail our voyage done! + + "Only an hour from Spithead, lads: + Only an hour from home!" + So sang the captain's cheery voice + As we spurned the ebbing foam; + And each young sea-dog's heart sang back, + "Only an hour from home!" + + No warning ripple crisped the wave, + To tell of danger nigh; + Nor looming rack, nor driving scud; + From out a smiling sky, + With sound as of the tramp of doom, + The squall broke suddenly, + + A hurricane of wind and snow + From off the Shanklin shore. + It caught us in its blinding whirl + One instant, and no more;-- + For ere we dreamt of trouble near, + All earthly hope was o'er. + + No time to shorten sail--no time + To change the vessel's course; + The storm had caught her crowded masts + With swift, resistless force. + Only one shrill, despairing cry + Rose o'er the tumult hoarse, + + And broadside the great ship went down + Amid the swirling foam; + And with her nigh four hundred men + Went down in sight of home + (Fletcher and I alone were saved) + Only an hour from home! + + + + +THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. + +BY H.W. LONGFELLOW. + +(September 13, 1852.) + + + A mist was driving down the British Channel, + The day was just begun, + And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, + Streamed the red autumn sun. + + It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, + And the white sails of ships; + And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon + Hailed it with feverish lips. + + Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe, and Dover, + Were all alert that day, + To see the French war-steamers speeding over, + When the fog cleared away. + + Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, + Their cannon through the night, + Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, + The sea-coast opposite. + + And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations + On every citadel; + Each answering each, with morning salutations, + That all was well. + + And down the coast, all taking up the burden, + Replied the distant forts, + As if to summon from his sleep the Warden + And Lord of the Cinque Ports. + + Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, + No drum-beat from the wall, + No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure + Awaken with its call! + + No more, surveying with an eye impartial + The long line of the coast, + Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field-Marshal + Be seen upon his post! + + For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, + In sombre harness mailed, + Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, + The rampart wall has scaled. + + He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, + The dark and silent room, + And as he entered, darker grew and deeper + The silence and the gloom. + + He did not pause to parley or dissemble, + But smote the Warden hoar; + Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble, + And groan from shore to shore. + + Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, + The sun rose bright o'erhead: + Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated + That a great man was dead. + + + + +ENGLAND'S DEAD. + +BY FELICIA HEMANS. + + + Son of the ocean isle! + Where sleep your mighty dead? + Show me what high and stately pile + Is reared o'er Glory's bed. + + Go, stranger! track the deep, + Free, free, the white sail spread! + Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, + Where rest not England's dead. + + On Egypt's burning plains, + By the pyramid o'erswayed, + With fearful power the noon-day reigns, + And the palm-trees yield no shade. + + But let the angry sun + From Heaven look fiercely red, + Unfelt by those whose task is done! + _There_ slumber England's dead. + + The hurricane hath might + Along the Indian shore, + And far, by Ganges' banks at night, + Is heard the tiger's roar. + + But let the sound roll on! + It hath no tone of dread + For those that from their toils are gone;-- + _There_ slumber England's dead. + + Loud rush the torrent-floods + The western wilds among, + And free, in green Columbia's woods, + The hunter's bow is strung. + + But let the floods rush on! + Let the arrow's flight be sped! + Why should _they_ reck whose task is done? + _There_ slumber England's dead. + + The mountain-storms rise high + In the snowy Pyrenees, + And toss the pine-boughs through the sky, + Like rose-leaves on the breeze. + + But let the storms rage on! + Let the forest-wreaths be shed: + For the Roncesvalles' field is won,-- + _There_ slumber England's dead. + + On the frozen deep's repose + 'Tis a dark and dreadful hour + When round the ship the ice-fields close, + And the northern-night-clouds lour; + + But let the ice drift on! + Let the cold-blue desert spread! + _Their_ course with mast and flag is done, + Even _there_ sleep England's dead. + + The warlike of the isles, + The men of field and wave! + Are not the rocks their funeral piles? + The seas and shores their grave? + + Go, stranger! track the deep, + Free, free the white sail spread! + Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, + Where rest not England's dead. + + + + +MEHRAB KHAN. + +BY SIR F.H. DOYLE. + +["Mehrab Khan died, as he said he would, sword in hand, at the door +of his own Zenana."--_Capture of Kelat_.] + +(1839.) + + + With all his fearless chiefs around + The Moslem leader stood forlorn, + And heard at intervals the sound + Of drums athwart the desert borne. + To him a sign of fate, they told + That Britain in her wrath was nigh, + And his great heart its powers unrolled + In steadiness of will to die. + + "Ye come, in your mechanic force, + A soulless mass of strength and skill-- + Ye come, resistless in your course, + What matters it?--'Tis but to kill. + A serpent in the bath, a gust + Of venomed breezes through the door, + Have power to give us back to dust-- + Has all your grasping empire more? + + "Your thousand ships upon the sea, + Your guns and bristling squares by land, + Are means of death--and so may be + A dagger in a damsel's hand. + Put forth the might you boast, and try + If it can shake my seated will; + By knowing when and how to die, + I can escape, and scorn you still. + + "The noble heart, as from a tower, + Looks down on life that wears a stain; + He lives too long who lives an hour + Beneath the clanking of a chain. + I breathe my spirit on my sword, + I leave a name to honour known, + And perish, to the last the lord + Of all that man can call his own." + + Such was the mountain leader's speech; + Say ye, who tell the bloody tale, + When havoc smote the howling breach, + Then did the noble savage quail? + No--when through dust, and steel, and flame, + Hot streams of blood, and smothering smoke, + True as an arrow to its aim, + The meteor-flag of England broke; + + And volley after volley threw + A storm of ruin, crushing all, + Still cheering on a faithful few, + He would not yield his father's hall. + At his yet unpolluted door + He stood, a lion-hearted man, + And died, A FREEMAN STILL, before + The merchant thieves of Frangistan. + + + + +THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR. + +BY SIR F.H. DOYLE. + +[Told to the author by the late Sir Charles James Napier.] + + + Eleven men of England + A breast-work charged in vain; + Eleven men of England + Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain. + Slain; but of foes that guarded + Their rock-built fortress well, + Some twenty had been mastered, + When the last soldier fell. + + Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way + Across the sand-waves of the desert sea, + Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay, + Lord of their wild Truckee. + + These missed the glen to which their steps were bent, + Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard, + And, in that glorious error, calmly went + To death without a word. + + The robber chief mused deeply, + Above those daring dead, + "Bring here," at length he shouted, + "Bring quick, the battle thread. + Let Eblis blast for ever + Their souls, if Allah will: + But we must keep unbroken + The old rules of the Hill. + + "Before the Ghiznee tiger + Leapt forth to burn and slay; + Before the holy Prophet + Taught our grim tribes to pray; + Before Secunder's lances + Pierced through each Indian glen; + The mountain laws of honour + Were framed for fearless men. + + "Still when a chief dies bravely, + We bind with green one wrist-- + Green for the brave, for heroes + One crimson thread we twist. + Say ye, oh gallant Hillmen, + For these, whose life has fled, + Which is the fitting colour, + The green one, or the red?" + + "Our brethren, laid in honoured graves, may wear + Their green reward," each noble savage said; + "To these, whom hawks and hungry wolves shall tear, + Who dares deny the red?" + + Thus conquering hate, and steadfast to the right, + Fresh from the heart that haughty verdict came; + Beneath a waning moon, each spectral height + Rolled back its loud acclaim. + + Once more the chief gazed keenly + Down on those daring dead; + From his good sword their heart's blood + Crept to that crimson thread. + Once more he cried, "The judgment, + Good friends, is wise and true, + But though the red be given, + Have we not more to do? + + "These were not stirred by anger, + Nor yet by lust made bold; + Renown they thought above them, + Nor did they look for gold. + To them their leader's signal + Was as the voice of God: + Unmoved, and uncomplaining, + The path it showed they trod. + + "As, without sound or struggle, + The stars unhurrying march, + Where Allah's finger guides them, + Through yonder purple arch. + These Franks, sublimely silent, + Without a quickened breath, + Went, in the strength of duty, + Straight to their goal of death. + + "If I were now to ask you + To name our bravest man, + Ye all at once would answer, + They called him Mehrab Khan. + He sleeps among his fathers, + Dear to our native land, + With the bright mark he bled for + Firm round his faithful hand. + + "The songs they sing of Roostrum + Fill all the past with light; + If truth be in their music, + He was a noble knight. + But were those heroes living, + And strong for battle still, + Would Mehrab Khan or Roostrum + Have climbed, like these, the Hill?" + + And they replied, "Though Mehrab Khan was brave + As chief, he chose himself what risks to run; + Prince Roostrum lied, his forfeit life to save, + Which these had never done." + + "Enough!" he shouted fiercely; + "Doomed though they be to hell, + Bind fast the crimson trophy + Round _both_ wrists--bind it well. + Who knows but that great Allah + May grudge such matchless men, + With none so decked in heaven, + To the fiends' flaming den?" + + Then all those gallant robbers + Shouted a stern "Amen!". + They raised the slaughtered sergeant, + They raised his mangled ten. + And when we found their bodies + Left bleaching in the wind, + Around _both_ wrists in glory + That crimson thread was twined. + + Then Napier's knightly heart, touched to the core, + Rung like an echo to that knightly deed; + He bade its memory live for evermore, + That those who run may read. + + + + +THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS. + +BY SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE. + +["Some Sikhs and a private of the Buffs having remained behind with +the grog-carts, fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next +morning they were brought before the authorities, and commanded to +perform the _Kotow_. The Sikhs obeyed, but Moyse, the English +soldier, declaring that he would not prostrate himself before any +Chinaman alive, was immediately knocked upon the head, and his body +thrown on a dunghill."--_Times_.] + + + _Last night_ among his fellow roughs, + He jested, quaffed, and swore; + A drunken private of the Buffs + Who never looked before. + _To-day_ beneath the foeman's frown + He stands in Elgin's place + Ambassador from Britain's crown, + And type of all her race. + + Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, + Bewildered, and alone, + A heart with English instinct fraught, + He yet can call his own. + Ay, tear his body limb from limb, + Bring cord or axe or flame; + He only knows that not through him + Shall England come to shame. + + For Kentish hop-fields round him seem'd + Like dreams, to come and go; + Bright leagues of cherry blossom gleam'd + One sheet of living snow; + The smoke above his father's door, + In grey, soft eddyings hung: + Must he then watch it rise no more + Doom'd by himself, so young? + + Yes, honour calls!--with strength like steel + He put the vision by. + Let dusky Indians whine and kneel; + An English lad must die. + And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, + With knee to man unbent, + Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, + To his red grave he went. + + Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed; + Vain, those all-shattering guns; + Unless proud England keep, untamed, + The strong heart of her sons. + So, let his name through Europe ring-- + A man of mean estate, + Who died, as firm as Sparta's king, + Because his soul was great. + + + + +A FISHERMAN'S SONG. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + Hurrah! the craft is dashing + Athwart the briny sea; + Hurrah! the wind is lashing + The white sails merrily; + The sun is shining overhead, + The rough sea heaves below; + We sail with every canvas spread, + Yo ho! my lads, yo ho! + + Simple is our vocation, + We seek no hostile strife; + But 'mid the storm's vexation + We succour human life; + O, simple are our pleasures, + We crave no miser's hoard, + But haul the great sea's treasures + To spread a frugal board. + + But if at usurpation + We needs must strike a blow, + Our hardy avocation + Shall fit us for the foe; + Then let the despot's strength compete + Upon the open sea, + And on the proudest of his fleet + Our flag shall flutter free. + + + + +THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. + +BY LORD BYRON. + + + Stop!--for thy tread is on an Empire's dust! + An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! + Is the spot marked with no colossal bust? + Nor column trophied for triumphal show? + None: but the moral's truth tells simpler so. + As the ground was before, thus let it be; + How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! + And is this all the world has gained by thee, + Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory?... + + There was a sound of revelry by night, + And Belgium's capital had gathered then + Her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright + The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; + A thousand hearts beat happily; and when + Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, + Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, + And all went merry as a marriage bell;-- + But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! + + Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind + Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: + On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; + No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet + To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-- + But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, + As if the clouds its echo would repeat; + And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! + Arm! arm! it is! it is!--the cannon's opening roar! + + Within a window'd niche of that high hall + Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear + That sound the first amidst the festival, + And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; + And when they smiled because he deemed it near, + His heart more truly knew that peal too well + Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, + And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; + He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell! + + Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, + And gathering tears and tremblings of distress, + And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago + Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; + And there were sudden partings; such as press + The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs + Which ne'er might be repeated! Who would guess + If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, + Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? + + And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, + The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, + Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, + And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; + And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar; + And near, the beat of the alarming drum + Roused up the soldier, ere the morning star: + While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, + Or whispering with white lips--"The foe! they come, they come!" + + And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose-- + The war note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills + Have heard--and heard too have her Saxon foes-- + How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, + Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills + Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers + With the fierce native daring, which instils + The stirring memory of a thousand years; + And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! + + And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, + Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass + Grieving--if aught inanimate e'er grieves-- + Over the unreturning brave--alas! + Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, + Which now beneath them, but above shall grow + In its next verdure; when this fiery mass + Of living valour, rolling on the foe, + And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low! + + Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, + Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay; + The midnight brought the signal sound of strife; + The morn the marshalling of arms; the day + Battle's magnificently stern array! + The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent, + The earth is covered thick with other clay, + Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, + Rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent! + + + + +THE LAY OF THE BRAVE CAMERON. + +JOHN STUART BLACKIE. + + + At Quatre Bras, when the fight ran high, + Stout Cameron stood with wakeful eye, + Eager to leap as a mettlesome hound, + Into the fray with a plunge and a bound, + But Wellington, lord of the cool command, + Held the reins with a steady hand, + Saying, "Cameron, wait, you'll soon have enough. + Give the Frenchmen a taste of your stuff, + When the Cameron men are wanted." + + Now hotter and hotter the battle grew, + With tramp and rattle, and wild halloo, + And the Frenchmen poured, like a fiery flood, + Right on the ditch where Cameron stood. + Then Wellington flashed from his steadfast stance + On his captain brave a lightning glance, + Saying, "Cameron, now have at them, boy, + Take care of the road to Charleroi, + Where the Cameron men are wanted." + + Brave Cameron shot like a shaft from a bow + Into the midst of the plunging foe, + And with him the lads whom he loved, like a torrent, + Sweeping the rocks in its foamy current; + And he fell the first in the fervid fray, + Where a deathful shot had shove its way, + But his men pushed on where the work was rough, + Giving the Frenchmen a taste of their stuff, + Where the Cameron men were wanted. + + 'Brave Cameron, then, front the battle's roar + His foster-brother stoutly bore, + His foster-brother with service true, + Back to the village of Waterloo. + And they laid him on the soft green sod, + And he breathed his spirit there to God, + But not till he heard the loud hurrah + Of victory billowed from Quatre Bras, + Where the Cameron men were wanted. + + By the road to Ghent they buried him then, + This noble chief of the Cameron men, + And not an eye was tearless seen + That day beside the alley, green: + Wellington wept--the iron man! + And from every eye in the Cameron clan + The big round drop in bitterness fell, + As with the pipes he loved so well + His funeral wail they chanted. + + And now he sleeps (for they bore him home, + When the war was done across the foam), + Beneath the shadow of Nevis Ben, + With his sires, the pride of the Cameron men. + Three thousand Highlandmen stood round, + As they laid him to rest in his native ground; + The Cameron brave, whose eye never quailed, + Whose heart never sank, and whose hand never failed, + Where a Cameron man was wanted. + + + + +A SONG FOR STOUT WORKERS. + +BY JOHN STUART BLACKIE. + + + Onward, brave men, onward go, + Place is none for rest below; + He who laggeth faints and fails. + He who presses on prevails! + + Monks may nurse their mouldy moods + Caged in musty solitudes; + Men beneath the breezy sky + March to conquer or to die! + + Work and live--this only charm + Warms the blood and nerves the arm, + As the stout pine stronger grows + By each gusty blast that blows. + + On high throne or lonely sod, + Fellow-workers we with God; + Then most like to Him when we + March through toil to victory. + + If there be who sob and sigh. + Let them sleep or let them die; + While we live we strain and strive, + Working most when most alive! + + Where the fairest blossom grew, + There the spade had most to do; + Hearts that bravely serve the Lord, + Like St. Paul, must wear the sword! + + Onward, brothers, onward go! + Face to face to find the foe! + Words are weak, and wishing fails, + But the well-aimed blow prevails! + + + + +AT THE BURIAL OF A VETERAN. + +"Hodie tibi, cras mihii." + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + Yours to-day and ours to-morrow, + Hither, comrade, hence to go; + Yours the joy and ours the sorrow, + Yours the weal and ours the woe. + + What the profit of the stronger? + Life is loss and death is gain; + Though we live a little longer, + Longer life is longer pain. + + Which the better for the weary-- + Longer travel? Longer rest? + Death is peace, and life is dreary: + He must die who would be blest. + + You have passed across the borders, + Death has led you safely home; + We are standing, waiting orders, + Ready for the word to come. + + Empty-handed, empty-hearted, + All we love have gone before, + And since they have all departed, + We are loveless evermore. + + Yours to-day and ours to-morrow, + Hither, comrade, hence to go; + Yours the joy and ours the sorrow, + Yours the weal and ours the woe. + + + + +NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. + +BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + + I love contemplating--apart + From all his homicidal glory-- + The traits that soften to our heart + Napoleon's story. + + 'Twas when his banners at Boulogne, + Armed in our island every freeman, + His navy chanced to capture one + Poor British seaman. + + They suffered him,--I know not how, + Unprisoned on the shore to roam; + And aye was bent his longing brow + On England's home. + + His eye, methinks, pursued the flight + Of birds to Britain, half-way over, + With envy--_they_ could reach the white + Dear cliffs of Dover. + + A stormy midnight watch, he thought, + Than this sojourn would have been dearer, + If but the storm his vessel brought + To England nearer. + + At last, when care had banished sleep, + He saw one morning, dreaming, doating, + An empty hogshead from the deep + Come shoreward floating. + + He hid it in a cave, and wrought + The livelong day, laborious, lurking, + Until he launched a tiny boat, + By mighty working. + + Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond + Description wretched: such a wherry, + Perhaps, ne'er ventured on a pond, + Or crossed a ferry. + + For ploughing in the salt-sea field, + It would have made the boldest shudder; + Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled,-- + No sail--no rudder. + + From neighbouring woods he interlaced + His sorry skiff with wattled willows; + And thus equipped he would have passed + The foaming billows. + + But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, + His little Argo sorely jeering. + Till tidings of him chanced to reach + Napoleon's hearing. + + With folded arms Napoleon stood, + Serene alike in peace and danger, + And, in his wonted attitude, + Addressed the stranger. + + "Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pass + On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned, + Thy heart with some sweet British lass + Must be impassioned." + + "I have no sweetheart," said the lad; + "But,--absent years from one another,-- + Great was the longing that I had + To see my mother." + + "And so thou shalt," Napoleon said, + "You've both my favour fairly won, + A noble mother must have bred + So brave a son." + + He gave the tar a piece of gold, + And, with a flag of truce, commanded + He should be shipped to England old, + And safely landed. + + Our sailor oft could scantly shift + To find a dinner, plain and hearty, + But never changed the coin and gift + Of Buonaparte. + + + + +THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. + +(January 16, 1809.) + +BY REV. CHARLES WOLFE. + + + Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, + As his corse to the rampant we hurried; + Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot + O'er the grave where our hero we buried. + + We buried him darkly at dead of night, + The sods with our bayonets turning, + By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, + And the lantern dimly burning. + + No useless coffin enclosed his breast, + Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; + But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, + With