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diff --git a/18561.txt b/18561.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf1eb0b --- /dev/null +++ b/18561.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9802 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Ontario Readers, by Ontario Ministry of Education + +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: The Ontario Readers + Third Book + +Author: Ontario Ministry of Education + +Release Date: June 12, 2006 [EBook #18561] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONTARIO READERS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Karina Aleksandrova and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +[Illustration: One Flag +One Fleet +One Throne + +The Union Jack] + + + + + THE ONTARIO READERS + + THIRD BOOK + + + AUTHORIZED BY + + THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION + + + +The price of this book to the purchaser is not the total cost. + During the present period of abnormal and fluctuating + trade conditions, an additional sum, which may vary + from time to time, is paid to the Publisher + by the Department of Education. + + + +Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1909, + in the office of the Minister of Agriculture by the + Minister of Education for Ontario. + + + + TORONTO: + THE T. EATON Co LIMITED + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS + + +THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION is indebted to Rudyard Kipling, Henry +Newbolt, Beckles Willson, E. B. Osborn, F. T. Bullen, Flora Annie Steel; +Charles G. D. Roberts, W. Wilfred Campbell, Ethelwyn Wetherald, Jean +Blewett, Robert Reid, "Ralph Connor," John Waugh, S. T. Wood; Henry Van +Dyke, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, and Richard Watson Gilder for +special permission to reproduce, in this Reader, selections from their +writings. + +He is indebted to Lord Tennyson for special permission to reproduce the +poems from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson; to Lloyd Osbourne for +permission to reproduce the selection from the works of Robert Louis +Stevenson; and to J. F. Edgar for permission to reproduce one of Sir +James D. Edgar's poems. + +He is also indebted to Macmillan & Co., Limited, for special permission, +to reproduce selections from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Rudyard +Kipling, and Flora Annie Steel; to Smith, Elder & Co., for the extract +from F. T. Bullen's "The Cruise of the Cachalot"; to Elkin Mathews for +Henry Newbolt's poem from "The Island Race"; to Sampson Low, Marston & +Company for the extract from R. D. Blackmore's "Lorna Doone"; to Thomas +Nelson & Sons for the extract from W. F. Collier's "History of the +British Empire"; to Chatto and Windus for the extract from E. B. Osborn's +"Greater Canada"; to Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Chase" from +Charles Dudley Warner's "A-Hunting of the Deer," "Mary Elizabeth" by +Mrs. Phelps Ward, and the poems by Celia Thaxter and by Richard Watson +Gilder; to The Century Company for Jacob A. Riis' "The Story of a Fire" +from "_The Century Magazine_"; to The Copp Clark Co., Limited, for the +selections from Charles G. D. Roberts' works; to The Westminster Co., +Limited, for the extract from "Ralph Connor's" "The Man from Glengarry." + +The Minister is grateful to these authors and publishers and to others, +not mentioned here, through whose courtesy he has been able to include +in this Reader so many copyright selections. + +Toronto, May, 1909. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +_To-day_ + _Thomas Carlyle_ + 1 + +Fortune and the Beggar + _Ivan Kirloff_ + 2 + +_The Lark and the Rook_ + _Unknown_ + 4 + +The Pickwick Club on the Ice + _Charles Dickens_ + 6 + +_Tubal Cain_ + _Charles Mackay_ + 11 + +Professor Frog's Lecture + _M. A. L. Lane_ + 14 + +_A Song for April_ + _Charles G. D. Roberts_ + 25 + +How the Crickets Brought Good Fortune + _P. J. Stahl_ + 26 + +_The Battle of Blenheim_ + _Robert Southey_ + 31 + +The Ride for Life + _"Ralph Connor"_ + 34 + +_Iagoo, the Boaster_ + _Henry W. Longfellow_ + 39 + +The Story of a Fire + _Jacob A. Riis_ + 40 + +_The Quest_ + _Eudora S. Bumstead_ + 43 + +The Jackal and the Partridge + _Flora Annie Steel_ + 44 + +_Hide and Seek_ + _Henry Van Dyke_ + 50 + +The Burning of the "Goliath" + _Dean Stanley_ + 52 + +_Hearts of Oak_ + _David Garrick_ + 55 + +_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea_ + _Allan Cunningham_ + 56 + +The Talents + _Bible_ + 57 + +_A Farewell_ + _Charles Kingsley_ + 59 + +_An Apple Orchard in the Spring_ + _William Martin_ + 60 + +The Bluejay + _"Mark Twain"_ + 61 + +_A Canadian Camping Song_ + _Sir James David Edgar_ + 65 + +The Argonauts + _John Waugh_ + 66 + +_The Minstrel-Boy_ + _Thomas Moore_ + 71 + +Mary Elizabeth + _Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward_ + 72 + +_The Frost_ + _Hannah Flagg Gould_ + 83 + +_Corn-fields_ + _Mary Howitt_ + 84 + +South-West Wind, Esq. + _John Ruskin_ + 86 + +_The Meeting of the Waters_ + _Thomas Moore_ + 97 + +Love + _Bible_ + 98 + +_The Robin's Song_ + _Unknown_ + 99 + +Work or Play + _"Mark Twain"_ + 100 + +_Burial of Sir John Moore_ + _Charles Wolfe_ + 106 + +The Whistle + _Benjamin Franklin_ + 108 + +_A Canadian Boat Song_ + _Thomas Moore_ + 109 + +The Little Hero of Haarlem + _Sharpe's London Magazine_ + 110 + +_Father William_ + _"Lewis Carroll"_ + 115 + +David and Goliath + _Bible_ + 117 + +_Charge of the Light Brigade_ + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + 123 + +Maggie Tulliver + _George Eliot_ + 125 + +_The Corn Song_ + _John G. Whittier_ + 134 + +Sports in Norman England + _William Fitzstephen_ + 136 + +_A Song of Canada_ + _Robert Reid_ + 140 + +A Mad Tea Party + _"Lewis Carroll"_ + 142 + +_The Slave's Dream_ + _Henry W. Longfellow_ + 149 + +The Chase + _Charles Dudley Warner_ + 152 + +_The Inchcape Rock_ + _Robert Southey_ + 158 + +A Rough Ride + _Richard D. Blackmore_ + 161 + +_The Arab and His Steed_ + _The Honourable Mrs. Norton_ + 169 + +_The Poet's Song_ + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + 173 + +Adventure with a Whale + _Frank T. Bullen_ + 174 + +_The Maple_ + _H. F. Darnell_ + 179 + +Damon and Pythias + _Charlotte M. Yonge_ + 181 + +_The Wreck of the Orpheus_ + _C. A. L._ + 184 + +_The Tide River_ + _Charles Kingsley_ + 185 + +Wisdom the Supreme Prize + _Bible_ + 187 + +_The Orchard_ + _Jean Blewett_ + 188 + +Inspired by the Snow + _Samuel T. Wood_ + 189 + +_The Squirrel_ + _William Cowper_ + 192 + +_Soldier, Rest_ + _Sir Walter Scott_ + 192 + +Fishing + _Thomas Hughes_ + 193 + +_The Fountain_ + _James Russell Lowell_ + 199 + +_Break, Break, Break_ + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + 201 + +The Bed of Procrustes + _Charles Kingsley_ + 202 + +_"Bob White"_ + _George Cooper_ + 208 + +Radisson and the Indians + _Beckles Willson_ + 209 + +_The Brook_ + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + 212 + +"Do Seek Their Meat From God" + _Charles G. D. Roberts_ + 215 + +_A Song of the Sea_ + _"Barry Cornwall"_ + 222 + +Little Daffydowndilly + _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ + 223 + +_The Sandpiper_ + _Celia Thaxter_ + 234 + +From "The Sermon on the Mount" + _Bible_ + 236 + +_The Legend of Saint Christopher_ + _Helen Hunt Jackson_ + 237 + +William Tell and His Son + _Chamber's "Tracts"_ + 241 + +_A Midsummer Song_ + _Richard Watson Gilder_ + 244 + +The Relief of Lucknow + _"Letter from an officer's wife"_ + 246 + +_The Song in Camp_ + _Bayard Taylor_ + 250 + +_Afterglow_ + _William Wilfred Campbell_ + 252 + +King Richard and Saladin + _Sir Walter Scott_ + 253 + +_England's Dead_ + _Felicia Hemans_ + 258 + +_Hohenlinden_ + _Thomas Campbell_ + 260 + +The Dream of the Oak Tree + _Hans Christian Andersen_ + 262 + +A Prayer + _Robert Louis Stevenson_ + 266 + +_The Death of the Flowers_ + _William Cullen Bryant_ + 267 + +_'Tis the Last Rose of Summer_ + _Thomas Moore_ + 269 + +A Roman's Honour + _Charlotte M. Yonge_ + 270 + +_The Fighting Temeraire_ + _Henry Newbolt_ + 273 + +Don Quixote's Fight with the Windmills + _Miguel de Cervantes_ + 275 + +_The Romance of the Swan's Nest_ + _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ + 281 + +Moonlight Sonata + _Unknown_ + 285 + +_The Red-Winged Blackbird_ + _Ethelwyn Wetherald_ + 290 + +_To the Cuckoo_ + _John Logan_ + 291 + +The Story of a Stone + _D. B._ + 293 + +_The Snow-Storm_ + _John G. Whittier_ + 298 + +The Heroine of Vercheres + _Francis Parkman_ + 301 + +_Jacques Cartier_ + _Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee_ + 307 + +Ants and Their Slaves + _Jules Michelet_ + 310 + +_Lead, Kindly Light_ + _John Henry Newman_ + 315 + +The Jolly Sandboys + _Charles Dickens_ + 316 + +_The Gladness of Nature_ + _William Cullen Bryant_ + 324 + +Old English Life + _William F. Collier_ + 325 + +_Puck's Song_ + _Rudyard Kipling_ + 330 + +The Battle of Queenston Heights + _Unknown_ + 332 + +_The Bugle Song_ + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + 337 + +Charity + _Bible_ + 338 + +_A Christmas Carol_ + _James Russell Lowell_ + 339 + +The Barren Lands + _E. B. Osborn_ + 341 + +_A Spring Morning_ + _William Wordsworth_ + 345 + +_Crossing the Bar_ + _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + 346 + + + + +EMPIRE DAY + + +I want you to remember what Empire Day means. Empire Day is the festival +on which every British subject should reverently remember that the +British Empire stands out before the whole world as the fearless +champion of freedom, fair play and equal rights; that its watchwords are +responsibility, duty, sympathy and self-sacrifice, and that a special +responsibility rests with you individually to be true to the traditions +and to the mission of your race. + +I also want you to remember that one day Canada will become, if her +people are faithful to their high British traditions, the most powerful +of all the self-governing nations, not excluding the people of the +United Kingdom, which make up the British Empire, and that it rests with +each one of you individually to do your utmost by your own conduct and +example to make Canada not only the most powerful, but the noblest of +all the self-governing nations that are proud to owe allegiance to the +King. + +Earl Grey. +Governor-General of Canada + + + + +THIRD READER + + + + +TO-DAY + + + So here hath been dawning + Another blue day; + Think, wilt thou let it + Slip useless away? + + Out of Eternity + This new day is born; + Into Eternity + At night will return. + + Behold it aforetime + No eye ever did; + So soon it forever + From all eyes is hid. + + Here hath been dawning + Another blue day; + Think, wilt thou let it + Slip useless away? + +CARLYLE + + + + +FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR + + +One day a ragged beggar was creeping along from house to house. He +carried an old wallet in his hand, and was asking at every door for a +few cents to buy something to eat. As he was grumbling at his lot, he +kept wondering why it was that folks who had so much money were never +satisfied but were always wanting more. + +"Here," said he, "is the master of this house--I know him well. He was +always a good business man, and he made himself wondrously rich a long +time ago. Had he been wise he would have stopped then. He would have +turned over his business to some one else, and then he could have spent +the rest of his life in ease. But what did he do instead? He built ships +and sent them to sea to trade with foreign lands. He thought he would +get mountains of gold. + +"But there were great storms on the water; his ships were wrecked, and +his riches were swallowed up by the waves. Now all his hopes lie at the +bottom of the sea, and his great wealth has vanished. + +"There are many such cases. Men seem to be never satisfied unless they +gain the whole world. + +"As for me, if I had only enough to eat and to wear, I would not want +anything more." + +Just at that moment Fortune came down the street. She saw the beggar and +stopped. She said to him: + +"Listen! I have long wished to help you. Hold your wallet and I will +pour this gold into it, but only on this condition: all that falls into +the wallet shall be pure gold; but every piece that falls upon the +ground shall become dust. Do you understand?" + +"Oh, yes, I understand," said the beggar. + +"Then have a care," said Fortune. "Your wallet is old, so do not load it +too heavily." + +The beggar was so glad that he could hardly wait. He quickly opened his +wallet, and a stream of yellow dollars poured into it. The wallet grew +heavy. + +"Is that enough?" asked Fortune. + +"Not yet." + +"Isn't it cracking?" + +"Never fear." + +The beggar's hands began to tremble. Ah, if the golden stream would only +pour for ever! + +"You are the richest man in the world now!" + +"Just a little more, add just a handful or two." + +"There, it's full. The wallet will burst." + +"But it will hold a little, just a little more!" + +Another piece was added, and the wallet split. The treasure fell upon +the ground and was turned to dust. Fortune had vanished. The beggar had +now nothing but his empty wallet, and it was torn from top to bottom. He +was as poor as before. + +IVAN KIRLOFF + + + + +THE LARK AND THE ROOK + + + "Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark, + "The daylight fades; it will soon be dark; + I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray; + I've sung my hymn to the parting day; + So now I haste to my quiet nook + In yon dewy meadow--good-night, Sir Rook!" + + "Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend + With a haughty toss and a distant bend; + "I also go to my rest profound, + But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground. + The fittest place for a bird like me + Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree. + + "I opened my eyes at peep of day + And saw you taking your upward way, + Dreaming your fond romantic dreams, + An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams, + Soaring too high to be seen or heard; + And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!' + + "I trod the park with a princely air; + I filled my crop with the richest fare; + I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew, + And I made more noise in the world than you! + The sun shone forth on my ebon wing; + I looked and wondered--good-night, poor thing!" + + "Good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice, + "I see no cause to repent my choice; + You build your nest in the lofty pine, + But is your slumber more sweet than mine? + You make more noise in the world than I, + But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?" + +UNKNOWN + + + + + What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted? + Thrice is he armed, that hath his quarrel just; + And he but naked, though locked up in steel, + Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. + +SHAKESPEARE + + + + +THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE + + +"You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle. + +"Ye-yes; oh, yes," replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I--am _rather_ out of +practice." + +"Oh, _do_ skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. "I like to see it so much." + +"Oh, it is _so_ graceful," said another young lady. A third young lady +said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was +"swan-like." + +"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but I +have no skates." + +This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair, +and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs, +whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely +uncomfortable. + +Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boy +and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had +fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with a +dexterity which to Mr. Winkle seemed perfectly marvellous, and described +circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon +the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant +and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, +Mr. Tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive +enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the +aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they +called a reel. + +All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold, +had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting his +skates on with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very +complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, +who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however, +with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly +screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet. + +"Now, then, sir," said Sam in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, and +show 'em how to do it." + +"Stop, Sam, stop," said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching +hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "How slippery it +is, Sam!" + +"Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr. Weller. "Hold up, +sir." + +This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a demonstration +Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet +into the air and dash the back of his head on the ice. + +"These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?" inquired Mr. +Winkle, staggering. + +"I'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'lm'n in 'em, sir," replied Sam. + +"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was +anything the matter. "Come, the ladies are all anxiety." + +"Yes, yes," replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. "I'm coming." + +"Just a goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself. +"Now, sir, start off." + +"Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately +to Mr. Weller. "I find I've a couple of coats at home that I don't want, +Sam. You may have them, Sam." + +"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller. + +"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle, hastily. "You +needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you five +shillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it to you +this afternoon, Sam." + +"You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller. + +"Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?" said Mr. Winkle. "There--that's +right. I shall soon get into the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not +too fast." + +Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up, was being +assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and un-swan-like +manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the opposite +bank-- + +"Sam!" + +"Sir?" said Mr. Weller. + +"Here. I want you." + +"Let go, sir," said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor a-callin'? Let go, +sir!" + +With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp of +the agonized Pickwickian; and, in so doing, administered a considerable +impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree of +dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman +bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when +Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. +Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell +heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his +feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind in +skates. He was seated on the ice making spasmodic efforts to smile; but +anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance. + +"Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety. + +"Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard. + +"I wish you'd let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin, with great +eagerness. + +"No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly. + +"I really think you had better," said Allen. + +"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle "I'd rather not." + +"What do _you_ think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer. + +Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and +said in a stern voice: + +"Take his skates off." + +The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey it in +silence. + +"Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise. + +Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and, +beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and +uttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone these remarkable words: + +"You're a humbug, sir." + +"A what?" said Mr. Winkle, starting. + +"A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir." + +With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel and rejoined +his friends. + +DICKENS: "The Pickwick Papers." + + + + +TUBAL CAIN + + + 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 rushed out in scarlet showers, + As he fashioned the sword and spear. + And he sang--"Hurrah for my handiwork! + Hurrah for the spear and sword! + Hurrah 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 prayed 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 they gave him gifts of pearls and gold, + And spoils of the forest free. + And they sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain, + Who hath given us strength anew! + Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire, + And hurrah for the metal true!" + + But a sudden change came o'er his heart, + Ere the setting of the sun; + And Tubal Cain was filled 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 I ever 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 smouldered 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--"Hurrah for my handiwork!" + And the red sparks lit the air; + "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made," + And he fashioned the first ploughshare. + + And men, taught wisdom from the past, + In friendship joined their hands; + Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, + And ploughed the willing lands: + And sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain! + Our stanch 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!" + +CHARLES MACKAY + + + + +PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE + + +Bobby was not quite sure that he was awake, but when he opened his eyes +there was the blue sky, with the soft, white clouds drifting across it, +the big pine waving its spicy branches over his head, and beyond, the +glint of sunshine on the waters of the pond. Presently Bobby heard +voices talking softly. + +"This is a good specimen," said one voice. "See how stout and strong he +looks!" + +"I wonder who that is, and what he has found," thought Bobby. "I wish it +wasn't such hard work to keep my eyes open." He made a great effort, +however, and raised his heavy lids. At first he could see nothing. Then +he caught a glimpse of a mossy log, with a row of frogs and toads +sitting upon it. They were looking solemnly at him. Bobby felt a little +uncomfortable under that steady gaze. + +"The toads are making their spring visit to the pond to lay their eggs," +thought the boy. "I forgot that they were due this week." + +"He must have done a good deal of mischief in his day," said an old +bull-frog, gravely. A chill crept over Bobby. "In his day."--What did +that mean? + +A toad hopped out from the line and came so close to Bobby that he could +have touched her but for the strange spell which held him fast. + +"Yes," said she; "this is one of the species. We are very fortunate to +have caught him. Now we shall be ready to listen to Professor Rana's +remarks." + +Still Bobby could not move. What were they going to do? In a moment +there was a rustling among the dry leaves and dozens of frogs and toads +were seen hurrying towards the pine tree. Among them was a ponderous +frog, carrying a roll of manuscript under his arm. He wore huge goggles, +and looked so wise that Bobby did not dare to laugh. + +"I am very sleepy," murmured a portly toad near Bobby's left ear. "I +laid over eight thousand eggs last night, and I have a long journey +before me. But I must stay to hear this. We may never have such a chance +again." + +"Ladies and gentlemen," began the professor, in a sonorous tone that was +easily heard for several feet, "this is a specimen of the creature known +to us as the human tadpole. You will kindly observe his long legs. They +were doubtless given to him for the purpose of protection. Being +possessed of a most mischievous and reckless spirit, the species is +always getting into difficulties, and would probably become extinct if +it had not the power to run away." + +"Nonsense!" said Bobby under his breath. There was a murmur of interest +and curiosity among the crowd. Bobby felt his legs twitch nervously, but +his power over them was gone. + +"Otherwise," went on the lecturer, "he is not at all adapted to his +surroundings. Observe how carefully we are dressed. The frogs have the +green and brown tints of their homes by the water-side. The toads look +like lumps of dirt, so that they may not be too readily snapped up by +birds of prey. But the Boy--to call him by his scientific name--has no +such protection. Look at this red shirt and these white trousers, and +this hat as big as a trout pool! Could anything be more ridiculous? Even +a giraffe does not look so absurd as this." + +A red flush mounted to Bobby's freckled cheeks, but this time he did not +try to speak. + +"Now," said the professor, "as far as we have been able to learn, the +human tadpole is absolutely useless. We are, therefore, doing no harm in +experimenting upon this specimen. There are plenty of them, and this one +will not be a serious loss." + +"Stop!" said Bobby, so unexpectedly that everybody jumped. "What are you +going to do with me?" + +"You will be so kind as to lie still," said the professor severely. "At +present you are only a specimen." + +There was no help for it. Bobby found it impossible to move hand or +foot. He could wriggle a little,--but that was all. + +"Not only is the Boy entirely useless," went on the professor, "but he +is often what might be called a pest, even to his own kind. He is +endured in the world for what he may become when he is full-grown, and +even then he is sometimes disappointing. You are familiar with many of +his objectionable ways towards the animal world, but I am sure you would +be surprised if you knew what a care and trouble he frequently is to his +own people. He can be trusted to do few kinds of work. It is difficult +to keep him clean. He doesn't know how to get his own dinner. He has a +genius for making weaker things miserable. He likes fishing, and he +longs for a gun; he collects birds' eggs; he puts butterflies on pins; +he teases his little sisters." + +"Why isn't the species exterminated?" asked another frog angrily. + +Then the toad near Bobby's ear spoke timidly: "I think you are a little +unjust, Professor. I have known boys who were comparatively harmless." + +"It is true there may be a few, Mrs. Bufo," said the professor with +great politeness, "but as a class they may be fairly set down as of very +doubtful value. Speak up, Tadpole, and say if I have made any false +statements so far." + +Bobby fairly shouted in his eagerness to be heard. + +"We do work," he said. "We have to go to school every day." + +"What a help that must be to your parents and to the world at large!" +said the frog with sarcasm. "I am surprised that we never see the +results of such hard labour. Do you know how useful even our smallest +tadpoles are? Without them this pond would be no longer beautiful, but +foul and ill-smelling. As for what we do when we are grown up, modesty +forbids me to praise the frogs, but you know what a toad is worth to +mankind?" + +"No," said Bobby. "About two cents, I guess." Bobby didn't intend to be +rude. He thought this a liberal valuation. + +"Twenty dollars a year, as estimated by the Department of Agriculture!" +cried the frog triumphantly. "What do you think of that?" + +"I should like to know why," said Bobby, looking as if he thought +Professor Rana was making fun of him. + +"What are the greatest enemies of mankind?" asked the professor, peering +over his goggles at poor Bobby. + +"Tigers," said Bobby, promptly; "or wolves." + +"Wrong," said the lecturer. "Insects. Insects destroy property on this +continent to the amount of over four hundred million dollars annually. +Insects destroy the crops upon which man depends for his food. Going to +school hasn't made you very wise, has it? Well, the toads are insect +destroyers. That's their business. If the State only knew enough to make +use of them, millions of dollars might be saved every year. Does it seem +to you that the human animal is so clever as it might be, when it allows +such numbers of toads to be destroyed?" + +"It's a shame!" chimed in a voice from the front seats. "We keep out of +the way as much as we can; we eat every kind of troublesome worm and +insect,--the cutworm, canker-worm, tent caterpillar, army-worm, +rose-beetle, and the common house-fly; we ask for no wages or food or +care,--and what do we get in return? Not even protection and common +kindness. If we had places where we could live in safety, who could tell +the amount of good we might do? Yet I would not have this poor boy hurt +if a word of mine could prevent it." + +"This is a scientific meeting," observed the professor; "and benevolent +sentiments are quite out of place. We will now proceed to notice the +delicate nervous system of the creature. Stand closer, my friends, if +you please." + +"Nervous system, indeed!" said Bobby. "Boys don't have such silly things +as nerves!" + +Suddenly Bobby felt a multitude of tiny pin pricks over the entire +surface of his body. The suffering was not intense, but the irritation +made him squirm and wince. He could not discover the cause of his +discomfort, but at the