his martial cloak around him. + + Few and short were the prayers we said, + And we spoke not a word of sorrow; + But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, + And we bitterly thought of the morrow. + + We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed, + And smoothed down his lonely pillow, + That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head + And we far away on the billow! + + Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, + And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; + But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on, + In the grave where a Briton has laid him. + + But half of our weary task was done, + When the clock struck the hour for retiring, + And we heard the distant and random gun + That the foe was sullenly firing. + + Slowly and sadly we laid him down, + From the field of his fame fresh and gory; + We Carved not a line and we raised not a stone. + But left him alone in _his_ glory. + + + + +AT TRAFALGAR. + +(October 21, 1805.) + +_AN OLD MAN-O'-WARSMAN'S YARN_. + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + Ay, ay, good neighbours, I have seen + Him! sure as God's my life; + One of his chosen crew I've been, + Haven't I, old good wife? + God bless your dear eyes! didn't you vow + To marry me any weather, + If I came back with limbs enow + To keep my soul together? + + Brave as a lion was our Nel + And gentle as a lamb: + It warms my blood once more to tell + The tale--gray as I am-- + It makes the old life in me climb, + It sets my soul aswim; + I live twice over every time + That I can talk of him. + + You should have seen him as he trod + The deck, our joy, and pride; + You should have seen him, like a god + Of storm, his war-horse ride! + You should have seen him as he stood + Fighting for our good land, + With all the iron of soul and blood + Turned to a sword in hand. + + Our best beloved of all the brave + That ever for freedom fought; + And all his wonders of the wave + For Fatherland were wrought! + He was the manner of man to show + How victories may be won; + So swift you scarcely saw the blow; + You looked--the deed was done. + + He sailed his ships for work; he bore + His sword for battle-wear; + His creed was "Best man to the fore"; + And he was always there. + Up any peak of peril where + There was but room for one; + The only thing he did not dare + Was any death to shun. + + The Nelson touch his men he taught, + And his great stride to keep; + His faithful fellows round him fought + Ten thousand heroes deep. + With a red pride of life, and hot + For him, their blood ran free; + They "minded not the showers of shot + No more than peas," said he. + + Napoleon saw our Sea-king thwart + His landing on our Isle; + He gnashed his teeth, he gnawed his heart + At Nelson of the Nile, + Who set his fleet in flames, to light + The Lion to his prey, + And lead Destruction through the night + Upon his dreadful way. + + Around the world he drove his game, + And ran his glorious race; + Nor rested till he hunted them + From off the ocean's face; + Like that old wardog who, till death, + Clung to the vessel's side + Till hands were lopped, then with his teeth + He held on till he died. + + Ay, he could do the deeds that set + Old fighters' hearts afire; + The edge of every spirit whet, + And every arm inspire. + Yet I have seen upon his face + The tears that, as they roll, + Show what a light of saintly grace + May clothe a sailor's soul. + + And when our darling went to meet + Trafalgar's judgment day, + The people knelt down in the street + To bless him on his way. + He felt the country of his love + Watching him from afar; + It saw him through the battle move; + His heaven was in that star. + + Magnificently glorious sight + It was in that great dawn! + Like one vast sapphire flashing light, + The sea, just breathing shone. + Their ships, fresh-painted, stood up tall + And stately; ours were grim + And weatherworn, but one and all + In rare good fighting trim. + + Our spirits were all flying light, + And into battle sped, + Straining for it on wings of might, + With feet of springy tread; + The light of battle on each face, + Its lust in every eye; + Our sailor blood at swiftest pace + To catch the victory nigh. + + His proudly wasted face, wave worn, + Was loftily serene; + I saw the brave bright spirit burn + There, all too plainly seen; + As though the sword this time was drawn + Forever from the sheath; + And when its work to-day was done, + All would be dark in death. + + His eye shone like a lamp of night + Set in the porch of power; + The deed unborn was burning bright + Within him at that hour! + His purpose, welded to white heat, + Cried like some visible fate, + "To-day we must not merely _beat_, + We must _annihilate_." + + He smiled to see the Frenchman show + His reckoning for retreat, + With Cadiz port on his lee bow, + And held him then half beat. + They flew no colours till we drew + Them out to strike with there! + Old _Victory_ for a prize or two + Had flags enough to spare. + + Mast-high the famous signal ran; + Breathless we caught each word: + "_England expects that every man + Will do his duty_." Lord, + You should have seen our faces! heard + Us cheering, row on row; + Like men before some furnace stirred + To a fiery fearful glow! + + 'Twas Collingwood our lee line led, + And cut their centre through. + "_See how he goes in!_" Nelson said, + As his first broadside flew, + And near four hundred foemen fall. + Up went another cheer. + "Ah! what would Nelson give," said Coll, + "But to be with us here!" + + We grimly kept our vanward path; + Over us hummed their shot; + But, silently, we reined our wrath, + Held on and answered not, + Till we could grip them face to face, + And pound them for our own, + Or hug them in a war-embrace, + Till we or both went down. + + How calm he was! when first he felt + The sharp edge of that fight. + Cabined with God alone he knelt; + The prayer still lay in light + Upon his face, that used to shine + In battle--flash with life, + As though the glorious blood ran wine, + Dancing with that wild strife. + + "Fight for us, Thou Almighty one! + Give victory once again! + And if I fall, Thy will be done. + Amen, Amen, Amen!" + With such a voice he bade good-bye; + The mournfullest old smile wore: + "Farewell! God bless you, Blackwood, I + Shall never see you more." + + And four hours after, he had done + With winds and troubled foam: + The Reaper was borne dead upon + Our load of Harvest home-- + Not till he knew the Old Flag flew + Alone on all the deep; + Then said he, "Hardy, is that you? + Kiss me." And fell asleep. + + Well, 'twas his chosen death below + The deck in triumph trod; + 'Tis well. A sailor's soul should go + From his good ship to God. + He would have chosen death aboard, + From all the crowns of rest; + And burial with the Patriot sword + Upon the Victor's breast. + + "_Not a great sinner_." No, dear heart, + God grant in our death pain, + We may have played as well our part, + And feel as free from stain. + We see the spots on such a star, + Because it burned so bright; + But on the other side they are + All lost in greater light. + + And so he went upon his way, + A higher deck to walk, + Or sit in some eternal day + And of the old time talk + With sailors old, who, on that coast, + Welcome the homeward bound, + Where many a gallant soul we've lost + And Franklin will be found. + + Where amidst London's roar and moil + That cross of peace upstands, + Like Martyr with his heavenward smile, + And flame-lit, lifted hands, + There lies the dark and moulder'd dust; + But that magnanimous + And manly Seaman's soul, I trust, + Lives on in some of us. + + + + +CAMPERDOWN. + +(October 11, 1797.) + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + +We were lying calm and peaceful as an infant lies asleep, +Rocked in the mighty cradle of the ever-restless deep, +Or like a lion resting ere he rises to the fray, +With eyes half closed in slumber and half open for the prey. +We had waited long, and restless was the spirit of the fleet, +For the long-expected conquest and the long-delayed defeat, +When, uprose the mists of morning, as a curtain rolls away, +For the high heroic action of some old chivalric play. +And athwart the sea to starboard waved the colours high and free +Of the famous fighting squadron that usurped the loyal sea. + +Quick the signal came for action, quick replied we with a cheer, +For the friends at home behind us, and the foes before so near; +Three times three the cheering sounded, and 'mid deafening hurrahs +We sprang into position--five hundred lusty tars. +And the cannons joined our shouting with a burly, booming cheer +That aroused the hero's action, and awoke the coward's fear; +And the lightning and the thunder gleamed and pealed athwart the + scene, +Till the noontide mist was greater than the morning mist had been, +And the foeman and the stranger and the brother and the friend +Were mingled in one seething mass the battle's end to end. + +With broken spars and splintered bulks the decks were strewn anon, +While the rigging, torn and tangled, hung the shattered yards upon; +Like a cataract of fire outpoured the steady cannonade, +Till the strongest almost wavered and the bravest were dismayed. +Like an endless swarm of locusts sprang they up our vessel's side, +And scaled her burning bulwarks or fell backward in the tide, +'Twas a fearful day of carnage, such as none had known before, +In the fiercest naval battles of those gallant days of yore. + +We had battled all the morning, 'mid the never-ceasing hail +Of grape and spark and splinter, of cable shred, and sail; +We had thrice received their onslaught, which we thrice had driven + back, +And were waiting, calm and ready, for the last forlorn attack; +When a shout of exultation from out their ranks arose, +A frenzied shout of triumph o'er their yet unconquered foes; +For the stainless flag of England, that has braved a thousand years, +Had been shot clean from the masthead; and they gave three hearty + cheers, +"A prize! a prize!" they shouted, from end to end the host, +Till a broadside gave them answer, and for ever stilled their boast. + +Then a fearful struggle followed, as, to desperation spurred, +They sought in deed the triumph so falsely claimed in word. +'Twas the purpose of a moment, and the bravest of our tars +Plunged headlong in the boiling surf, amid the broken spars; +He snatched the shot-torn colours, and wound them round his arm, +Then climbed upon the deck again, and there stood safe and calm; +He paused but for a moment--it was no time to stay-- +Then he leaped into the rigging that had yet survived the fray; +Higher yet he climbed and higher, till he gained a dizzy height, +Then turned and paused a moment to look down upon the fight. + +Whistled wild the shots around him, as a curling, smoky wreath +Formed a cloudy shroud to hide him from the enemy beneath. +Beat his heart with proud elation as he firmly fixed his stand, +And again the colours floated as he held them in his hand. +Then a pistol deftly wielded, 'mid the battle's ceaseless blast, +Fastened there the colours firmly, as he nailed them to that mast; +Then as if to yield him glory--the smoke-clouds cleared away-- +And we sent him up the loudest cheer that reach'd his ear that day, +With new-born zeal and courage, dashing fiercely to the fight, +To crown the day of battle with the triumph of the night. + +'Tis a story oft repeated, 'tis a triumph often won, +How a thousand hearts are strengthened by the bravery of one +There was never dauntless courage of the loyal and the true +That did not inspirit others unto deeds of daring too; +There was never bright example, be the struggle what it might, +That did not inflame the ardour of the others in the fight. +Up, then, ye who would be heroes, and, before the strife is past, +For the sake of those about you, "_nail the colours to the mast!_" + +For the flag is ever flying, and it floats above the free, +On island and on continent, and up and down the sea; +And the conflict ever rages--there are many foes to fight-- +There are many ills to conquer, there are many wrongs to right, +For the glory of the moment, for the triumph by-and-bye; +For the love of truth and duty, up and dare, and do or die, +And though fire and shot and whirlwind join to tear the standard + down, +Up and nail it to the masthead, as we did at Camperdown. + + + + +THE ARMADA. + +BY LORD MACAULAY. + + +Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise, +I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, +When that great Fleet Invincible against her bore, in vain, +The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain. + + It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, +There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay; +The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle, +At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile. +At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace; +And the tall _Pinta_, till the noon, had held her close in chase. +Forthwith a guard, at every gun, was placed along the wall; +The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecombe's lofty hall; +Many a light fishing-bark put out, to pry along the coast; +And with loose rein, and bloody spur, rode inland many a post. + + With his white hair, unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes, +Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums: +The yeomen, round the market cross, make clear and ample space, +For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace: +And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, +As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. +Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, +And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down! +So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, +Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield: +So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to bay, +And crushed and torn, beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay. +Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight! ho! scatter flowers, fair + maids! +Ho! gunners! fire a loud salute! ho! gallants! draw your blades! +Thou, sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her wide! +Our glorious _semper eadem!_ the banner of our pride! + + The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold-- +The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold: +Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea; +Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be. +From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay, +That time of slumber was as bright, and busy as the day; +For swift to east, and swift to west, the ghastly war-flame spread-- +High on St. Michael's Mount it shone--it shone on Beachy Head: +Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, +Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. +The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves, +The rugged miners poured to war, from Mendip's sunless caves; +O'er Longleat's towers, or Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew, +And roused the shepherds of Stonehenge--the rangers of Beaulieu. +Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town; +And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down. + + + The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, +And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, the streak of blood-red light: +The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the death-like silence broke, +And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke; +At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires; +At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; +From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear, +And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer: +And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, +And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring + street: + + And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, +As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in; +And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errand + went; +And roused, in many an ancient hall, the gallant squires of Kent: +Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright couriers + forth; +High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started for the north; +And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still; +All night from tower to tower they sprang, they sprang from hill to + hill; +Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales; +Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales; +Till, twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height; +Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's crest of light; +Till, broad and fierce, the star came forth, on Ely's stately fane, +And tower and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the boundless plain; +Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, +And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of Trent; +Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile, +And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. + + + + +MR. BARKER'S PICTURE. + +BY MAX ADELER. + + +"Your charge against Mr. Barker, the artist here," said the +magistrate, "is assault and battery, I believe?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And your name is----" + +"Potts! I am art critic of the _Weekly Spy_." + +"State your case." + +"I called at Mr. Barker's studio upon his invitation to see his great +picture, just finished, of 'George Washington cutting down the +cherry-tree with his hatchet.' Mr. Barker was expecting to sell it to +Congress for fifty thousand dollars. He asked me what I thought of +it, and after I had pointed out his mistake in making the handle of +the hatchet twice as thick as the tree, and in turning the head of +the hatchet around, so that George was cutting the tree down with the +hammer end, I asked him why he foreshortened George's leg so as to +make it look as if his left foot was upon the mountain on the other +side of the river." + +"Did Mr. Barker take it kindly?" asked the justice. + +"Well, he looked a little glum--that's all. And then when I asked him +why he put a guinea-pig up in the tree, and why he painted the +guinea-pig with horns, he said it was not a guinea-pig but a cow; and +that it was not in the tree, but in the background. Then I said that, +if I had been painting George Washington, I should not have given him +the complexion of a salmon-brick, I should not have given him two +thumbs on each hand, and I should have tried not to slue his right +eye around so that he could see around the back of his head to his +left ear. And Barker said, 'Oh, wouldn't you?' Sarcastic, your +honour. And I said, 'No, I wouldn't'; and I wouldn't have painted +oak-leaves on a cherry-tree; and I wouldn't have left the spectator +in doubt as to whether the figure off by the woods was a factory +chimney, or a steamboat, or George Washington's father taking a +smoke." + +"Which was it?" asked the magistrate. + +"I don't know. Nobody will ever know. So Barker asked me what I'd +advise him to do. And I told him I thought his best chance was to +abandon the Washington idea, and to fix the thing up somehow to +represent 'The Boy who stood on the Burning Deck.' I told him he +might paint the grass red to represent the flames, and daub over the +tree so's it would look like the mast, and pull George's foot to this +side of the river so's it would rest somewhere on the burning deck, +and maybe he might reconstruct the factory chimney, or whatever it +was, and make it the captain, while he could arrange the guinea-pig +to do for the captain's dog." + +"Did he agree?" + +"He said the idea didn't strike him. So then I suggested that he +might turn it into Columbus discovering America. Let George stand for +Columbus, and the tree be turned into a native, and the hatchet made +to answer for a flag, while the mountain in the background would +answer for the rolling billows of the ocean. He said he'd be hanged +if it should. So I mentioned that it might perhaps pass for the +execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Put George in black for the +headsman, bend over the tree and put a frock on it for Mary, let the +hatchet stand, and work in the guinea-pig and the factory chimney as +mourners. Just as I had got the words out of my mouth, Barker knocked +me clean through the picture. My head tore out Washington's near leg, +and my right foot carried away about four miles of the river. We had +it over and over on the floor for a while, and finally Barker +whipped. I am going to take the law of him in the interests of +justice and high art." + +So Barker was bound over, and Mr. Potts went down to the office of +the _Spy_ to write up his criticism. + + + + +THE WOODEN LEG. + +BY MAX ADELER. + + +"Mr. Brown, you don't want to buy a first-rate wooden leg, do you? +I've got one that I've been wearing for two or three years, and I +want to sell it. I'm hard up for money; and although I'm attached to +that leg, I'm willing to part with it, so's I kin get the necessaries +of life. Legs are all well enough; they are handy to have around the +house, and all that; but a man must attend to his stomach, if he has +to walk about on the small of his back. Now, I'm going to make you an +offer. That leg is Fairchild's patent; steel-springs, india-rubber +joints, elastic toes and everything, and it's in better order now +than it was when I bought it. It'd be a comfort to any man. It's the +most luxurious leg I ever came across. If bliss ever kin be reached +by a man this side of the tomb, it belongs to the person that gets +that leg on and feels the consciousness creeping over his soul that +it is his. Consequently, I say that when I offer it to you I'm doing +a personal favour; and I think I see you jump at the chance, and want +to clinch the bargain before I mention--you'll hardly believe it, I +know--that I'll actually knock that leg down to you at four hundred +dollars. Four hundred, did I say? I meant six hundred; but let it +stand. I never back out when I make an offer; but it's just throwing +that leg away--it is, indeed." + +"But I don't want an artificial leg," said Brown. + +"The beautiful thing about the limb," said the stranger, pulling up +his trousers and displaying the article, "is that it is reliable. You +kin depend on it. It's always there. Some legs that I have seen were +treacherous--most always some of the springs bursting out, or the +joints working backwards, or the toes turning down and ketching in +things. Regular frauds. But it's almost pathetic the way this leg +goes on year in and year out, like an old faithful friend, never +knowing an ache or a pain, no rheumatism, nor any such foolishness as +that, but always good-natured and ready to go out of its way to +oblige you. A. man feels like a man when he gets such a thing under +him. Talk about your kings and emperors and millionaires, and all +that sort of nonsense! Which of 'em's got a leg like that? Which of +'em kin unscrew his knee-pan, and look at the gum thingamajigs in his +calf? Which of 'em kin leave his leg downstairs in the entry on the +hat-rack, and go to bed with only one cold foot? Why, it's enough to +make one of them monarchs sick to think of such a convenience. But +they can't help it. There's only one man kin buy that leg, and that's +you. I want you to have it so bad that I'll deed it to you for fifty +dollars down. Awful, isn't it. Just throwing it away: but take it, +take it, if it does make my heart bleed to see it go out of the +family." + +"Really, I have no use for such a thing," said Mr. Brown. + +"You can't think," urged the stranger, "what a benediction a leg like +this is in a family. When you don't want to walk with it, it comes +into play for the children to ride horsey on; or you kin take it off +and stir the fire with it in a way that would depress the spirits of +a man with a real leg. It makes the most efficient potato-masher ever +you saw. Work it from the second joint, and let the knee swing loose; +you kin tack carpets perfectly splendid with the heel; and when a cat +sees it coming at him from the winder, he just adjourns, _sine die_, +and goes down off the fence screaming. Now, you're probably afeared +of dogs. When you see one approaching, you always change your base. I +don't blame you; I used to be that way before I lost my home-made +leg. But you fix yourself with this artificial extremity, and then +what do you care for dogs? If a million of 'em come at you, what's +the odds? You merely stand still and smile, and throw out your spare +leg, and let 'em chaw, let 'em fool with that as much as they've a +mind to, and howl and carry on, for you don't care. An' that's the +reason why I say that when I reflect on how imposing you'd be as the +owner of such a leg, I feel like saying, that if you insist on +offering only a dollar and a half for it, why, take it; it's yours. +I'm not the kinder man to stand on trifles. I'll take it off and wrap +it up in paper for you; shall I?" + +"I'm sorry," said Brown, "but the fact is, I have no use for it. I've +got two good legs already. If I ever lose one, why, maybe, then +I'll----" + +"I don't think you exactly catch my idea on the subject," said the +stranger. "Now, any man kin have a meat-and-muscle leg; they're as +common as dirt. It's disgusting how monotonous people are about such +things. But I take you for a man who wants to be original. You have +style about you. You go it alone, as it were. Now, if I had your +peculiarities, do you know what I'd do? I'd get a leg snatched