professor's command it suddenly ceased. + +"That will do," said the frog. "Each hair on his head is also connected +with a nerve. Pull his hair, please!" + +"Oh, don't!" said Bobby. "That hurts!" + +Nobody listened to him. It did hurt, more than you would think, for tiny +hands were pulling each hair separately. When the ordeal was over, +Bobby heard a faint noise in the grass as if some very small creatures +were scurrying away, but he could see nothing. He was winking his eyes +desperately to keep from crying. + +"The assistants may go now," said the professor; and the sound of little +feet died away in the distance. + +"How interesting this is!" murmured a plain-looking toad who had been +watching the experiments attentively. + +"I think it's mean," protested poor Bobby, "to keep a fellow fastened up +like this, and then torment him." + +"Does it hurt as much as being skinned, or having your legs cut off?" +demanded the professor. + +"Or should you prefer to be stepped on, or burned up in a rubbish pile?" +asked Mrs. Bufo. + +"How should you like to be stoned or kicked, for a change?" said another +toad sharply. + +"Perhaps you would choose a fish-hook in the corner of your mouth?" said +a voice from the pond. + +"Or one run the entire length of your body?" came a murmur from the +ground under Bobby's head. + +"Wait a minute," said the professor, more gently. "We will give you a +chance to defend yourself. It is not customary to inquire into the moral +character of specimens, but we do not wish to be unjust. Perhaps you can +explain why you made a bonfire the very week after the toads came out of +their winter-quarters. Dozens of lives were destroyed before that fire +was put out." + +"I forgot about the toads," began Bobby. + +"Carelessness!" said the professor. "Now you may tell us why you like to +throw stones at us." + +"To see you jump," said Bobby, honestly. + +"Thoughtlessness!" said the professor. "That's worse." + +"Why do you kick us, instead of lifting us gently when we are in your +way?" inquired a toad in a stern voice. + +"Because you will give me warts if I touch you," said Bobby, pleased to +think that he had a good reason at last. + +"Ignorance!" cried the professor. "The toad is absolutely harmless. It +has about it a liquid that might cause pain to a cut finger or a +sensitive tissue like that of the mouth or eye, but the old story that a +toad is poisonous is a silly fable." + +"Will you tell me, please," asked a toad in a plaintive voice, "if you +are the boy who, last year, carried home some of my babies in a tin pail +and let them die?" + +"I'm afraid I am," said Bobby, sorrowfully. + +"Do explain why you dislike us!" said Mrs. Bufo in such a frank fashion +that Bobby felt that he must tell the truth. + +"I suppose it's your looks," said the boy, unable to frame his answer in +more polite terms. + +"Well, upon my word!" interrupted the professor. "I thought better of a +boy than that. So you prefer boys with pretty faces and soft, curling +hair, and nice clothes, to those who can climb and jump and who are not +afraid of a day's tramp in the woods." + +"Of course I don't," said indignant Bobby. "I hate boys who are always +thinking about their clothes." + +"Oh, you do!" said the frog. "Now answer me a few more questions. Have +you ever stolen birds' eggs?" + +"Yes," said truthful Bobby. + +"Have you collected butterflies?" + +"Yes," said Bobby. + +"Have you taken nuts from the squirrels' cupboards?" + +"Yes," said Bobby. + +"Do you think we ought to have a very friendly feeling towards you?" +went on the questioner. + +"No," said Bobby; "I don't." + +"We have shown that you are not only useless, but careless and +thoughtless and ignorant," said the frog. "Is there any very good reason +why we should let you go?" + +Poor Bobby racked his brains to think of something that should appeal to +his captors. + +"I have a right to live, haven't I?" he said at last. + +"Because you are so pretty?" suggested the professor, and Bobby's eyes +fell with shame. + +"Any better right than we have?" came a chorus of voices. Bobby was +silent. He felt very helpless and insignificant. There was a long pause. +Then the frog professor smiled broadly at Bobby. + +"Come," he said; "I like you. You are not afraid to be honest, and +that's something." + +"If you will let me go," said Bobby, "I'll see that the boys don't hurt +you any more." + +"I felt pretty sure that we'd converted you," said the professor; "and +I'm going to let you go back and preach to the heathen, as the grown +people say. You can see for yourself how much harm a boy can do if he +doesn't think." + +Bobby felt that he was free, and scrambled to his feet, rubbing first +one arm and then the other to take the prickly feeling out of them. The +frogs had vanished; there was only the blue sky, the waving pine tree, +and the quiet pond. + +"Well!" said Bobby with a long breath of amazement. + +"Kerjunk!" came the warning voice of a frog, somewhere near the water's +edge. + +"Yes sir, I'll remember," said Bobby in the meekest of meek tones. + +M. A. L. LANE + + + + +A SONG FOR APRIL + + + List! list! The buds confer. + This noonday they've had news of her; + The south bank has had views of her; + The thorn shall exact his dues of her; + The willows adream + By the freshet stream + Shall ask what boon they choose of her. + + Up! up! The world's astir; + The would-be green has word of her; + Root and germ have heard of her, + Coming to break + Their sleep and wake + Their hearts with every bird of her. + + See! see! How swift concur + Sun, wind, and rain at the name of her, + A-wondering what became of her; + The fields flower at the flame of her; + The glad air sings + With dancing wings + And the silvery shrill acclaim of her. + +CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS + + +[Illustration: ALEXANDRA THE QUEEN MOTHER] + + + + +HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE + + +My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cake +which he had fancied in passing. He intended it for a child whose +appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him. +He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. While he +waited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in poor but +perfectly clean clothes, entered the baker's shop. + +[Illustration: UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO] + +"Ma'am," said he to the baker's wife, "Mother sent me for a loaf of +bread." The woman took from the shelf a four-pound loaf, the best one +she could find, and put it into the arms of the little boy. + +My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face of +the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, open +countenance of the large loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care. + +"Have you any money?" said the baker's wife. + +The little boy's eyes grew sad. + +"No, ma'am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; "but +mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about it +to-morrow." + +"Run along," said the good woman; "carry your bread home, child." + +"Thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow. + +My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his purchase +into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child with the +big loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way home, standing stock-still +behind him. + +"What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, whom she +also had thought to be fairly off. "Don't you like the bread?" + +"Oh, yes, ma'am!" said the child. + +"Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you wait any +longer, she will think you are playing by the way, and you will get a +scolding." + +The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed his attention. + +The baker's wife went up to him and gave him a friendly tap on the +shoulder. "What are you thinking about?" said she. + +"Ma'am," said the little boy, "what is that that sings?" + +"There is no singing," said she. + +"Yes!" cried the little fellow. "Hear it! Queek, queek, queek, queek!" + +My friend and the woman both listened, but they could hear nothing, +unless it was the song of the crickets, frequent guests in bakers +houses. + +"It is a little bird," said the dear little fellow; "or perhaps the +bread sings when it bakes, as apples do?" + +"No, indeed, little goosey!" said the baker's wife; "those are crickets. +They sing in the bake-house because we are lighting the oven, and they +like to see the fire." + +"Crickets!" said the child; "are they really crickets?" + +"Yes, to be sure," said she, good-humouredly. The child's face lighted +up. + +"Ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, "I would like +it very much if you would give me a cricket." + +"A cricket," said the baker's wife, smiling; "what in the world would +you do with a cricket, my little friend? I would gladly give you all +there are in the house, to get rid of them, they run about so." + +"O, ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please!" said the child, +clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. "They say that +crickets bring good luck into houses; and perhaps if we had one at home, +mother, who has so much trouble, wouldn't cry any more." + +"Why does your poor mamma cry?" said my friend, who could no longer help +joining in the conversation. + +"On account of her bills, sir," said the little fellow. "Father is dead, +and mother works very hard, but she cannot pay them all." + +My friend took the child, and with him the large loaf, into his arms, +and I really believe he kissed them both. Meanwhile the baker's wife, +who did not dare to touch a cricket herself, had gone into the +bake-house. She made her husband catch four, and put them into a box +with holes in the cover, so that they might breathe. She gave the box to +the child, who went away perfectly happy. + +When he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave each other a good +squeeze of the hand. "Poor little fellow!" said they both together. Then +she took down her account-book, and, finding the page where the mother's +charges were written, made a great dash all down the page, and then +wrote at the bottom, "Paid." + +Meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper all the money +in his pockets, where fortunately he had quite a sum that day, and had +begged the good wife to send it at once to the mother of the little +cricket-boy, with her bill receipted, and a note, in which he told her +that she had a son who would one day be her pride and joy. + +They gave it to a baker's boy with long legs, and told him to make +haste. The child, with his big loaf, his four crickets, and his little +short legs, could not run very fast, so that when he reached home, he +found his mother, for the first time in many weeks, with her eyes raised +from her work, and a smile of peace and happiness upon her lips. + +The boy believed that it was the arrival of his four little black things +which had worked this miracle, and I do not think he was mistaken. +Without the crickets, and his good little heart, would this happy change +have taken place in his mother's fortunes? + +P. J. STAHL + + + + +THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM + + + It was a summer evening, + Old Kaspar's work was done, + And he before his cottage door + Was sitting in the sun, + And by him sported on the green + His little grandchild Wilhelmine. + + She saw her brother Peterkin + Roll something large and round, + Which he beside the rivulet + In playing there had found: + He came to ask what he had found, + That was so large, and smooth, and round. + + Old Kaspar took it from the boy, + Who stood expectant by: + And then the old man shook his head, + And, with a natural sigh, + "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, + "Who fell in the great victory. + + "I find them in the garden, + For there's many here about; + And often when I go to plough, + The ploughshare turns them out! + For many thousand men," said he, + "Were slain in that great victory." + + "Now tell me what 'twas all about," + Young Peterkin, he cries; + And little Wilhelmine looks up + With wonder-waiting eyes; + "Now tell us all about the war, + And what they fought each other for." + + "It was the English," Kaspar cried, + "Who put the French to rout; + But what they fought each other for, + I could not well make out; + But everybody said," quoth he, + "That 'twas a famous victory. + + "My father lived at Blenheim then, + Yon little stream hard by; + They burnt his dwelling to the ground, + And he was forced to fly; + So with his wife and child he fled, + Nor had he where to rest his head. + + "They say it was a shocking sight + After the field was won; + For many thousand bodies here + Lay rotting in the sun; + But things like that, you know, must be + After a famous victory. + + "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, + And our good prince Eugene." + "Why 'twas a very wicked thing!" + Said little Wilhelmine. + "Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, + "It was a famous victory. + + "And everybody praised the Duke + Who this great fight did win." + "But what good came of it at last?" + Quoth little Peterkin. + "Why, that I cannot tell," said he, + "But 'twas a famous victory." + +SOUTHEY + + + + +THE RIDE FOR LIFE + + +Away off towards the swamp, which they were avoiding, the long, +heart-chilling cry of a mother-wolf quavered on the still night air. In +spite of herself, Mrs. Murray shivered, and the boys looked at each +other. + +"There is only one," said Ranald in a low voice to Don, but they both +knew that where the she-wolf is there is a pack not far off. "And we +will be through the bush in five minutes." + +"Come, Ranald! Come away, you can talk to Don any time. Good-night, +Don." And so saying she headed her pony toward the clearing and was off +at a gallop, and Ranald, shaking his head at his friend, ejaculated: + +"Man alive! what do you think of that?" and was off after the pony. + +Together they entered the bush. The road was well beaten and the horses +were keen to go, so that before many minutes were over they were half +through the bush. Ranald's spirits rose and he began to take some +interest in his companion's observations upon the beauty of the lights +and shadows falling across their path. + +"Look at that very dark shadow from the spruce there, Ranald," she +cried, pointing to a deep, black turn in the road. For answer there came +from behind them the long, mournful hunting-cry of the wolf. He was on +their track. Immediately it was answered by a chorus of howls from the +bush on the swamp side, but still far away. There was no need of +command; the pony sprang forward with a snort and the colt followed, and +after a few minutes' running, passed her. + +"Whow-oo-oo-oo-ow," rose the long cry of the pursuer, summoning help, +and drawing nearer. + +"Whw-ee-wow," came the shorter, sharper answer from the swamp, but much +nearer than before and more in front. They were trying to head off their +prey. + +Ranald tugged at his colt till he got him back with the pony. + +"It is a good road," he said, quietly; "you can let the pony go. I will +follow you." He swung in behind the pony, who was now running for dear +life and snorting with terror at every jump. + +"God preserve us!" said Ranald to himself. He had caught sight of a dark +form as it darted through the gleam of light in front. + +"What did you say, Ranald?" The voice was quiet and clear. + +"It is a great pony to run," said Ranald, ashamed of himself. + +"Is she not?" + +Ranald glanced over his shoulder. Down the road, running with silent, +awful swiftness, he saw the long, low body of the leading wolf flashing +through the bars of moonlight across the road, and the pack following +hard. + +"Let her go, Mrs. Murray," cried Ranald. "Whip her and never stop." But +there was no need; the pony was wild with fear, and was doing her best +running. + +Ranald meantime was gradually holding in the colt, and the pony drew +away rapidly. But as rapidly the wolves were closing in behind him. They +were not more than a hundred yards away, and gaining every second. +Ranald, remembering the suspicious nature of the brutes, loosened his +coat and dropped it on the road; with a chorus of yelps they paused, +then threw themselves upon it, and in another minute took up the chase. + +But now the clearing was in sight. The pony was far ahead, and Ranald +shook out his colt with a yell. He was none too soon, for the pursuing +pack, now uttering short, shrill yelps, were close at the colt's heels. +Lizette, fleet as the wind, could not shake them off. Closer and ever +closer they came, snapping and snarling. Ranald could see them over his +shoulder. A hundred yards more and he would reach his own back lane. The +leader of the pack seemed to feel that his chances were slipping swiftly +away. With a spurt he gained upon Lizette, reached the saddle-girths, +gathered himself into two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's throat. +Instinctively Ranald stood up in his stirrups, and kicking his foot +free, caught the wolf under the jaw. The brute fell with a howl under +the colt's feet, and next moment they were in the lane and safe. + +The savage brutes, discouraged by their leader's fall, slowed down their +fierce pursuit, and hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds' great +deer-hound, Bugle, up at the house, they paused, sniffed the air a few +minutes, then turned and swiftly and silently slid into the dark +shadows. Ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare enter the lane, +checked the colt, and wheeling, watched them disappear. + +"I'll have some of your hides some day," he cried, shaking his fist +after them. He hated to be made to run. + +He had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard something +tearing down the lane to meet him. The colt snorted, swerved, and then +dropping his ears, stood still. It was Bugle, and after him came Mrs. +Murray on the pony. + +"Oh, Ranald!" she panted, "thank God you are safe. I was afraid +you--you--" Her voice broke in sobs. Her hood had fallen back from her +white face, and her eyes were shining like two stars. She laid her hand +on Ranald's arm, and her voice grew steady as she said: "Thank God, my +boy, and thank you with all my heart. You risked your life for mine. You +are a brave fellow! I can never forget this!" + +"Oh, pshaw!" said Ranald, awkwardly. "You are better stuff than I am. +You came back with Bugle. And I knew Liz could beat the pony." Then they +walked their horses quietly to the stable, and nothing more was said by +either of them; but from that hour Ranald had a friend ready to offer +life for him, though he did not know it then nor till years afterward. + +RALPH CONNOR: "The Man from Glengarry." + + + + +Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his +friends. + +ST. JOHN, XV. 13 + + + + +IAGOO, THE BOASTER + + + And Iagoo, the great boaster, + He the marvellous story-teller, + He the friend of old Nokomis, + Saw in all the eyes around him, + Saw in all their looks and gestures, + That the wedding guests assembled, + Longed to hear his pleasant stories, + His immeasurable falsehoods. + + Very boastful was Iagoo; + Never heard he an adventure + But himself had met a greater; + Never any deed of daring + But himself had done a bolder; + Never any marvellous story + But himself could tell a stranger. + + Would you listen to his boasting, + Would you only give him credence, + No one ever shot an arrow + Half so far and high as he had; + Ever caught so many fishes, + Ever killed so many reindeer, + Ever trapped so many beaver! + + None could run so fast as he could, + None could dive so deep as he could, + None could swim so far as he could; + None had made so many journeys, + None had seen so many wonders, + As this wonderful Iagoo, + As this marvellous story-teller! + + Thus his name became a by-word + And a jest among the people; + And whene'er a boastful hunter + Praised his own address too highly, + Or a warrior, home returning, + Talked too much of his achievements, + All his hearers cried: "Iagoo! + Here's Iagoo come among us!" + +LONGFELLOW: "Hiawatha." + + + + +THE STORY OF A FIRE + + +Thirteen years have passed since, but it is all to me as if it had +happened yesterday,--the clanging of the fire-bells, the hoarse shouts +of the firemen, the wild rush and terror of the streets; then the great +hush that fell upon the crowd; the sea of upturned faces with the fire +glow upon it; and up there, against the background of black smoke that +poured from roof to attic, the boy clinging to the narrow ledge, so far +up that it seemed humanly impossible that help could ever come. + +But even then it was coming. Up from the street, while the crew of the +truck company were labouring with the heavy extension ladder that at its +longest stretch was many feet too short, crept four men upon long, +slender poles with cross-bars, iron-hooked at the end. Standing in one +window, they reached up and thrust the hook through the next one above, +then mounted a story higher. Again the crash of glass, and again the +dizzy ascent. Straight up the wall they crept, looking like human flies +on the ceiling, and clinging as close, never resting, reaching one +recess only to set out for the next; nearer and nearer in the race for +life, until but a single span separated the foremost from the boy. And +now the iron hook fell at his feet, and the fireman stood upon the step +with the rescued lad in his arms, just as the pent-up flames burst lurid +from the attic window, reaching with impotent fury for their prey. The +next moment they were safe upon the great ladder waiting to receive them +below. + +Then such a shout went up! Men fell on each other's necks, and cried and +laughed at once. Strangers slapped one another on the back with +glistening faces, shook hands, and behaved generally like men gone +suddenly mad. Women wept in the street. The driver of a car stalled in +the crowd, who had stood through it all speechless, clutching the reins, +whipped his horses into a gallop and drove away, yelling like a +Comanche, to relieve his feelings. The boy and his rescuer were carried +across the street without anyone knowing how. Policemen forgot their +dignity and shouted with the rest. Fire, peril, terror, and loss were +alike forgotten in the one touch of nature that makes the whole world +kin. + +Fireman John Binns was made captain of his crew, and the Bennett medal +was pinned on his coat on the next parade day. + +JACOB A. RIIS + + + + + Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, + Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, + Our hearts in glad surprise + To higher levels rise. + +LONGFELLOW + + + + +THE QUEST + + + There once was a restless boy + Who dwelt in a home by the sea, + Where the water danced for joy, + And the wind was glad and free; + But he said: "Good mother, O let me go! + For the dullest place in the world, I know, + Is this little brown house, + This old brown house, + Under the apple tree. + + "I will travel east and west; + The loveliest homes I'll see; + And when I have found the best, + Dear mother, I'll come for thee. + I'll come for thee in a year and a day, + And joyfully then we'll haste away + From this little brown house, + This old brown house, + Under the apple tree." + + So he travelled here and there, + But never content was he, + Though he saw in lands most fair + The costliest homes there be. + He something missed from the sea or sky, + Till he turned again with a wistful sigh + To the little brown house, + The old brown house, + Under the apple tree. + + Then the mother saw and smiled, + While her heart grew glad and free. + "Hast thou chosen a home, my child? + Ah, where shall we dwell?" quoth she. + And he said: "Sweet mother, from east to west, + The loveliest home, and the dearest and best, + Is a little brown house, + An old brown house, + Under an apple tree." + +EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD + + + + +THE JACKAL AND THE PARTRIDGE + + +A Jackal and a Partridge swore eternal friendship; but the Jackal was +very exacting and jealous. "You don't do half as much for me as I do for +you," he used to say, "and yet you talk a great deal of your friendship. +Now my idea of a friend is one who is able to make me laugh or cry, +give me a good meal, or save my life if need be. You couldn't do that!" + +"Let us see," answered the Partridge; "follow me at a little distance, +and if I don't make you laugh soon you may eat me!" + +So she flew on till she met two travellers trudging along, one behind +the other. They were both foot-sore and weary, and the first carried his +bundle on a stick over his shoulder, while the second had his shoes in +his hand. + +Lightly as a feather the Partridge settled on the first traveller's +stick. He, none the wiser, trudged on; but the second traveller, seeing +the bird sitting so tamely just in front of his nose, said to himself: +"What a chance for a supper!" and immediately flung his shoes at it, +they being ready to hand. Whereupon the Partridge flew away, and the +shoes knocked off the first traveller's turban. + +"What a plague do you mean?" cried he, angrily turning on his companion. +"Why did you throw your shoes at my head?" + +"Brother!" replied the other, mildly, "do not be vexed. I didn't throw +them at you, but at a Partridge that was sitting on your stick." + +"On my stick! Do you take me for a fool?" shouted the injured man, in a +great rage. "Don't tell me such cock-and-bull stories. First you insult +me, and then you lie like a coward; but I'll teach you manners!" + +Then he fell upon his fellow-traveller without more ado, and they fought +until they could not see out of their eyes, till their noses were +bleeding, their clothes in rags, and the Jackal had nearly died of +laughing. + +"Are you satisfied?" asked the Partridge of her friend. + +"Well," answered the Jackal, "you have certainly made me laugh, but I +doubt if you could make me cry. It is easy enough to be a buffoon; it is +more difficult to excite the higher emotions." + +"Let us see," retorted the Partridge, somewhat piqued; "there is a +huntsman with his dogs coming along the road. Just creep into that +hollow tree and watch me; if you don't weep scalding tears, you must +have no feeling in you!" + +The Jackal did as he was bid, and watched the Partridge, who began +fluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when she +flew to the hollow tree where the Jackal was hidden. Of course the dogs +smelled him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that the +huntsman came up and, seeing what it was, dragged the Jackal out by the +tail. Whereupon the dogs worried him to their hearts' content, and +finally left him for dead. + +By and by he opened his eyes--for he was only foxing--and saw the +Partridge sitting on a branch above him. + +"Did you cry?" she asked anxiously. "Did I rouse your higher emo--" + +"Be quiet, will you!" snarled the Jackal; "I'm half-dead with fear!" + +So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting the better of his +bruises, and meanwhile he became hungry. + +"Now is the time for friendship!" said he to the Partridge. "Get me a +good dinner, and I will acknowledge you are a true friend." + +"Very well!" replied the Partridge; "only watch me, and help yourself +when the time comes." + +Just then a troop of women came by, carrying their husbands' dinners to +the harvest-field. + +The Partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and began fluttering along +from bush to bush as if she were wounded. + +"A wounded bird!--a wounded bird!" cried the women; "we can easily catch +it!" + +Whereupon they set off in pursuit, but the cunning Partridge played a +thousand tricks, till they became so excited over the chase that they +put their bundles on the ground in order to pursue it more nimbly. The +Jackal, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, crept up, and made off with +a good dinner. + +"Are you satisfied now?" asked the Partridge. + +"Well," returned the Jackal, "I confess you have given me a very good +dinner; you have also made me laugh--and cry--ahem! But, after all, the +great test of friendship is beyond you--you couldn't save my life!" + +"Perhaps not," acquiesced the Partridge, mournfully. "I am so small and +weak. But it grows late--we should be going home; and as it is a long +way round by the ford, let us go across the river. My friend, the +crocodile, will carry us over." + +Accordingly, they set off for the river, and the crocodile kindly +consented to carry them across; so they sat on his broad back, and he +ferried them over. But just as they were in the middle of the stream the +Partridge remarked: "I believe the crocodile intends to play us a trick. +How awkward if he were to drop you into the water!" + +"Awkward for you, too!" replied the Jackal, turning pale. + +"Not at all! not at all! I have wings, you haven't." + +On this the Jackal shivered and shook with fear, and when the crocodile, +in a grewsome growl, remarked that he was hungry and wanted a good meal, +the wretched creature hadn't a word to say. + +"Pooh!" cried the Partridge, airily, "don't try tricks on us--I should +fly away, and as for my friend, the Jackal, you couldn't hurt _him_. He +is not such a fool as to take his life with him on these little +excursions; he leaves it at home locked up in the cupboard." + +"Is that a fact?" asked the crocodile, surprised. + +"Certainly!" retorted the Partridge. "Try to eat him if you like, but +you will only tire yourself to no purpose." + +"Dear me! how very odd!" gasped the crocodile; and he was so taken aback +that he carried the Jackal safe to shore. + +"Well, are you satisfied now?" asked the Partridge. + +"My dear madam!" quoth the Jackal, "you have made me laugh, you have +made me cry, you have given me a good dinner, and you have saved my +life; but upon my honour I think you are too clever for a friend: so, +good-bye!" + +And the Jackal never went near the Partridge again. + +FLORA ANNIE STEEL: "Tales from the Punjab." + + + + +HIDE AND SEEK + + + All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, + All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill; + Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June, + Hark! a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune. + + "Hide and seek! + "When I speak, + "You must answer me: + "Call again, + "Merry men, + "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" + + Now I hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass: + Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass? + Just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns, + Leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns. + + "Hold him fast, + "Caught at last! + "Now you're it, you see. + "Hide your eye, + "Till I cry, + "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" + + Long ago he left me, long and long ago: + Now I wander through the world and seek him high and low; + Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,-- + Ah, if I could hear his voice, I soon should find his face. + + Far away, + Many a day, + Where can Barney be? + Answer, dear, + Don't you hear? + "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" + + Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy, + Flowers he loved to pick for me, 'mind me of my boy. + Surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh; + Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die. + + Heart be glad, + The little lad + Will call some day to thee: + "Father dear, + "Heaven is here, + "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" + +HENRY VAN DYKE + + + + +THE BURNING OF THE "GOLIATH" + + (Owing to the excellent discipline which Captain Bourchier had + established, and to the courage of the boys, only twelve lives + were lost out of the crew of five hundred). + + +Let me give you an example of self-denial which comes from near home. I +will speak to you of what has been done by little boys of seven, of +eight, of twelve, of thirteen;--little English boys, and English boys +with very few advantages of birth; not brought up, as most of you are, +in quiet, orderly homes, but taken from the London workhouses. I will +speak to you of what such little boys have done, not fifteen hundred, or +even two hundred years ago, but last week--last Wednesday, on the river +Thames. + +Do you know of whom I am thinking? I am thinking of the little boys, +nearly five hundred, who were taken from different workhouses in London, +and put to school to be trained as sailors on board the ship which was +called after the name of the giant whom David slew--the training-ship +Goliath. + +About eight o'clock on Wednesday morning that great ship suddenly caught +fire, from the upsetting of a can of oil in the lamp-room. It was hardly +daylight. In a very few minutes the ship was on fire from one end to the +other, and the fire-bell rang to call the boys to their posts. What did +they do? Think of the sudden surprise, the sudden danger--the flames +rushing all around them, and the dark, cold water below them! Did they +cry, or scream, or fly about in confusion? No; they ran each to his +proper place. + +They had been trained to do that--they knew that it was their duty; and +no one forgot himself; no one lost his presence of mind. They all, as +the captain said: "behaved like men." Then, when it was found impossible +to save the ship, those who could swim jumped into the water by order of +the captain, and swam for their lives. Some, also at his command, got +into a boat; and then, when the sheets of flame and the clouds of smoke +came pouring out of the ship, the smaller boys for a moment were +frightened, and wanted to push away. + +But there was one among them--the little mate: his name was William +Bolton: we are proud that he came from Westminster: a quiet boy, much +loved by his comrades--who had the sense and courage to say: "No; we +must stay and help those that are still in the ship." He kept the barge +alongside the ship as long as possible, and was thus the means of saving +more than one hundred lives! + +There were others who were still in the ship while the flames went on +spreading. They were standing by the good captain, who had been so kind +to them all, and whom they all loved so much. In that dreadful crisis +they thought more of him than of themselves. One threw his arms round +his neck and said: "You'll be burnt, Captain;" and another said: "Save +yourself before the rest." But the captain gave them the best of all +lessons for that moment. He said: "That's not the way at sea, my boys." + +He meant to say--and they quite understood what he meant--that the way +at sea is to prepare for danger beforehand, to meet it manfully when it +comes, and to look at the safety, not of oneself, but of others. The +captain had not only learned that good old way himself, but he also knew +how to teach it to the boys under his charge. + +DEAN STANLEY + + + + +HEARTS OF OAK + + + Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer, + To add something more to this wonderful year, + To honour we call you, not press you like slaves, + For who are so free as the sons of the waves? + Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, + We always are ready, + Steady, boys, steady, + We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. + + Still Britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea, + Her standard be justice, her watchword "Be free;" + Then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing + Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king. + Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, + We always are ready, + Steady, boys, steady, + We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. + +DAVID GARRICK + + + + +A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA + + + A wet sheet and a flowing sea, + A wind that follows fast, + And fills the white and rustling sail, + And bends the gallant mast; + And bends the gallant mast, my boys, + While, like the eagle free, + Away the good ship flies, and leaves + Old England on the lee! + + "O for a soft and gentle wind!" + I heard a fair one cry; + But give to me the snoring breeze + And white waves heaving high; + And white waves heaving high, my boys, + The good ship tight and free,-- + The world of waters is our home, + And merry men are we. + + There's tempest in yon horned moon, + And lightning in yon cloud; + And hark the music, mariners, + The wind is piping loud! + The wind is piping loud, my boys, + The lightning flashes free,-- + While the hollow oak our palace is, + Our heritage the sea. + +ALLAN CUNNINGHAM + + + + +THE TALENTS + + +The kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who +called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. And unto one +he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man +according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey. + +Then he that had received the five talents went and traded with the +same, and made them other five talents. And likewise he that had +received two, he also gained other two. But he that had received one +went and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money. After a long +time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them. + +And so he that had received five talents came and brought other five +talents saying, "Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, I +have gained beside them five talents more." His lord said unto him, +"Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over +a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into +the joy of thy lord." + +He also that had received two talents came and said, "Lord, thou +deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained two other talents +beside them." His lord said unto him, "Well done, good and faithful +servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee +ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." + +Then he which had received the one talent came and said, "Lord, I knew +thee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and +gathering where thou hast not strawed; and I was afraid, and went and +hid thy talent in the earth: lo, there thou hast that is thine." His +lord answered and said unto him, "Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou +knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not +strawed: thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the +exchangers, and then at my coming I should have received mine own with +usury. Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him which +hath ten talents. For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he +shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away +even that which he hath. And cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer +darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." + +ST. MATTHEW, XXV. 14-30 + + + + +A FAREWELL + + + My fairest child, I have no song to give you; + No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; + Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you + For every day. + + I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol + Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down, + To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel + Than Shakespeare's crown. + + Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; + Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: + And so make life, death, and that vast forever, + One grand, sweet song. + +KINGSLEY + + + + +AN APPLE ORCHARD IN THE SPRING + + + Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring? + In the spring? + An English apple orchard in the spring? + When the spreading trees are hoary + With their wealth of promised glory, + And the mavis sings its story, + In the spring. + + Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring? + In the spring? + And caught their subtle odours in the spring? + Pink buds pouting at the light, + Crumpled petals baby white + Just to touch them a delight-- + In the spring. + + Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring? + In the spring? + Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring? + When the pink cascades are falling, + And the silver brooklets brawling, + And the cuckoo bird soft calling, + In the spring. + + If you have not, then you know not, in the spring, + In the spring, + Half the colour, beauty, wonder of the spring, + No sweet sight can I remember + Half so precious, half so tender, + As the apple blossoms render, + In the spring. + +WILLIAM MARTIN + + + + +THE BLUEJAY + + +Said Jim Baker: "There's more to a bluejay than to any other creature. +He has more kinds of feeling than any other creature; and mind you, +whatever a bluejay feels, he can put into words. No common words either, +but out-and-out book-talk. You never see a jay at a loss for a word. + +"You may call a jay a bird. Well, so he is, because he has feathers on +him. Otherwise, he is just as human as you are. + +"Yes, sir; a jay is everything that a man is. A jay can laugh, a jay can +gossip, a jay can feel ashamed, just as well as you do, maybe better. +And there's another thing: in good, clean, out-and-out scolding, a +bluejay can beat anything alive. + +"Seven years ago the last man about here but me moved away. There stands +his house--a log house with just one big room and no more: no ceiling, +nothing between the rafters and the floor. + +"Well, one Sunday morning I was sitting out here in front of my cabin, +with my cat, taking the sun, when a bluejay flew down on that house with +an acorn in his mouth. + +"'Hello,' says he, 'I reckon here's something.' When he spoke, the acorn +fell out of his mouth and rolled down on the roof. He didn't care; his +mind was on the thing he had found. + +"It was a knot-hole in the roof. He cocked his head to one side, shut +one eye, and put the other to the hole, like a 'possum looking down a +jug.' + +"Then he looked up, gave a wink or two with his wings, and says: 'It +looks like a hole, it's placed like a hole--and--if I don't think it is +a hole!' + +"Then he cocked his head down and took another look. He looked up with +joy, this time winked his wings and his tail both, and says: 'If I ain't +in luck! Why it's an elegant hole!' + +"So he flew down and got that acorn and dropped it in, and was tilting +his head back with a smile when a queer look of surprise came over his +face. Then he says: 'Why, I didn't hear it fall.' + +"He cocked his eye at the hole again and took a long look; rose up and +shook his head; went to the other side of the hole and took another look +from that side; shook his head again. No use. + +"So after thinking awhile, he says: 'I reckon it's all right. I'll try +it, anyway.' + +"So he flew off and brought another acorn and dropped it in, and tried +to get his eye to the hole quick enough to see what became of it. He was +too late. He got another acorn and tried to see where it went, but he +couldn't. + +"He says: 'Well, I never saw such a hole as this before. I reckon it's a +new kind.' Then he got angry and walked up and down the roof. I never +saw a bird take on so. + +"When he got through, he looked in the hole for half a minute; then he +says: 'Well, you're a long hole, and a deep hole, and a queer hole, but +I have started to fill you, and I'll do it if it takes a hundred +years.' + +"And with that away he went. For two hours and a half you never saw a +bird work so hard. He did not stop to look in any more, but just threw +acorns in and went for more. + +"Well, at last he could hardly flap his wings he was so tired out. So he +bent down for a look. He looked up, pale with rage. He says: 'I've put +in enough acorns to keep the family thirty years, and I can't see a sign +of them.' + +"Another jay was going by and heard him. So he stopped to ask what was +the matter. Our jay told him the whole story. Then he went and looked +down the hole and came back and said: 'How many tons did you put in +there?' 'Not less than two,' said our jay. + +"The other jay looked again, but could not make it out; so he gave a +yell and three more jays came. They all talked at once for awhile, and +then called in more jays. + +"Pretty soon the air was blue with jays, and every jay put his eye to +the hole and told what he thought. They looked the house all over, too. +The door was partly open, and at last one old jay happened to look in. +There lay the acorns all over the floor. + +"He flapped his wings and gave a yell: 'Come here, everybody! Ha! Ha! +He's been trying to fill a house with acorns!' + +"As each jay took a look, the fun of the thing struck him, and how he +did laugh. And for an hour after they roosted on the housetop and trees, +and laughed like human beings. It isn't any use to tell me a bluejay +hasn't any fun in him. I know better." + +SAMUEL L. CLEMENS (Mark Twain) + + + + +A CANADIAN CAMPING SONG + + + A white tent pitched by a glassy lake, + Well under a shady tree, + Or by rippling rills from the grand old hills, + Is the summer home for me. + I fear no blaze of the noontide rays, + For the woodland glades are mine, + The fragrant air, and that perfume rare, + The odour of forest pine. + + A cooling plunge at the break of day, + A paddle, a row, or sail, + With always a fish for a mid-day dish, + And plenty of Adam's ale. + With rod or gun, or in hammock swung, + We glide through the pleasant days; + When darkness falls on our canvas walls, + We kindle the camp fire's blaze. + + From out the gloom sails the silv'ry moon, + O'er forests dark and still, + Now far, now near, ever sad and clear, + Comes the plaint of the whip-poor-will; + With song and laugh, and with kindly chaff, + We startle the birds above, + Then rest tired heads on our cedar beds, + To dream of the ones we love. + +SIR J. D. EDGAR: "This Canada of Ours." + + + + +THE ARGONAUTS + + +Now, when the building of the ship Argo was finished, the fifty heroes +came to look upon her, and joy filled their hearts. "Surely," said they, +"this is the greatest ship that ever sailed the sea." + +So eager were they to make trial of the long oars that some, leaping on +the shoulders of their comrades and grasping the shrouds, clambered over +the bulwarks upon the thwarts and drew the rest in after them. Orpheus, +upon the mighty shoulders of Jason the leader of the expedition, seized +hold of the arm of the azure-eyed goddess, the figure-head of the ship, +and, as he climbed on board, her whisper reached his ear. "Orpheus, sing +me something." This was the song: + + "How sweet upon the surge to ride, + And leap from wave to wave, + While oars flash fast above the tide + And lordly tempests rave. + How sweet it is across the main, + In wonder-land to roam, + To win rich treasure, endless fame, + And earn a welcome home." + +Then the good ship Argo stirred in all her timbers and longing for the +restless sea came upon her and she rushed headlong down the grooves till +the lips of the goddess tasted the salt sea spray. + +Many a day they sailed through laughing seas and ever they spoke +together of the glory of the Golden Fleece which they hoped to bring +home from far off Colchis. + +When they were come to the land of Colchis, King AEetes summoned them to +his palace. Beside him was seated his daughter, the beautiful witch +maiden, Medea. She looked upon the Greeks and upon Jason, fairest and +noblest of them all, and her spirit leaped forth to meet his. And +knowing what lay before them, "surely," she thought, "it were an evil +thing that men so bold and comely should perish." + +When Jason demanded the Golden Fleece, the rage of the King rushed up +like a whirlwind, but he curbed his speech and spake a fair word. +"Choose ye now him who is boldest among you and let him perform the +labours I shall set." + +That night Medea stole from the palace to warn the hero of the toils and +dangers that awaited him,--to tame a span of brazen-footed +fire-breathing bulls, with them to plough four acres of unbroken land in +the field of Ares, to sow the tilth with serpents' teeth, to slay its +crop of warriors, to cross a river, and climb a lofty wall, to snatch +the Fleece from a tree round which lay coiled the sleepless dragon. "How +can these things be accomplished and that before the setting of another +sun?" But Jason used flattering words, singing the song of Chiron: + + "No river so deep but an arm may swim, + No wall so steep but a foot may climb, + No dragon so dread but a sword may slay, + No fiend so fierce but your charms may stay." + +Medea, seeing that he knew not fear, gave him a magic ointment which +should give him the strength of seven men and protect him from fire and +steel. + +All the people assembled at sunrise in the field of Ares. When the +fire-breathing bulls saw Jason standing in the middle of the field, fury +shot from their eyes. Fierce was their onset and the multitude waited +breathless to see what the end would be. As the bulls came on with +lowered heads, and tails in air, Jason leaped nimbly to one side, and +the monsters shot past him with bellowings that shook the earth. They +turned and Jason poised for the leap. As they passed a second time, he +grasped the nearest by the horn and lightly vaulted upon its back. The +bull, unused to the burden, sank cowering to the ground. Jason patted +its neck caressing it, and gladly it shared the yoke with its fellow. + +When the ground was ploughed and sown with the teeth of the serpent, a +thousand warriors sprang full-armed from the brown earth. Then King +AEetes greatly rejoiced, but Medea, trembling at the sight, laid a spell +upon them that they might not clearly distinguish friend from foe. + +One among them came forth and Jason advanced to meet him, walking with a +halt. His adversary laughed aloud, but Jason with a mighty bound sprang +upon the shoulders of his enemy and bore him helmetless to the ground. +The hero quickly replaced the fallen helmet with his own, giving a +golden helmet for a brazen. The other rose and fled back among his +fellows who, thinking it was Jason come among them, fell upon and slew +him and strove with each other for the golden helmet until all were +slain but one who, wounded unto death, rose up from the fray and +shouting "Victory" sank upon knee and elbow never to rise again. + +The rest of the task was quickly accomplished, for Medea by her spells +cast a deep sleep upon the dragon. So the Golden Fleece was won and +brought once more to Iolchos with a prize still more precious, for Jason +bore home with him Medea, the beautiful witch maiden, who became his +bride and ruled with him, let us hope, many happy years. + +JOHN WAUGH + + + + + In the elder days of Art, + Builders wrought with greatest care + Each minute and unseen part; + For the Gods see everywhere. + Let us do our work as well, + Both the unseen and the seen; + Make the house, where Gods may dwell, + Beautiful, entire and clean. + +LONGFELLOW + + + + +THE MINSTREL-BOY + + + The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, + In the ranks of death you'll find him; + His father's sword he has girded on, + And his wild harp slung behind him. + "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, + "Tho' all the world betrays thee, + _One_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, + _One_ faithful harp shall praise thee!" + + The Minstrel fell! but the foeman's chain + Could not bring his proud soul under; + The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, + For he tore its chords asunder; + And said: "No chains shall sully thee, + Thou soul of love and bravery! + Thy songs were made for the pure and free, + They shall never sound in slavery." + +MOORE + + + + + Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, + In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; + Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. + +LOWELL + + + + +MARY ELIZABETH + + +Mary Elizabeth was a little girl with a long name. She was poor, she was +sick, she was ragged, she was dirty, she was cold, she was hungry, she +was frightened. She had no home, she had no mother, she had no father. +She had no supper, she had had no dinner, she had had no breakfast. She +had no place to go and nobody to care where she went. + +In fact, Mary Elizabeth had not much of anything but a short pink calico +dress, a little red cotton-and-wool shawl, and her long name. Besides +this, she had a pair of old rubbers, too large for her. + +She was walking up Washington Street. It was late in the afternoon of a +bitter January day. + +"God made so many people," thought Mary Elizabeth, "He must have made so +many suppers. Seems as if there'd ought to be one for one extry little +girl." + +But she thought this in a gentle way. She was a very gentle little girl. +All girls who hadn't anything were not like Mary Elizabeth. + + * * * * * + +So now she was shuffling up Washington Street, not knowing exactly what +to do next,--peeping into people's faces, timidly looking away from +them, heart-sick (for a very little girl can be very heart-sick), +colder, she thought, every minute, and hungrier each hour than she was +the hour before. + +The child left Washington Street at last, where everybody had homes and +suppers without one extra one to spare for a little girl, and turned +into a short, bright, showy street, where stood a great hotel. + +Whether the door-keeper was away, or busy, or sick, or careless, or +whether the head-waiter at the dining-room was so tall that he couldn't +see so short a beggar, or whether the clerk at the desk was so noisy +that he couldn't hear so still a beggar, or however it was, Mary +Elizabeth did get in; by the door-keeper, past the head-waiter, under +the shadow of the clerk, over the smooth, slippery marble floor the +child crept on. + +She came to the office door and stood still. She looked around her with +wide eyes. She had never seen a place like that. Lights flashed over it, +many and bright. Gentlemen sat in it smoking and reading. They were all +warm. Not one of them looked as if he had had no dinner and no +breakfast and no supper. + +"How many extry suppers," thought the little girl, "it must ha' taken to +feed 'em all. I guess maybe there'll be one for me in here." + +Mary Elizabeth stood in the middle of it, in her pink calico dress and +red plaid shawl. The shawl was tied over her head and about her neck +with a ragged tippet. Her bare feet showed in the old rubbers. She began +to shuffle about the room, holding out one purple little hand. + +One or two of the gentlemen laughed; some frowned; more did nothing at +all; most did not notice, or did not seem to notice, the child. One +said: "What's the matter here?" + +Mary Elizabeth shuffled on. She went from one to the other, less +timidly; a kind of desperation had taken possession of her. The odours +from the dining-room came in, of strong, hot coffee, and strange roast +meats. Mary Elizabeth thought of Jo. + +It seemed to her she was so hungry that, if she could not get a supper, +she should jump up and run and rush about and snatch something and steal +like Jo. She held out her hand, but only said: "I'm hungry!" + +A gentleman called her. He was the gentleman who had asked: "What's the +matter here?" He called her in behind his daily paper which was big +enough to hide three of Mary Elizabeth, and when he saw that nobody was +looking he gave her a five-cent piece in a hurry, as if he had committed +a sin, and said quickly: "There, there, child! go now, go!" + +Then he began to read his newspaper quite hard and fast and to look +severe, as one does who never gives anything to beggars, as a matter of +principle. + +But nobody else gave anything to Mary Elizabeth. She shuffled from one +to another, hopelessly. Every gentleman shook his head. One called for a +waiter to put her out. This frightened her and she stood still. + +Over by a window, in a lonely corner of the great room, a young man was +sitting apart from the others. He sat with his elbows on the table and +his face buried in his arms. He was a well-dressed young man, with +brown, curling hair. + +Mary Elizabeth wondered why he looked so miserable and why he sat alone. +She thought, perhaps, that if he weren't so happy as the other +gentlemen, he would be more sorry for cold and hungry girls. She +hesitated, then walked along and directly up to him. + +One or two gentlemen laid down their papers and watched this; they +smiled and nodded to each other. The child did not see them to wonder +why. She went up and put her hand upon the young man's arm. + +He started. The brown, curly head lifted itself from the shelter of his +arms; a young face looked sharply at the beggar girl,--a beautiful young +face it might have been. + +It was haggard now and dreadful to look at,--bloated and badly marked +with the unmistakable marks of a wicked week's debauch. He roughly said: + +"What do you want?" + +"I'm hungry," said Mary Elizabeth. + +"I can't help that. Go away." + +"I haven't had anything to eat for a whole day--a whole day!" repeated +the child. + +Her lip quivered. But she spoke distinctly. Her voice sounded through +the room. One gentleman after another laid down his paper or his pipe. +Several were watching this little scene. + +"Go away!" repeated the young man, irritably. "Don't bother me. I +haven't had anything to eat for three days!" + +His face went down into his arms again. Mary Elizabeth stood staring at +the brown, curling hair. She stood perfectly still for some moments. She +evidently was greatly puzzled. She walked away a little distance, then +stopped and thought it over. + +And now paper after paper and pipe after cigar went down. Every +gentleman in the room began to look on. The young man with the beautiful +brown curls, and dissipated, disgraced, and hidden face was not stiller +than the rest. + +The little figure in the pink calico and the red shawl and big rubbers +stood for a moment silent among them all. The waiter came to take her +out but the gentlemen motioned him away. + +Mary Elizabeth turned her five-cent piece over and over in her purple +hand. Her hand shook. The tears came. The smell of the dinner from the +dining-room grew savoury and strong. The child put the piece of money to +her lips as if she could have eaten it, then turned and, without further +hesitation, went back. + +She touched the young man--on the bright hair this time--with her +trembling little hand. + +The room was so still now that what she said rang out to the corridor, +where the waiters stood, with the clerk behind looking over the desk to +see. + +"I'm sorry you are so hungry. If you haven't had anything for three +days, you must be hungrier than me. I've got five cents. A gentleman +gave it me. I wish you would take it. I've only gone one day. You can +get some supper with it, and--maybe--I--can get some somewheres! I wish +you'd please to take it!" + +Mary Elizabeth stood quite still, holding out her five-cent piece. She +did not understand the stir that went all over the bright room. She did +not see that some of the gentlemen coughed and wiped their spectacles. + +She did not know why the brown curls before her came up with such a +start, nor why the young man's wasted face flushed red and hot with a +noble shame. + +She did not in the least understand why he flung the five-cent piece +upon the table, and, snatching her in his arms, held her fast and hid +his face on her plaid shawl and sobbed. Nor did she seem to know what +could be the reason that nobody seemed amused to see this gentleman +cry. + +The gentleman who had given her the money came up, and some more came +up, and they gathered around, and she in the midst of them, and they all +spoke kindly, and the