off +some way, so's I could walk around on this one. Or, it you hate to go +to the expense of amputation, why not get your pantaloons altered, +and mount this beautiful work of art just as you stand? A centipede, +a mere ridicklous insect, has half a bushel of legs, and why can't a +man, the grandest creature on earth, own three? You go around this +community on three legs, and your fortune's made. People will go wild +over you as the three-legged grocer; the nation will glory in you; +Europe will hear of you; you will be heard of from pole to pole. +It'll build up your business. People'll flock from everywheres to see +you, and you'll make your sugar and cheese and things fairly hum. +Look at it as an advertisement! Look at it any way you please, and +there's money in it--there's glory, there's immortality. Now, look at +it that way; and if it strikes you, I tell you what I'll do: I'll +actually swap that imperishable leg off to you for two pounds of +water-crackers and a tin cupful of Jamaica rum. Is it a go?" + +Then Brown weighed out the crackers, gave him a drink of rum, and +told him if he would take them as a present and quit he would confer +a favour. And he did. After emptying the crackers in his pockets, and +smacking his lips over the rum, he went to the door, and as he opened +it said,-- + +"Good-bye. But if you ever really do want a leg, Old Reliable is +ready for you; it's yours. I consider that you've got a mortgage on +it, and you kin foreclose at any time. I dedicate this leg to you. My +will shall mention it; and if you don't need it when I die, I'm going +to have it put in the savings bank to draw interest until you check +it out." + + + + +THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. + +BY COLONEL JOHN HAY. + + + The King was sick. His cheek was red, + And his eye was clear and bright; + He ate and drank with a kingly zest, + And peacefully snored at night. + + But he said he was sick, and a king should know, + And doctors came by the score, + They did not cure him. He cut off their heads, + And sent to the schools for more. + + At last two famous doctors came, + And one was as poor as a rat,-- + He had passed his life in studious toil, + And never found time to grow fat. + + The other had never looked in a book; + His patients gave him no trouble: + If they recovered they paid him well; + If they died their heirs paid double. + + Together they looked at the royal tongue, + As the King on his couch reclined; + In succession they thumped his august chest, + But no trace of disease could find. + + The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut." + "Hang him up," roared the King in a gale-- + In a ten-knot gale of royal rage; + The other leech grew a shade pale; + + But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, + And thus his prescription ran-- + _The King will be well if he sleeps one night + In the Shirt of a Happy Man_. + + * * * * * + + Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, + And fast their horses ran, + And many they saw, and to many they spoke, + But they found no Happy Man.... + + They saw two men by the roadside sit, + And both bemoaned their lot; + For one had buried his wife, he said, + And the other one had not. + + At last they came to a village gate, + A beggar lay whistling there! + He whistled and sang, and laughed and rolled + On the grass in the soft June air. + + The weary courtiers paused and looked + At the scamp so blithe and gay; + And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend! + You seem to be happy to-day." + + "O yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed, + And his voice rang free and glad; + "An idle man has so much to do + That he never has time to be sad." + + "This is our man," the courier said; + "Our luck has led us aright. + I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, + For the loan of your shirt to-night." + + The merry blackguard lay back on the grass, + And laughed till his face was black; + "I would do it," said he, and he roared with the fun, + "But I haven't a shirt to my back." + + * * * * * + + Each day to the King the reports came in + Of his unsuccessful spies, + And the sad panorama of human woes + Passed daily under his eyes. + + And he grew ashamed of his useless life, + And his maladies hatched in gloom; + He opened his windows and let the air + Of the free heaven into his room. + + And out he went in the world, and toiled + In his own appointed way; + And the people blessed him, the land was glad, + And the King was well and gay. + + + + +JIM BLUDSO. + +BY COLONEL JOHN HAY. + + + Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, + Because he don't live, you see: + Leastways, he's got out of the habit + Of livin' like you and me. + Whar have you been for the last three years + That you haven't heard folks tell + How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks, + The night of the _Prairie Bell?_ + + He weren't no saint--them engineers + Is all pretty much alike-- + One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill + And another one here, in Pike. + A keerless man in his talk was Jim, + And an awkward man in a row-- + But he never funked, and he never lied, + I reckon he never knowed how. + + And this was all the religion he had-- + To treat his engine well; + Never be passed on the river; + To mind the Pilot's bell; + And if the _Prairie Bell_ took fire-- + A thousand times he swore, + He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last soul got ashore. + + All boats has their day on the Mississip, + And her day come at last-- + The _Movastar_ was a better boat, + But the _Belle_ she _wouldn't_ be passed. + And so come tearin' along that night-- + The oldest craft on the line, + With a nigger squat on her safety valve, + And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. + + The fire burst out as she clared the bar, + And burnt a hole in the night, + And quick as a flash she turned, and made + For the wilier-bank on the right. + There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out + Over all the infernal, roar, + "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last galoot's ashore." + + Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat + Jim Bludso's voice was heard, + And they all had trust in his cussedness, + And knowed he would keep his word. + And sure's you're born, they all got off + Afore the smokestacks fell,-- + And Bludso's ghost went up alone + In the smoke of the _Prairie Belle_. + + He weren't no saint--but at jedgment + I'd run my chance with Jim, + 'Longside of some pious gentlemen + That wouldn't shook hands with him. + He'd seen his duty, a dead-sure thing-- + And went for it thar and then; + And Christ ain't a going to fee too hard + On a man that died for men. + + + + +FREEDOM. + +BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + + Men! whose boast it is that ye + Come of fathers brave and free, + If there breathe on earth a slave, + Are ye truly free and brave? + If ye do not feel the chain, + When it works a brother's pain, + Are ye not base slaves indeed,-- + Slaves unworthy to be freed? + + Women! who shall one day bear + Sons to breathe New England air, + If ye hear, without a blush, + Deeds to make the roused blood rush + Like red lava through your veins, + For your sisters now in chains,-- + Answer! are ye fit to be + Mothers of the brave and free? + + Is true Freedom but to break + Fetters for our own dear sake, + And, with leathern hearts forget + That we owe mankind a debt? + No! true freedom is to share + All the chains our brothers wear, + And, with heart and hand, to be + Earnest to make others free! + + They are slaves who fear to speak + For the fallen and the weak; + They are slaves who will not choose + Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, + Rather than in silence shrink + From the truth they needs must think; + They are slaves who dare not be + In the right with two or three. + + + + +THE COORTIN'. + +BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + + God makes sech nights, all white an' still + Fur'z you can look or listen, + Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, + All silence an' all glisten. + + Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown, + An' peeked in thru' the winder; + An' there sot Huldy all alone, + 'Ith no one nigh to hender. + + A fireplace filled the room's one side, + With half a cord o' wood in; + There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) + To bake ye to a puddin'. + + The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out + Towards the pootiest, bless her! + An' leetle flames danced all about + The chiny on the dresser. + + Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, + Ah' in amongst em rusted + The ole queen's-arm that gran'ther Young + Fetched back from Concord busted. + + The very room, coz she was in, + Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', + An' she looked full ez rosy agin + Ez the apples she was peelin'. + + 'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look + On sech a blessed cretur; + A dogrose blushin' to a brook + Ain't modester nor sweeter. + + He was six foot o' man, A1, + Clean grit an' human natur'; + None couldn't quicker pitch a ton, + Nor dror a furrer straighter. + + He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, + He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, + Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells-- + All is, he wouldn't love 'em. + + But 'long o' her his veins 'ould run + All crinkly like curled maple; + The side she breshed felt full o' sun + Ez a south slope in Ap'il. + + She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing + Ez hisn in the choir: + My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, + She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher. + + An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, + When her new meetin'-bunnet + Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair + O' blue eyes sot upon it. + + That night, I tell ye, she looked _some!_ + She seemed to've gut a new soul, + For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, + Down to her very shoe-sole. + + She heerd a foot, an' knowed it tu, + A-rasping on the scraper; + All ways at once her feelin's flew + Like sparks in burnt-up paper. + + He kin' o' loitered on the mat, + Some doubtfle o' the sekle; + His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, + But her'n went pity Zekle. + + An yit she gin her cheer a jerk + Ez though she wished him furder, + An' on her apples kep' to work, + Parin' away like murder. + + "You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" + "Wal--no--I come dasignin'--" + "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es + Agin to-morrer's i'nin." + + To say why gals act so or so, + Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; + Mebbe to mean _yes_ an' say _no_ + Comes nateral to women. + + He stood a spell on one foot fust, + Then stood a spell on t'other, + An' on which one he felt the wust + He couldn't ha' told ye nuther. + + Says he, "I'd better call agin;" + Says she, "Think likely, Mister;" + Thet last word prick'd him like a pin, + An'--wal, he up an' kist her. + + When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, + Huldy sot pale ez ashes, + All kin' o' smily roun' the lips, + An' teary roun' the lashes. + + For she was jes' the quiet kind + Whose naturs never vary, + Like streams that keep a summer mind + Snow-hid in Jenooary. + + The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued + Too tight for all expressin', + Tell mother see how metters stood, + An' gin 'em both her blessin'. + + Then her red come back like the tide + Down to the Bay o' Fundy; + An' all I know is they was cried + In meetin' come nex' Sunday. + + + + +THE HERITAGE. + +BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + + The Rich Man's Son inherits lands, + And piles of brick, and stone, and gold; + And he inherits soft white hands + And tender flesh that fears the cold-- + Nor dares to wear a garment old: + A heritage, it seems to me, + One scarce could wish to hold in fee. + The Rich Man's Son inherits cares: + The bank may break--the factory burn; + A breath may burst his bubble shares; + And soft white hands could hardly earn + A living that would serve his turn. + The Rich Man's Son inherits wants: + His stomach craves for dainty fare; + With sated heart, he hears the pants + Of toiling hinds, with brown arms bare-- + And wearies in his easy-chair. + + What doth the Poor Man's Son inherit? + Stout muscles, and a sinewy heart, + A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; + King of two hands, he does his part + In every useful toil and art: + A heritage, it seems to me, + A king might wish to hold in fee. + What doth the Poor Man's Son inherit? + Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things; + A rank adjudged by toil-won merit, + Content that from employment springs, + A heart that in his labour sings! + What doth the Poor Man's Son inherit? + A patience learnt of being poor; + Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it: + A fellow-feeling that is sure + To make the Outcast bless his door. + + Oh! Rich Man's Son, there is a toil + That with all others level stands; + Large charity doth never soil, + But only whiten soft white hands-- + This is the best crop from thy lands. + A heritage, it seems to me, + Worth being rich to hold in fee. + + * * * * * + + Oh! Poor Man's Son, scorn not thy state; + There is worse weariness than thine, + In merely being rich and great; + Toil only gives the soul to shine, + And-makes rest fragrant and benign! + Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, + Are equal in the earth at last; + Both children of the same great God! + Prove title to your heirship vast + By record of a well-spent past. + A heritage, it seems to me, + Well worth a life to hold in fee. + + + + +LADY CLARE. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + It was the time when lilies blow, + And clouds are highest up in air, + Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe + To give his cousin, Lady Clare. + + I trow they did not part in scorn; + Lovers long betroth'd were they + They two will wed the morrow morn; + God's blessing on the day! + + "He does not love me for my birth, + Nor for my lands so broad and fair; + He loves me for my own true worth, + And that is well," said Lady Clare. + + In there came old Alice the nurse, + Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" + "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare; + "To-morrow he weds with me." + + "O God be thank'd!" said Alice the nurse, + "That all comes round so just and fair: + Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, + And you are not the Lady Clare." + + "Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse," + Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?" + "As God's above," said Alice the nurse, + "I speak the truth: you are my child. + + "The old Earl's daughter died at my breast; + I speak the truth as I live by bread! + I buried her like my own sweet child, + And put my child in her stead." + + "Falsely, falsely have ye done, + O mother," she said, "if this be true, + To keep the best man under the sun + So many years from his due." + + "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, + "But keep the secret for your life, + And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, + When you are man and wife." + + "If I'm a beggar born," she said, + "I will speak out, for I dare not lie. + Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold, + And fling the diamond necklace by." + + "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, + "But keep the secret all ye can." + She said "Not so: but I will know + If there be any faith in man." + + "Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, + "The man will cleave unto his right." + "And he shall have it," the lady replied, + "Tho' I should die to-night." + + "Yet give one kiss to your mother dear! + Alas! my child, I sinn'd for thee." + "O mother, mother, mother," she said, + "So strange it seems to me. + + "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, + My mother dear, if this be so, + And lay your hand upon my head, + And bless me, mother, ere I go." + + She clad herself in a russet gown, + She was no longer Lady Clare: + She went by dale, and she went by down, + With a single rose in her hair. + + The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought + Leapt up from where she lay, + Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, + And follow'd her all the way. + + Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower. + "O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! + Why come you drest like a village maid, + That are the flower of the earth?" + + "If I come drest like a village maid, + I am but as my fortunes are: + I am a beggar born," she said, + "And not the Lady Clare." + + "Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, + "For I am yours in word and in deed. + Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, + "Your riddle is hard to read." + + O and proudly stood she up! + Her heart within her did not fail: + She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, + And told him all her nurse's tale. + + He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn: + He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood. + "If you are not the heiress born, + And I," said he, "the next in blood-- + + "If you are not the heiress born, + And I," said he, "the lawful heir, + We two will wed to-morrow morn, + And you shall still be Lady Clare." + + + + +BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + Break, break, break, + On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! + And I would that my tongue could utter + The thoughts that arise in me. + + O well for the fisherman's boy, + That he shouts with his sister at play! + O well for the sailor lad, + That he sings in his boat on the bay! + + And the stately ships go on + To their haven under the hill; + But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, + And the sound of a voice that is still! + + Break, break, break, + At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! + But the tender grace of a day that is dead + Will never come back to me. + + + + + +THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + In her ear he whispers gaily, + "If my heart by signs can tell, + Maiden, I have watch'd thee daily, + And I think thou lov'st me well." + She replies, in accents fainter, + "There is none I love like thee." + He is but a landscape-painter, + And a village maiden she. + He to lips, that fondly falter, + Presses his without reproof; + Leads her to the village altar, + And they leave her father's root. + + "I can make no marriage present; + Little can I give my wife. + Love will make our cottage pleasant, + And I love thee more than life." + + They by parks and lodges going + See the lordly castles stand; + Summer woods about them blowing + Made a murmur in the land. + + From deep thought himself he rouses, + Says to her that loves him well, + "Let us see these handsome houses + Where the wealthy nobles dwell." + + So she goes by him attended, + Hears him lovingly converse, + Sees whatever fair and splendid + Lay betwixt his home and hers. + Parks with oak and chestnut shady, + Parks and order'd gardens great, + Ancient homes of lord and lady, + Built for pleasure and for state. + + All he shows her makes him dearer; + Evermore she seems to gaze + On that cottage growing nearer, + Where they twain will spend their days. + + O but she will love him truly! + He shall have a cheerful home + She will order all things duly, + When beneath his roof they come. + + Thus her heart rejoices greatly, + Till a gateway she discerns + With armorial bearings stately, + And beneath the gate she turns; + Sees a mansion more majestic + Than all those she saw before; + Many a gallant gay domestic + Bows before him at the door. + + And they speak in gentle murmur, + When they answer to his call, + While he treads with footstep firmer, + Leading on from hall to hall. + + And while now she wanders blindly, + Nor the meaning can divine, + Proudly turns he round and kindly, + "All of this is mine and thine." + + Here he lives in state and bounty, + Lord of Burleigh, fair and free, + Not a lord in all the county + Is so great a lord as he. + All at once the colour flushes + Her sweet face from brow to chin; + As it were with shame she blushes, + And her Spirit changed within. + + Then her countenance all over + Pale again as death did prove; + But he clasp'd her like a lover, + And he cheer'd her soul with love. + + So she strove against her weakness, + Tho' at times her spirits sank; + Shaped her heart with woman's meekness + To all duties of her rank; + And a gentle consort made he, + And her gentle mind was such + That she grew a noble lady, + And the people loved her much. + + But a trouble weigh'd upon her, + And perplex'd her, night and morn, + With the burden of an honour + Unto which she was not born. + + Faint she grew, and ever fainter, + As she murmur'd "Oh, that he + Were once more that landscape-painter + Which did win my heart from me!" + So she droop'd and droop'd before him, + Fading slowly from his side; + Three fair children first she bore him, + Then before her time she died. + + Weeping, weeping late and early, + Walking up and pacing down, + Deeply mourn'd the Lord of Burleigh, + Burleigh-house by Stamford-town. + And he came to look upon her, + And he look'd at her and said, + "Bring the dress and put it on her, + That she wore when she was wed." + + Then her people, softly treading, + Bore to earth her body, drest + In the dress that she was wed in, + That her spirit might have rest. + + + +DORA. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + With farmer Allan at the farm abode + William and Dora. William was his son, + And she his niece. He often look'd at them, + And often thought "I'll make them man and wife." + Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all, + And yearn'd towards William; but the youth, because + He had been always with her in the house, + Thought not of Dora. + + Then there came a day + When Allan call'd his son, and said, "My son: + I married late, but I would wish to see + My grandchild on my knees before I die: + And I have set my heart upon a match. + Now therefore look to Dora; she is well + To look to; thrifty too beyond her age. + She is my brother's daughter: he and I + Had once hard words, and parted, and he died + In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred + His daughter Dora: take her for your wife; + For I have wished this marriage, night and day, + For many years." But William answered short: + "I cannot marry Dora; by my life, + I will not marry Dora." Then the old man + Was wroth, and doubled up his hands, and said: + "You will not, boy! you dare to answer thus! + But in my time a father's word was law, + And so it shall be now for me. Look to it; + Consider, William: take a month to think, + And let me have an answer to my wish; + Or, by the Lord that made me, you shall pack + And never more darken my doors again." + But William answer'd madly; bit his lips, + And broke away. The more he looked at her + The less he liked her; and his ways were harsh; + But Dora bore them meekly. Then before + The month was out he left his father's house, + And hired himself to work within the fields; + And half in love, half spite, he woo'd and wed + A labourer's daughter, Mary Morrison. + + Then, when the bells were ringing, Allan call'd + His niece and said: "My girl, I love you well; + But if you speak with him that was my son, + Or change a word with her he calls his wife, + My home is none of yours. My will is law," + And Dora promised, being meek. She thought, + "It cannot be: my uncle's mind will change!" + And days went on, and there was born a boy + To William; then distresses came on him; + And day by day he passed his father's gate, + Heart-broken, and his father helped him not. + But Dora stored what little she could save, + And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know + Who sent it; till at last a fever seized + On William, and in harvest time he died. + + Then Dora went to Mary. Mary sat + And look'd with tears upon her boy, and thought + Hard things of Dora. Dora came and said: + + "I have obey'd my uncle until now, + And I have sinn'd, for it was all thro' me + This evil came on William at the first. + But, Mary, for the sake of him that's gone, + And for your sake, the woman that he chose, + And for this orphan, I am come to you: + You know there has not been for these five years + So full a harvest: let me take the boy, + And I will set him in my uncle's eye + Among the wheat; that when his heart is glad + Of the full harvest, he may see the boy, + And bless him for the sake of him that's gone." + + And Dora took the child, and went her way + Across the wheat, and sat upon a mound + That was unsown, where many poppies grew. + Far off the farmer came into the field + And spied her not; for none of all his men + Dare tell him Dora waited with the child; + And Dora would have risen and gone to him, + But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'd, + And the sun fell, and the land was dark. + + But when the morrow came she rose and took + The child once more, and sat upon the mound; + And made a little wreath of all the flowers + That grew about, and tied it round his hat + To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye. + Then when the farmer pass'd into the field + He spied her, and he left his men at work, + And came and said: "Where were you yesterday? + Whose child is that? What are you doing here?" + So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground, + And answer'd softly, "This is William's child!" + "And did I not," said Allan, "did I not + Forbid you, Dora?" Dora said again: + "Do with me as you will, but take the child + And bless him for the sake of him that's gone!" + And Allan said, "I see it is a trick + Got up betwixt you and the woman there. + I must be taught my duty, and by you! + You knew my word was law, and yet you dared + To slight it. Well--for I will take the boy; + But go you hence, and never see me more." + + So saying, he took the boy, that cried aloud + And struggled hard. The wreath of flowers fell + At Dora's feet. She bow'd upon her hands, + And the boy's cry came to her from the field + More and more distant. She bow'd down her head, + Remembering the day when first she came, + And all the things that had been. She bow'd down + And wept in secret; and the reapers reap'd, + And the sun fell, and all the land was dark. + + Then Dora went to Mary's house, and stood + Upon the threshold. Mary saw the boy + Was not with Dora. She broke out in praise + To God, that help'd her in her widowhood. + And Dora said, "My uncle took the boy; + But, Mary, let me live and work with you: + He says that he will never see me more." + Then answer'd Mary, "This shall never be, + That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself: + And, now I think, he shall not have the boy, + For he will teach him hardness, and to slight + His mother; therefore thou and I will go, + And I will have my boy, and bring him home, + And I will beg of him to take thee back; + But if he will not take thee back again, + Then thou and I will live within one house, + And work for William's child, until he grows + Of age to help us." + + So the women kiss'd + Each other, and set out, and reach'd the farm. + The door was off the latch: they peep'd and saw + The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees, + Who thrust him in the hollows of his arm, + And clapt him on the hands and on the cheeks, + Like one that loved him; and the lad stretched out + And babbled for the golden seal that hung + From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire. + Then they came in; but when the boy beheld + His mother he cried out to come to her: + And Allan set him down, and Mary said:-- + + "O Father!