young man with the bad face that might have been +so beautiful stood up, still clinging to her, and said aloud: + +"She's shamed me before you all, and she's shamed me to myself! I'll +learn a lesson from this beggar, so help me God!" + +So then he took the child upon his knee, and the gentlemen came up to +listen, and the young man asked her what her name was. + +"Mary Elizabeth, sir." + +"Names used to mean things--in the Bible--when I was as little as you. I +read the Bible then. Does Mary Elizabeth mean angel of rebuke?" + +"Sir?" + +"Where do you live, Mary Elizabeth?" + +"Nowhere, sir." + +"Where do you sleep?" + +"In Mrs. O'Flynn's shed, sir. It's too cold for the cows. She's so kind, +she lets us stay." + +"Whom do you stay with?" + +"Nobody, only Jo." + +"Is Jo your brother?" + +"No, sir. Jo is a girl. I haven't got only Jo." + +"What does Jo do for a living?" + +"She--gets it, sir." + +"And what do you do?" + +"I beg. It's better than to--get it, sir, I think." + +"Where's your mother?" + +"Dead." + +"What did she die of?" + +"Drink, sir," said Mary Elizabeth, in her distinct and gentle tone. + +"Ah--well. And your father?" + +"He is dead. He died in prison." + +"What sent him to prison?" + +"Drink, sir." + +"Oh!" + +"I had a brother once," continued Mary Elizabeth, who grew quite +eloquent with so large an audience, "but he died, too." + +"I do want my supper," she added, after a pause, speaking in a whisper, +as if to Jo or to herself, "and Jo'll be wondering for me." + +"Wait, then," said the young man. "I'll see if I can't beg enough to get +you your supper." + +"I thought there must be an extry one among so many folks!" cried Mary +Elizabeth; for now, she thought, she should get back her five cents. + +And, truly, the young man put the five cents into his hat, to begin +with. Then he took out his purse, and put in something that made less +noise than the five-cent piece and something more and more and more. + +Then he passed around the great room, walking still unsteadily, and the +gentleman who gave the five cents and all the gentlemen put something +into the young man's hat. + +So, when he came back to the table, he emptied the hat and counted the +money, and, truly, it was forty dollars. + +"Forty dollars!" + +Mary Elizabeth looked frightened. + +"It's yours," said the young man. "Now come to supper. But see! this +gentleman who gave you the five-cent piece shall take care of the money +for you. You can trust him. He's got a wife, too. But we'll come to +supper now." + + * * * * * + +So the young man took her by the hand, and the gentleman whose wife knew +all about what to do with orphans took her by the other hand, and one or +two more gentlemen followed, and they all went into the dining-room, and +put Mary Elizabeth in a chair at a clean white table, and asked her +what she wanted for her supper. + +Mary Elizabeth said that a little dry toast and a cup of milk would do +nicely. So all the gentlemen laughed. And she wondered why. + +And the young man with the brown curls laughed, too, and began to look +quite happy. But he ordered chicken and cranberry sauce and mashed +potatoes and celery and rolls and butter and tomatoes and an ice cream +and a cup of tea and nuts and raisins and cake and custard and apples +and grapes. + +And Mary Elizabeth sat in her pink dress and red shawl and ate the +whole; and why it didn't kill her nobody knows; but it didn't. + +The young man with the face that might have been beautiful--that might +be yet, one would have thought who had seen him then--stood watching the +little girl. + +"She's preached me the best sermon," he said below his breath, "I ever +heard. May God bless her! I wish there were a thousand like her in this +selfish world!" + +And when I heard about it I wished so, too. + +ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD + + + + + Oh, there is nothing on earth half so holy + As the innocent heart of a child. + +DICKENS + + + + +THE FROST + + + The Frost looked forth, one still clear night, + And whispered: "Now I shall be out of sight; + So through the valley and over the height, + In silence I'll take my way: + I will not go on like that blustering train, + The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, + Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, + But I'll be as busy as they." + + Then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest; + He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed + In diamond beads--and over the breast + Of the quivering lake he spread + A coat of mail, that it need not fear + The downward point of many a spear + That he hung on its margin, far and near, + Where a rock could rear its head. + + He went to the windows of those who slept, + And over each pane, like a fairy, crept; + Wherever he breathed, wherever he stept, + By the light of the moon were seen + Most beautiful things:--there were flowers and trees; + There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees: + There were cities with temples and towers; and these + All pictured in silver sheen. + + But he did one thing that was hardly fair; + He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there + That all had forgotten for him to prepare-- + "Now just to set them a-thinking, + I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, + "This costly pitcher I'll burst in three, + And the glass of water they've left for me + Shall 'Tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking." + +H. F. GOULD + + + + +CORN-FIELDS + + + When on the breath of Autumn's breeze, + From pastures dry and brown, + Goes floating, like an idle thought, + The fair, white thistle-down,-- + Oh, then what joy to walk at will + Upon the golden harvest-hill! + + What joy in dreaming ease to lie + Amid a field new shorn; + And see all round, on sunlit slopes, + The piled-up shocks of corn; + And send the fancy wandering o'er + All pleasant harvest-fields of yore! + + I feel the day; I see the field; + The quivering of the leaves; + And good old Jacob, and his house,-- + Binding the yellow sheaves! + And at this very hour I seem + To be with Joseph in his dream! + + I see the fields of Bethlehem, + And reapers many a one + Bending unto their sickles' stroke, + And Boaz looking on; + And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, + Among the gleaners stooping there! + + Again, I see a little child, + His mother's sole delight,-- + God's living gift of love unto + The kind, good Shunammite; + To mortal pangs I see him yield, + And the lad bear him from the field. + + The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, + The fields of Galilee, + That eighteen hundred years ago + Were full of corn, I see; + And the dear Saviour take his way + 'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath day. + + Oh, golden fields of bending corn, + How beautiful they seem! + The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, + To me are like a dream; + The sunshine, and the very air + Seem of old time, and take me there! + +MARY HOWITT + + + + +SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQ. + + +Treasure Valley belonged to three brothers--Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. +The two elder brothers were rich, cruel, quarrelsome men who never gave +anything in charity. The youngest brother, Gluck, was twelve years old, +and kind to everyone. He had to act as cook and servant to his brothers. + +One cold, wet day the brothers went out, telling Gluck to roast a leg of +mutton on the spit, let nobody into the house, and let nothing out. +After a time some one knocked at the door. Gluck went to the window, +opened it, and put his head out to see who it was. + +It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman. He had a very +large nose, slightly brass-coloured; very round and very red cheeks; +merry eyes, long hair, and moustaches that curled twice round like a +corkscrew on each side of his mouth. He was four feet six inches high, +and wore a pointed cap as long as himself. It was decorated with a black +feather about three feet long. Around his body was folded an enormous +black, glossy-looking cloak much too long for him. As he knocked again +he caught sight of Gluck. + +"Hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer the +door; I'm wet, let me in." + +To do the little gentleman justice, he _was_ wet. His feather hung down +between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella; +and from the ends of his moustaches the water was running into his +waistcoat pockets, and out again like a mill stream. + +"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but I really can't." + +"Can't what?" said the old gentleman. + +"I can't let you in, sir,--I can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me to +death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?" + +"Want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly, "I want fire and shelter; +and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on the +walls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to warm +myself." + +Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window that he +began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned and +saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long, bright +tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savoury +smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should +be burning away for nothing. "He does look _very_ wet," said little +Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour." Round he went to +the door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, through +the house came a gust of wind that made the old chimneys totter. + +"That's a good boy," said the little gentleman. "Never mind your +brothers. I'll talk to them." + +"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. "I can't let you stay +till they come; they'd be the death of me." + +"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How +long may I stay?" + +"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very +brown." + +Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and sat himself down on +the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it +was a great deal too high for the roof. "You'll soon dry there, sir," +said Gluck, and sat down again to turn the mutton. But the old gentleman +did _not_ dry there, but went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, +and the fire fizzed and sputtered, and began to look very black and +uncomfortable; never was such a cloak; every fold in it ran like a +gutter. + +"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the water +spreading in long quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarter +of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?" + +"No, thank you," said the old gentleman. + +"Your cap, sir?" + +"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman, rather gruffly. + +"But--sir--I'm very sorry," said Gluck, hesitatingly; "but--really, +sir--you're putting the fire out." + +"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor, dryly. + +Gluck was very much puzzled by the behaviour of his guest; it was such a +strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string +meditatively for another five minutes. + +"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman, at length. "Can't +you give me a little bit?" + +"Impossible, sir," said Gluck. + +"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman; "I've had nothing to eat +yesterday, nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the +knuckle!" + +He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's +heart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give +you that, but not a bit more." + +"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again. + +Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I do +get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out of +the mutton, there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman +jumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm. +Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts at +exactitude, and ran to open the door. + +"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as he +walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face. + +"Ay! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering an +educational box on the ear, as he followed his brother into the kitchen. + +"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz, when he opened the door. + +"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off, and was +standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible +velocity. + +"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning to +Gluck with a fierce frown. + +"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck, in great terror. + +"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz. + +"My dear brother," said Gluck, deprecatingly, "he was so _very_ wet!" + +The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but at the instant the +old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with a +shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was very +odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out of +Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into the +corner at the farther end of the room. + +"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. + +"What's your business?" snarled Hans. + +"I'm a poor, old man, sir," the little gentleman began very modestly, +"and I saw your fire through the window, and begged shelter for a +quarter of an hour." + +"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz. "We've quite +enough water in our kitchen, without making it a drying-house." + +"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray +hairs." They hung down to his shoulders. + +"Ay!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!" + +"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread before +I go?" + +"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do with +our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?" + +"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Out with +you!" + +"A little bit," said the old gentleman. + +"Be off!" said Schwartz. + +"Pray, gentlemen--" + +"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he had +no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar, than away he went after +the rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corner +on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old +gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when away +he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the +wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all three. + +Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite +direction; continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly +about him; clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it +could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an +additional twist to his corkscrew moustaches, and replied with perfect +coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good-morning. At twelve o'clock +to-night I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I have +just experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last I +ever pay you." + +"If I ever catch you here again," muttered Schwartz, coming, +half-frightened, out of the corner--but before he could finish his +sentence, the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a +great bang; and past the window, at the same instant, drove a wreath of +ragged cloud, that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner +of shapes; turning over and over in the air, and melting away at last in +a gush of rain. + +"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish the +mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--bless me, why +the mutton's been cut!" + +"You promised me one slice, brother, you know," said Gluck. + +"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the +gravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave the +room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till I call +you." + +Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much mutton +as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get +very drunk after dinner. + +Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain, without +intermission. + +The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all the shutters, and +double-bar the door, before they went to bed. They usually slept in the +same room. As the clock struck twelve, they were both awakened by a +tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a violence that shook the +house from top to bottom. + +"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed. + +"Only I," said the little gentleman. + +The two brothers sat up on their bolster, and stared into the darkness. +The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its way +through a hole in the shutter, they could see, in the midst of it, an +enormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a +cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old +gentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for the +roof was off. + +"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor, ironically. "I'm afraid +your beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room; +I've left the ceiling on there." + +They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet +through, and in an agony of terror. + +"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called +after them. "Remember, the _last_ visit." + +"Pray Heaven it may be!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe +disappeared. + +Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little +window in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and +desolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, and +left, in their stead, a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two brothers +crept, shivering and horror-struck, into the kitchen. The water had +gutted the whole first floor: corn, money, almost every movable thing +had been swept away, and there was left only a small white card on the +kitchen table. On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters, were +engraved the words:-- + + SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQUIRE. + +RUSKIN: "The King of the Golden River." +(Adapted) + + + + + The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, + The solemn temples, the great globe itself, + Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; + And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, + Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff + As dreams are made on, and our little life + Is rounded with a sleep. + +SHAKESPEARE + + + + +THE MEETING OF THE WATERS + + + There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet + As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; + Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, + Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. + + Yet it _was_ not that Nature had shed o'er the scene + Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; + 'Twas _not_ her soft magic of streamlet or hill, + Oh! no,--it was something more exquisite still. + + 'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, + Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, + And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, + When we see them reflected from looks that we love. + + Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest + In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, + Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, + And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. + +MOORE + + + + +LOVE + + +Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you. Bless them that curse +you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. And as ye would that +men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise. For if ye love them +which love you, what thank have ye? for sinners also love those that +love them. And if ye do good to them which do good to you, what thank +have ye? for sinners also do even the same. And if ye lend to them of +whom ye hope to receive, what thank have ye? for sinners also lend to +sinners, to receive as much again. But love ye your enemies, and do +good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be +great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind unto +the unthankful and to the evil. Be ye therefore merciful, as your +Father also is merciful. Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn +not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. +Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and +shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For +with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you +again. + +ST. LUKE, VI. 27-38 + + + + +THE ROBIN'S SONG + + + "When the willows gleam along the brooks, + And the grass grows green in sunny nooks, + In the sunshine and the rain + I hear the robin in the lane + Singing, 'Cheerily, + Cheer up, cheer up; + Cheerily, cheerily, + Cheer up.' + + "But the snow is still + Along the walls and on the hill. + The days are cold, the nights forlorn, + For one is here and one is gone. + 'Tut, tut. Cheerily, + Cheer up, cheer up; + Cheerily, cheerily, + Cheer up.' + + "When spring hopes seem to wane, + I hear the joyful strain-- + A song at night, a song at morn, + A lesson deep to me is borne, + Hearing, 'Cheerily, + Cheer up, cheer up; + Cheerily, cheerily, + Cheer up.'" + +UNKNOWN + + + + +WORK OR PLAY + + +Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh +and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the +heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every +face, and a spring in every step. The locust trees were in bloom, and +the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. + +Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a +long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and the gladness went out of +nature, and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards +of board fence nine feet high! It seemed to him that life was hollow, +and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it +along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared +the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of +unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. + +He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his +sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all +sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of +him for having to work--the very thought of it burnt him like fire. + +He got out his worldly wealth and examined it--bits of toys, marbles and +trash; enough to buy an exchange of work maybe, but not enough to buy so +much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened +means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. + +At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him. Nothing +less than a great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his brush and +went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently; the very +boy of all boys whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben's gait was the +hop, skip, and jump--proof enough that his heart was light and his +anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long melodious +whoop at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding dong dong, ding dong +dong, for he was personating a steamboat. + +Tom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamer. Ben stared a +moment, and then said-- + +"Hi-yi! You're a stump, ain't you!" + +No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist; then +he gave his brush another gentle sweep, and surveyed the result as +before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the +apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said-- + +"Hello, old chap; you got to work, hey?" + +"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing." + +"Say, I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of +course you'd druther work, wouldn't you? 'Course you would!" + +Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said-- + +"What do you call work?" + +"Why ain't that work?" + +Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly-- + +"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know is, it suits Tom +Sawyer." + +"Oh, come now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?" + +The brush continued to move. + +"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a +chance to whitewash a fence every day?" + +That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom +swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the +effect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again, Ben +watching every move, and getting more and more interested, more and more +absorbed. Presently he said-- + +"Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little." + +Tom considered; was about to consent; but he altered his mind: "No, no; +I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful +particular about this fence--right here on the street, you know--but if +it was the back fence I wouldn't mind, and she wouldn't. Yes, she's +awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I +reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can +do it the way it's got to be done." + +"No--is that so? Oh, come now; lemme just try, only just a little. I'd +let you, if you was me, Tom." + +"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to do +it, but she wouldn't let him. Sid wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let +Sid. Now, don't you see how I am fixed? If you was to tackle this fence, +and anything was to happen to it--" + +"Oh, shucks; I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say--I'll give you +the core of my apple." + +"Well, here. No, Ben; now don't; I'm afeard--" + +"I'll give you all of it!" + +Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his +heart. And while Ben worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist +sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his +apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of +material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but +remained to whitewash. + +By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy +Fisher for a kite in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller +bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with; and so on, and +so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from +being a poor, poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally +rolling in wealth. + +He had, besides the things I have mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a +jew's harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a +spool-cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, +a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six +fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, a +dog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of +orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window-sash. He had had a nice, good, +idle time all the while--plenty of company--and the fence had three +coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of whitewash, he would +have bankrupted every boy in the village. + +Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world after all. He +had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it, namely, +that, in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only +necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great +and wise philosopher, he would have comprehended that Work consists of +whatever a body is _obliged_ to do, and that Play consists of whatever a +body is _not_ obliged to do. + +MARK TWAIN: "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer." + + + + +BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE + + + Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, + As his corpse to the rampart 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 moon-beam's misty light, + And the lantern dimly burning. + + No useless coffin inclosed his breast, + Nor 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 hollowed 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 heavy 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 we left him alone with his glory. + +C. WOLFE + + + + +THE WHISTLE + + +When I was a boy of seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled my +pocket with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for +children, and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met by +the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave all +my money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the +house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My +brothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had +made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth; put +me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the +money; and laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried with +vexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave +me pleasure. + +This, however, was afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing in +my mind; so that often, when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary +thing, I said to myself: "Don't give too much for the whistle;" and I +saved my money. + +As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the actions of men, I +thought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for the whistle. + +When I saw any one fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in +politics, neglecting his own affairs and ruining them by that neglect, +"He pays, indeed," said I, "too much for his whistle." + +If I saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine horses, all +above his fortune, for which he contracted debts and ended his career in +poverty, "Alas!" said I, "he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle." + +In short, I believed that a great part of the miseries of mankind were +brought upon them by the false estimates they had made of the value of +things, and by their giving too much for their whistles. + +BENJAMIN FRANKLIN + + + + +A CANADIAN BOAT SONG + + + Faintly as tolls the evening chime + Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. + Soon as the woods on shore look dim, + We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. + Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, + The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. + + Why should we yet our sail unfurl? + There is not a breath the blue wave to curl; + But, when the wind blows off the shore, + Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. + Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, + The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. + + Utawas' tide! this trembling moon + Shall see us float over thy surges soon. + Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, + Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. + Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, + The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. + +MOORE + + + + +THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM + + +At an early period in the history of Holland, a boy was born in Haarlem, +a town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, but happily still +more so for its manufactures and inventions in peace. + +His father was a sluicer--that is, one whose employment it was to open +and shut the sluices or large oak gates which, placed at certain regular +distances, close the entrances of the canals, and secure Holland from +the danger to which it seems exposed, of finding itself under water, +rather than above it. When water is wanted, the sluicer raises the +sluices more or less, as required, as the cook turns the cock of a +fountain, and closes them again carefully at night; otherwise the water +would flow into the canals, then overflow them, and inundate the whole +country; so that even the little children in Holland are fully aware of +the importance of a punctual discharge of the sluicer's duties. + +The boy was about eight years old when, one day, he asked permission to +take some cakes to a poor blind man, who lived at the other side of the +dike. His father gave him leave, but charged him not to stay too late. +The child promised, and set off on his little journey. The blind man +thankfully partook of his young friend's cakes, and the boy, mindful of +his father's orders, did not wait, as usual, to hear one of the old +man's stories, but as soon as he had seen him eat one muffin, took leave +of him to return home. + +As he went along by the canals, then quite full, for it was in October, +and the autumn rains had swelled the waters,--the boy now stooped to +pull the little blue flowers which his mother loved so well, now, in +childish gaiety, hummed some merry song. The road gradually became more +solitary, and soon neither the joyous shout of the villager returning to +his cottage home, nor the rough voice of the carter grumbling at his +lazy horses, was any longer to be heard. The little fellow now perceived +that the blue of the flowers in his hands was scarcely distinguishable +from the green of the surrounding herbage, and he looked up in some +dismay. The night was falling; not, however, a dark, winter night, but +one of those beautiful, clear, moonlight nights, in which every object +is perceptible, though not as distinctly as by day. + +The child thought of his father, of his injunction, and was preparing to +quit the ravine in which he was almost buried, and to regain the beach, +when suddenly a slight noise, like the trickling of water upon pebbles, +attracted his attention. He was near one of the large sluices, and he +now carefully examined it, and soon discovered a hole in the wood, +through which the water was flowing. With the instant perception which +every child in Holland would have, the boy saw that the water must soon +enlarge the hole through which it was now only dropping, and that utter +and general ruin would be the consequence of the inundation of the +country that must follow. To see, to throw away the flowers, to climb +from stone to stone till he reached the hole, and to put his finger into +it, was the work of a moment, and to his delight he found that he had +succeeded in stopping the flow of the water. + +This was all very well for a little while, and the child thought only of +the success of his device. But the night was closing in, and with the +night came the cold. The little boy looked around in vain. No one came. +He shouted--he called loudly--no one answered. He resolved to stay there +all night, but alas! the cold was becoming every moment more biting, and +the poor finger fixed in the hole began to feel benumbed, and the +numbness soon extended to the hand, and thence throughout the whole arm. +The pain became still greater, still harder to bear, but yet the boy +moved not. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his father, of +his mother, of his little bed, where he might now be sleeping so +soundly; but still the little fellow stirred not, for he knew that did +he remove the small slender finger which he had opposed to the escape of +the water, not only would he himself be drowned, but his father, his +brothers, his neighbours--nay, the whole village. + +We know not what faltering of purpose, what momentary failures of +courage there might have been during that long and terrible night; but +certain it is, that at daybreak he was found in the same painful +position by a clergyman returning from attendance on a deathbed, who, as +he advanced, thought he heard groans, and bending over the dike, +discovered a child seated on a stone, writhing from pain, and with pale +face and tearful eyes. + +"In the name of wonder, boy," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there?" + +"I am hindering the water from running out," was the answer, in perfect +simplicity, of the child, who, during that whole night, had been +evincing such heroic fortitude and undaunted courage. + +The Muse of History has handed down to posterity many a warrior, the +destroyer of thousands of his fellow-men--but she has left us in +ignorance of the name of this real little hero of Haarlem. + +SHARPE'S LONDON MAGAZINE + + + + + Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, + Are a substantial world, both pure and good. + +WORDSWORTH + + + + +FATHER WILLIAM + + +"Repeat 'You are old, Father William,'" said the Caterpillar. + +Alice folded her hands, and began:-- + + "You are old, Father William," the young man said, + "And your hair has become very white; + And yet you incessantly stand on your head-- + Do you think, at your age, it is right?" + + "In my youth," Father William replied to his son, + "I feared it might injure the brain; + But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, + Why, I do it again and again." + + "You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, + And have grown most uncommonly fat; + Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door-- + Pray, what is the reason of that?" + + "In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks, + "I kept all my limbs very supple + By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box-- + Allow me to sell you a couple." + + "You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak + For anything tougher than suet; + Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak. + Pray, how did you manage to do it?" + + "In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, + And argued each case with my wife; + And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, + Has lasted the rest of my life." + + "You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose + That your eye was as steady as ever; + Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- + What made you so awfully clever?" + + "I have answered three questions, and that is enough," + Said his father; "don't give yourself airs! + Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? + Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!" + +"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar. + +"Not _quite_ right, I'm afraid," said Alice timidly; "some of the words +have got altered." + +"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the Caterpillar decidedly, and +there was silence for some minutes. + +LEWIS CARROLL: "The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland." + + + + +DAVID AND GOLIATH + + +Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and Saul +and the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched by the valley +of Elah, and set the battle in array against the Philistines. And the +Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on a +mountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them. + +And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named +Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. And he had an +helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; and +the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. And he had +greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his +shoulders. And the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his +spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a +shield went before him. + +And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them, +Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? Am not I a Philistine, +and ye servants to Saul? Choose you a man for you, and let him come down +to me. If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be +your servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye +be our servants, and serve us. And the Philistine said, I defy the +armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together. +When Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they were +dismayed, and greatly afraid. + +And David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a +keeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him; and he came to +the trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted for +the battle. For Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in array, +army against army. And David left his carriage in the hand of the keeper +of the carriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted his +brethren. And as he talked with them, behold, there came up the +champion, the Philistine of Gath, Goliath by name, out of the armies of +the Philistines, and spake according to the same words: and David heard +them. And all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, +and were sore afraid. And the men of Israel said, Have ye seen this man +that is come up? surely to defy Israel is he come up: and it shall be, +that the man who killeth him, the king will enrich him with great +riches, and will give him his daughter, and make his father's house free +in Israel. And David spake to the men that stood by him, saying, What +shall be done to the man that killeth this Philistine, and taketh away +the reproach from Israel? For who is this Philistine, that he should +defy the armies of the living God? And the people answered him after +this manner, saying, So shall it be done to the man that killeth him. +And when the words were heard which David spake, they rehearsed them +before Saul: and he sent for him. + +And David said to Saul, Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy +servant will go and fight with this Philistine. And Saul said to David, +Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him: for +thou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth. And David said +unto Saul, Thy servant kept his father's sheep, and there came a lion, +and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock: And I went out after him, +and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth: and when he arose +against me, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. Thy +servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this Philistine shall be as +one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living God. David +said moreover, The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, +and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of +this Philistine. And Saul said unto David, Go, and the Lord be with +thee. + +And Saul armed David with his armour, and he put a helmet of brass upon +his head; also he armed him with a coat of mail. And David girded his +sword upon his armour, and he assayed to go; for he had not proved it. +And David said unto Saul, I cannot go with these; for I have not proved +them. And David put them off him. And he took his staff in his hand, and +chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a +shepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling was in his +hand: and he drew near to the Philistine. + +And the Philistine came on and drew near unto David; and the man that +bare the shield went before him. And when the Philistine looked about, +and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and +of a fair countenance. And the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog, +that thou comest to me with staves? And the Philistine cursed David by +his gods. + +And the Philistine said to David, Come to me, and I will give thy flesh +unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field. + +Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, and +with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the +Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. +This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and I will smite +thee, and take thine head from thee; and I will give the carcases of the +host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the +wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a +God in Israel. And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not +with sword and spear: for the battle is the Lord's, and he will give you +into our hands. + +And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew nigh +to meet David, that David hasted, and ran toward the army to meet the +Philistine. And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, +and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone +sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth. So David +prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote +the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of +David. Therefore David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his +sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off +his head therewith. And when the Philistines saw their champion was +dead, they fled. + +I. SAMUEL, XVII. + +[Illustration: AT THE END OF THE MEAL] + + + + +THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE + + + 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 + Some one had blunder'd: + Their's not to make reply, + Their's not to reason why, + Their's 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; + Storm'd 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 turn'd 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! + +TENNYSON + + + + +MAGGIE TULLIVER + + +Maggie and Tom came in from the garden with their father and their Uncle +Glegg. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and, coming in +with her hair rough as well as out of curl, rushed at once to Lucy. The +contrast between the two cousins was like the contrast between a rough, +dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten. Lucy put up the neatest little +rosebud mouth to be kissed: everything about her was neat. + +"Heyday!" said Aunt Glegg, with loud emphasis. "Do little boys and girls +come into a room without taking notice of their uncles and aunts? That +wasn't the way when I was a little girl." + +"Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears," said Mrs. Tulliver. +She wanted to whisper to Maggie a command to go and have her hair +brushed. + +"Well, and how do you do? And I hope you're good children, are you?" +said Aunt Glegg, in the same loud, emphatic way. "Look up, Tom, look up. +Look at me now. Put your hair behind your ears, Maggie, and keep your +frock on your shoulder." + +Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this loud, emphatic way, as if she +considered them deaf. + +"Well, my dears," said Aunt Pullet, "you grow wonderfully fast,--I doubt +they'll outgrow their strength. I think the girl has too much hair. I'd +have it thinned and cut shorter, sister, if I were you; it isn't good +for her health. It's that makes her skin so brown,--don't you think so, +sister Deane?" + +"I can't say, I'm sure, sister," said Mrs. Deane, shutting her lips +close and looking at Maggie. + +"No, no," said Mr. Tulliver, "the child's healthy enough: there's +nothing ails her. There's red wheat as well as white, for that matter, +and some like the dark grain best. But it would be as well if Bessie +would have the child's hair cut so it would lie smooth." + +"Maggie," said Mrs. Tulliver, beckoning Maggie to her, and whispering in +her ear, "go and get your hair brushed,--do, for shame! I told you not +to come in without going to Martha first; you know I did." + +"Tom, come out with me," whispered Maggie, pulling his sleeve as she +passed him; and Tom followed willingly enough. + +"Come upstairs with me, Tom," she whispered, when they were outside the +door. "There's something I want to do before dinner." + +"There's no time to play at anything before dinner," said Tom. + +"Oh, yes, there is time for this--_do_ come, Tom." + +Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother's room, and saw her go at +once to a drawer from which she took out a large pair of scissors. + +"What are they for, Maggie?" said Tom, feeling his curiosity awakened. + +Maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straight +across the middle of her forehead. + +"Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you'll catch it!" exclaimed Tom; "you'd better +not cut any more off." + +Snip! went the great scissors again while Tom was speaking; and he could +hardly help feeling it was rather good fun--Maggie looking so queer. + +"Here, Tom, cut it behind for me," said Maggie, excited by her own +daring, and anxious to finish the deed. + +"You'll catch it, you know," said Tom, hesitating a little as he took +the scissors. + +"Never mind--make haste!" said Maggie, giving a little stamp with her +foot. Her cheeks were quite flushed. + +The black locks were so thick,--nothing could be more tempting to a lad +who had already tasted the forbidden pleasure of cutting the pony's +mane. One delicious grinding snip, and then another and another, and the +hinder locks fell heavily on the floor. Maggie stood cropped in a +jagged, uneven manner, but with a sense of clearness and freedom, as if +she had emerged from a wood into the open plain. + +"Oh, Maggie," said Tom, jumping round her and slapping his knees as he +laughed; "oh, my buttons, what a queer thing you look! Look at yourself +in the glass." + +Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She had thought beforehand chiefly of +her own deliverance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks about it, +and something also of the triumph she should have over her mother and +her aunts by this very decided course of action. She didn't want her +hair to look pretty--that was out of the question--she only wanted +people to think her a clever little girl and not to find fault with her. +But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, the affair had quite a new +aspect. She looked in the glass, and still Tom laughed and clapped his +hands, and Maggie's flushed cheeks began to pale, and her lips to +tremble a little. + +"Oh, Maggie, you'll have to go down to dinner directly," said Tom. "Oh, +my!" + +"Don't laugh at me, Tom," said Maggie, in a passionate tone, and with an +outburst of angry tears, stamping, and giving him a push. + +"Now, then, spitfire!" said Tom. "What did you cut it off for, then? I +shall go down: I can smell the dinner going in." + +Tom hurried down-stairs and left poor Maggie. As she stood crying before +the glass, she felt it impossible that she should go down to dinner and +endure the severe eyes and severe words of her aunts, while Tom, and +Lucy, and Martha, who waited at table, and perhaps her father and her +uncles, would laugh at her. If Tom had laughed at her, of course every +one else would; and, if she had only let her hair alone, she could have +sat with Tom and Lucy, and had the apricot pudding and the custard! What +could she do but sob? + +"Miss Maggie, you're to come down this minute," said Kezia, entering the +room hurriedly. "What have you been a-doing? I never saw such a fright!" + +"Don't, Kezia," said Maggie, angrily. "Go away!" + +"But I tell you, you're to come down, Miss, this minute: your mother +says so," said Kezia, going up to Maggie and taking her by the hand to +raise her from the floor. + +"Get away, Kezia; I don't want any dinner," said Maggie, resisting +Kezia's arm. "I shan't come." + +"Oh, well, I can't stay. I've got to wait at dinner," said Kezia, going +out again. + +"Maggie, you little silly," said Tom, peeping into the room ten minutes +after, "why don't you come and have your dinner? There's lots o' +goodies, and mother says you're to come. What are you crying for?" + +Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard and unconcerned; if _he_ had been +crying on the floor, Maggie would have cried, too. And there was the +dinner, so nice; and she was _so_ hungry. It was very bitter. + +But Tom was not altogether hard. He went and put his head near her, and +said, in a lower, comforting tone: "Won't you come, then, Maggie? Shall +I bring you a bit of pudding when I've had mine--and a custard and +things?" + +"Ye-e-es," said Maggie, beginning to feel life a little more tolerable. + +"Very well," said Tom, going away. But he turned again at the door and +said: "But you'd better come, you know. There's the dessert, you know." + +Maggie's tears had ceased, and she looked reflective as Tom left her. +His good nature had taken off the keenest edge of her suffering. + +Slowly she rose from among her scattered locks, and slowly she made her +way down-stairs. Then she stood leaning with one shoulder against the +frame of the dining-parlour door, peeping in when it was ajar. She saw +Tom and Lucy with an empty chair between them, and there were the +custards on a side-table--it was too much. She slipped in and went +towards the empty chair. But she had no sooner sat down than she +repented, and wished herself back again. + +Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw her, and dropped the large +gravy-spoon into the dish with the most serious results to the +tablecloth. + +Mrs. Tulliver's scream made all eyes turn towards the same point as her +own, and Maggie's cheeks and ears began to burn, while Uncle Glegg, a +kind-looking, white-haired old gentleman, said: "Heyday! what little +girl's this? Why, I don't know her. Is it some little girl you've picked +up in the road, Kezia?" + +"Why, she's gone and cut her hair herself," said Mr. Tulliver in an +undertone to Mr. Deane, laughing with much enjoyment. + +"Why, little Miss, you've made yourself look very funny," said Uncle +Pullet. + +"Fie, for shame!" said Aunt Glegg, in her severest tone of reproof. +"Little girls that cut their own hair should be whipped and fed on bread +and water, not come and sit down with their aunts and uncles." + +"Aye, aye," said Uncle Glegg, meaning to give a playful turn, "she must +be sent to jail, I think, and they'll cut the rest of her hair off +there, and make it all even." + +"She's more like a gypsy than ever," said Aunt Pullet in a pitying tone. + +"She's a naughty child, that'll break her mother's heart," said Mrs. +Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. + +Maggie seemed to be listening to a chorus of reproach and derision. Her +first flush came from anger. Tom thought she was braving it out, +supported by the recent appearance of the pudding and custard. + +He whispered: "Oh, my! Maggie, I told you you'd catch it." He meant to +be friendly, but Maggie felt convinced that Tom was rejoicing in her +ignominy. + +Her feeble power of defiance left her in an instant, her heart swelled, +and, getting up from her chair, she ran to her father, hid her face on +his shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing. "Come, come," said her +father, soothingly, putting his arm round her, "never mind; give over +crying: father'll take your part." + +Delicious words of tenderness! Maggie never forgot any of these moments +when her father "took her part"; she kept them in her heart, and thought +of them long years after, when every one else said that her father had +done very ill by his children. + +GEORGE ELIOT: "The Mill on the Floss." +(Adapted) + + + + +THE CORN SONG + + + Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! + Heap high the golden corn! + No richer gift has Autumn poured + From out her lavish horn! + + Let other lands, exulting, glean + The apple from the pine, + The orange from its glossy green, + The cluster from the vine; + + We better love the hardy gift + Our rugged vales bestow, + To cheer us when the storm shall drift + Our harvest-fields with snow. + + Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, + Our ploughs their furrows made, + While on the hills the sun and showers + Of changeful April played. + + We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, + Beneath the sun of May, + And frightened from our sprouting grain + The robber crows away. + + All through the long, bright days of June + Its leaves grew green and fair, + And waved in hot midsummer's noon + Its soft and yellow hair. + + And now, with autumn's moon-lit eves, + Its harvest-time has come, + We pluck away the frosted leaves, + And bear the treasure home. + + There, richer than the fabled gift + Apollo showered of old, + Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, + And knead its meal of gold. + + Let vapid idlers loll in silk + Around their costly board; + Give us the bowl of samp and milk, + By homespun beauty poured! + + Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth + Sends up its smoky curls, + Who will not thank the kindly earth, + And bless our farmer girls! + +WHITTIER + + + + +SPORTS IN NORMAN ENGLAND + + +After dinner all the youth of the city go into the field of the suburbs, +and address themselves to the famous game of football. The scholars of +each school have their peculiar ball; and the particular trades have, +most of them, theirs. The elders of the city, the fathers of the +parties, and the rich and wealthy, come to the field on horseback, in +order to behold the exercises of the youth, and in appearance are +themselves as youthful as the youngest; seeming to be revived at the +sight of so much agility, and in a participation of the diversion of +their festive sons. + +At Easter the diversion is prosecuted on the water; a target is strongly +fastened to a trunk or mast fixed in the middle of the river, and a +youngster standing upright in the stern of a boat, made to move as fast +as the oars and current can carry it, is to strike the target with his +lance; and if, in hitting it, he breaks his lance and keeps his place in +the boat, he gains his point and triumphs; but if it happens the lance +is not shivered by the force of the blow, he is, of course, tumbled into +the water, and away goes his vessel without him. + +However, a couple of boats full of young men are placed one on each side +of the target, so as to be ready to take up the unsuccessful adventurer +the moment he emerges from the stream and comes fairly to the surface. +The bridge and the balconies on the banks are filled with spectators, +whose business is to laugh. On holidays, in summer, the pastime of the +youth is to exercise themselves in archery, in running, leaping, +wrestling, casting of stones, and flinging to certain distances, and, +lastly, with bucklers. + +In the winter holidays when that vast lake which waters the walls of the +City towards the north is hard frozen, the youth, in great numbers, go +to divert themselves on the ice. Some, taking a small run, place their +feet at the proper distance, and are carried, sliding sideways, a great +way; others will make a large cake of ice, and seating one of their +companions upon it, they take hold of one another's hands, and draw him +along: when it sometimes happens that, moving so swiftly on so slippery +a plain, they all fall down headlong. + +Others there are who are still more expert in these amusements on the +ice; they place certain bones, the leg bones of some animal, under the +soles of their feet by tying them round their ankles, and, then, taking +a pole shod with iron into their hands, they push themselves forward by +striking it against the ice, and are carried along with a velocity equal +to the flight of a bird, or a bolt discharged from a cross-bow. +Sometimes two of them thus furnished agree to start opposite one to +another, at a great distance; they meet, elevate their poles, attack and +strike each other, when one or both of them fall, and not without some +bodily hurt; and even after their fall they shall be carried a good +distance from each other by the rapidity of the motion. Very often the +leg or the arm of the party that falls, if he chances to light upon +them, is broken; but youth is an age ambitious of glory, fond and +covetous of victory, and that in future time it may acquit itself boldly +and valiantly in real engagements, it will run these hazards in sham +ones. + +Hawking and hunting were sports only for persons of quality, and woe be +to the unhappy man of the lower orders who indulged in either of these +sports. If caught he would be severely punished and might have his eyes +put out. + +[Illustration: IN THE HIGHLANDS OF ONTARIO] + +After breakfast, knights with their ladies ride out, each bearing upon +his wrist a falcon with scarlet hood and collar of gold. As they near +the river a heron, who had been fishing for his breakfast among the +reeds near the bank, hears them and spreading his wings flies upward. A +knight slips the hood from the falcon's head and next instant he sees +the heron. Away he darts, while knights and ladies rein in their horses +and watch. Up, and up, he goes until he passes the heron and still he +flies higher. Next instant he turns and, with a terrible swoop +downwards, pounces upon the heron and kills it. + +The knight sounds his whistle and instantly the falcon turns and darts +back to him for the dainty food which is given as a reward for his good +hunting. Then he is chained and hooded again till another bird rises. So +the morning passes, and many a bird do the falcons bring down before the +knights and ladies return to the castle for "noon-meat." + +WILLIAM FITZSTEPHEN +(Adapted) + + + + + And He that doth the ravens feed, + Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, + Be comfort to my age! + +SHAKESPEARE + + + + +A SONG OF CANADA + + + Sing me a song of the great Dominion! + Soul-felt words for a patriot's ear! + Ring out boldly the well-turned measure, + Voicing your notes that the world may hear; + Here is no starveling--Heaven-forsaken-- + Shrinking aside where the Nations throng; + Proud as the proudest moves she among them-- + Worthy is she of a noble song! + + Sing me the might of her giant mountains, + Baring their brows in the dazzling blue; + Changeless alone, where all else changes, + Emblems of all that is grand and true: + Free, as the eagles around them soaring; + Fair, as they rose from their Maker's hand: + Shout, till the snow-caps catch the chorus-- + The white-topp'd peaks of our mountain land. + + Sing me the calm of her tranquil forests, + Silence eternal, and peace profound, + In whose great heart's deep recesses + Breaks no tempest, and comes no sound; + Face to face with the deathlike stillness, + Here, if at all, man's soul might quail: + Nay! 