--if you let me call you so-- + I never came a-begging for myself, + Or William, or this child; but now I come + For Dora: take her back; she loves you well. + O Sir, when William died, he died at peace + With all men; for I ask'd him, and he said, + He could not ever rue his marrying me-- + I had been a patient wife; but, Sir, he said + That he was wrong to cross his father thus: + 'God bless him!' he said, 'and may he never know + The troubles I have gone thro'!' Then he turn'd + His face and pass'd--unhappy that I am! + But now, Sir, let me have my boy, for you + Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight + His father's memory; and take Dora back, + And let all this be as it was before." + + So Mary said, and Dora hid her face + By Mary. There was silence in the room; + And all at once the old man burst in sobs:-- + + + "I have been to blame--to blame. I have kill'd my son. + I have kill'd him--but I loved him--my dear son. + May God forgive me!--I have been to blame. + Kiss me, my children." + + Then they clung about + The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times, + And all the man was broken with remorse; + And all his love came back a hundredfold; + And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child, + Thinking of William. + + So those four abode + Within one house together; and as years + Went forward, Mary took another mate; + But Dora lived unmarried till her death. + + + + +MRS. B.'S ALARMS. + +BY JAMES PAYN. + + +Mrs. B. is my wife; and her alarms are those produced by a delusion +under which she labours that there are assassins, gnomes, vampires, +or what not, in our house at night, and that it is my bounden duty to +leave my bed at any hour or temperature, and to do battle with the +same, in very inadequate apparel. The circumstances which attend Mrs. +B.'s alarms are generally of the following kind. I am awakened by the +mention of my baptismal name in that peculiar species of whisper +which has something uncanny in its very nature, besides the dismal +associations which belong to it, from the fact of its being used only +in melodramas and sick-rooms. + +"_Henry, Henry, Henry!_" + +How many times she had repeated this I know not; the sound falls on +my ear like the lapping of a hundred waves, or as the "Robin Crusoe, +Robin Crusoe," of the parrot smote upon the ear of the terrified +islander of Defoe; but at last I wake, to view, by the dim firelight, +this vision: Mrs. B. is sitting up beside me, in a listening attitude +of the very intensest kind; her nightcap (one with cherry-coloured +ribbons, such as it can be no harm to speak about) is tucked back +behind either ear; her hair--in paper--is rolled out of the way upon +each side like a banner furled; her eyes are rather wide open, and +her mouth very much so; her fingers would be held up to command +attention, but that she is supporting herself in a somewhat absurd +manner upon her hands. + +"_Henry_, did you hear _that_?" + +"What, my love?" + +"That noise. There it is again; there--there." + +The disturbance referred to is that caused by a mouse nibbling at the +wainscot; and I venture to say so much in a tone of the deepest +conviction. + +"No, no, Henry; it's not the least like that: it's a file working at +the bars of the pantry-window. I will stake my existence, Henry, that +it is a file." + +Whenever my wife makes use of this particular form of words I know +that opposition is useless. I rise, therefore, and put on my slippers +and dressing-gown. Mrs. B. refuses to let me have the candle, because +she will die of terror if she is left alone without a light. She puts +the poker into my hand, and with a gentle violence is about to expel +me from the chamber, when a sudden thought strikes her. + +"Stop a bit, Henry," she exclaims, "until I have looked into the +cupboards and places;" which she proceeds to do most minutely, +investigating even the short drawers of a foot and a half square. I +am at length dismissed upon my perilous errand, and Mrs. B. locks and +double-locks the door behind me with a celerity that almost catches +my retreating garment. My expedition therefore combines all the +dangers of a sally, with the additional disadvantage of having my +retreat into my own fortress cut off. Thus cumbrously but +ineffectually caparisoned, I peramulate the lower stories of the +house in darkness, in search of the disturber of Mrs. B.'s repose, +which, I am well convinced, is behind the wainscot of her own +apartment, and nowhere else. The pantry, I need not say, is as +silent as the grave, and about as cold. The great clock in the +kitchen looks spectral enough by the light of the expiring embers, +but there is nothing there with life except black-beetles, which +crawl in countless numbers over my naked ankles. There is a noise in +the cellar such as Mrs. B. would at once identify with the suppressed +converse of anticipated burglars, but which I recognise in a moment +as the dripping of the small-beer cask, whose tap is troubled with a +nervous disorganisation of that kind. The dining-room is chill and +cheerless; a ghostly armchair is doing the grim honours of the table +to three other vacant seats, and dispensing hospitality in the shape +of a mouldy orange and some biscuits, which I remember to have left +in some disgust, about----Hark! the clicking of a revolver? No! the +warning of the great clock--one, two, three.... What a frightful +noise it makes in the startled ear of night! Twelve o'clock. I left +this dining-room, then, but three hours and a-half ago; it certainly +does not look like the same room now. The drawing-room is also far +from wearing its usual snug and comfortable appearance. Could we +possibly have all been sitting in the relative positions to one +another which these chairs assume? Or since we were there, has some +spiritual company, with no eye for order left among them, taken +advantage of the remains of our fire to hold a _reunion_? They are +here even at this moment perhaps, and their gentlemen have not yet +come up from the dining-room. I shudder from head to foot, partly at +the bare idea of such a thing, partly from the naked fact of my +exceedingly unclothed condition. They do say that in the very passage +which I have now to cross in order to get to Mrs. B. again, my +great-grandfather "walks"; in compensation, I suppose, for having +been prevented by gout from taking that species of exercise while he +was alive. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt +of in your philosophy, I think, as I approach this spot; but I do not +say so, for I am well-nigh speechless with the cold: yes, the cold. +It is only my teeth that chatter. What a scream that was! There it +comes again, and there is no doubt this time as to who is the owner +of that terrified voice. Mrs. B.'s alarms have evidently taken some +other direction. "Henry, Henry!" she cries, in tones of a very +tolerable pitch. A lady being in the case, I fly upon the wings of +domestic love along the precincts sacred to the perambulations of +my great-grandfather. I arrive at my wife's chamber; the screams +continue, but the door is locked. + +"Open, open!" shout I. "What on earth is the matter?" + +There is silence; then a man's voice--that is to say, my wife's voice +in imitation of a man's--replies in tones of indignant ferocity, to +convey the idea of a life-preserver being under the pillow of the +speaker, and ready to his hand: "Who are you--what do you want?" + +"You very silly woman," I answered; not from unpoliteness, but +because I find that that sort of language recovers and assures her of +my identity better than any other--"why, it's I." + +The door is then opened about six or seven inches, and I am admitted +with all the precaution which attends the entrance of an ally into a +besieged garrison. + +Mrs. B., now leaning upon my shoulder, dissolves into copious tears, +and points to the door communicating with my attiring-chamber. + +"There's sur--sur--somebody been snoring in your dressing-room," she +sobs, "all the time you were away." + +This statement is a little too much for my sense of humour, and +although sympathising very tenderly with poor Mrs. B., I cannot help +bursting into a little roar of laughter. Laughter and fear are deadly +enemies, and I can see at once that Mrs. B. is all the better for +this explosion. + +"Consider, my love," I reason, "consider the extreme improbability of +a burglar or other nefarious person making such a use of the few +precious hours of darkness as to go to sleep in them! Why, too, +should he take a bedstead without a mattress, which I believe is the +case in this particular supposition of yours, when there were +feather-beds unoccupied in other apartments? Moreover, would not this +be a still greater height of recklessness in such an individual, +should he have a habit of snor----" + +A slight noise in the dressing-room, occasioned by the Venetian blind +tapping against the window, here causes Mrs. B. to bury her head with +extreme swiftness, ostrichlike, beneath the pillow, so that the +peroration of my argument is lost upon her. I enter the suspected +chamber--this time with a lighted candle--and find my trousers, with +the boots in them, hanging over the bedside something after the +manner of a drunken marauder, but nothing more. Neither is there +anybody reposing under the shadow of my boot-tree upon the floor. All +is peace there, and at sixes and sevens as I left it upon +retiring--as I had hoped--to rest. + +Once more I stretch my chilled and tired limbs upon the couch; sweet +sleep once more begins to woo my eyelids, when "Henry, Henry!" again +dissolves the dim and half-formed dream. + +"Are you _certain_, Henry, that you looked in the shower-bath? I am +almost sure that I heard somebody pulling the string." + +No grounds, indeed, are too insufficient, no supposition too +incompatible with reason, for Mrs. B. to build her alarms upon. +Sometimes, although we lodge upon the second story, she imagines that +the window is being attempted; sometimes, although the register may +be down, she is confident that the chimney is being used as the means +of ingress. + +Once, when we happened to be in London--where she feels, however, a +good deal safer than in the country--we had a real alarm, and Mrs. +B., since I was suffering from a quinsy, contracted mainly by my +being sent about the house o' nights in the usual scanty drapery, had +to be sworn in as her own special constable. + +"Henry, Henry!" she whispered upon this occasion, "there's a +dreadful cat in the room." + +"Pooh, pooh!" I gasped; "it's only in the street; I've heard the +wretches. Perhaps they are on the tiles." + +"No, Henry. There, I don't want you to talk, since it makes you +cough; only listen to me. What am I to do, Henry? I'll stake my +existence that there's a---- Ugh, what's that?" + +And, indeed, some heavy body did there and then jump upon our bed, +and off again at my wife's interjection, with extreme agility. I +thought Mrs. B. would have had a fit, but she didn't. She told me, +dear soul, upon no account to venture into the cold with my bad +throat. She would turn out the beast herself, single-handed. We +arranged that she was to take hold of my fingers, and retain them, +until she reached the fireplace, where she would find a shovel or +other offensive weapon fit for the occasion. During the progress of +this expedition, however, so terrible a caterwauling broke forth, as +it seemed, from the immediate neighbourhood of the fender, that my +disconcerted helpmate made a most precipitate retreat. She managed +after this mishap to procure a light, and by a circuitous route, +constructed of tables and chairs, to avoid stepping upon the floor, +Mrs. B. obtained the desired weapon. It was then much better than a +play to behold that heroic woman defying grimalkin from her eminence, +and to listen to the changeful dialogue which ensued between herself +and that far from dumb, though inarticulately speaking animal. + +"Puss, puss, pussy--poor pussy." + +"Miau, miau, miau," was the linked shrillness, long drawn out, of the +feline reply. + +"Poor old puss, then, was it ill? Puss, puss. Henry, the horrid beast +is going to fly at me! Whist, whist, cat." + +"Ps-s-s-s. ps-s-s-s, miau; ps-s-s-s-s-s-s-s," replied the other, in a +voice like fat in the fire. + +"My dear love," cried I, almost suffocated with a combination of +laughter and quinsy; "you have never opened the door; where is the +poor thing to run to?" + +Mrs. B. had all this time been exciting the bewildered animal to +frenzy by her conversation and shovel, without giving it the +opportunity to escape, which, as soon as offered, it took advantage +of with an expression of savage impatience partaking very closely +indeed of the character of an oath. + +This is, however, the sole instance of Mrs. B.'s having ever taken it +in hand to subdue her own alarms. It is I who, ever since her +marriage, have done the duty, and more than the duty, of an efficient +house-dog, which before that epoch, I understand, was wont to be +discharged by one of her younger sisters. Not seldom, in these +involuntary rounds of mine, I have become myself the cause of alarm +or inconvenience to others. Our little foot-page, with a courage +beyond his years, and a spirit worthy of a better cause, very nearly +transfixed me with the kitchen spit as I was trying, upon one +occasion, the door of his own pantry. Upon another nocturnal +expedition, I ran against a human body in the dark--that turned out +to be my brother-in-law's, who was also in search of robbers--with a +shock to both our nervous systems such as they have not yet recovered +from. It fell to my lot, upon a third, to discover one of the rural +police up in our attics, where, in spite of the increased powers +lately granted to the county constabulary, I could scarcely think he +was entitled to be. I once presented myself, an uninvited guest, at a +select morning entertainment--it was at 1.30 A.M.--given by our hired +London cook to nearly a dozen of her male and female friends. No +wonder that Mrs. B. had "staked her existence" that night that she +had heard the area gate "go." When I consider the extremely free and +unconstrained manner in which I was received, poker and all, by that +assembly, my only surprise is that they did not signify their +arrivals by double knocks at the front door. + +On one memorable night, and on one only, have I found it necessary to +use that formidable weapon which habit has rendered as familiar to my +hand as its flower to that of the Queen of Clubs. + +The grey of morning had just begun to steal into our bedchamber, when +Mrs. B. ejaculated with unusual vigour, "Henry, Henry, they're in the +front drawing-room; and they've just knocked down the parrot screen." + +"My love," I was about to observe, "your imaginative powers have now +arrived at the pitch of _clairvoyance_," when a noise from the room +beneath us, as if all the fireirons had gone off together with a +bang, compelled me to acknowledge, to myself at least, that there was +something in Mrs. B.'s alarms at last. I trod downstairs as +noiselessly as I could, and in almost utter darkness. The +drawing-room door was ajar, and through the crevice I could +distinguish, despite the gloom, as many as three muffled figures. +They were all of them in black clothing, and each wore over his face +a mask of crape, fitting quite closely to his features. I had never +been confronted by anything so dreadful before. Mrs. B. had cried +"Wolf!" so often that I had almost ceased to believe in wolves of +this description at all. Unused to personal combat, and embarrassed +by the novel circumstance under which I found myself, I was standing +undecided on the landing, when I caught that well-known whisper of +"_Henry, Henry!_" from the upper story. The burglars caught it also. +They desisted from their occupation of examining the articles of +_vertu_ upon the chimney-piece, while their fiendish countenances +relaxed into a hideous grin. One of them stole cautiously towards the +door where I was standing. I hear his burglarious feet, I heard the +"_Henry, Henry!_" still going on from above-stairs; I heard my own +heart pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat within me. It was one of those moments in +which one lives a life. The head of the craped marauder was projected +cautiously round the door, as if to listen. I poised my weapon, and +brought it down with unerring aim upon his skull. He fell like a +bullock beneath the axe, and I sped up to my bedchamber with all the +noiselessness and celerity of a bird. It was I who locked the door +this time, and piled the washhand-stand, two band-boxes, and a chair +against it with the speed of lightning. + +Was Mrs. B. out of her mind with terror that at such an hour as that +she should indulge in a paroxysm of mirth? + +"Good heavens!" I cried, "be calm, my love; there are burglars in the +house at last." + +"My dear Henry," she answered, laughing so that the tears quite stood +in her eyes, "I am very sorry; I tried to call you back. But when I +sent you downstairs, I quite forgot that this was the morning upon +which I had ordered the sweeps!" + +One of those gentlemen was at that moment lying underneath with his +skull fractured, and it cost me fifteen pounds to get it mended, +besides the expense of a new drawing-room carpet. + + --_From "Humorous Stories" by James Payn. By permission of + Messrs. Chatto & Windus_. + + + + +SHELTERED. + +BY SARAH ORME JEWETT. + + + It was a cloudy, dismal day, and I was all alone, + For early in the morning John Earl and Nathan Stone + Came riding up the lane to say--I saw they both looked pale-- + That Anderson the murderer had broken out of jail. + + They only stopped a minute, to tell my man that he + Must go to the four corners, where all the folks would be; + They were going to hunt the country, for he only had been gone + An hour or so when they missed him, that morning just at dawn. + + John never finished his breakfast; he saddled the old white mare. + She seemed to know there was trouble, and galloped as free and fair + And even a gait as she ever struck when she was a five-year-old: + The knowingest beast we ever had, and worth her weight in gold. + + He turned in the saddle and called to me--I watched him from + the door-- + "I shan't be home to dinner," says he, "but I'll be back by four. + I'd fasten the doors if I was you, and keep at home to-day;" + And a little chill came over me as I watched him ride away. + + I went in and washed the dishes--I was sort of scary too. + We had 'ranged to go away that day. I hadn't much to do, + Though I always had some sewing work, and I got it and sat down; + But the old clock tick-tacked loud at me, and I put away the gown. + + I thought the story over: how Anderson had been + A clever, steady fellow, so far's they knew, till then. + Some said his wife had tried him, but he got to drinking hard, + Till last he struck her with an axe and killed her in the yard. + + The only thing I heard he said was, he was most to blame; + But he fought the men that took him like a tiger. 'Twas a shame + He'd got away; he ought to swing: a man that killed his wife + And broke her skull in with an axe--he ought to lose his life! + + Our house stood in a lonesome place, the woods were all around, + But I could see for quite a ways across the open ground; + I couldn't help, for the life o' me, a-looking now and then + All along the edge o' the growth, and listening for the men. + + I thought they would find Anderson: he couldn't run till night, + For the farms were near together, and there must be a sight + Of men out hunting for him; but when the clock struck three, + A neighbour's boy came up with word that John had sent to me. + + He would be home by five o'clock. They'd scour the woods till dark; + Some of the men would be off all night, but he and Andrew Clark + Would keep watch round his house and ours--I should not stay alone. + Poor John, he did the best he could, but what if he had known! + + The boy could hardly stop to tell that the se-lec'men had said + They would pay fifty dollars for the man alive or dead, + And I felt another shiver go over me for fear + That John might get that money, though we were pinched that year. + + I felt a little easier then, and went to work again: + The sky was getting cloudier, 'twas coming on to rain. + Before I knew, the clock struck six, and John had not come back; + The rain began to spatter down, and all the sky was black. + + I thought and thought, what shall I do if I'm alone all night? + I wa'n't so brave as I am now. I lit another light, + And I stirred round and got supper, but I ate it all alone. + The wind was blowing more and more--I hate to hear it moan. + + I was cutting rags to braid a rug--I sat there by the fire; + I wished I'd kep' the dog at home; the gale was rising higher; + O own I had hard thoughts o' John; I said he had no right + To leave his wife in that lonesome place alone that dreadful night. + + And then I thought of the murderer, afraid of God and man; + I seemed to follow him all the time, whether he hid or ran; + I saw him crawl on his hands and knees through the icy mud in the + rain, + And I wondered if he didn't wish he was back in his home again. + + I fell asleep for an hour or two, and then I woke with a start; + A feeling come across me that took and stopped my heart; + I was 'fraid to look behind me; then I felt my heart begin; + And I saw right at the window-pane two eyes a-looking in. + + I couldn't look away from them--the face was white as clay. + Those eyes, they make me shudder when I think of them to-day. + I knew right off 'twas Anderson. I couldn't move nor speak; + I thought I'd slip down on the floor, I felt so light and weak. + + "O Lord," I thought, "what shall I do?" Some words begun to come, + Like some one whispered to me: I set there, still and dumb: + "I was a stranger--took me in--in prison--visited me;" + And I says, "O Lord, I couldn't; it's a murderer, you see!" + + And those eyes they watched me all the time, in dreadful still + despair-- + Most like the room looked warm and safe; he watched me setting + there; + And what 'twas made me do it, I don't know to this day, + But I opened the door and let him in--a murderer at bay. + + He laid him right down on the floor, close up beside the fire. + I never saw such a wretched sight: he was covered thick with mire; + His clothes were torn to his very skin, and his hands were bleeding + fast. + I gave him something to tie 'em up, and all my fears were past. + + I filled the fire place up with wood to get the creature warm, + And I fetched him a bowl o' milk to drink--I couldn't do him harm; + And pretty soon he says, real low, "Do you know who I be?" + And I says, "You lay there by the fire; I know you won't hurt me." + + I had been fierce as any one before I saw him there, + But I pitied him--a ruined man whose life had started fair. + I somehow or 'nother never felt that I was doing wrong, + And I watched him laying there asleep almost the whole night long. + + I thought once that I heard the men, and I was half afraid + That they might come and find him there; and so I went and staid + Close to the window, watching, and listening for a cry; + And he slept there like a little child--forgot his misery. + + I almost hoped John wouldn't come till he could get away; + And I went to the door and harked awhile, and saw the dawn of day. + 'Twas bad for him to have slept so long, but I couldn't make him go + From the City of Refuge he had found; and he was glad, I know. + + It was years and years ago, but still I never can forget + How grey it looked that morning; the air was cold and wet; + Only the wind would howl sometimes, or else the trees would creak-- + All night I'd 'a given anything to hear somebody speak. + + He heard me shut the door again, and started up so wild + And haggard that I 'most broke down. I wasn't reconciled + To have the poor thing run all day, chased like a wolf or bear; + But I knew he'd brought it on himself; his punishment was fair. + + I gave him something more to eat; he couldn't touch it then, + "God pity you, poor soul!" says I. May I not see again + A face like his, as he stood in the door and looked which way + to go! + I watched him making towards the swamps, dead-lame and moving slow. + + He had hardly spoken a word to me, but as he went away + He thanked me, and gave me such a look! 