'tis the love of that great peace leads us + Thither, where solace will never fail! + + Sing me the pride of her stately rivers, + Cleaving their way to the far-off sea; + Glory of strength in their deep-mouth'd music-- + Glory of mirth in their tameless glee. + Hark! 'tis the roar of the tumbling rapids; + Deep unto deep through the dead night calls; + Truly, I hear but the voice of Freedom + Shouting her name from her fortress walls! + + Sing me the joy of her fertile prairies, + League upon league of the golden grain: + Comfort, housed in the smiling homestead-- + Plenty, throned on the lumbering wain. + Land of Contentment! May no strife vex you, + Never war's flag on your plains be unfurl'd; + Only the blessings of mankind reach you-- + Finding the food for a hungry world! + + Sing me the charm of her blazing camp fires; + Sing me the quiet of her happy homes, + Whether afar 'neath the forest arches, + Or in the shade of the city's domes; + Sing me her life, her loves, her labours; + All of a mother a son would hear; + For when a lov'd one's praise is sounding, + Sweet are the strains to the lover's ear. + + Sing me the worth of each Canadian, + Roamer in wilderness--toiler in town-- + Search earth over you'll find none stancher, + Whether his hands be white or brown; + Come of a right good stock to start with, + Best of the world's blood in each vein; + Lords of ourselves, and slaves to no one, + For us or from us, you'll find we're--MEN! + + Sing me the song, then; sing it bravely; + Put your soul in the words you sing; + Sing me the praise of this glorious country-- + Clear on the ear let the deep notes ring. + Here is no starveling--Heaven-forsaken-- + Crouching apart where the Nations throng; + Proud as the proudest moves she among them-- + Well is she worthy a noble song! + +ROBERT REID + + + + +A MAD TEA PARTY + + +There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the +March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting +between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, +resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. "Very +uncomfortable for the Dormouse," thought Alice; "only, as it's asleep, +I suppose it doesn't mind." + +The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at +one corner of it: "No room! No room!" they cried out when they saw Alice +coming. "There's _plenty_ of room!" said Alice, indignantly, and she sat +down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. + +"Your hair wants cutting," said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice +for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech. + +"You should learn not to make personal remarks," Alice said with some +severity: "it's very rude." + +The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he _said_ +was: "Why is a raven like a writing-desk?" + +"Come, we shall have some fun now!" thought Alice. "I'm glad they've +begun asking riddles--I believe I can guess that," she added aloud. + +"Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?" said the +March Hare. + +"Exactly so," said Alice. + +"Then you should say what you mean," the March Hare went on. + +"I do," Alice hastily replied; "at least--at least I mean what I +say--that's the same thing, you know." + +"Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter. "Why, you might just as +well say that 'I see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what I +see'!" + +"You might just as well say," added the March Hare, "that 'I like what I +get' is the same thing as 'I get what I like'!" + +"You might just as well say," added the Dormouse, who seemed to be +talking in its sleep, "that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing +as 'I sleep when I breathe'!" + +"It _is_ the same thing with you," said the Hatter, and here the +conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice +thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, +which wasn't much. + +"Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Alice +again. + +"No, I give it up," Alice replied: "what's the answer?" + +"I haven't the slightest idea," said the Hatter. + +"Nor I," said the March Hare. + +Alice sighed wearily. "I think you might do something better with the +time," she said, "than wasting it in asking riddles that have no +answers." + +"Suppose we change the subject," the March Hare interrupted, yawning. +"I'm getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story." + +"I'm afraid I don't know one," said Alice, rather alarmed at the +proposal. + +"Then the Dormouse shall!" they both cried. + +"Wake up, Dormouse!" And they pinched it on both sides at once. + +The Dormouse slowly opened its eyes. "I wasn't asleep," it said in a +hoarse, feeble voice, "I heard every word you fellows were saying." + +"Tell us a story!" said the March Hare. + +"Yes, please do!" pleaded Alice. + +"And be quick about it," added the Hatter, "or you'll be asleep again +before it's done." + +"Once upon a time there were three little sisters," the Dormouse began +in a great hurry, "and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and +they lived at the bottom of a well--" + +"What did they live on?" said Alice, who always took a great interest in +questions of eating and drinking. + +"They lived on treacle," said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or +two. + +"They couldn't have done that, you know," Alice gently remarked: "they'd +have been ill." + +"So they were," said the Dormouse, "_very_ ill." + +Alice tried a little to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary way +of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: +"But why did they live at the bottom of a well?" + +"Take some more tea," the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly. + +"I've had nothing yet," Alice replied in an offended tone, "so I can't +take more." + +"You mean you can't take _less_," said the Hatter: "It's very easy to +take _more_ than nothing." + +"Nobody asked _your_ opinion," said Alice. + +"Who's making personal remarks now?" the Hatter asked triumphantly. + +Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to +some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and +repeated her question. "Why did they live at the bottom of a well?" + +The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then +said: "It was a treacle-well." + +"There's no such thing!" Alice was beginning very angrily, but the +Hatter and the March Hare went "Sh! Sh!" and the Dormouse sulkily +remarked: "If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story for +yourself." + +"No, please go on!" Alice said, very humbly, "I won't interrupt you +again. I dare say there may be _one_." + +"One, indeed!" said the Dormouse, indignantly. However it consented to +go on. "And so these three little sisters--they were learning to draw, +you know--" + +"What did they draw?" said Alice, quite forgetting her promise. + +"Treacle," said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time. + +"I want a clean cup," interrupted the Hatter, "let's all move one place +on." + +He moved as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare +moved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice, rather unwillingly, took the +place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any +advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than +before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk jug into his plate. + +Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began very +cautiously: "But I don't understand. Where did they draw the treacle +from?" + +"You can draw water out of a water-well," said the Hatter; "so I should +think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh stupid?" + +"But they were _in_ the well," Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing +to notice this last remark. + +"Of course they were," said the Dormouse,--"well in." + +This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for +some time without interrupting it. + +"They were learning to draw," the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing +its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; "and they drew all manner of +things--everything that begins with an M--" + +"Why with an M?" said Alice. + +"Why not?" said the March Hare. + +Alice was silent. + +The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a +doze, but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with a +little shriek, and went on, "--that begins with an M, such as +mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness--you know you say +things are 'much of a muchness'--did you ever see such a thing as a +drawing of a muchness?" + +"Really, now you ask me," said Alice, very much confused, "I don't +think--" + +"Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hatter. + +This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in +great disgust, and walked off: the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and +neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she +looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her: +the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into +the teapot. + +LEWIS CARROLL: "The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland." + + + + +THE SLAVE'S DREAM + + + Beside the ungathered rice he lay, + His sickle in his hand; + His breast was bare, his matted hair + Was buried in the sand. + Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, + He saw his Native Land. + + Wide through the landscape of his dreams + The lordly Niger flowed; + Beneath the palm trees on the plain + Once more a king he strode; + And heard the tinkling caravans + Descend the mountain road. + + He saw once more his dark-eyed queen + Among her children stand; + They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, + They held him by the hand!-- + A tear burst from the sleeper's lids + And fell into the sand. + + And then at furious speed he rode + Along the Niger's bank; + His bridle-reins were golden chains, + And, with a martial clank, + At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel + Smiting his stallion's flank. + + Before him, like a blood-red flag, + The bright flamingoes flew; + From morn till night he followed their flight, + O'er plains where the tamarind grew, + Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, + And the ocean rose to view. + + At night he heard the lion roar, + And the hyena scream, + And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds, + Beside some hidden stream; + And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, + Through the triumph of his dream. + + The forests, with their myriad tongues, + Shouted of liberty; + And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud, + With a voice so wild and free, + That he started in his sleep and smiled + At their tempestuous glee. + + He did not feel the driver's whip, + Nor the burning heat of day; + For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, + And his lifeless body lay + A worn-out fetter, that the soul + Had broken and thrown away! + +LONGFELLOW + + + + +Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact +man. Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtle; +logic and rhetoric, able to contend. + +BACON + + + + +THE CHASE + + +Early one August morning a doe was feeding on Basin Mountain. + +The sole companion of the doe was her only child, a charming little +fawn, whose brown coat was just beginning to be mottled with beautiful +spots. + +The buck, his father, had been that night on a long tramp across the +mountain to Clear Pond, and had not yet returned. He went to feed on the +lily pads there. + +The doe was daintily cropping tender leaves and turning from time to +time to regard her offspring. The fawn had taken his morning meal and +now lay curled up on a bed of moss. + +If the mother stepped a pace or two farther away in feeding, the fawn +made a half-movement, as if to rise and follow her. If, in alarm, he +uttered a plaintive cry, she bounded to him at once. + +It was a pretty picture,--maternal love on the one part, and happy trust +on the other. + +The doe lifted her head with a quick motion. Had she heard something? +Probably it was only the south wind in the balsams. There was silence +all about in the forest. With an affectionate glance at her fawn, she +continued picking up her breakfast. + +But suddenly she started, head erect, eyes dilated, a tremor in her +limbs. She turned her head to the south; she listened intently. + +There was a sound, a distinct, prolonged note, pervading the woods. It +was repeated. The doe had no doubt now. It was the baying of a +hound--far off, at the foot of the mountain. + +Time enough to fly; time enough to put miles between her and the hound +before he should come upon her fresh trail; yes, time enough. But there +was the fawn. + +The cry of the hound was repeated, more distinct this time. The mother +bounded away a few paces. The fawn started up with an anxious bleat. The +doe turned; she came back; she couldn't leave him. + +She walked away toward the west, and the little thing skipped after her. +It was slow going for the slender legs, over the fallen logs and through +the rasping bushes. The doe bounded in advance and waited. The fawn +scrambled after her, slipping and tumbling along, and whining a good +deal because his mother kept always moving away from him. + +Whenever the fawn caught up, he was quite content to frisk about. He +wanted more breakfast, for one thing; and his mother wouldn't stand +still. She moved on continually; and his weak legs were tangled in the +roots of the narrow deer path. + +Suddenly came a sound that threw the doe into a panic of terror,--a +short, sharp yelp, followed by a prolonged howl, caught up and re-echoed +by other bayings along the mountain side. The danger was certain now; it +was near. She could not crawl on in this way; the dogs would soon be +upon them. She turned again for flight. The fawn, scrambling after her, +tumbled over, and bleated piteously. Flight with the fawn was +impossible. + +The doe returned, stood by him, head erect and nostrils distended. +Perhaps she was thinking. The fawn lay down contentedly, and the doe +licked him for a moment. Then, with the swiftness of a bird, she dashed +away, and in a moment was lost in the forest. She went in the direction +of the hounds. + +She descended the slope of the mountain until she reached the more open +forest of hard wood. She was going due east, when she turned away toward +the north, and kept on at a good pace. + +In five minutes more she heard the sharp yelp of discovery, and then the +deep-mouthed howl of pursuit. The hounds had struck her trail where she +turned, and the fawn was safe. + +For the moment fear left her, and she bounded on with the exaltation of +triumph. For a quarter of an hour she went on at a slapping pace, +clearing the bushes with bound after bound, flying over the fallen logs, +pausing neither for brook nor ravine. The baying of the hounds grew +fainter behind. + +After running at high speed perhaps half a mile farther, it occurred to +her that it would be safe now to turn to the west, and, by a wide +circuit, seek her fawn. But at the moment she heard a sound that chilled +her heart. It was the cry of a hound to the west of her. There was +nothing to do but to keep on, and on she went, with the noise of the +pack behind her. + +In five minutes more she had passed into a hillside clearing. She heard +a tinkle of bells. Below her, down the mountain slope, were other +clearings broken by patches of woods. A mile or two down lay the valley +and the farmhouses. That way also her enemies were. Not a merciful heart +in all that lovely valley. She hesitated; it was only for an instant. + +She must cross the Slide Brook valley, if possible, and gain the +mountain opposite. She bounded on; she stopped. What was that? From the +valley ahead came the cry of a searching hound. Every way was closed but +one, and that led straight down the mountain to the cluster of houses. +The hunted doe went down "the open," clearing the fences, flying along +the stony path. + +As she approached Slide Brook, she saw a boy standing by a tree with a +raised rifle. The dogs were not in sight, but she could hear them coming +down the hill. There was no time for hesitation. With a tremendous burst +of speed she cleared the stream, and as she touched the bank heard the +"ping" of a rifle bullet in the air above her. The cruel sound gave +wings to the poor thing. + +In a moment more she leaped into the travelled road. Women and children +ran to the doors and windows; men snatched their rifles. There were +twenty people who were just going to shoot her, when the doe leaped the +road fence, and went away across a marsh toward the foothills. + +By this time the dogs, panting and lolling out their tongues, came +swinging along, keeping the trail, like stupids, and consequently +losing ground when the deer doubled. But when the doe had got into the +timber, she heard the savage brutes howling across the meadow. (It is +well enough, perhaps, to say that nobody offered to shoot the dogs.) + +The courage of the panting fugitive was not gone, but the fearful pace +at which she had been going told on her. Her legs trembled, and her +heart beat like a trip-hammer. She slowed her speed, but still fled up +the right bank of the stream. The dogs were gaining again, and she +crossed the broad, deep brook. The fording of the river threw the hounds +off for a time. She used the little respite to push on until the baying +was faint in her ears. + +Late in the afternoon she staggered down the shoulder of Bartlett, and +stood upon the shore of the lake. If she could put that piece of water +between her and her pursuers, she would be safe. Had she strength to +swim it? + +At her first step into the water she saw a sight that sent her back with +a bound. There was a boat mid-lake; two men were in it. One was rowing; +the other had a gun in his hand. What should she do? With only a +moment's hesitation she plunged into the lake. Her tired legs could not +propel the tired body rapidly. + +The doe saw the boat nearing her. She turned to the shore whence she +came; the dogs were lapping the water and howling there. She turned +again to the centre of the lake. The brave, pretty creature was quite +exhausted now. In a moment more the boat was on her, and the man at the +oars had leaned over and caught her. + +"Knock her on the head with that paddle!" he shouted to the gentleman in +the stern. The gentleman _was_ a gentleman, with a kind face. He took +the paddle in his hand. Just then the doe turned her head and looked at +him with her great appealing eyes. + +"I can't do it! I can't do it!" and he dropped the paddle. "Oh, let her +go!" + +But the guide slung the deer round, and whipped out his hunting-knife. +And the gentleman ate that night of the venison. + +CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER +(Adapted) + + + + +THE INCHCAPE ROCK + + + No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, + The ship was as still as she could be; + Her sails from heaven received no motion, + Her keel was steady in the ocean. + + Without either sign or sound of their shock, + The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock; + So little they rose, so little they fell, + They did not move the Inchcape Bell. + + The pious Abbot of Aberbrothock + Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; + On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, + And over the waves its warning rung. + + When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell, + The mariners heard the warning bell; + And then they knew the perilous Rock, + And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothock. + + The sun in heaven was shining gay; + All things were joyful on that day; + The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, + And there was joyance in their sound. + + The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen, + A darker speck on the ocean green; + Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, + And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. + + He felt the cheering power of spring; + It made him whistle, it made him sing: + His heart was mirthful to excess, + But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. + + His eye was on the Inchcape float; + Quoth he: "My men, put out the boat, + And row me to the Inchcape Rock, + And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock." + + The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, + And to the Inchcape Rock they go; + Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, + And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. + + Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound, + The bubbles rose and burst around; + Quoth Sir Ralph: "The next who comes to the Rock + Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock." + + Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; + He scoured the seas for many a day; + And now, grown rich with plundered store, + He steers his course for Scotland's shore. + + So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky + They cannot see the sun on high; + The wind hath blown a gale all day, + At evening it hath died away. + + On the deck the Rover takes his stand; + So dark it is, they see no land. + Quoth Sir Ralph: "It will be lighter soon, + For there is the dawn of the rising moon." + + "Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? + For methinks we should be near the shore." + "Now where we are I cannot tell, + But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell." + + They hear no sound; the swell is strong; + Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, + Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock; + Cried they: "It is the Inchcape Rock!" + + Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, + He cursed himself in his despair: + The waves rush in on every side; + The ship is sinking beneath the tide. + + But, even in his dying fear, + One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,-- + A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, + The fiends below were ringing his knell. + +SOUTHEY + + + + +A ROUGH RIDE + + +"Well, young ones, what be gaping at?" + +"Your mare," said I, standing stoutly up, being a tall boy now; "I never +saw such a beauty, sir. Will you let me have a ride on her?" + +"Think thou couldst ride her, lad? She will have no burden but mine. +Thou couldst never ride her! Tut! I would be loath to kill thee." + +"Ride her!" I cried, with the bravest scorn, for she looked so kind and +gentle; "there never was a horse upon Exmoor but I could tackle in half +an hour. Only I never ride upon saddle. Take those leathers off of her." + +He looked at me with a dry little whistle, and thrust his hands into his +pockets, and so grinned that I could not stand it. And Annie laid hold +of me in such a way that I was almost mad with her. And he laughed, and +approved her for doing so. And the worst of all was--he said nothing. + +"Get away, Annie. Do you think I'm a fool, good sir? Only trust me with +her, and I will not override her." + +"For that I will go bail, my son. She is liker to override thee. But the +ground is soft to fall upon after all this rain. Now come out into the +yard, young man, for the sake of your mother's cabbages. And the mellow +strawbed will be softer for thee, since pride must have its fall. I am +thy mother's cousin, boy, and I'm going up to the house. Tom Faggus is +my name, as everybody knows, and this is my young mare, Winnie." + +What a fool I must have been not to know it at once! Tom Faggus, the +great highwayman, and his young blood mare, the strawberry. + +Already her fame was noised abroad nearly as much as her master's, and +my longing to ride her grew tenfold, but fear came at the back of it. +Not that I had the smallest fear of what the mare could do to me, by +fair play and horse-trickery, but that the glory of sitting upon her +seemed to be too great for me; especially as there were rumours abroad +that she was not a mare, after all, but a witch. + +Mr. Faggus gave his mare a wink, and she walked demurely after him, a +bright young thing, flowing over with life, yet dropping her soul to a +higher one, and led by love to anything, as the manner is of such +creatures, when they know what is best for them. Then Winnie trod +lightly upon the straw, because it had soft muck under it, and her +delicate feet came back again. + +"Up for it still, boy, be ye?" Tom Faggus stopped, and the mare stopped +there; and they looked at me provokingly. + +"Is she able to leap, sir? There is good take-off on this side of the +brook." + +Mr. Faggus laughed very quietly, turning round to Winnie so that she +might enter into it. And she, for her part, seemed to know exactly where +the fun lay. + +"Good tumble-off, you mean, my boy. Well, there can be small harm to +thee. I am akin to thy family, and know the substance of their skulls." + +"Let me get up," said I, waxing wroth, for reasons I cannot tell you, +because they are too manifold; "take off your saddle-bag things. I will +try not to squeeze her ribs in, unless she plays nonsense with me." + +Then Mr. Faggus was up on his mettle at this proud speech of mine, and +John Fry was running up all the while, and Bill Dadds, and half a dozen +others. Tom Faggus gave one glance around, and then dropped all regard +for me. The high repute of his mare was at stake, and what was my life +compared to it? Through my defiance, and stupid ways, here was I in a +duello, and my legs not come to their strength yet, and my arms as limp +as a herring. + +Something of this occurred to him, even in his wrath with me, for he +spoke very softly to the filly, who now could scarcely subdue herself; +but she drew in her nostrils, and breathed to his breath, and did all +she could to answer him. + +"Not too hard, my dear," he said; "let him gently down on the mixen. +That will be quite enough." Then he turned the saddle off, and I was up +in a moment. She began at first so easily, and pricked her ears so +lovingly, and minced about as if pleased to find so light a weight upon +her, that I thought she knew I could ride a little, and feared to show +any capers. "Gee wugg, Polly!" cried I, for all the men were now looking +on, being then at the leaving-off time; "Gee wugg, Polly, and show what +thou be'est made of." With that I plugged my heels into her, and Billy +Dadds flung his hat up. + +Nevertheless, she outraged not, though her eyes were frightening Annie, +and John Fry took a pick to keep him safe; but she curbed to and fro +with her strong forearms rising like springs ingathered, waiting and +quivering grievously, and beginning to sweat about it. Then her master +gave a shrill, clear whistle, when her ears were bent towards him, and +I felt her form beneath me gathering up like whalebone, and her hind +legs coming under her, and I knew that I was in for it. + +First she reared upright in the air, and struck me full on the nose with +her comb, till I bled worse than Robin Snell made me; and then down with +her forefeet deep in the straw, and with her hind feet going to heaven. +Finding me stick to her still like wax, for my mettle was up as hers +was, away she flew with me swifter than ever I went before or since, I +trow. + +She drove full head at the cob wall--"Oh, Jack, slip off!" screamed +Annie--then she turned like light, when I thought to crush her, and +ground my left knee against it. "Dear me!" I cried, for my breeches were +broken, and short words went the furthest--"if