'twill last to my dying + day. + "May God have mercy on me, as you have had!" says he, + And I choked, and couldn't say a word, and he limped away from me. + + John came home bright and early. He'd fell and hurt his head, + And he stopped up to his father's; but he'd sent word, he said, + And told the boy to fetch me there--my cousin, Johnny Black-- + But he went off with some other folks, who thought they'd found the + track. + + Oh yes, they did catch Anderson, early that afternoon + And carried him back to jail again, and tried and hung him soon. + Justice is justice! but I say, although they served him right, + I'm glad I harboured the murderer that stormy April night. + + Some said I might have locked him up, and got the town reward; + But I couldn't have done it if I'd starved, and I do hope the Lord + Forgave it, if it was a sin; but I could never see + 'Twas wrong to shelter a hunted man, trusting his life to me. + + _From "Harper's Magazine." By special + permission of Harper & Brothers_. + + + + +GUILD'S SIGNAL. + +BY BRET HARTE. + +[William Guild was engineer of the train which plunged into Meadow +Brook, on the line of the Stonington and Providence Railroad. It was +his custom, as often as he passed his home, to whistle an "All's +well" to his wife. He was found, after the disaster, dead, with his +hand on the throttle-valve of his engine.] + + + Two low whistles, quaint and clear, + That was the signal the engineer-- + That was the signal that Guild, 'tis said-- + Gave to his wife at Providence, + As through the sleeping town, and thence, + Out in the night, + On to the light, + Down past the farms, lying white, he sped! + + As a husband's greeting, scant, no doubt, + Yet to the woman looking out, + Watching and waiting, no serenade, + Love song, or midnight roundelay + Said what that whistle seemed to say: + "To my trust true, + So love to you! + Working or wailing, good night!" it said. + + Brisk young bagmen, tourists fine, + Old commuters along the line, + Brakemen and porters glanced ahead, + Smiled as the signal, sharp, intense, + Pierced through the shadows of Providence: + "Nothing amiss-- + Nothing!--it is + Only Guild calling his wife," they said. + + Summer and winter the old refrain + Rang o'er the billows of ripening grain, + Pierced through the budding boughs o'erhead: + Flew down the track when the red leaves burned + Like living coals from the engine spurned; + Sang as it flew: + "To our trust true, + First of all, duty. Good night!" it said. + + And then one night it was heard no more + From Stonington over Rhode Island shore, + And the folk in Providence smiled and said, + As they turned in their beds, "The engineer + Has once forgotten his midnight cheer." + _One_ only knew, + To his trust true, + Guild lay under his engine dead. + + + + +BILL MASON'S BRIDE. + +BY BRET HARTE. + + + Half an hour till train time, sir, + An' a fearful dark time, too; + Take a look at the switch lights, Tom, + Fetch in a stick when you're through. + _On time?_ Well, yes, I guess so-- + Left the last station all right; + She'll come round the curve a-flyin'; + Bill Mason comes up to-night. + + You know Bill? _No?_ He's engineer, + Been on the road all his life-- + I'll never forget the mornin' + He married his chuck of a wife. + 'Twas the summer the mill hands struck, + Just off work, every one; + They kicked up a row in the village + And killed old Donevan's son. + + Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour, + Up comes a message from Kress, + Orderin' Bill to go up there + And bring down the night express. + He left his gal in a hurry, + And went up on Number One, + Thinking of nothing but Mary, + And the train he had to run. + + And Mary sat down by the window + To wait for the night express; + And, sir, if she hadn't 'a done so, + She'd been a widow, I guess. + + For it must 'a been nigh midnight + When the mill hands left the Ridge; + They came down--the drunken devils, + Tore up a rail from the bridge, + But Mary heard 'em a-workin' + And guessed there was something wrong-- + And in less than fifteen minutes, + Bill's train it would be along! + + She couldn't come here to tell us, + A mile--it wouldn't 'a done; + So she jest grabbed up a lantern, + And made for the bridge alone. + Then down came the night express, sir, + And Bill was makin' her climb! + But Mary held the lantern, + A-swingin' it all the time. + + Well, by Jove! Bill saw the signal, + And he stopped the night express, + And he found his Mary cryin' + On the track in her weddin' dress; + Cryin' an' laughin' for joy, sir, + An' holdin' on to the light-- + Hello! here's the train--good-bye, sir, + Bill Mason's on time to-night. + + + + +THE CLOWN'S BABY. + +FROM "ST. NICHOLAS." + + + It was out on the Western frontier, + The miners, rugged and brown, + Were gathered around the posters-- + The circus had come to town! + The great tent shone in the darkness, + Like a wonderful palace of light, + And rough men crowded the entrance; + Shows didn't come every night. + + Not a woman's face among them, + Many a face that was bad, + And some that were very vacant, + And some that were very sad. + And behind a canvas curtain, + In a corner of the place, + The clown with chalk and vermilion + Was making up his face. + + A weary-looking woman, + With a smile that still was sweet, + Sewed, on a little garment, + With a cradle at her feet. + Pantaloon stood ready and waiting, + It was time for the going on; + But the clown in vain searched wildly-- + The "property baby" was gone. + + He murmured, impatiently hunting, + "It's strange that I cannot find; + There! I've looked in every corner; + It must have been left behind!" + The miners were stamping and shouting, + They were not patient men; + The clown bent over the cradle-- + "I must take _you_, little Ben." + + The mother started and shivered, + But trouble and want were near; + She lifted her baby gently; + "You'll be very careful, dear?" + "Careful? You foolish darling"-- + How tenderly it was said! + What a smile shone thro' the chalk and paint-- + "I love each hair of his head!" + + The noise rose into an uproar, + Misrule for a time was king; + The clown with a foolish chuckle, + Bolted into the ring. + But as, with a squeak and flourish, + The fiddles closed their tune, + "You hold him as if he was made of glass!" + Said the clown to the pantaloon. + + The jovial fellow nodded; + "I've a couple myself," he said, + "I know how to handle 'em, bless you; + Old fellow, go ahead!" + The fun grew fast and furious, + And not one of all the crowd + Had guessed that the baby was alive, + When he suddenly laughed aloud. + + Oh, that baby laugh! it was echoed + From the benches with a ring, + And the roughest customer there sprang up + With "Boys, it's the real thing!" + The ring was jammed in a minute, + Not a man that did not strive + For "a shot at holding the baby"-- + The baby that was "alive!" + + He was thronged by kneeling suitors + In the midst of the dusty ring, + And he held his court right royally, + The fair little baby king; + Till one of the shouting courtiers, + A man with a bold, hard face, + The talk for miles of the country + And the terror of the place, + + Raised the little king to his shoulder, + And chuckled, "Look at that!" + As the chubby fingers clutched his hair, + Then, "Boys, hand round the hat!" + There never was such a hatful + Of silver, and gold, and notes; + People are not always penniless + Because they won't wear coats! + + And then "Three cheers for the baby!" + I tell you those cheers were meant, + And the way in which they were given + Was enough to raise the tent. + And then there was sudden silence, + And a gruff old miner said, + "Come, boys, enough of this rumpus; + It's time it was put to bed." + + So, looking a little sheepish, + But with faces strangely bright, + The audience, somewhat lingering, + Flocked out into the night. + And the bold-faced leader chuckled, + "He wasn't a bit afraid! + He's as game as he is good-looking; + Boys, that was a show that paid!" + + + + +AUNT TABITHA. + +BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + + Whatever I do and whatever I say, + Aunt Tabitha tells me that isn't the way; + When _she_ was a girl (forty summers ago), + Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so. + + Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice-- + But I like my own way, and I find it _so_ nice! + And besides, I forget half the things I am told, + But they all will come back to me--when I am old. + + If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt, + He may chance to look in as I chance to look out; + _She_ would never endure an impertinent stare, + It is _horrid_, she says, and I mustn't sit there. + + A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own, + But it isn't quite safe to be walking alone; + So I take a lad's arm,--just for safety, you know,-- + But Aunt Tabitha tells me, _they_ didn't do so. + + How wicked we are, and how good they were then! + They kept at arm's length those detestable men; + What an era of virtue she lived in!--but stay-- + Were the men all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day? + + If the men _were_ so wicked--I'll ask my papa + How he dared to propose to my darling mamma? + Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! who knows? + And what shall _I_ say if a wretch should propose? + + I am thinking if aunt knew so little of sin, + What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's _aunt_ must have been! + And her _grand-aunt_--it scares me--how shockingly sad + That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad! + + A martyr will save us, and nothing else can; + Let _me_ perish to rescue some wretched young man + Though when to the altar a victim I go, + Aunt Tabitha'll tell me _she_ never did so! + + + + +LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE. + +BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. + + +Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay +An' wash the cups and saucers up, and brush the crumbs away, +An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth an' sweep, +An' make the fire, an' bake the bread' an' earn her board-an'-keep; +An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, +We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun +A-list'nin' to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, +An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you--Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + +Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers, +An' when he went to bed at night, away upstairs, +His Mammy heered him holler, an' his daddy heered him bawl, +An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all! +An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press, +An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess; +But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout, +An' the gobble-uns'll git you--Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + +An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin, +An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood an' kin; +An' onc't, when they was "company," an' ole folks was there, +She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! +An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, +They was two great big black things a-standin' by her side, +An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what + she's about! +An' the gobble-uns'll git you--Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + +An' Little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, +An' the lamp wick sputters, an' the wind goes _woo-oo!_ +An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, +An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,-- +You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear, +An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, +An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, +Er the gobble-uns'll get you--Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + + + +THE LIMITATIONS OF YOUTH. + +BY EUGENE FIELD. + + + I'd like to be a cowboy an' ride a fiery hoss + Way out into the big and boundless West; + I'd kill the bears an' catamounts an' wolves I come across, + An' I'd pluck the bal'head eagle from his nest! + With my pistols at my side + I would roam the prarers wide, + An' to scalp the savage Injun in his wigwam would I ride-- + If I darst; but I darsen't! + + I'd like to go to Afriky an' hunt the lions there, + An' the biggest ollyfunts you ever saw! + I would track the fierce gorilla to his equatorial lair, + An' beard the cannybull that eats folks raw! + I'd chase the pizen snakes + And the 'pottimus that makes + His nest down at the bottom of unfathomable lakes-- + If I darst; but I darsen't! + + I would I were a pirut to sail the ocean blue, + With a big black flag a-flyin' overhead; + I would scour the billowy main with my gallant pirut crew, + An' dye the sea a gouty, gory red! + With my cutlass in my hand + On the quarterdeck I'd stand + And to deeds of heroism I'd incite my pirut band-- + If I darst; but I darsen't! + + And, if I darst, I'd lick my pa for the times that he's + licked me! + I'd lick my brother an' my teacher, too. + I'd lick the fellers that call round on sister after tea, + An' I'd keep on lickin' folks till I got through! + You bet! I'd run away + From my lessons to my play, + An' I'd shoo the hens, an' teaze the cat, an' kiss the girls + all day-- + If I darst; but I darsen't! + + + + +RUBINSTEIN'S PLAYING. + +ANONYMOUS. + + +"Jud, they say you have heard Rubinstein play when you were in New +York?" + +"I did, in the cool." + +"Well, tell us all about it." + +"What! me? I might's well tell you about the creation of the world." + +"Come, now; no mock modesty. Go ahead." + +"Well, sir, he had the biggest, catty-cornerdest pianner you ever +laid your eyes on; somethin' like a distracted billiard table on +three legs. The lid was heisted, and mighty well it was. If it +hadn't, he'd a-tore the intire sides clean out, and scattered them to +the four winds of heaven." + +"Played well, did he?" + +"You bet he did; but don't interrupt me. When he first sat down he +'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin', and wish't he hadn't +come. He tweedle-eedled a little on the trible, and twoodle-oodled +some on the bass--just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' +in his way. And I says to the man settin' next to me, s' I, 'What +sort of fool-playin' is that?' And he says, 'Hush!' But presently his +hands began chasin' one 'nother up and down the keys, like a parcel +of rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was +sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar-squirrel turning the wheel +of a candy-cage. + +"'Now,' I says to my neighbour, 'he's a showin' off. He thinks he's +a-doin' of it, but he ain't got no ide, no plan of nothin'. If he'd +play a tune of some kind or other I'd----' + +"But my neighbour says 'Hush,' very impatient. + +"I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of that +foolishness, when I heard a little bird waking away off in the woods, +and callin' sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up, and I see that +Rubin was beginnin' to take some interest in his business, and I set +down agin. It was the peep of the day. The light came faint from the +east, the breeze blowed gentle and fresh, some birds waked up in the +orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all begun +singin' together. People began to stir, and the gal opened the +shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms +a leetle more, and it techt the roses on the bushes, and the next +thing it was the broad day: the sun fairly blazed, the birds sang +like they'd split their throats; all the leaves were movin' and +flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and +happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in +every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It +was a fine mornin'. + +"And I says to my neighbour, 'That's music, that is.' + +"But he glared at me like he'd cut my throat. + +"Presently the wind turned; it began to thicken up and a kind of +thick grey mist came over things; I got low-spirited directly. Then a +silver rain began to fall. I could see the drops touch the ground, +some flashed up like long pearl earrings, and the rest rolled away +like rubies. It was pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered +themselves into long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into +thin silver streams running between golden gravels, and then the +streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook +that flowed silent, except that you could kinder see music, +especially when the bushes on the bank moved as the music went along +down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the meadow. But the sun +didn't shine nor the birds sing; it was a foggy day, but not cold. + +"The most curious thing was the little white angel boy, like you see +in pictures, that run ahead of the music brook, and led it on and on, +away out of the world, where no man ever was--_I_ never was, certain. +I could see the boy just the same as I see you. Then the moonlight +came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards, over the wall, +and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose +up, with fine ladies in the lift-up windows, and men that loved 'em, +but never got a-nigh 'em, and played on guitars under the trees, and +made me that miserable I could a-cried, because I wanted to love +somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with guitars did. + +"Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a +lost child for its dead mother, and I could a-got up and there and +then preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There +wasn't a thing in the world left to live for--not a single thing; and +yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be +miserable than to be happy without being miserable. I couldn't +understand it. I hung my head and pulled out my han'kerchief, and +blowed my nose well to keep from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I +didn't want anybody to be a-gazin' at me a-snivilin', and it's nobody +business what I do with my nose. It's mine. But several glared at me +as mad as mad. Then, all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He +rip'd and he rar'd, he tip'd and he tar'd, and he charged like the +grand entry at a circus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house +was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head +ready to look at any man in the face, and not afear'd of nothin'. It +was a circus, and a brass band, and a big ball, all going on at the +same time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of bricks; he gave +'em no rest, day nor night; he set every livin' joint in me a-goin', +and not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumpt, sprang on to my +seat, and jest hollered-- + +"'Go it, my Rube!' + +"Every man, woman, and child in the house riz on me, and shouted, +'Put him out! Put him out!' + +"'Put your great-grandmother's grizzly gray greenish cat into the +middle of next month,' I says, 'Tech me if you dare! I paid my money, +and you jest come a-nigh me!' + +"With that several policemen ran up, and I had to simmer down. But I +would a fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear +Rube out or die. + +"He had changed his tune again. He hopt-light ladies, and tip-toed +fine from end to end of the key-bord. He played soft, and low, and +solemn. I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles in +heaven were lit one by one; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of +eternity began to play from the world's end to the world's end; and +the angels went to prayers.... Then the music changed to water, full +of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drop--drip, drop, +drip, drop--clear and sweet, like tears of joy fallin' into a lake of +glory. It was as sweet as a sweetheart sweetn'd with white sugar, +mixed with powdered silver and seed diamonds. It was too sweet. I +tell you, the audience cheered. Rubin, he kinder bowed, like he +wanted to say, 'Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't interrupt +me.' + +"He stopped a minute or two to fetch breath. Then he got mad. He runs +his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeve, he opened his +coat-tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, +and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He slapt her face, he +boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he +scratched her cheeks till she fairly yelled. She bellowed like a +bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed +like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, and _then_ he wouldn't let her +go. He ran a quarter stretch down the low grounds of the bass, till +he got clean into the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder +galloping after thunder, thro' the hollows and caves of perdition; +and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he got away +out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the +pints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the +shadders of 'em. And _then_ he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He +for'ard two'd, he cross't over first gentleman, he cross't over first +lady, he balanced two pards, he chassede right and left, back to +your places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, promenade +all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down, +perpetual motion, doubled, twisted and turned and tacked and tangled +into forty-'leven thousand double bow knots. + +"By jinks! It _was_ a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old +pianner go. He fecht up his right wing, he fecht up his left wing, he +fecht up his centre, he fecht up his reserves. He fired by file, he +fired by platoons, by company, by regiments, by brigades. He opened +his cannon, siege guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve-pounders +yonder, big guns, little guns, middle-size guns, round shot, shells, +shrapnels, grape, canister, mortars, mines and magazines, every +livin' battery and bomb a-goin' at the same time. The house trembled, +the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' +come down, the sky split, the ground rock't--heaven and earth, +creation, sweet potatoes, Moses, ninpences, glory, tenpenny nails, my +Mary Ann, Hallelujah, Sampson in a sim-mon tree, Jerusalem, Tump +Thompson in a tumbler cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-ruddle- +uddle-uddle-uddle-raddle-addle-addle-addle-riddle-iddle-iddle-iddle- +reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle-p-r-r-r-r-lang! per lang! per lang! +p-r-r-r-r-r lang! Bang! + +"With that bang he lifted himself bodily into the air, and he come +down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and +his nose, striking every single solitary key on that pianner at the +same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and +fifty-seven thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi-quavers, +and I know'd no mo'." + + + + +OBITUARY. + +BY WILLIAM THOMSON. + + + "Down the line I'll go," he said, + "To reach the railway station." + _Friends will please accept of this + The only intimation_. + + + + +THE EDITOR'S STORY. + +(_A YANKEE EDITOR IN ENGLAND_.) + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + The Editor dipp'd his pen in the ink; + He smole a smile and he wunk a wink; + He chuckled a chuck and he thunk a think. + + 'Twas a time of dearth + Of news, and the earth + Was rolling and bowling along on its axis + With never a murmur concerning the taxes + And never a ruse, or of rumour a particle + Needing a special or claiming an article; + In fact 'twas a terrible time for the papers, + And puzzled the brains of the paragraph shapers, + Till the whole world seem'd nothing but gases and vapours. + + And the Editor wrote: + But I'm not going to quote, + Far be it from me to set rumours afloat. + Suffice it to say, + The paper next day + Contain'd such a slasher + For Captain McClasher, + The whole town declared it a regular smasher; + And what made it worse he inserted a rubber, + For the world-renowned millionaire, Alderman Grubber. + + Now the Captain, you know, was the son of a gun, + He had fought many duels and never lost one; + He'd met single handed a hundred wild niggers, + All flashing their sabres and pulling their triggers, + And made them all run whether mogul or fellah: + With the flash of his eye and the bash of his 'brella + He tore up rebellion's wild weeds by the root; and he + Did more than Havelock to put down the mutiny. + + And then to be told by "a thief of an Editor" + He'd been far too long his proud country's creditor + For pensions unwork'd for and honours unwon, + And that rather than fight he would more likely run; + To be told, who had acted so gallant a part, + He'd more pluck in his heels than he had in his heart! + Why zounds! man--the words used they mostly make Dutch of-- + + (As warm as the chutney he'd eaten so much of) + And he gave the poor table a terrible blow, + As he said with an aspirate, "Hi----ll let 'em know." + + And Alderman Grubber was no less determined, + Though his gown was all silk and its edge was all ermined, + After thirty years' service to one corporation + To be libelled at last with the foul allegation, + He'd been "nicely paid for his work for the nation; + That Town Hall and Workhouse, Exchange and Infirmary, + Were all built on ground that by twistings and turnery, + Had been bought through the nose at a fabulous rate + From the patriot lord of the Grubber estate!" + Why, turtle and turbot, hock, champagne and sherry, + 'Twould rile the Archbishop of Canterbury! + + The Editor sat in his high-backed chair; + He listen'd a hark, and he looked a stare, + A sort of a mixture of humour and scare, + As he heard a footfall on the foot of the stair: + In a moment he buried his head in some "copy," + As in walked the Captain as red as a poppy. + + "This the Editor's room, sir?" the thunderer shouted, + In the tone which so often a phalanx had routed; + While he nervously twiddled the "gamp" in his hand, + Which so often had scatter'd a mutinous band. + + Now the Editor's views were as broad as the ocean + (His heart represented its wildest commotion), + In a moment he took in the whole situation + (And double distilled it in heart palpitation): + Then quickly arose with a dignified air, + And the wave of a hand and a nod at a chair; + Saying: "Yes, sir; it is, sir: be seated a minute, + The Editor's _in_, and I'll soon send him _in it_." + Then as quick as a flash of his own ready wit, + He opened the door and got outside of it. + + He skipp'd with a bound o'er + The stairs to the ground floor, + And turning his feet bore + Straight on for the street door; + When--what could astound more--' + The spot he was bound for + Was guarded in force by that great butter tubber, + The patriot millionaire, Alderman Grubber: + A smart riding-whip impatiently cracking, + The food for his vengeance the only thing lacking. + "Is the Editor in?" said the voice that had thrilled, + A thousand times over the big Town Hall filled! + While the crack of the whip and the stamp of the feet, + Made the Editor wish himself safe in the street. + + But an Editor's ever a man of resource, + He is never tied down to one definite course: + He shrank not a shrink nor waver'd a wave, + He blank not a blink nor quaver'd a quave; + But, pointing upstairs as he turn'd to the door, + Said "Editor's room number two second floor." + + Like a lion let loose on his innocent prey, + Strode the Alderman upstairs that sorrowful day: + Like a tiger impatiently waiting his foe, + The captain was pacing the room to and fro + When the Alderman enter'd--but here draw a veil, + There is much to be sad for and much to bewail. + Whoever began it, or ended the fray, + All they found in the room when they swept it next day, + Was a large pile of fragments beyond all identity + (Monument sad to the conflict's intensity). + And the analyst said whom the coroner quested, + The whole of the heap he had carefully tested, + And all he could find in his search analytic + (But tables and chairs and such things parenthetic), + He wore as he turned, white, black, blue, green, and purple, + Was one stone of chutney and two stone of turtle. + + And the Editor throve, as all editors should + Who devote all their thought to the popular good: + For the paper containing this little affair, + Ran to many editions and sold everywhere. + And the moral is plain, tho' you do your own writing, + There are better plans than to do your own fighting! + + + + +NAT RICKET. + +BY ALFRED H. MILES. + + + Nat Ricket at cricket was ever a don + As if you will listen I'll tell you anon; + His feet were so nimble, his legs were so long, + His hands were so quick and his arms were so strong, + That no matter where, at long-leg or square, + At mid-on, at mid-off, and almost mid-air, + At point, slip, or long-stop, wherever it came, + At long-on or long-off, 'twas always the same-- + If Nat was the scout, back came whizzing the ball, + And the verdict, in answer to Nat's lusty call, + Was always "Run out," or else "No run" at all: + At bowling, or scouting, or keeping the wicket, + You'd not meet in an outing another Nat Ricket. + + Nat Ricket for cricket was always inclined, + Even babyhood showed the strong bent of his mind: + At TWO he could get in the way of the ball; + At FOUR he could catch, though his hands were so small; + At SIX he could bat; and before he was SEVEN + He wanted to be in the county eleven. + + But that was the time, for this chief of his joys, + When the Muddleby challenged the Blunderby boys: + They came in a waggon that Farmer Sheaf lent them, + With Dick Rick the carter, in whose charge he sent them. + And as they came over the Muddleby hill, + The cheer that resounded I think I hear still; + And of all the gay caps that flew into the air, + The top cap of all told Nat Ricket was there. + + They tossed up, and, winning + The choice of the inning, + The Blunderby boys took the batting in hand, + And went to the wicket, + While nimble Nat Ricket + Put his _men_ in the field for a resolute stand; + And as each sturdy scout took his usual spot, + Our Nat roamed about and looked after the lot; + And as they stood there, when the umpire called "Play," + 'Twas a sight to remember for many a day, + + Nat started the bowling (and take my word, misters, + There's no bowling like it for underhand twisters); + And what with the pace and the screw and the aim, + It was pretty hard _work_, was that Blunderby _game_; + With Nat in the field to look after the ball, + 'Twas a terrible struggle to get runs at all; + Though they hit out their hardest a regular stunner, + 'Twas rare that it reckoned for more than a oner; + 'Twas seldom indeed that they troubled the scorer + To put down a twoer, a threer, or fourer; + And as for a lost ball, a fiver, or sixer, + The Blunderby boys were not up to the trick, sir; + Still they struggled full well, and at sixty the score + The last wicket fell, and the innings was o'er. + + But then came the cheering,-- + Nat Ricket appearing, + A smile on his face and a bat in his hand, + As he walked to the wicket,-- + From hillside to thicket, + They couldn't cheer more for a lord of the land. + And when he began, 'twas a picture to see + How the first ball went flying right over a tree, + How the second went whizzing close up to the sky, + And the third ball went bang in the poor umpire's eye; + + How he made poor point dance on his nimble young pins, + As a ball flew askance and came full on his shins; + How he kept the two scorers both working like niggers + At putting down runs and at adding up figures; + How he kept all the field in profuse perspiration + With rushing and racing and wild agitation,-- + Why, Diana and Nimrod, or both rolled together, + Never hunted the stag as they hunted the leather. + + It was something like cricket, there's no doubt of that, + When nimble Nat Ricket had hold of the bat. + You may go to the Oval, the Palace, or Lord's, + See the cricketing feats which each county affords, + But you'll see nothing there which, for vigour and life, + Will one moment compare with the passionate strife + With which Muddleby youngsters and Blunderby boys + Contend for the palm in this chief of their joys. + + I need hardly say, at the end of the day, + The Muddleby boys had the best of the play,-- + Tho' the bright-coloured caps of the Blunderby chaps + Were as heartily waved as the others, perhaps; + And as they drove off down the Blunderby lane, + The cheering resounded again and again. + + And Nat and his party, they, too, went away; + And I haven't seen either for many a day. + Still, don't be surprised + If you see advertised, + The name of Nat Ricket + Connected with cricket, + In some mighty score or some wonderful catch, + In some North and South contest or good county match. + And if ever, when passing by cricketing places, + You see people talking and pulling long faces, + 'Cause some country bumpkin has beaten the Graces, + Just step to the gate and politely enquire, + And see if they don't say, "N. Ricket, Esq."; + Or buy a "cor'ect card t' the fall o' th' last wicket," + And see if it doesn't say "Mr. N. Ricket." + For wherever you go, and whatever you see, + In the north or the south of this land of the free, + You never will find--and that all must agree-- + Such a rickety, crickety fellow as he. + + + + +'SPAeCIALLY JIM. + +FROM "HARPER'S MAGAZINE." + + + I wus mighty good-lookin' when I wus young-- + Peert an' black-eyed an' slim, + With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights, + 'Spaecially Jim. + + The likeliest one of 'em all wus he, + Chipper an' han'som an' trim; + But I toss'd up my head, an' made fun o' the crowd, + 'Spaecially Jim. + + I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men, + And I wouldn't take stock in _him!_ + But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk, + 'Spaecially Jim. + + I got _so_ tired o' havin' 'em roun' + ('Spaecially Jim!), + I made up my mind I'd settle down + An' take up with him; + + So we was married one Sunday in church, + 'Twas crowded full to the brim, + 'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all, + 'Spaecially Jim. + + + + +'ARRY'S ANCIENT MARINER. + +(_TOLD ON MARGATE JETTY_.) + +BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN. + + + He was an ainshunt mariner + Wot sailed the oshun blue; + His craft it was the _Crazy Jane_ + Wot was made of wood and glue. + + It sailed 'atween _Westminister_ + And the Gulf of Timbucktoo; + Its bulkhead was a putty one; + Its cargo--no one knew. + + I've heerd as how when a storm came on + It 'ud turn clean upside down, + But I _never_ could make out as why + Its skipper didn't drown. + + He was the most unwashedest + Old salt I ever knowed: + And all the things as he speaked about + Was nearly always "blowed." + + One day he told me a straw'nry tale, + But I don't think it were lies, + Bekos he swore as it was true-- + Tho' a big 'un as to size. + + He sez as how in the Biskey Bay + They was sailin' along one night, + When a _summat_ rose from the bilin' waves + As give him a _norful_ fright. + + He wouldn't exzagerate, he sed-- + No, he wouldn't, not if he died; + But the head of that monster was most as big + As a bloomin' mountain-side. + + Its eyes was ten times bigger 'an the moon; + Its ears was as long as a street; + And each of its eyelids--_without tellin' lies_-- + Would have kivered an or'nary sheet. + + "And now," said he, "may I _never speak agin_ + If I'm a-tellin' yer wrong, + But the length o' that sarpint from head to tail + Warn't a _ninch_ under _ten mile long_, + + "To the end of its tail there hung a great wale, + And a-ridin' on its back was sharks; + On the top of its head about two hundred seals + Was a-havin' no end of larks. + + "Now, as to beleevin' of what I sez _next_ + Yer can do as yer likes," sez he; + "But this 'ere sarpint, or whatever he was, + He ups and he _speaks_ to me. + + "Sez the sarpint, sez he, in a voice like a clap + Of thunder, or a cannon's roar: + 'Now say good-bye to the air and the sky + For you'll never see land no more.' + + "I shivered like a sail wot's struck by a gale + And I downs on my bended knees; + And the tears rolls over my face like a sea, + And I shrieks like a gull in a breeze. + + "Sez I, 'I'm an ainshunt old skipper, that's all, + And I ain't never done nuffin wrong.' + He sez, 'You old lubber, just stow that blubber, + I'm a-going fer to haul yer along.' + + "Then he puts out a fin like a big barndoor-- + Now this 'ere is real straight truth-- + It sounds like a fable, but he tuk my bloomin' cable, + _And he tied it to his left front tooth!_ + + "In another second more, at the bottom of the sea + The _Crazy Jane_ was aground; Sez I, + 'You oughter be ashamed of yerself, + It's a one-der as I wasn't drowned.' + + "Then he calls on a porkeypine a-standin' quite near, + Sez he, 'Look arter this barge,' + 'A-begging your pardon that's a _wessel_' I sez: + Sez he: 'Werry fine and large!' + + "With one of hiz eye-lashes, thick as a rope, + He ties me on to his knoze, + Then down in a cave right under the sea + Like a flash of light we goes. + + "He tuk me up to his wife, who was + A murmyaid with three tails; + She was havin' of her dinner, and perlitely she sez, + 'Will you have some o' these 'ere snails?' + + "So I sits me down by her buteful side-- + She'd a face like a sunset sky; + Her hair was a sort of a scarlety red, + And her knoze was strait as a die. + + "I hadn't sot a minit wen sez she to me, + 'Sammy, don't yer know me agane? + Why, I'm the wife arter wot yer call'd yer ship; + Sure enuf, it _was_ Craizy Jane-- + + "The wife as had bother'd me all my life, + Until she got drown'd one day, + When a-bathin' out o' one of them there masheens + In this wery same Margit Bay. + + "The Sarpint was a-havin' of his dinner, and so + She perposed as how we should fly-- + But, sez I to meself, 'What, take _you_ back? + Not if I knose it,' sez I. + + "'But how about them there tails?' I sez-- + 'On shore _them_ will niver doo;' + She sez, 'Yer silly, why, karn't yer see, + They're only fixed on wi' a screw?' + + "So I tells her as how I'll go fetch the old ship + Wile she's a-unscreuing of her tails; + But when I gets back to the _Crazy Jane_ + I finds there a couple of wales. + + "I jist had time to see the biggest of the two + A-swallerin' of the ship right whole, + And in one more momint he swallered me too, + As true as I'm a livin' sole. + + "But when he got to the surfis of the sea, + A summat disagreed with that wale, + And he up with me and the _Crazy Jane_ and all-- + And this 'ere's the end of my tail." + + * * * * * + + Then this old ainshunt mariner, he sez unto me-- + And 'onesty was shinin' in hiz eyes-- + "_It's jist the sort o' story wot no one won't beleeve-- + But it's true, little nipper, if I dies_," + + + + +THE AMATEUR ORLANDO. + +BY GEORGE T. LANIGAN. + + + It was an Amateur Dram. Ass., + (Kind hearer, although your + Knowledge of French is not first-class, + Don't call that Amature.) + It was an Amateur Dram. Ass., + The which did warfare wage + On the dramatic works of this + And every other age. + + It had a walking gentleman, + A leading juvenile, + First lady in book-muslin dressed. + With a galvanic smile; + Thereto a singing chambermaid, + Benignant heavy pa, + And oh, heavier still was the heavier vill- + Ain, with his fierce "Ha! Ha!" + + There wasn't an author from Shakespeare down-- + Or up--to Boucicault, + These amateurs weren't competent + To collar and assault. + And when the winter time came round-- + "Season" 's a stagier phrase-- + The Am. Dram. Ass. assaulted one + Of the Bard of Avon's plays. + + 'Twas _As You Like It_ that they chose; + For the leading lady's heart + Was set on playing _Rosalind_ + Or some other page's part, + And the President of the Am. Dram. Ass., + A stalwart dry-goods clerk, + Was cast for _Oriando_, in which _role_ + He felt he'd make his mark. + + "I mind me," said the President, + (All thoughtful was his face,) + "When _Oriando_ was taken by Thingummy + That _Charles_ was played by Mace. + _Charles_ hath not many lines to speak, + Nay, not a single length-- + If find we can a Mussulman + (That is, a man of strength), + And bring him on the stage as _Charles_-- + But, alas, it can't be did--" + "It can," replied the Treasurer; + "Let's get the Hunky Kid." + + This Hunky Kid of whom he spoke + Belonged to the P.R.; + He always had his hair cut short, + And always had catarrh; + His voice was gruff, his language rough, + His forehead villainous low, + And 'neath his broken nose a vast + Expanse of jaw did show. + He was forty-eight about the chest, + And his fore-arm at the mid- + Dle measured twenty-one and a-half-- + Such was the Hunky Kid! + + The Am. Dram. Ass. they have engaged + This pet of the P.R.; + As _Charles the Wrestler_ he's to be + A bright particular star. + And when they put the programme out, + Announce him thus they did: + _Oriando_...Mr. ROMEO JONES; + _Charles_...Mr. HUNKY KID. + + The night has come; the house is packed, + From pit to gallery, + As those who through the curtain peep + Quake inwardly to see. + A squeak's heard in the orchestra, + As the leader draws across + Th' intestines of the agile cat + The tail of the noble hoss. + + All is at sea behind the scenes, + Why do they fear and funk? + Alas, alas, the Hunky Kid + Is lamentably drunk! + He's in that most unlovely stage + Of half intoxication + When men resent the hint they're tight + As a personal imputation! + + "Ring up! Ring up!" _Orlando_ cried, + "Or we must cut the scene; + For _Charles the Wrestler_ is imbued + With poisonous benzine; + And every moment gets more drunk + Than he before has been." + + The wrestling scene has come and _Charles_ + Is much disguised in drink; + The stage to him's an inclined plane, + The footlights make him blink. + Still strives he to act well his part + Where all the honour lies, + Though Shakespeare would not in his lines-- + His language recognise. + Instead of "Come, where is this young----?" + This man of bone and brawn, + He squares himself and bellows: "Time! + Fetch your _Orlandos_ on!" + + "Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man," + Fair _Rosalind_ said she, + As the two wrestlers in the ring + Grapple right furiously; + But _Charles the Wrestler_ had no sense + Of dramatic propriety. + + He seized on Mr. Romeo Jones, + In Graeco-Roman style: + He got what they call a grape-vine lock + On that leading juvenile; + He flung him into the orchestra, + And the man with the ophicleide, + On whom he fell, he just said--well, + No matter what--and died! + + When once the tiger has tasted blood + And found that it is sweet, + He has a habit of killing more + Than he can possibly eat. + + And thus it was with the Hunky Kid; + In his homicidal blindness, + He lifted his hand against _Rosalind_ + Not in the way of kindness; + He chased poor _Celia_ off at L., + At R.U.E. _Le Beau_, + And he put such a head upon _Duke Fred_, + In fifteen seconds or so, + That never one of the courtly train + Might his haughty master know. + + * * * * * + + And that's precisely what came to pass, + Because the luckless carles + Belonging to the Am. Dram. Ass. + Cast the Hunky Kid for _Charles!_ + + --_New York World_. + + + + +A BALLAD OF A BAZAAR. + +BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN. + + + _First Day_. + + He was young, and she--enchanting! + She had eyes of tender grey, + Fringed with long and lovely lashes, + As he passed they seemed to say, + With a look that was quite killing, + "Won't you buy a pretty flower? + Come, invest--well, just a shilling, + For the fairest in my bower!" + Though that bower was full of blossoms, + Yet the fairest of them all + Was the pretty grey-eyed maiden + Standing 'mong them, slim and tall, + With her dainty arms uplifted + O'er her figure as she stood + Just inside the trellised doorway + Fashioned out of rustic wood; + And she pouted as he passed her, + And that pout did so beguile, + That he thought it more bewitching + Than another's sweetest smile. + Fair as tiny dew-dipped rosebuds + Were the little rounded lips; + And the youth ransacked his pockets + In a rhapsody of grips. + Then he went and told her plainly + That he'd not a farthing left, + But would gladly pledge his "Albert"; + So with fingers quick and deft, + She unloosed his golden watch-chain-- + Coiled it round her own white arm, + Said she'd keep it till the morrow + As a _souvenir_--a charm. + + _Second Day_. + + Full of hope, and faith, and fondness, + He went forth at early morn, + And paced up and down the entrance, + Like a man that was forlorn. + Thus for hour on hour he waited, + Till they opened the bazaar; + Then she came with kindly greeting; + "Ah, well, so then, there you are! + Come, now, go in for a raffle-- + Buy a ticket--half-a-crown." + Ah, those eyes! who _could_ refuse them?-- + And he put the money down. + Then, enthralled, he stood and watched her-- + Sought each movement of that face, + With its wealth of witching beauty, + And its glory and its grace. + When the raffling was over, + Thus she spake in tones of pain: + "You are really most unlucky-- + My--my _husband's_ won _your chain_!" + + + + +A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FOUR MONTHS. + +BY THOMAS HOOD. + + + Thou happy, happy elf! + (But stop--first let me kiss away that tear) + Thou tiny image of myself? + (My love, he's poking peas into his ear) + Thou merry laughing sprite! + With spirits feather-light, + Untouched by sorrow and unsoiled by sin-- + (Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!) + + Thou tricksy Puck! + With antic toys so funnily bestuck, + Light as the singing bird that wings the air-- + (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) + Thou darling of thy sire! + (Why Jane, he'll set his pinafore on fire) + Thou imp of mirth and joy, + In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, + Thou idol of thy parents--(drat the boy! + There goes my ink!) + + Thou cherub!--but of earth, + Fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight pale, + In harmless sport and mirth, + (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail) + Thou human honey-bee, extracting honey + From every blossom in the world that blows, + Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunny-- + (Another tumble!--that's his precious nose!) + + Thy father's pride and hope + (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) + With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint + (Where _did_ he learn that squint?) + Thou young domestic dove! + (He'll have that jug off with another shove!) + Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest! + (Are those torn clothes his best?) + Little epitome of man! + (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) + Touched with the beauteous trials of dawning life-- + (He's got a knife!) + + Thou enviable being! + No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, + Play on, play on, + My elfin John! + Toss the light ball--bestride the stick, + (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) + With fancies buoyant as the thistledown, + Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, + With many a lamb-like frisk-- + (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) + + Thou pretty opening rose! + (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) + Balmy and breathing music like the South, + (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) + Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star, + (I wish that window had an iron bar!) + Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove-- + (I'll tell you what, my love, + I cannot write, unless he's sent above.) + + + + +'TWAS EVER THUS. + +BY HENRY S. LEIGH. + + + I never rear'd a young gazelle + (Because, you see, I never tried); + But, had it known and loved me well, + No doubt the creature would have died. + My rich and aged uncle JOHN + Has known me long and loves me well, + But still persists in living on-- + I would he were a young gazelle! + + I never loved a tree or flower; + But, if I _had_, I beg to say, + The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower, + Would soon have wither'd it away. + I've dearly loved my uncle JOHN + From childhood to the present hour, + And yet he _will_ go living on-- + I would he were a tree or flower! + + + + +MISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION. + +BY MARY MAPES DODGE. + + +Ovh! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' didn't I howld on +till the heart of me was clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that +thin ye could clutch me wid yer two hands. To think o' me toilin' +like a nager for the six year I've been in Ameriky--bad luck to the +day I iver left the owld counthry!