you kill me, you shall +die with me." Then she took the courtyard gate at a leap, knocking my +words between my teeth, and then right over a quick-set hedge, as if the +sky were a breath to her; and away for the water meadows, while I lay on +her neck like a child, and wished I had never been born. + +Straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scattering clouds +around her, all I knew of the speed we made was the frightful flash of +her shoulders, and her mane like trees in a tempest. I felt the earth +under us rushing away, and the air left far behind us, and my breath +came and went, and I prayed to God, and was sorry to be so late of it. + +All the long swift while, without power of thought, I clung to her crest +and shoulders, and was proud of holding on so long, though sure of being +beaten. Then in her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at another +device for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways across, to and +fro, till no breath was left in me. The hazel boughs took me too hard in +the face, and the tall dog-briers got hold of me, and the ache of my +back was like crimping a fish, till I longed to give it up, thoroughly +beaten, and lie there and die in the cresses. + +But there came a shrill whistle from up the home hill, where the people +had hurried to watch us, and the mare stopped as if with a bullet, then +set off for home with the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and +silently. I never had dreamed of such delicate motion, fluent, and +graceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, but +swift as the summer lightning. + +I sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no time left to +recover it; and though she rose at our gate like a bird, I tumbled off +into the soft mud. + +"Well done, lad," Mr. Faggus said, good-naturedly; for all were now +gathered round me, as I rose from the ground, somewhat tottering, and +miry, and crest-fallen, but otherwise none the worse (having fallen upon +my head, which is of uncommon substance); "not at all bad work, my boy; +we may teach you to ride by and by, I see; I thought not to see you +stick on so long--" + +"I should have stuck on much longer, sir, if her sides had not been wet. +She was so slippery--" + +"Boy, thou art right. She hath given many the slip. Ha! ha! Vex not, +Jack, that I laugh at thee. She is like a sweetheart to me, and better +than any of them be. It would have gone to my heart if thou hadst +conquered. None but I can ride my Winnie mare." + +R. D. BLACKMORE: "Lorna Doone." + + + + + Full many a gem of purest ray serene + The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: + Full many a flower is born to blush unseen + And waste its sweetness on the desert air. + +GRAY + + + + +THE ARAB AND HIS STEED + + + My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, + With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye; + Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed, + I may not mount on thee again--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed. + + Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind, + The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind; + The stranger hath thy bridle-rein--thy master hath his gold-- + Fleet-limbed and beautiful! farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold! + + Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile must roam, + To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home; + Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare; + The silky mane I braided once must be another's care. + + The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee + Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be: + Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy plain, + Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again. + + Yes, thou must go! the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, + Thy master's home--from all of these my exiled one must fly. + Thy proud, dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet, + And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet. + + Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright; + Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light; + And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed, + Then must I, starting, wake to feel--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed! + + Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide, + Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side, + And the rich blood that's in thee swells in thy indignant pain, + Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each startled vein. + + Will they ill-use thee? If I thought--but no, it cannot be-- + Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free. + And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone my lonely heart should yearn, + Can the hand which casts thee from it now, command thee to return? + + Return! alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy master do, + When thou who wert his all of joy, hast vanished from his view? + When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears, + Thy bright form for a moment, like the false mirage appears? + + Slow and unmounted will I roam, with weary step alone, + Where with fleet step and joyous bound thou oft hast borne me on! + And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think: + It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink! + + When last I saw thee drink!--Away! the fevered dream is o'er; + I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more! + They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong, + They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long. + + Who said that I had given thee up, who said that thou wert sold? + 'Tis false--'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold. + Thus, thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains, + Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains! + +THE HONOURABLE MRS. NORTON + + + + +THE POET'S SONG + + + The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, + He pass'd by the town and out of the street, + A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, + And waves of shadow went over the wheat, + And he sat him down in a lonely place, + And chanted a melody loud and sweet, + That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, + And the lark drop down at his feet. + + The swallow stopt as he hunted the fly, + The snake slipt under a spray, + The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, + And stared, with his foot on the prey, + And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs, + But never a one so gay, + For he sings of what the world will be + When the years have died away." + +TENNYSON + + + + +Never to tire, never to grow cold; to be patient, sympathetic, tender; +to look for the budding flower, and the opening heart; to hope always, +like God, to love always--this is duty. + +AMIEL + + + + +ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE + + +I gaily flung myself into my place in the mate's boat one morning, as we +were departing in chase of a magnificent cachalot that had been raised +just after breakfast. There were no other vessels in sight,--much to our +satisfaction,--the wind was light, with a cloudless sky, and the whale +was dead to leeward of us. We sped along at a good rate towards our +prospective victim, who was, in his leisurely enjoyment of life, calmly +lolling on the surface, occasionally lifting his enormous tail out of +water and letting it fall flat upon the surface with a boom audible for +miles. + +We were, as usual, first boat; but, much to the mate's annoyance, when +we were a short half-mile from the whale our main-sheet parted. It +became immediately necessary to roll the sail up, lest its flapping +should alarm the watchful monster, and this delayed us sufficiently to +allow the other boats to shoot ahead of us. Thus the second mate got +fast some seconds before we arrived on the scene, seeing which, we +furled sail, unshipped the mast, and went in on him with the oars only. +At first the proceedings were quite of the usual character, our chief +wielding his lance in most brilliant fashion, while not being fast to +the animal allowed us much greater freedom in our evolutions; but that +fatal habit of the mate's--of allowing his boat to take care of herself +so long as he was getting in some good home-thrusts--once more asserted +itself. Although the whale was exceedingly vigorous, churning the sea +into yeasty foam over an enormous area, there we wallowed close to him, +right in the middle of the turmoil, actually courting disaster. + +He had just settled down for a moment, when, glancing over the gunwale, +I saw his tail, like a vast shadow, sweeping away from us towards the +second mate, who was lying off the other side of him. Before I had time +to think, the mighty mass of gristle leaped into the sunshine, curved +back from us like a huge bow. Then with a roar it came at us, released +from its tension of Heaven knows how many tons. Full on the broadside it +struck us, sending every soul but me flying out of the wreckage as if +fired from catapults. I did not go because my foot was jammed somehow in +the well of the boat, but the wrench nearly pulled my thighbone out of +its socket. I had hardly released my foot when, towering above me, came +the colossal head of the great creature, as he ploughed through the +bundle of _debris_ that had just been a boat. There was an appalling +roar of water in my ears, and darkness that might be felt all around. +Yet, in the midst of it all, one thought predominated as clearly as if I +had been turning it over in my mind in the quiet of my bunk +aboard--"What if he should swallow me?" Nor to this day can I understand +how I escaped the portals of his gullet, which, of course, gaped wide as +a church door. But the agony of holding my breath soon overpowered every +other feeling and thought, till just as something was going to snap +inside my head, I rose to the surface. I was surrounded by a welter of +bloody froth, which, made it impossible for me to see; but oh, the air +was sweet! + +I struck out blindly, instinctively, although I could feel so strong an +eddy that voluntary progress was out of the question. My hand touched +and clung to a rope, which immediately towed me in some direction--I +neither knew nor cared whither. Soon the motion ceased, and, with a +seaman's instinct, I began to haul myself along by the rope I grasped, +although no definite idea was in my mind as to where it was attached. +Presently I came butt up against something solid, the feel of which +gathered all my scattered wits into a compact knob of dread. It was the +whale! "Any port in a storm," I murmured, beginning to haul away again +on my friendly line. By dint of hard work I pulled myself right up the +sloping, slippery bank of blubber, until I reached the iron, which, as +luck would have it, was planted in that side of the carcass now +uppermost. + +Carcass I said--well, certainly I had no idea of there being any life +remaining within the vast mass beneath me; yet I had hardly time to take +a couple of turns round myself with the rope (or whale-line, as I had +proved it to be), when I felt the great animal quiver all over, and +begin to forge ahead. I was now composed enough to remember that help +could not be far away, and that my rescue, providing that I could keep +above water, was but a question of a few minutes. But I was hardly +prepared for the whale's next move. Being very near his end, the boat, +or boats, had drawn off a bit, I supposed, for I could see nothing of +them. Then I remembered the flurry. + +Almost at the same moment it began; and there was I, who, with fearful +admiration had so often watched the titanic convulsions of a dying +cachalot, actually involved in them. The turns were off my body, but I +was able to twist a couple of turns round my arms, which, in case of his +sounding, I could readily let go. Then all was lost in roar and rush, as +of the heart of some mighty cataract, during which I was sometimes +above, sometimes beneath, the water, but always clinging, with every +ounce of energy still left, to the line. Now, one thought was +uppermost--"What if he should breach?" I had seen them do so when in +flurry, leaping full twenty feet in the air. Then I prayed. + +Quickly as all the preceding changes had passed, came perfect peace. +There I lay, still alive, but so weak that, although I could feel the +turns slipping off my arms, and knew that I should slide off the slope +of the whale's side into the sea if they did, I could make no effort to +secure myself. Everything then passed away from me, just as if I had +gone to sleep. I do not at all understand how I kept my position, nor +how long, but I awoke to the blessed sound of voices, and saw the second +mate's boat alongside. + +FRANK T. BULLEN: "The Cruise of the Cachalot." + + + + +THE MAPLE + + + All hail to the broad-leaved Maple! + With her fair and changeful dress-- + A type of our youthful country + In its pride and loveliness; + Whether in Spring or Summer, + Or in the dreary Fall, + 'Mid Nature's forest children, + She's fairest of them all. + + Down sunny slopes and valleys + Her graceful form is seen, + Her wide, umbrageous branches + The sunburnt reaper screen; + 'Mid the dark-browed firs and cedars + Her livelier colours shine, + Like the dawn of the brighter future + On the settler's hut of pine. + + She crowns the pleasant hilltop, + Whispers on breezy downs, + And casts refreshing shadows + O'er the streets of our busy towns; + She gladdens the aching eyeball, + Shelters the weary head, + And scatters her crimson glories + On the graves of the silent dead. + + When winter's frosts are yielding + To the sun's returning sway, + And merry groups are speeding + To sugar-woods away; + The sweet and welling juices, + Which form their welcome spoil, + Tell of the teeming plenty, + Which here waits honest toil. + + When sweet-toned Spring, soft-breathing, + Breaks Nature's icy sleep, + And the forest boughs are swaying + Like the green waves of the deep; + In her fair and budding beauty, + A fitting emblem, she, + Of this our land of promise, + Of hope, of liberty. + + And when her leaves, all crimson, + Droop silently and fall, + Like drops of life-blood welling + From a warrior brave and tall; + They tell how fast and freely + Would her children's blood be shed, + Ere the soil of our faith and freedom + Should echo a foeman's tread. + + Then hail to the broad-leaved Maple! + With her fair and changeful dress-- + A type of our youthful country + In its pride and loveliness; + Whether in Spring or Summer, + Or in the dreary Fall, + 'Mid Nature's forest children, + She's fairest of them all. + +H. F. DARNELL + + + + +DAMON AND PYTHIAS + + +In Syracuse there was so hard a ruler that the people made a plot to +drive him out of the city. The plot was discovered, and the king +commanded that the leaders should be put to death. One of these, named +Damon, lived at some distance from Syracuse. He asked that before he was +put to death he might be allowed to go home to say good-bye to his +family, promising that he would then come back to die at the appointed +time. + +The king did not believe that he would keep his word, and said: "I will +not let you go unless you find some friend who will come and stay in +your place. Then, if you are not back on the day set for execution, I +shall put your friend to death in your stead." The king thought to +himself: "Surely no one will ever take the place of a man condemned to +death." + +Now, Damon had a very dear friend, named Pythias, who at once came +forward and offered to stay in prison while Damon was allowed to go +away. The king was very much surprised, but he had given his word; Damon +was therefore permitted to leave for home, while Pythias was shut up in +prison. + +Many days passed, the time for the execution was close at hand, and +Damon had not come back. The king, curious to see how Pythias would +behave, now that death seemed so near, went to the prison. + +"Your friend will never return," he said to Pythias. + +"You are wrong," was the answer. "Damon will be here if he can possibly +come. But he has to travel by sea, and the winds have been blowing the +wrong way for several days. However, it is much better that I should die +than he. I have no wife and no children, and I love my friend so well +that it would be easier to die for him than to live without him. So I am +hoping and praying that he may be delayed until my head has fallen." + +The king went away more puzzled than ever. + +The fatal day arrived but Damon had not come. Pythias was brought +forward and led upon the scaffold. "My prayers are heard," he cried. "I +shall be permitted to die for my friend. But mark my words. Damon is +faithful and true; you will yet have reason to know that he has done his +utmost to be here!" + +Just at this moment a man came galloping up at full speed, on a horse +covered with foam! It was Damon. In an instant he was on the scaffold, +and had Pythias in his arms. "My beloved friend," he cried, "the gods be +praised that you are safe. What agony have I suffered in the fear that +my delay was putting your life in danger!" + +There was no joy in the face of Pythias, for he did not care to live if +his friend must die. But the king had heard all. At last he was forced +to believe in the unselfish friendship of these two. His hard heart +melted at the sight, and he set them both free, asking only that they +would be his friends, also. + +CHARLOTTE M. YONGE + + + + + Honour and shame from no condition rise; + Act well your part, there all the honour lies. + +POPE + + + + +THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS + + + All day, amid the masts and shrouds, + They hung above the wave; + The sky o'erhead was dark with clouds, + And dark beneath, their grave. + The water leaped against its prey, + Breaking with heavy crash, + And when some slack'ning hands gave way, + They fell with dull, low splash. + + Captain and man ne'er thought to swerve; + The boats went to and fro; + With cheery face and tranquil nerve, + Each saw his brother go. + Each saw his brother go, and knew, + As night came swiftly on, + That less and less his own chance grew-- + Night fell, and hope was gone. + + The saved stood on the steamer's deck, + Straining their eyes to see + Their comrades clinging to the wreck + Upon that surging sea; + And still they gazed into the dark + Till, on their startled ears, + There came from that swift-sinking bark + A sound of gallant cheers. + + Again, and yet again it rose; + Then silence round them fell-- + Silence of death--and each man knows + It was a last farewell. + No cry of anguish, no wild shriek + Of men in agony-- + No dropping down of watchers weak, + Weary and glad to die, + + But death met with three British cheers-- + Cheers of immortal fame; + For us the choking, blinding tears-- + For them a glorious name. + Oh England, while thy sailor-host + Can live and die like these, + Be thy broad lands or won or lost, + Thou'rt mistress of the seas! + +C. A. L. + + + + +THE TIDE RIVER + + + Clear and cool, clear and cool, + By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; + Cool and clear, cool and clear, + By shining shingle, and foaming weir; + Under the crag where the ouzel sings, + And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings, + Undefiled, for the undefiled; + Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. + + Dank and foul, dank and foul, + By the smoky town in its murky cowl; + Foul and dank, foul and dank, + By wharf and sewer and slimy bank; + Darker and darker the further I go, + Baser and baser the richer I grow; + Who dare sport with the sin defiled? + Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. + + Strong and free, strong and free, + The flood-gates are open, away to the sea; + Free and strong, free and strong, + Cleansing my streams as I hurry along + To the golden sands, and the leaping bar, + And the taintless tide that awaits me afar; + As I lose myself in the infinite main, + Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again. + Undefiled, for the undefiled, + Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. + +KINGSLEY + + + + +The best result of all education is the acquired power of making +yourself do what you ought to do, when you ought to do it, whether you +like it or not. + +HUXLEY + +[Illustration: ONTARIO AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE] + + + + +WISDOM THE SUPREME PRIZE + + + My son, despise not the chastening of the LORD; + Neither be weary of his reproof: + For whom the LORD loveth he reproveth; + Even as a father the son in whom he delighteth. + + Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, + And the man that getteth understanding. + For the merchandise of it is better than the merchandise of silver, + And the gain thereof than fine gold. + She is more precious than rubies: + And none of the things thou canst desire are to be compared unto her. + + Length of days is in her right hand; + In her left hand are riches and honour. + Her ways are ways of pleasantness, + And all her paths are peace. + She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: + And happy is every one that retaineth her. + + The LORD by wisdom founded the earth; + By understanding he established the heavens. + By his knowledge the depths were broken up, + And the skies drop down the dew. + +PROVERBS, III. + + + + +THE ORCHARD + + + There's no garden like an orchard, + Nature shows no fairer thing + Than the apple trees in blossom + In these late days o' the spring. + + Here the robin redbreast's nesting, + Here, from golden dawn till night, + Honey bees are gaily swimming + In a sea of pink and white. + + Just a sea of fragrant blossoms, + Steeped in sunshine, drenched in dew, + Just a fragrant breath which tells you + Earth is fair again and new. + + Just a breath of subtle sweetness, + Breath which holds the spice o' youth, + Holds the promise o' the summer-- + Holds the best o' things, forsooth. + + There's no garden like an orchard, + Nature shows no fairer thing + Than the apple trees in blossom + In these late days o' the spring. + +JEAN BLEWETT + + + + +INSPIRED BY THE SNOW + + +The black squirrel delights in the new-fallen snow like a boy--a real +boy, with red hands as well as red cheeks, and an automatic mechanism of +bones and muscles capable of all things except rest. The first snow +sends a thrill of joy through every fibre of such a boy, and a thousand +delights crowd into his mind. The gliding, falling coasters on the +hills, the passing sleighs with niches on the runners for his feet, the +flying snowballs, the sliding-places, the broad, tempting ice, all whirl +through his mind in a delightful panorama, and he hurries out to catch +the elusive flakes in his outstretched hands and to shout aloud in the +gladness of his heart. And the black squirrel becomes a boy with the +first snow. What a pity he cannot shout! There is a superabundant joy +and life in his long, graceful bounds, when his beautiful form, in its +striking contrast with the white snow, seems magnified to twice its real +size. Perhaps there is vanity as well as joy in his lithe, bounding +motions among the naked trees, for nature seems to have done her utmost +to provide a setting that would best display his graces of form and +motion. + +When the falling snow clings in light, airy masses on the spruces and +pines, and festoons the naked tracery and clustering winter buds of the +maples--when the still air seems to fix every twig and branch and +clinging mass of snow in a solid medium of crystal, the spell of +stillness is broken by the silent but joyful leaps of the hurrying +squirrel. How alive he seems, in contrast with the silence of the snow, +as his outlines contrast with its perfect white! His body curves and +elongates with regular undulations, as he measures off the snow with +twin footprints. Away in the distance he is still visible among the +naked trunks, a moving patch of animated blackness. His free, regular +footprints are all about, showing where he has run hither and thither, +with no apparent purpose except to manifest his joy in life. + +His red-haired cousin comes to a lofty opening in a hollow tree and +looks out with an expression of disappointment on his face. He does not +like the snow-covered landscape spread out so artistically before him. +It makes him tired, and he has not enough energy to scold an intruder, +as he would in the comfortable days of summer. No amount of coaxing or +tapping will tempt him from his lofty watch-tower, or win more +recognition than a silent look of weary discontent. Another cousin, the +chipmunk, no longer displays his daintily-striped coat. Oblivious in his +burrow, he is sleeping away the days, and waiting for a more congenial +season. + +But the black squirrel, now among the branches of an elm, is twitching +from one rigid attitude to another, electrified by the crisp atmosphere +and the inspiration of the snow. Again he is leaping over the white +surface to clamber up the repellent bark of a tall hickory. Among the +larger limbs he disappears. As he never attempts to hide, he must have +retired into his own dwelling to partake of the store laid by in the +season of plenty. Hickory nuts are his favourite food, and the hard +shells seem but an appetizing relish. He knows the value of frugality, +and gathers them before they are ripe, throwing down the shrivelled and +unfilled, that the boys may not annoy him with stones and sticks. In +winter he is the happiest of all the woodland family. He does not yield +to the drowsy, numbing influence of the cold, nor to the depression of a +season of scanty fare, but bounds along from tree to tree, inspired by +the subtle spirit of winter and revelling in the joy of being alive. + +S. T. WOOD + + + + +THE SQUIRREL + + + Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm + That age or injury has hollow'd deep, + Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, + He has outslept the winter, ventures forth + To frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun, + The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play. + He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, + Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush, + And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, + With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, + And anger insignificantly fierce. + +COWPER + + + + +SOLDIER, REST + + + "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, + Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; + Dream of battled fields no more, + Days of danger, nights of waking. + In our isle's enchanted hall, + Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, + Fairy strains of music fall, + Every sense in slumber dewing. + Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, + Dream of fighting fields no more: + Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, + Morn of toil, nor night of waking. + + "No rude sound shall reach thine ear, + Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, + Trump nor pibroch summon here + Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. + Yet the lark's shrill fife may come + At the daybreak from the fallow, + And the bittern sound his drum, + Booming from the sedgy shallow. + Ruder sounds shall none be near, + Guards nor warders challenge here, + Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, + Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." + +SCOTT: "The Lady of the Lake" + + + + +FISHING + + +One fine Thursday afternoon, Tom, having borrowed East's new rod, +started by himself to the river. He fished for some time with small +success, not a fish would rise to him; but as he prowled along the bank, +he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the opposite +side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream was deep here, +but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made off +hot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of the +Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across, and +in three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump of +willows. + +It isn't often that great chub, or any other coarse fish, are in earnest +about anything; but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, and +in half an hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the +foot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, and +just going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up the +bank not one hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was the +under-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carrying +his rod. Nothing for it but the tree. So Tom laid his bones to it, +shinning up as fast as he could and dragging up his rod after him. He +had just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feet +up, which stretched out over the river, when the keeper arrived at the +clump. + +Tom's heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two steps more and he +would have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on the +scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point at the +foot of the tree. He picked up the fish one by one; his eye and touch +told him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour. + +Tom crouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper beating the +clump. "If I could only get the rod hidden," thought he, and began +gently shifting it to get it alongside of him: "willow-trees don't throw +out straight hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no leaves, worse +luck." Alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, +and then of Tom's hand and arm. + +"Oh, be up ther', be 'ee?" says he, running under the tree. "Now you +come down this minute." + +"Tree'd at last," thinks Tom, making no answer, and keeping as close as +possible, but working away at the rod, which he takes to pieces. "I'm in +for it, unless I can starve him out." + +And then he begins to meditate getting along the branch for a plunge, +and scramble to the other side; but the small branches are so thick, +and the opposite bank so difficult, that the keeper will have lots of +time to get round by the ford before he can get out, so he gives that +up. And now he hears the keeper beginning to scramble up the trunk. That +will never do; so he scrambles himself back to where his branch joins +the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. + +"Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come any higher." + +The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin says: "Oh! be you, +be it, young measter? Well, here's luck. Now I tells 'ee to come down at +once, and 't'll be best for 'ee." + +"Thank 'ee, Velveteens, I'm very comfortable," said Tom, shortening the +rod in his hand, and preparing for battle. + +"Werry well, please yourself," says the keeper, descending, however, to +the ground again, and taking his seat on the bank. "I bean't in no +hurry, so you med take your time. I'll larn 'ee to gee honest folk names +afore I've done with 'ee." + +"My luck as usual," thinks Tom; "what a fool I was to give him a black! +If I'd called him 'keeper,' now, I might get off. The return match is +all his way." + +The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, and light it, +keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat disconsolately across the branch, +looking at the keeper--a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more he +thought of it the less he liked it. + +"It must be getting near second calling-over," thinks he. Keeper smokes +on stolidly. "If he takes me up, I shall be flogged safe enough. I can't +sit here all night. Wonder if he'll rise at silver." + +"I say, keeper," said he, meekly, "let me go for two bob?" + +"Not for twenty neither," grunts his persecutor. + +And so they sat on till long past second calling-over; and the sun came +slanting in through the willow-branches, and telling of locking-up near +at hand. + +"I'm coming down, keeper," said Tom at last, with a sigh, fairly tired +out. "Now what are you going to do?" + +"Walk 'ee up to School, and give 'ee over to the Doctor; them's my +orders," says Velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and +standing up and shaking himself. + +"Very good," said Tom; "but hands off, you know. I'll go with you +quietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing." + +Keeper looked at him a minute: "Werry good," said he at last. And so Tom +descended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper up to +the School-house, where they arrived just at locking-up. + +As they passed the School-gates, the Tadpole and several others who were +standing there caught the state of things, and rushed out, crying, +"Rescue!" but Tom shook his head, so they only followed to the Doctor's +gate, and went back sorely puzzled. + +How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the last time that Tom was +up there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how Tom +had called him blackguard names. "Indeed, sir," broke in the culprit, +"it was only Velveteens." The Doctor only asked one question. + +"You know the rule about the banks, Brown?