--to be bate by the likes o' them! +(faix, and I'll sit down when I'm ready, so I will, Ann Ryan; and +ye'd better be listenin' than drawin' yer remarks). An' is it meself, +with five good characters from respectable places, woud be herdin' +wid the haythens? The saints forgive me, but I'd be buried alive +sooner 'n put up wid it a day longer. Sure, an' I was the granehorn +not to be lavin' at once-t when the missus kim into me kitchen wid +her perlaver about the new waiter-man which was brought out from +Californy. "He'll be here the night," says she. "And, Kitty, it's +meself looks to you to be kind and patient wid him, for he's a +furriner," says she, a kind o' lookin' off. "Sure, an' it's little +I'll hinder nor interfare wid him, nor any other, mum," says I, a +kind o' stiff; for I minded me how them French waiters, wid their +paper collars and brass rings on their fingers, isn't company for +no gurril brought up dacent and honest. Och! sorra a bit I knew what +was comin' till the missus walked into me kitchen, smilin', and says, +kind o' schared, "Here's Fing Wing, Kitty; an' ye'll have too much +sinse to mind his bein' a little strange." Wid that she shoots the +doore; and I, misthrustin' if I was tidied up sufficient for me fine +buy wid his paper collar, looks up, and--Howly fathers! may I niver +brathe another breath, but there stud a rayle haythen Chineser, +a-grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay-box. If ye'll belave me, the +crayther was that yeller it 'ud sicken ye to see him; and sorra stick +was on him but a black night-gown over his trowsers, and the front of +his head shaved claner nor a copper biler, and a black tail a-hangin' +down from it behind, wid his two feet stook into the haythenestest +shoes yer ever set eyes on. Och! but I was upstairs afore ye could +turn about, a-givin' the missus warnin', an' only stopt wid her by +her raisin' me wages two dollars, an' playdin' wid me how it was a +Christian's duty to bear wid haythens, and taich 'em all in our +power--the saints save us! Well, the ways and trials I had wid that +Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissid thing cud I +do, but he'd be lookin' on wid his eyes cocked up'ard like two +poomp-handles; an' he widdout a speck or smitch o' whishkers on him, +an' his finger-nails full a yard long. But it's dyin' ye'd be to see +the missus a-larnin' him, an' he a-grinnin', an' waggin' his pig-tail +(which was pieced out long wid some black stoof, the haythen chate!), +and gettin' into her ways wonderful quick, I don't deny, imitatin', +that sharp, ye'd be shurprised, an' ketchin an' copyin' things the +best of us will do a-hurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the +knowledge o' the family--bad luck to him! + +Is it ate wid him? Arrah, an' would I be sittin' wid a haythen, an' +he a-atin' wid drumsticks?--yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats unknownst to +me, I warrant ye, which it is the custom of them Chinesers, till the +thought made me that sick I could die. An' didn't the crayture +proffer to help me a week ago come Toosday, an' me foldin' down me +clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his haythen mouth wid water, +an' afore I could hinder, squirrit it through his teeth stret over +the best linen table-cloth, and fold it up tight, as innercent now as +a baby, the dirrity baste! But the worrest of all was the copyin' +he'd been doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yerself knows the +tinder feet that's on me since ever I been in this counthry. Well, +owin' to that, I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes off when I'd be +sittin' down to pale the praties, or the likes o' that; an' do ye +mind, that haythen would do the same thing after me whiniver the +missus set him to parin' apples or tomaterses. + +Did I lave for that? Faix, an' I didn't. Didn't he get me into +trouble wid my missus, the haythen! Ye're aware yerself how the +boondles comin' in from the grocery often contains more'n'll go into +anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a +sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper, and put it in +me bit of a box tucked under the ironin'-blanket, the how it cuddent +be bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed +Sathurday morn, the missus was a-spakin' pleasant an' respec'ful wid +me in me kitchen, when the grocer boy comes in, and stands fornenst +her wid his boondles; and she motions like to Fing Wing (which I +never would call him by that name or any other but just haythen)--she +motions to him, she does, for to take the boondles, an' emty out the +sugar and what not where they belongs. If ye'll belave me, Ann Ryan, +what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup of sugar, an' +a han'ful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze, right afore the missus, wrap, +'em into bits o' paper, an' I spacheless wid shurprise, an' he the +next minute up wid the ironin'-blanket, an' pullin' out me box wid a +show o' bein sly to put them in. Och! the Lord forgive me, but I +clutched it, an' missus sayin' "O Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle +yer blood. "He's a haythen nager," says I. "I've found yer out," says +she, "I'll arrist him," says I. "It's yerself ought to be arristid," +says she. "Yer won't," says I, "I will," says she. And so it went, +till she give me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady, an' I give +her warnin' an' left that instant, an' she a-pointin' to the +doore. + --_Theophilus and Others_. + + + + +THE HEATHEN CHINEE. + +BY BRET HARTE. + +_PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES (TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870)_. + + + Which I wish to remark, + And my language is plain, + That for ways that are dark + And for tricks that are vain + The heathen Chinee is peculiar, + Which the same I would rise to explain. + + Ah Sin was his name! + And I shall not deny, + In regard to the same, + What that name might imply; + But his smile it was pensive and childlike, + As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye. + + It was August the third, + And quite soft was the skies; + Which it might be inferred + That Ah Sin was likewise; + Yet he played it that day upon William + And me in a way I despise, + + Which we had a small game, + And Ah Sin took a hand; + It was Euchre. The same + He did not understand; + But he smiled as he sat by the table, + With the smile that was childlike and bland. + + Yet the cards they were stocked + In a way that I grieve, + And my feelings were shocked + At the state of Nye's sleeve, + Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, + And the same with intent to deceive. + + But the hands that were played + By that heathen Chinee, + And the points that he made + Were quite frightful to see,-- + Till at last he put down a right bower, + Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. + + Then I looked up at Nye, + And he gazed upon me; + And he rose with a sigh, + And said, "Can this be? + We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour,"-- + And he went for that heathen Chinee. + + In the scene that ensued + I did not take a hand; + But the floor it was strewed + Like the leaves on the strand + With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, + In the game "he did not understand." + + In his sleeves, which were long, + He had twenty-four packs,-- + Which was coming it strong, + Yet I state but the facts; + And we found on his nails, which were taper, + What is frequent in tapers,--that's wax. + + Which is why I remark, + And my language is plain, + That for ways that are dark + And for tricks that are vain + The heathen Chinee is peculiar, + Which the same I am free to maintain. + + + + +HO-HO OF THE GOLDEN BELT. + +_ONE OF THE "NINE STORIES OF CHINA."_ +BY JOHN G. SAXE. + + + A beautiful maiden was little Min-Ne, + Eldest daughter of wise Wang-Ke; + Her skin had the colour of saffron-tea, + And her nose was flat as flat could be; + And never was seen such beautiful eyes. + Two almond-kernels in shape and size, + Set in a couple of slanting gashes, + And not in the least disfigured by lashes; + And then such feet! + You'd scarcely meet + In the longest walk through the grandest street + (And you might go seeking + From Nanking to Peking) + A pair was remarkably small and neat. + + Two little stumps, + Mere pedal lumps, + That toddle along with the funniest thumps + In China, you know, are reckon'd trumps. + It seems a trifle, to make such a boast of it; + But how they _will_ dress it: + And bandage and press it, + By making the least, to make the most of it! + As you may suppose, + She had plenty of beaux + Bowing around her beautiful toes, + Praising her feet, and eyes, and nose + In rapturous verse and elegant prose! + She had lots of lovers, old and young: + There was lofty Long, and babbling Lung, + Opulent Tin, and eloquent Tung, + Musical Sing, and, the rest among, + Great Hang-Yu and Yu-be-Hung. + + But though they smiled, and smirk'd, and bow'd, + None could please her of all the crowd; + Lung and Tung she thought too loud; + Opulent Tin was much too proud; + Lofty Long was quite too tall; + Musical Sing sung very small; + And, most remarkable freak of all, + Of great Hang-Yu the lady made game, + And Yu-be-Hung she mocked the sama, + By echoing back his ugly name! + + But the hardest heart is doom'd to melt; + Love is a passion that _will_ be felt; + And just when scandal was making free + To hint "What a pretty old maid she'd be,"-- + Little Min-Ne, + Who but she? + Married Ho-Ho of the Golden Belt! + A man, I must own, of bad reputation, + And low in purse, though high in station,-- + A sort of Imperial poor relation, + Who rank'd as the Emperor's second cousin + Multiplied by a hundred dozen; + And, to mark the love the Emperor felt, + Had a pension clear + Of three pounds a year, + And the honour of wearing a Golden Belt! + And gallant Ho-Ho + Could really show + A handsome face, as faces go + In this Flowery Land, where, you must know, + The finest flowers of beauty grow. + He'd the very widest kind of jaws, + And his nails were like an eagle's claws, + And--though it may seem a wondrous tale-- + (Truth is mighty and will prevail!) + He'd a _queue_ as long as the deepest cause + Under the Emperor's chancery laws! + + Yet how he managed to win Min-Ne + The men declared they couldn't see; + But all the ladies, over their tea, + In this one point were known to agree: + _Four gifts_ were sent to aid his plea: + A smoking-pipe with a golden clog, + A box of tea and a poodle dog, + And a painted heart that was all aflame, + And bore, in blood, the lover's name, + Ah! how could presents pretty as these + A delicate lady fail to please? + She smoked the pipe with the golden clog, + And drank the tea, and ate the dog, + And kept the heart,--and that's the way + The match was made, the gossips say. + + I can't describe the wedding-day, + Which fell in the lovely month of May; + Nor stop to tell of the Honey-moon, + And how it vanish'd all too soon; + Alas! that I the truth must speak, + And say that in the fourteenth week, + Soon as the wedding guests were gone, + And their wedding suits began to doff, + Min-Ne was weeping and "taking-on," + For _he_ had been trying to "take her off." + Six wives before he had sent to heaven, + And being partial to number "seven," + He wish'd to add his latest pet, + Just, perhaps, to make up the set! + Mayhap the rascal found a cause + Of discontent in a certain clause + In the Emperor's very liberal laws, + Which gives, when a Golden Belt is wed, + Six hundred pounds to furnish the bed; + And if in turn he marry a score, + With every wife six hundred more. + + First, he tried to murder Min-Ne + With a special cup of poison'd tea, + But the lady smelling a mortal foe, + Cried, "Ho-Ho! + I'm very fond of mild Souchong, + But you, my love, you make it too strong." + + At last Ho-Ho, the treacherous man, + Contrived the most infernal plan + Invented since the world began; + He went and got him a savage dog, + Who'd eat a woman as soon as a frog; + Kept him a day without any prog, + Then shut him up in an iron bin, + Slipp'd the bolt and locked him in; + Then giving the key + To poor Min-Ne, + Said, "Love, there's something you _mustn't_ see + In the chest beneath the orange-tree." + + * * * * * + + Poor mangled Min-Ne! with her latest breath + She told her father the cause of her death; + And so it reach'd the Emperor's ear, + And his highness said, "It is very clear + Ho-Ho has committed a murder here!" + And he doom'd Ho-Ho to end his life + By the terrible dog that kill'd his wife; + But in mercy (let his praise be sung!) + His thirteen brothers were merely hung, + And his slaves bamboo'd in the mildest way, + For a calendar month, three times a day. + And that's the way that Justice dealt + With wicked Ho-Ho of the Golden Belt! + + + + +THE HIRED SQUIRREL. + +_A RUSSIAN FABLE_. + +BY LAURA SANFORD. + + + A lion to the Squirrel said: + "Work faithfully for me, + And when your task is done, my friend, + Rewarded you shall be + With a barrel-full of finest nuts, + Fresh from my own nut-tree." + "My Lion King," the Squirrel said, + "To this I do agree." + + The Squirrel toiled both day and night, + Quite faithful to his hire; + So hungry and so faint sometimes + He thought he should expire. + But still he kept his courage up, + And tugged with might and main, + "How nice the nuts will taste," he thought, + "When I my barrel gain." + + At last, when he was nearly dead, + And thin and old and grey, + Quoth th' Lion: "There's no more hard work + You're fit to do. I'll pay." + A barrel-full of nuts he gave-- + Ripe, rich, and big; but oh! + The Squirrel's tears ran down his cheeks. + He'd _lost his teeth_, you know! + + + + +BALLAD OF THE TRAILING SKIRT. + +NEW YORK "LIFE." + + + I met a girl the other day, + A girl with golden tresses, + Who wore the most bewitching air, + And daintiest of dresses. + + I gazed at her with kindling eye + And admiration utter-- + Until I saw her silken skirt + Was trailing in the gutter! + + "What senseless style is this?" I thought; + "What new sartorial passion? + And who on earth stands sponsor for + The idiotic fashion?" + + I've asked a dozen maids or more, + A tailor and his cutter, + But no one knows why skirts are made + To drag along the gutter. + + Alas for woman, fashion's slave; + She does not seem to mind it. + Her silk or satin sweeps the street + And leaves no filth behind it. + + For all the dirt the breezes blow + And all the germs that flutter + May find a refuge in the gowns + That swish along the gutter. + + What lovely woman wills to do + She does without a reason. + To interfere is waste of time, + To criticise is treason. + + Man's only province is to work + To earn his bread and butter-- + And buy her all the skirts she wants + To trail along the gutter. + + + + +TO THE GIRL IN KHAKI. + +"MODERN SOCIETY." + + + I put the question shyly, + Lest you inform me dryly + That women's ways are far beyond my ken; + But was not khaki chosen + For coats and breeks and hosen + To render men invisible to men? + + Why, then, dear maid, do you + Forsake your gayest hue + And dress in viewless khaki spick and span? + You charming little miss, + It never can be this: + To render you invisible to man! + + Not that at all? What then? + You do _not_ fear the men: + Perchance you only wish to hide your heart, + And so, you fickle flirt, + You don a khaki skirt + To foil the deadly aim of Cupid's dart. + + + + +THE TENDER HEART. + +BY HELEN GRAY CONE. + + + She gazed upon the burnished brace + Of partridges he showed with pride; + Angelic grief was in her face; + "How _could_ you do it, dear?" she sighed, + "The poor, pathetic, moveless wings! + The songs all hushed--oh, cruel shame!" + Said he, "The partridge never sings." + Said she, "The sin is quite the same. + + "You men are savage through and through. + A boy is always bringing in + Some string of bird's eggs, white or blue, + Or butterfly upon a pin. + The angle-worm in anguish dies, + Impaled, the pretty trout to tease----" + "My own, I fish for trout with flies----" + "Don't wander from the question, please!" + + She quoted Burns's "Wounded Hare," + And certain burning lines of Blake's, + And Ruskin on the fowls of air, + And Coleridge on the water-snakes. + At Emerson's "Forbearance" he + Began to feel his will benumbed; + At Browning's "Donald" utterly + His soul surrendered and succumbed. + + "Oh, gentlest of all gentle girls," + He thought, "beneath the blessed sun!" + He saw her lashes hung with pearls, + And swore to give away his gun. + She smiled to find her point was gained, + And went, with happy parting words + (He subsequently ascertained), + To trim her hat with humming-birds. + + + + +A SONG OF SARATOGA. + +BY JOHN G. SAXE. + + + "Pray what do they do at the Springs?" + The question is easy to ask: + But to answer it fully, my dear, + Were rather a serious task. + And yet, in a bantering way, + As the magpie or mocking-bird sings, + I'll venture a bit of a song, + To tell what they do at the Springs. + + _Imprimis_, my darling, they drink + The waters so sparkling and clear; + Though the flavour is none of the best, + And the odour exceedingly queer; + But the fluid is mingled, you know, + With wholesome medicinal things; + So they drink, and they drink, and they drink-- + And that's what they do at the Springs! + + Then with appetites keen as a knife, + They hasten to breakfast, or dine; + The latter precisely at three, + The former from seven till nine. + Ye gods! what a rustle and rush, + When the eloquent dinner-bell rings! + Then they eat, and they eat, and they eat-- + And that's what they do at the Springs! + + Now they stroll in the beautiful walks, + Or loll in the shade of the trees; + Where many a whisper is heard + That never is heard by the breeze; + And hands are commingled with hands, + Regardless of conjugal rings: + And they flirt, and they flirt, and they flirt-- + And that's what they do at the Springs! + + The drawing-rooms now are ablaze, + And music is shrieking away; + Terpsichore governs the hour, + And fashion was never so gay! + An arm round a tapering waist-- + How closely and fondly it clings! + So they waltz, and they waltz, and they waltz-- + And that's what they do at the Springs! + + In short--as it goes in the world-- + They eat, and they drink, and they sleep; + They talk, and they walk, and they woo; + They sigh, and they laugh, and they weep; + They read, and they ride, and they dance + (With other remarkable things): + They pray, and they play, and they PAY-- + And _that's_ what they do at the Springs! + + + + +THE SEA. + +BY EVA L. OGDEN. + + She was rich and of high degree; + A poor and unknown artist he. + "Paint me," she said, "a view of the sea." + So he painted the sea as it looked the day + That Aphrodite arose from its spray; + And it broke, as she gazed in its face the while + Into its countless-dimpled smile. + "What a pokey stupid picture," said she; + "I don't believe he _can_ paint the sea!" + + Then he painted a raging, tossing sea, + Storming, with fierce and sudden shock, + Wild cries, and writhing tongues of foam, + A towering, mighty fastness-rock. + In its sides above those leaping crests, + The thronging sea-birds built their nests. + "What a disagreeable daub!" said she; + "Why it isn't anything like the sea!" + + Then he painted a stretch of hot, brown sand, + With a big hotel on either hand, + And a handsome pavilion for the band,-- + Not a sign of the water to be seen + Except one faint little streak of green. + "What a perfectly exquisite picture," said she; + "It's the very _image_ of the sea." + --_Century Magazine_. + + + + +A TALE OF A NOSE. + +BY CHARLES F. ADAMS. + + + 'Twas a hard case, that which happened in Lynn. + Haven't heard of it, eh? Well, then, to begin, + There's a Jew down there whom they call "Old Mose," + Who travels about, and buys old clothes. + + Now Mose--which the same is short for Moses-- + Had one of the biggest kind of noses: + It had a sort of an instep in it, + And he fed it with snuff about once a minute. + + One day he got in a bit of a row + With a German chap who had kissed his _frau_, + And, trying to punch him _a la_ Mace, + Had his nose cut off close up to his face. + + He picked it up from off the ground, + And quickly back in its place 'twas bound, + Keeping the bandage upon his face + Until it had fairly healed in place. + + Alas for Mose! 'Twas a sad mistake + Which he in his haste that day did make; + For, to add still more to his bitter cup, + He found he had placed it _wrong side up_. + + "There's no great loss without some gain;" + And Moses says, in a jocular vein, + He arranged it so for taking snuff, + As he never before could get enough. + + One thing, by the way, he forgets to add, + Which makes the arrangement rather bad: + Although he can take his snuff with ease, + He has to stand on his head to sneeze! + + + + +LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS. + +BY CHARLES F. ADAMS. + + + I haf von funny leedle poy + Vot gomes schust to my knee-- + Der queerest schap, der createst rogue + As efer you dit see. + He runs, und schumps, and schmashes dings + In all barts off der house. + But vot off dot? He vas mine son, + Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. + + He get der measels und der mumbs, + Und eferyding dot's oudt; + He sbills mine glass of lager-bier, + Foots schnuff indo mine kraut; + He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese-- + Dot vas der roughest chouse; + I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy + But leedle Yawcob Strauss. + + He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, + Und cuts mine cane in dwo + To make der schticks to beat it mit-- + Mine cracious, dot vas drue! + I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart, + He kicks oup such a touse! + But nefer mind, der poys vas few + Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. + + He asks me questions sooch as dese: + Who baints mine nose so red? + Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt + Vrom der hair ubon mine hed? + Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp + Vene'er der glim I douse? + How gan I all dese dings eggsblain + To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss. + + I somedimes dink I schall go vild + Mit sooch a grazy poy, + Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest + Und beaceful dimes enshoy, + But ven he vas ashleep in ped, + So quiet as a mouse, + I prays der Lord, "Dake anydings, + But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." + + + + +DOT BABY OF MINE. + +BY CHARLES F. ADAMS. + + +Mine cracious! Mine cracious! shust look here und see +A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe. +Der beoples all dink dat no prains I haf got, +Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot; +Id vasn't pecause I trinks lager und vine, +Id vas all on aggount of dot baby off mine. + +Dot schmall leedle vellow I dells you vas qveer; +Not mooch pigger round as a goot glass off beer, +Mit a bare-footed hed, and nose but a schpeck, +A mout dot goes most to der pack of his neck, +And his leedle pink toes mid der rest all combine +To gife sooch a charm to dot baby off mine. + +I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys, +Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise; +He shust has pegun to shbeak goot English, too, +Says "Mamma," und "Bapa," und somedimes "ah-goo!" +You don't find a baby den dimes oudt off nine +Dot vas qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine. + +He grawls der vloor over, und drows dings aboudt, +Und puts efryding he can find in his mout; +He durables der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair, +Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible schare. +Mine hair stands like shquills on a mat borcupine +Ven I dinks of dose pranks of dot baby off mine. + +Der vas someding, you pet, I don't likes pooty veil; +To hear in der nighdt dimes dot young Deutscher yell, +Und dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es, +Vhile der chills down der sphine off mine pack quickly goes. +Dose leedle shimnasdic dricks vasn't so fine +Dot I cuts oop at nighdt mit dot baby off mine. + +Veil, dese leedle schafers vos goin' to pe men, +Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den; +Dey vill vear a vhite shirt-vront inshted of a bib, +Und voudn't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib. +Veil! veil! ven I'm feeple und in life's decline, +May mine oldt age pe cheered by dot baby off mine. + + + + +A DUTCHMAN'S MISTAKE. + +BY CHARLES F. ADAMS. + + +I geeps me von leedle schtore town Proadway, und does a pooty goot +peeznis, but I don't got mooch gapital to work mit, so I finds it +hard vork to get me all der gredits vot I vould like. + +Last veek I hear about some goots dot a barty vas going to sell pooty +sheap, und so I writes dot man if he vould gief me der refusal of +dose goots for a gouple of days. He gafe me der refusal--dot is, he +sait I gouldn't haf dem--but he sait he vould gall on me und see mine +schtore, und den if mine schtanding in peesnis vas goot, berhaps ve +might do somedings togedder. + +Veil, I vas behind mine gounter yesterday, ven a shentle-man gomes in +and dakes me py der hant and says, "Mr. Schmidt, I pelieve." I says, +"Yaw," und den I tinks to mine-self, dis vas der man vot has doze +goots to sell, und I must dry to make some goot imbressions mit him, +so ve gould do some peesnis. + +"Dis vas goot schtore," he says, looking roundt, "bud you don't got a +pooty big shtock already." I vas avraid to let him know dot I only +hat 'bout a tousand tollars vort of goots in der blace, so I says, +"You ton't tink I hat more as dree tousand tollars in dis leedle +schtore, vould you?" He says, "You ton't tole me! Vos dot bossible!" +I says, "Yaw." + +I meant dot id vas bossible, dough id vasn't so, vor I vas like +'Shorge Vashingtons ven he cut town der "olt elm" on Poston Gommons +mit his leedle hadchet, and gouldn't dell some lies aboud id. + +"Veil," says der shentleman, "I dinks you ought to know petter as +anypody else vot you haf got in der schtore." Und den he takes a pig +book vrom unter his arm and say, "Veil, I poots you town vor dree +tousand tollars." + +I ask him vot he means py "Poots me town," und den he says he vas von +off der tax-men, or assessors off broperty, und he tank me so kintly +as nefer vas, pecause he say I vas sooch an honest Deutscher, und +tidn't dry und sheat der gofermants. + +I dells you vot it vos, I tidn't veel any more petter as a hundert +ber cent, ven dot man valks oudt of mine schtore, und der nexd dime I +makes free mit strangers I vinds first deir peesnis oudt. + + + + +THE OWL CRITIC. + +JAMES T. FIELDS, IN "HARPER'S MAGAZINE." + + + "Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop! + The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop! + The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading + The _Daily_, the _Herald_, the _Post_, little heeding + The young man who blurted out such a blunt question; + Not one raised a head or even made a suggestion; + And the barber kept on shaving. + + "Don't you see, Mister Brown," + Cried the youth with a frown, + "How wrong the whole thing is, + How preposterous each wing is, + How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is-- + In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis! + I make no apology, I've learned owl-eology. + I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections, + And cannot be blinded to any deflections + Arising from unskilful fingers that fail + To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail. + Mister Brown! Mister Brown! Do take that bird down, + Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!" + And the barber kept on shaving. + + "I've _studied_ owls, + And other night fowls, + And I tell you + What I know to be true; + An owl cannot roost + With his limbs so unloosed. + No owl in this world + Ever had his claws curled, + Ever had his legs slanted, + Ever had his bill canted, + Ever had his neck screwed + Into that attitude. + He can't _do_ it, because + 'Tis against all bird laws, + Anatomy teaches, + Ornithology preaches, + An owl has a toe + That _can't_ turn out so! + I've made the white owl my study for years, + And to see such a job almost moves me to tears! + Mister Brown, I'm amazed + You should be so gone crazed + As to put up a bird + In that posture absurd! + To _look_ at that owl really brings on a dizziness; + The man who stuffed him don't half know his business!" + And the barber kept on shaving. + + "Examine those eyes, + I'm filled with surprise + Taxidermists should pass + Off on you such poor glass; + So unnatural they seem + They'd, make Audubon scream, + And John Burroughs laugh + To encounter such chaff. + Do take that bird down: + Have him stuffed again, Brown!" + And the barber kept on shaving. + + "With some sawdust and bark + I could stuff in the dark + An owl better than that. + I could make an old hat + Look more like an owl + Than that horrid fowl, + Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather, + In fact, about _him_ there's not one natural feather." + + Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, + The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch, + Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic + (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic. + And then fairly hooted, as if he should say: + "Your learning's at fault this time, anyway; + Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray. + I'm an owl; you're another, Sir Critic, good day!" + And the barber kept on shaving. + + + + +THE TRUE STORY OF KING MARSHMALLOW, + + O a jolly old fellow was King Marshmallow + As ever wore a crown! + At every draught of wine he quaffed, + And at every joke of his jester he laughed, + Laughed till the tears ran down-- + O, he laughed Ha! Ha! and he laughed Ho! Ho! + And every time that he laughed, do you know, + The Lords in waiting they did just so. + + But Queen Bonniberry was not quite so merry; + She sat and sighed all the while, + And she turned very red and shook her head + At everything Jingle the jester said, + And never vouchsafed a smile. + O, she sighed Ah me! and she sighed Heigh-oh! + And every time that she sighed, do you know, + The Ladies in waiting they did just so. + + Then the jester spoke just by way of a joke, + (O he was a funny man!) + And he said May it please your majesties, + I wish to complain of those impudent fleas + That bite me whenever they can! + Then the king he laughed Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! + And the queen she sighed Ah me!--Heigh-oh! + While the Lords and the Ladies they did just so. + + As for that, my man, the king began, + The fleas bite whoever they like, + But the very first flea you chance to see, + Wherever he may happen to be, + You have my permission to strike! + And the king he roared, Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! + While the queen she sighed Ah me!--Heigh-oh! + And the Lords and the Ladies they did just so. + + Just then Jingle sighted a flea that had lighted + Right on--well, where _do_ you suppose? + On Marshmallow's own royal face, and the clown + In bringing his hand with a swift motion down + Nearly ruined the poor monarch's nose. + And the king he shrieked Ah! Ah! Oh! Oh! + And the queen burst out laughing Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! + While the Lords and the Ladies stood stupidly by + And didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. + + + + +THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. + +BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY (REV. R.H. BARHAM). + + + The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair! + Bishop and abbot and prior were there; + Many a monk, and many a friar, + Many a knight, and many a squire, + With a great many more of lesser degree,-- + In sooth a goodly company; + And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee. + Never, I ween, was a prouder seen, + Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, + Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims! + + In and out through the motley rout, + That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; + Here and there like a dog in a fair, + Over comfits and cakes, and dishes and plates, + Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall, + Mitre and crosier! he hopp'd upon all! + With saucy air, he perch'd on the chair + Where in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat + In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat; + And he peer'd in the face of his Lordship's Grace + With a satisfied look, as if he would say, + "We two are the greatest folks here to-day!" + + The feast was over, the board was clear'd, + The flawns and the custards had all disappear'd, + And six little singing-boys,--dear little souls! + In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, + Came, in order due, two by two, + Marching that grand refectory through! + A nice little boy held a golden ewer, + Emboss'd and fill'd with water, as pure + As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, + Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch + In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. + Two nice little boys, rather more grown, + Carried lavender-water and eau de Cologne; + And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, + Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope. + One little boy more a napkin bore, + Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, + And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in "permanent ink." + The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight + Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white; + From his finger he draws his costly turquoise; + And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, + Deposits it straight by the side of his plate, + While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; + Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing, + That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring! + + * * * * * + + There's a cry and a shout, and _no end_ of a rout, + And nobody seems to know what they're about + But the monks have their pockets all turn'd inside out; + The friars are kneeling, and hunting, and feeling + The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. + The Cardinal drew off each plum-colour'd shoe, + And left his red stockings exposed to the view; + He peeps, and he feels in the toes and the heels; + They turn up the dishes,--they turn up the plates,-- + They take up the poker and poke out the grates, + --They turn up the rugs, they examine the mugs:-- + But, no!--no such thing;--They can't find THE RING! + And the Abbot declared that, "when nobody twigg'd it, + Some rascal or other had popp'd in, and prigg'd it!" + + The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, + He called for his candle, his bell, and his book! + In holy anger and pious grief, + He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! + He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed; + From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head; + He cursed him in sleeping, that every night + He should dream of evil, and wake in a fright; + He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking, + He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; + He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying; + He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying, + He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!-- + Never was heard such a terrible curse! + But what gave rise to no little surprise, + Nobody seem'd one penny the worse! + + The day was gone, the night came on, + The Monks and the Friars they search'd till dawn; + When the Sacristan saw, on crumpled claw, + Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw; + No longer gay, as on yesterday; + His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way;-- + His pinions droop'd--he could hardly stand-- + His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; + His eye so dim, so wasted each limb, + That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "THAT'S HIM!-- + That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing! + That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Ring!" + + The poor little Jackdaw, when the monks he saw, + Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; + And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say, + "Pray be so good as to walk this way!" + Slower and slower, he limp'd on before, + Till they came to the back of the belfry door, + When the first thing they saw, + Midst the sticks and the straw, + Was the RING in the nest of that little Jackdaw! + + Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book, + And off that terrible curse he took; + The mute expression served in lieu of confession, + And, being thus coupled with full restitution, + The Jackdaw got plenary absolution! + --When those words were heard, that poor little bird + Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd. + He grew sleek, and fat; in addition to that, + A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat! + His tail waggled more Even than before; + But no longer it wagg'd with an impudent air, + No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair. + He hopp'd now about With a gait devout; + At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out; + And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, + He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads. + If any one lied,--or if any one swore,-- + Or slumber'd in prayer-time and happened to snore, + That good Jackdaw would give a great "Caw," + As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!" + While many remarked, as his manners they saw, + That they "never had known such a pious Jackdaw!" + He long lived the pride of that country side, + And at last in the odour of sanctity died; + When, as words were too faint his merits to paint, + The Conclave determined to make him a Saint! + And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know, + It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow, + So they canonized him by the name of. Jim Crow! + + + + +TUBAL CAIN. + +BY CHARLES MACKAY. + + + Old Tubal Cain was a man of might + In the days when earth was young; + By the fierce red light of his furnace bright + The strokes of his hammer rung; + And he lifted high his brawny hand + On the iron glowing clear, + Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers, + As he fashion'd the sword and spear. + And he sang--"Hurra for my handiwork! + Hurra for the Spear and Sword! + Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, + For he shall be King and Lord!" + + To Tubal Cain came many a one, + As he wrought by his roaring fire, + And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade + As the crown of his desire; + And he made them weapons sharp and strong, + Till they shouted loud for glee, + And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, + And spoils of the forest free, + And they sang--"Hurra for Tubal Cain, + Who hath given us strength anew! + Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire, + And hurra for the metal true!" + + But a sudden change came o'er his heart + Ere the setting of the sun, + And Tubal Cain was fill'd with pain + For the evil he had done; + He saw that men, with rage and hate, + Made war upon their kind, + That the land was red with the blood they shed + In their lust for carnage, blind. + And he said--"Alas! that ever I made, + Or that skill of mine should plan, + The spear and the sword for men whose joy + Is to slay their fellow-man!" + + And for many a day old Tubal Cain + Sat brooding o'er his woe; + And his hand forbore to smite the ore, + And his furnace smoulder'd low. + But he rose at last with a cheerful face, + And a bright courageous eye, + And bared his strong right arm for work, + While the quick flames mounted high. + And he sang--"Hurra for my handiwork!" + And the red sparks lit the air; + "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made;" + And he fashion'd the First Plough-share! + + And men, taught wisdom from the Past, + In friendship join'd their hands, + Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, + And plough'd the willing lands; + And sang--"Hurra for Tubal Cain! + Our staunch good friend is he; + And for the ploughshare and the plough + To him our praise shall be. + But while Oppression lifts its head, + Or a tyrant would be lord, + Though we may thank him for the Plough, + We'll not forget the Sword!" + + + + +THE THREE PREACHERS. + +BY CHARLES MACKAY. + + + There are three preachers, ever preaching, + Fill'd with eloquence and power:-- + One is old, with locks of white, + Skinny as an anchorite; + And he preaches every hour + With a shrill fanatic voice, + And a bigot's fiery scorn:-- + "Backward! ye presumptuous nations; + Man to misery is born! + Born to drudge, and sweat, and suffer-- + Born to labour and to pray; + Backward!' ye presumptuous nations-- + Back!--be humble and obey!" + + The second is a milder preacher; + Soft he talks as if he sung; + Sleek and slothful is his look, + And his words, as from a book, + Issue glibly from his tongue. + With an air of self-content, + High he lifts his fair white hands: + "Stand ye still! ye restless nations; + And be happy, all ye lands! + Fate is law, and law is perfect; + If ye meddle, ye will mar; + Change is rash, and ever was so: + We are happy as we are." + + Mightier is the younger preacher, + Genius flashes from his eyes: + And the crowds who hear his voice + Give him, while their souls rejoice, + Throbbing bosoms for replies. + Awed they listen, yet elated, + While his stirring accents fall:-- + "Forward! ye deluded nations, + Progress is the rule of all: + Man was made for healthful effort; + Tyranny has crush'd him long; + He shall march from good to better, + And do battle with the wrong. + + "Standing still is childish folly, + Going backward is a crime: + None should patiently endure + Any ill that he can cure; + Onward! keep the march of Time, + Onward! while a wrong remains + To be conquer'd by the right; + While Oppression lifts a finger + To affront us by his might; + While an error clouds the reason + Of the universal heart, + Or a slave awaits his freedom + Action is the wise man's part. + + "Lo! the world is rich in blessings: + Earth and Ocean, flame and wind, + Have unnumber'd secrets still, + To be ransack'd when you will, + For the service of mankind; + Science is a child as yet, + And her power and scope shall grow, + And her triumphs in the future + Shall diminish toil and woe; + Shall extend the bounds of pleasure + With an ever-widening ken, + And of woods and wildernesses + Make the homes of happy men. + + "Onward!--there are ills to conquer, + Daily wickedness is wrought, + Tyranny is swoln with Pride, + Bigotry is deified, + Error intertwined with Thought, + Vice and Misery ramp and crawl;-- + Root them out, their day has pass'd; + Goodness is alone immortal; + Evil was not made to last: + Onward! and all earth shall aid us + Ere our peaceful flag be furl'd."-- + And the preaching of this preacher + Stirs the pulses of the world. + + + + +SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE. + +BY ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. + + + Say not the struggle nought availeth, + The labour and the wounds are vain, + The enemy faints not, nor faileth, + And as things have been they remain. + + If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; + It may be in yon smoke concealed, + Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, + And, but for you, possess the field. + + For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, + Seem here no painful inch to gain, + Far back, through creeks and inlets making, + Comes silent, flooding in, the main. + + And not by eastern windows only, + When daylight comes, comes in the light, + In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly, + But westward, look, the land is bright. + + + + +PATRIOTISM. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + Love thou thy land, with love far-brought + From out the storied Past, and used + Within the Present, but transfused + Thro' future time by power of thought. + + True love turned round on fixed poles, + Love that endures not sordid ends, + For English natures, freemen, friends, + Thy brothers, and immortal souls. + + But pamper not a hasty time, + Nor feed with crude imaginings + The herd, wild hearts, and feeble wings, + That every sophister can lime. + + Deliver not the tasks of might + To weakness, neither hide the ray + From those, not blind, who wait for day, + Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light. + + Make knowledge circle with the winds; + But let her herald, Reverence, fly + Before her to whatever sky + Bear seed of men and growth of minds. + + Watch what main currents draw the years: + Cut Prejudice against the grain: + But gentle words are always gain: + Regard the weakness of thy peers: + + Nor toil for title, place, or touch + Of pension, neither count on praise: + It grows to guerdon after-days: + Nor deal in watch-words overmuch: + + Not clinging to some ancient saw; + Not master'd by some modern term; + Not swift nor slow to change, but firm; + And in its season bring the law; + + That from Discussion's lip may fall + With Life, that, working strongly, binds-- + Set in all lights by many minds, + To close the interests of all. + + For Nature also, cold and warm, + And moist and dry, devising long, + Thro' many agents making strong, + Matures the individual form. + + Meet is it changes should control + Our being, lest we rust in ease. + We all are changed by still degrees, + All but the basis of the soul. + + So let the change which comes be free + To ingroove itself with that, which flies, + And work, a joint of state, that plies + Its office, moved with sympathy. + + A saying, hard to shape in act; + For all the past of Time reveals + A bridal dawn of thunder-peals, + Wherever Thought hath wedded Fact. + + Ev'n now we hear with inward strife + A motion toiling in the gloom-- + The Spirit of the years to come + Yearning to mix himself with Life. + + A slow-develop'd strength awaits + Completion in a painful school; + Phantoms of other forms of rule, + New Majesties of mighty States-- + + The warders of the growing hour, + But vague in vapour, hard to mark; + And round them sea and air are dark + With great contrivances of Power. + + Of many changes, aptly join'd, + Is bodied forth the second whole. + Regard gradation, lest the soul + Of Discord race the rising wind; + + A wind to puff your idol-fires, + And heap their ashes on the head; + To shame the boast so often made, + That we are wiser than our sires. + + O yet, if Nature's evil star + Drive men in manhood, as in youth, + To follow flying steps of Truth + Across the brazen bridge of war-- + + If New and Old, disastrous feud, + Must ever shock, like armed foes, + And this be true, till time shall close, + That Principles are rain'd in blood; + + Not yet the wise of heart would cease + To hold his hope thro' shame and guilt, + But with his hand against the hilt + Would pace the troubled land, like Peace; + + Not less, tho' dogs of Faction bay, + Would serve his kind in deed and word, + Certain, if knowledge bring the sword, + That knowledge takes the sword away-- + + Would love the gleams of good that broke + From either side, nor veil his eyes: + And if some dreadful need should rise + Would strike, and firmly, and one stroke: + + To-morrow yet would reap to-day, + As we bear blossom of the dead; + Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed + Raw Haste, half sister to Delay. + + + + +TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. + +BY GERALD MASSEY. + + + High hopes that burn'd like stars sublime, + Go down i' the heaven of freedom; + And true hearts perish in the time + We bitterliest need 'em! + But never sit we down and say + There's nothing left but sorrow; + We walk the wilderness to-day-- + The promised land to-morrow! + + Our birds of song are silent now, + Few are the flowers blooming, + Yet life is in the frozen bough, + And freedom's spring is coming; + And freedom's tide creeps up alway, + Though we may strand in sorrow; + And our good bark, aground to-day, + Shall float again to-morrow. + + 'Tis weary watching wave by wave, + And yet the Tide heaves onward; + We climb, like Corals, grave by grave, + That pave a pathway sunward; + We are driven back, for our next fray + A newer strength to borrow, + And where the Vanguard camps to-day + The Rear shall rest to-morrow! + + Through all the long, dark night of years + The people's cry ascendeth, + And earth is wet with blood and tears: + But our meek sufferance endeth! + The few shall not for ever sway-- + The many moil in sorrow; + The powers of hell are strong to-day, + The Christ shall rise to-morrow! + + Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes + With smiling futures glisten! + For lo! our day bursts up the skies + Lean out your souls and listen! + The world is rolling freedom's way, + And ripening with her sorrow; + Take heart! who bear the Cross to-day, + Shall wear the Crown to-morrow! + + O youth! flame-earnest, still aspire + With energies immortal! + To many a heaven of desire + Our yearning opes a portal; + And though age wearies by the way, + And hearts break in the furrow-- + Youth sows the golden grain to-day-- + The harvest comes to-morrow! + + Build up heroic lives, and all + Be like a sheathen sabre, + Ready to flash out at God's call-- + O chivalry of labour! + Triumph and toil are twins; though they + Be singly born in sorrow, + And 'tis the martyrdom to-day + Brings victory to-morrow! + + + + +RING OUT, WILD BELLS. + +BY LORD TENNYSON. + + + Ring out wild bells to the' wild sky, + The flying cloud, the frosty light; + The year is dying in the night; + Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. + + Ring out the old, ring in the new, + Ring, happy bells, across the snow: + The year is going, let him go; + Ring out the false, ring in the true. + + Ring out the grief that saps the mind, + For those that here we see no more; + Ring out the feud of rich and poor, + Ring in redress to all mankind. + + Ring out a slowly dying cause, + And ancient forms of party strife; + Ring in the nobler modes of life, + With sweeter manners, purer laws. + + Ring out the want, the care, the sin, + The faithless coldness of the times; + Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, + But ring the fuller minstrel in. + + Ring out false pride in place and blood, + The civic slander and the spite; + Ring in the love of truth and right, + Ring in the common love of good. + + Ring out old shapes of foul disease, + Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; + Ring out the thousand wars of old, + Ring in the thousand years of peace. + + Ring in the valiant man and free, + The larger heart, the kindlier hand; + Ring out the darkness of the land, + Ring in the Christ that is to be. + + + + +RULE, BRITANNIA! + +BY JAMES THOMSON. + + + When Britain first, at Heaven's command, + Arose from out the azure main, + This was the charter of the land, + And guardian angels sang this strain: + "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, + Britons never will be slaves." + + The nations not so blest as thee, + Must in their turns to tyrants fall + While thou shalt flourish great and free, + The dread and envy of them all. + "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, + Britons never will be slaves." + + Still more majestic shalt thou rise, + More dreadful from each foreign stroke; + As the loud blast that tears the skies, + Serves but to root thy native oak. + "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, + Britons never will be slaves." + + Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; + All their attempts to bend thee down + Will but arouse thy gen'rous flame + To work _their_ woe and _thy_ renown. + "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, + Britons never will be slaves." + + To thee belongs the rural reign, + Thy cities shall with commerce shine, + All thine shall be the subject main, + And ev'ry shore it circles, thine. + "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, + Britons never will be slaves." + + The Muses, still with freedom found, + Shall to thy happy coasts repair; + Blest isle! with matchless beauty crown'd, + And manly hearts to guard the fair. + "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, + Britons never will be slaves." + + + +Printed by H. 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