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson." + +"I thought so," muttered Tom. + +"And about the rod, sir?" went on the keeper. "Master's told we as we +might have all the rods----" + +"Oh, please, sir," broke in Tom, "the rod isn't mine." + +The Doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, who was a good-hearted +fellow, and melted at Tom's evident distress, gave up his claim. + +Tom was flogged next morning, and a few days afterwards met Velveteens, +and presented him with half a crown for giving up the rod claim, and +they became sworn friends; and I regret to say that Tom had many more +fish from under the willow that May-fly season, and was never caught +again by Velveteens. + +HUGHES: "Tom Brown's School Days." + + + + +THE FOUNTAIN + + + Into the sunshine, + Full of the light, + Leaping and flashing + From morn till night! + + Into the moonlight, + Whiter than snow, + Waving so flower-like + When the winds blow! + + Into the starlight, + Rushing in spray, + Happy at midnight, + Happy by day; + + Ever in motion, + Blithesome and cheery, + Still climbing heavenward + Never aweary;-- + + Glad of all weathers; + Still seeming best, + Upward or downward, + Motion thy rest;-- + + Full of a nature + Nothing can tame, + Changed every moment, + Ever the same;-- + + Ceaseless aspiring, + Ceaseless content, + Darkness or sunshine + Thy element;-- + + Glorious fountain! + Let my heart be + Fresh, changeful, constant, + Upward, like thee! + +LOWELL + + + + +BREAK, BREAK, BREAK + + + 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. + +TENNYSON + + + + +Try to frequent the company of your betters. In books and life, that is +the most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly; the great pleasure +of life is that. Note what great men admired: they admired great things; +narrow spirits admire basely and worship meanly. + +THACKERAY + + + + +THE BED OF PROCRUSTES + + +A very tall and strong man, dressed in rich garments, came down to meet +Theseus. On his arms were golden bracelets, and round his neck a collar +of jewels; and he came forward, bowing courteously, and held out both +his hands, and spoke: + +"Welcome, fair youth, to these mountains; happy am I to have met you! +For what greater pleasure to a good man than to entertain strangers? But +I see that you are weary. Come up to my castle, and rest yourself +awhile." + +"I give you thanks," said Theseus; "but I am in haste to go up the +valley." + +"Alas! you have wandered far from the right way, and you cannot reach +your journey's end to-night, for there are many miles of mountain +between you and it, and steep passes, and cliffs dangerous after +nightfall. It is well for you that I met you, for my whole joy is to +find strangers, and to feast them at my castle, and hear tales from them +of foreign lands. Come up with me, and eat the best of venison, and +drink the rich red wine, and sleep upon my famous bed, of which all +travellers say that they never saw the like. For whatsoever the +stature of my guest, however tall or short, that bed fits him to a hair, +and he sleeps on it as he never slept before." And he laid hold on +Theseus' hands, and would not let him go. + +[Illustration: NIAGARA FALLS] + +Theseus wished to go forwards: but he was ashamed to seem churlish to so +hospitable a man; and he was curious to see that wondrous bed; and +beside, he was hungry and weary: yet he shrank from the man, he knew not +why; for, though his voice was gentle, it was dry and husky like a +toad's; and though his eyes were gentle, they were dull and cold like +stones. But he consented, and went with the man up a glen which led from +the road, under the dark shadow of the cliffs. + +And as they went up, the glen grew narrower, and the cliffs higher and +darker, and beneath them a torrent roared, half seen between bare +limestone crags. And around them was neither tree nor bush, while the +snow-blasts swept down the glen, cutting and chilling, till a horror +fell on Theseus as he looked round at that doleful place. And he said at +last: "Your castle stands, it seems, in a dreary region." + +"Yes; but once within it, hospitality makes all things cheerful. But who +are these?" and he looked back, and Theseus also; and far below, along +the road which they had left, came a string of laden asses, and +merchants walking by them, watching their ware. + +"Ah, poor souls!" said the stranger. "Well for them that I looked back +and saw them! And well for me, too, for I shall have the more guests at +my feast. Wait awhile till I go down and call them, and we will eat and +drink together the livelong night. Happy am I, to whom Heaven sends so +many guests at once!" + +And he ran back down the hill, waving his hand and shouting to the +merchants, while Theseus went slowly up the steep pass. + +But as he went up he met an aged man, who had been gathering driftwood +in the torrent-bed. He had laid down his faggot in the road, and was +trying to lift it again to his shoulder. And when he saw Theseus, he +called to him and said: + +"O fair youth, help me up with my burden, for my limbs are stiff and +weak with years." + +Then Theseus lifted the burden on his back. And the old man blessed him, +and then looked earnestly upon him, and said: + +"Who are you, fair youth, and wherefore travel you this doleful road?" + +"Who I am my parents know; but I travel this doleful road because I have +been invited by a hospitable man, who promises to feast me and to make +me sleep upon I know not what wondrous bed." + +Then the old man clapped his hands together and cried: + +"Know, fair youth, that you are going to torment and to death, for he +who met you (I will requite your kindness by another) is a robber and a +murderer of men. Whatsoever stranger he meets he entices him hither to +death; and as for this bed of which he speaks, truly it fits all comers, +yet none ever rose alive off it save me." + +"Why?" asked Theseus, astonished. + +"Because, if a man be too tall for it, he lops his limbs till they be +short enough, and if he be too short, he stretches his limbs till they +be long enough; but me only he spared, seven weary years agone; for I +alone of all fitted his bed exactly, so he spared me, and made me his +slave. And once I was a wealthy merchant, and dwelt in a great city; but +now I hew wood and draw water for him, the torment of all mortal men." + +Then Theseus said nothing; but he ground his teeth together. + +"Escape, then," said the old man, "for he will have no pity on thy +youth. But yesterday he brought up hither a young man and a maiden, and +fitted them upon his bed; and the young man's hands and feet he cut off, +but the maiden's limbs he stretched until she died, and so both perished +miserably--but I am tired of weeping over the slain. And therefore he is +called Procrustes, the stretcher. Flee from him: yet whither will you +flee? The cliffs are steep, and who can climb them? and there is no +other road." + +But Theseus laid his hand upon the old man's mouth, and said: "There is +no need to flee;" and he turned to go down the pass. + +"Do not tell him that I have warned you, or he will kill me by some evil +death;" and the old man screamed after him down the glen; but Theseus +strode on in his wrath. + +And he said to himself: "This is an ill-ruled land; when shall I have +done ridding it of monsters?" And, as he spoke, Procrustes came up the +hill, and all the merchants with him, smiling and talking gaily. And +when he saw Theseus, he cried: "Ah, fair young guest, have I kept you +too long waiting?" + +But Theseus answered: "The man who stretches his guests upon a bed and +hews off their hands and feet, what shall be done to him, when right is +done throughout the land?" + +Then Procrustes' countenance changed, and his cheeks grew as green as a +lizard, and he felt for his sword in haste; but Theseus leaped on him, +and cried: + +"Is this true, my host, or is it false?" and he clasped Procrustes round +waist and elbow, so that he could not draw his sword. + +"Is this true, my host, or is it false!" But Procrustes answered never a +word. + +Then Theseus flung him from him, and lifted up his dreadful club; and +before Procrustes could strike him, he had struck and felled him to the +ground. + +And once again he struck him; and his evil soul fled forth, squeaking +like a bat into the darkness of a cave. + +Then Theseus stripped him of his gold ornaments, and went up to his +house, and found there great wealth and treasure, which he had stolen +from the passers-by. And he called the people of the country, whom +Procrustes had spoiled a long time, and divided the spoil among them, +and went down the mountains, and away. + +KINGSLEY: "The Heroes." +(Adapted) + + + + +"BOB WHITE" + + + I see you, on the zigzag rails, + You cheery little fellow! + While purple leaves are whirling down, + And scarlet, brown, and yellow. + I hear you when the air is full + Of snow-down of the thistle; + All in your speckled jacket trim, + "Bob White! Bob White!" you whistle. + + Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, + Are nodding there to greet you; + I know that you are out for play-- + How I should like to meet you! + Though blithe of voice, so shy you are, + In this delightful weather; + What splendid playmates, you and I, + "Bob White," would make together! + + There, you are gone! but far away + I hear your whistle falling. + Ah! maybe it is hide-and-seek, + And that's why you are calling. + Along those hazy uplands wide + We'd be such merry rangers; + What! silent now, and hidden too! + "Bob White," don't let's be strangers. + + Perhaps you teach your brood the game, + In yonder rainbowed thicket, + While winds are playing with the leaves, + And softly creeks the cricket. + "Bob White! Bob White!"--again I hear + That blithely whistled chorus; + Why should we not companions be? + One Father watches o'er us! + +GEORGE COOPER + + + + +RADISSON AND THE INDIANS + + +The tribe being assembled and having spread out their customary gifts, +consisting of beaver tails, smoked moose tongues and pemmican, one of +the leading braves arose and said: + +"Men who pretend to give us life, do you wish us to die! You know what +beaver is worth and the trouble we have to take it. You call yourselves +our brothers, and yet will not give us what those give who make no such +profession. Accept our gifts, and let us barter, or we will visit you +no more. We have but to travel a hundred leagues and we will encounter +the English, whose offers we have heard." + +On the conclusion of this harangue, silence reigned for some moments. +All eyes were turned on the two white traders. Feeling that now or never +was the time to exhibit firmness, Radisson, without rising to his feet, +addressed the whole assemblage in haughty accents. + +"Whom dost thou wish I should answer? I have heard a dog bark; when a +man shall speak, he will see I know how to defend my conduct and my +terms. We love our brothers and we deserve their love in return. For +have we not saved them all from the treachery of the English?" + +Uttering these words fearlessly, he leaped to his feet and drew a long +hunting-knife from his belt. Seizing by the scalp-lock the chief of the +tribe, who had already adopted him as his son, he asked: "Who art thou?" +To which the chief responded, as was customary: "Thy father." + +"Then," cried Radisson, "if that is so, and thou art my father, speak +for me. Thou art the master of my goods; but as for that dog who has +spoken, what is he doing in this company? Let him go to his brothers, +the English, at the head of the Bay. Or he need not travel so far. He +may, if he chooses, see them starving and helpless on yonder island; +answering to my words of command. + +"I know how to speak to my Indian father," continued Radisson, "of the +perils of the woods, of the abandonment of his squaws and children, of +the risks of hunger and the peril of death by foes. All these you avoid +by trading with us here. But although I am mightily angry, I will take +pity on this wretch and let him still live. Go," addressing the brave +with his weapon outstretched, "take this as my gift to you, and depart. +When you meet your brothers, the English, tell them my name, and add +that we are soon coming to treat them and their factory yonder as we +have treated this one." + +The speaker knew enough of the Indian character, especially in affairs +of trade, to be aware that a point once yielded them is never recovered. +And it is but just to say that the terms he then made of three axes for +a beaver were thereafter adopted, and that his firmness saved the +Company many a cargo of these implements. His harangue produced an +immediate impression upon all save the humiliated brave, who declared +that, if the Assiniboines came hither to barter, he would lie in ambush +and kill them. + +The French trader's reply to this was, to the Indian mind, a terrible +one. + +"I will myself travel into thy country," said he, "and eat sagamite in +thy grandmother's skull." + +While the brave and his small circle of friends were livid with fear and +anger, Radisson ordered three fathoms of tobacco to be distributed; +observing, contemptuously, to the hostile minority that, as for them, +they might go and smoke women's tobacco in the country of the lynxes. +The barter began and, when at nightfall the Indians departed, not a skin +was left amongst them. + +BECKLES WILLSON: "The Great Company." + + + + +THE BROOK + + + I come from haunts of coot and hern, + I make a sudden sally, + And sparkle out among the fern, + To bicker down a valley. + + By thirty hills I hurry down, + Or slip between the ridges, + By twenty thorps, a little town, + And half a hundred bridges. + + Till last by Philip's farm I flow + To join the brimming river, + For men may come and men may go, + But I go on for ever. + + I chatter over stony ways, + In little sharps and trebles, + I bubble into eddying bays, + I babble on the pebbles. + + With many a curve my banks I fret + By many a field and fallow, + And many a fairy foreland set + With willow-weed and mallow. + + I chatter, chatter, as I flow + To join the brimming river, + For men may come and men may go, + But I go on for ever. + + I wind about, and in and out, + With here a blossom sailing, + And here and there a lusty trout, + And here and there a grayling, + + And here and there a foamy flake + Upon me, as I travel + With many a silvery waterbreak + Above the golden gravel, + + And draw them all along, and flow + To join the brimming river, + For men may come and men may go, + But I go on for ever. + + I steal by lawns and grassy plots, + I slide by hazel covers; + I move the sweet forget-me-nots + That grow for happy lovers. + + I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, + Among my skimming swallows; + I make the netted sunbeam dance + Against my sandy shallows. + + I murmur under moon and stars + In brambly wildernesses; + I linger by my shingly bars; + I loiter round my cresses; + + And out again I curve and flow + To join the brimming river, + For men may come and men may go, + But I go on for ever. + +TENNYSON + + + + +As good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Many a man lives a burden +to the earth, but a good book is the precious life blood of a +master-spirit. + +MILTON + + + + +"DO SEEK THEIR MEAT FROM GOD" + + +There was a solitary cabin in the thick of the woods a mile or more from +the nearest neighbour, a substantial frame house in the midst of a large +and well-tilled clearing. The owner of the cabin, a shiftless fellow who +spent his days for the most part at the corner tavern three miles +distant, had suddenly grown disgusted with a land wherein one must work +to live, and had betaken himself with his seven-year-old boy to seek +some more indolent clime. + +The five-year-old son of the prosperous owner of the frame house and the +older boy had been playmates. The little boy, unaware of his comrade's +departure, had stolen away, late in the afternoon, along the lonely +stretch of wood road, and had reached the cabin only to find it empty. +As the dusk gathered, he grew afraid to start for home and crept +trembling into the cabin, whose door would not stay shut. Desperate with +fear and loneliness, he lifted up his voice piteously. In the terrifying +silence, he listened hard to hear if anyone or anything were coming. +Then again his shrill childish wailings arose, startling the unexpectant +night, and piercing the forest depths, even to the ears of two great +panthers which had set forth to seek their meat from God. + +The lonely cabin stood some distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile, back +from the highway connecting the settlements. Along this main road a man +was plodding wearily. All day he had been walking, and now as he neared +home his steps began to quicken with anticipation of rest. Over his +shoulder projected a double-barrelled fowling-piece, from which was +slung a bundle of such necessities as he had purchased in town that +morning. It was the prosperous settler, the master of the frame house, +who had chosen to make the tedious journey on foot. + +He passed the mouth of the wood road leading to the cabin and had gone +perhaps a furlong beyond, when his ears were startled by the sound of a +child crying in the woods. He stopped, lowered his burden to the road, +and stood straining ears and eyes in the direction of the sound. It was +just at this time that the two panthers also stopped, and lifted their +heads to listen. Their ears were keener than those of the man, and the +sound had reached them at a greater distance. + +Presently the settler realized whence the cries were coming. He called +to mind the cabin; but he did not know the cabin's owner had departed. +He cherished a hearty contempt for the drunken squatter; and on the +drunken squatter's child he looked with small favour, especially as a +playmate for his own boy. Nevertheless he hesitated before resuming his +journey. + +"Poor little fellow!" he muttered, half in wrath. "I reckon his precious +father's drunk down at 'the Corners,' and him crying for loneliness!" +Then he re-shouldered his burden and strode on doggedly. + +But louder, shriller, more hopeless and more appealing, arose the +childish voice, and the settler paused again, irresolute, and with +deepening indignation. In his fancy he saw the steaming supper his wife +would have awaiting him. He loathed the thought of retracing his steps, +and then stumbling a quarter of a mile through the stumps and bog of the +wood road. He was foot-sore as well as hungry, and he cursed the +vagabond squatter with serious emphasis; but in that wailing was a +terror which would not let him go on. He thought of his own little one +left in such a position, and straightway his heart melted. He turned, +dropped his bundle behind some bushes, grasped his gun, and made speed +back for the cabin. + +"Who knows," he said to himself, "but that drunken idiot has left his +youngster without a bite to eat in the whole miserable shanty? Or maybe +he's locked out, and the poor little beggar's half scared to death. +_Sounds_ as if he was scared;" and at this thought the settler quickened +his pace. + +As the hungry panthers drew near the cabin, and the cries of the lonely +child grew clearer, they hastened their steps, and their eyes opened to +a wider circle, flaming with a greener fire. It would be thoughtless +superstition to say the beasts were cruel. They were simply keen with +hunger, and alive with the eager passion of the chase. They were not +ferocious with any anticipation of battle, for they knew the voice was +the voice of a child, and something in the voice told them the child was +solitary. Theirs was no hideous or unnatural rage, as it is the custom +to describe it. They were but seeking with the strength, the cunning, +the deadly swiftness given them to that end, the food convenient for +them. On their success in accomplishing that for which nature had so +exquisitely designed them, depended not only their own, but the lives of +their blind and helpless young, now whimpering in the cave on the slope +of the moon-lit ravine. They crept through a wet alder thicket, bounded +lightly over the ragged brush fence, and paused to reconnoitre on the +edge of the clearing, in the full glare of the moon. At the same moment, +the settler emerged from the darkness of the wood road on the opposite +side of the clearing. He saw the two great beasts, heads down and snouts +thrust forward, gliding toward the open cabin door. + +For a few moments the child had been silent. Now his voice rose again in +pitiful appeal, a very ecstasy of loneliness and terror. There was a +note in the cry that shook the settler's soul. He had a vision of his +own boy, at home with his mother, safe-guarded from even the thought of +peril. And here was this little one left to the wild beasts! "Thank God! +Thank God I came!" murmured the settler, as he dropped on one knee to +take a surer aim. There was a loud report (not like the sharp crack of a +rifle), and the female panther, shot through the loins, fell in a heap, +snarling furiously and striking with her fore-paws. + +The male walked around her in fierce and anxious amazement. Presently, +as the smoke lifted, he discerned the settler kneeling for a second +shot. With a high screech of fury, the lithe brute sprang upon his +enemy, taking a bullet full in his chest without seeming to know he was +hit. Ere the man could slip in another cartridge the beast was upon him, +bearing him to the ground and fixing keen fangs in his shoulder. Without +a word, the man set his strong fingers desperately into the brute's +throat, wrenched himself partly free, and was struggling to rise, when +the panther's body collapsed upon him all at once, a dead weight which +he easily flung aside. The bullet had done its work just in time. + +Quivering from the swift and dreadful contest, bleeding profusely from +his mangled shoulder, the settler stepped up to the cabin door and +peered in. He heard sobs in the darkness. + +"Don't be scared, sonny," he said, in a reassuring voice. "I'm going to +take you home along with me. Poor little lad, _I'll_ look after you, if +folks that ought to don't." + +Out of the dark corner came a shout of delight, in a voice which made +the settler's heart stand still. "_Daddy_, Daddy," it said, "I _knew_ +you'd come. I was so frightened when it got dark!" And a little figure +launched itself into the settler's arms, and clung to him trembling. The +man sat down on the threshold and strained the child to his breast. He +remembered how near he had been to disregarding the far-off cries, and +great beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead. + +Not many weeks afterwards the settler was following the fresh trail of a +bear which had killed his sheep. The trail led him at last along the +slope of a deep ravine, from whose bottom came the brawl of a swollen +and obstructed stream. In the ravine he found a shallow cave, behind a +great white rock. The cave was plainly a wild beast's lair, and he +entered circumspectly. There were bones scattered about, and on some dry +herbage in the deepest corner of the den, he found the dead bodies of +two small panther cubs. + +CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS: "Earth's Enigmas." +(Adapted) + + + + + So nigh is grandeur to our dust, + So near is God to man, + When Duty whispers low, "_Thou must_," + The youth replies, "_I can_." + +EMERSON + + + + +A SONG OF THE SEA + + + The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea! + The blue, the fresh, the ever free! + Without a mark, without a bound, + It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round; + It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; + Or like a cradled creature lies. + + I'm on the Sea! I'm on the Sea! + I am where I would ever be; + With the blue above, and the blue below, + And silence wheresoe'er I go; + If a storm should come and awake the deep, + What matter? _I_ shall ride and sleep. + + I love (oh! _how_ I love) to ride + On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, + When every mad wave drowns the moon, + Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, + And tells how goeth the world below, + And why the south-west blasts do blow. + + I never was on the dull, tame shore, + But I loved the great Sea more and more, + And backwards flew to her billowy breast, + Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest; + And a mother she _was_ and _is_ to me; + For I was born on the open Sea. + + The waves were white, and red the morn, + In the noisy hour when I was born; + And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled + And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; + And never was heard such an outcry wild + As welcomed to life the Ocean-child! + + I've lived since then, in calm and strife, + Full fifty summers a sailor's life, + With wealth to spend, and a power to range, + But never have sought nor sighed for change; + And Death whenever he comes to me, + Shall come on the wide unbounded Sea! + +B. W. PROCTER: ("Barry Cornwall") + + + + +LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY + + "I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty; + I woke, and found that life was duty." + + +Daffydowndilly was so called because in his nature he resembled a +flower, and loved to do only what was beautiful and agreeable, and took +no delight in labour of any kind. But while Daffydowndilly was yet a +little boy, his mother sent him away from his pleasant home, and put him +under the care of a very strict schoolmaster, who went by the name of +Mr. Toil. Those who knew him best affirmed that this Mr. Toil was a +very worthy character; and that he had done more good, both to children +and grown people, than anybody else in the world. + +Certainly he had lived long enough to do a great deal of good; for, if +all stories be true, he had dwelt upon earth ever since Adam was driven +from the garden of Eden. + +Nevertheless, Mr. Toil had a severe and ugly countenance, especially for +such little boys or big men as were inclined to be idle; his voice, too, +was harsh; and all his ways and customs seemed very disagreeable to our +friend Daffydowndilly. The whole day long this terrible schoolmaster sat +at his desk overlooking the scholars, or stalked about the school-room +with a certain awful birch rod in his hand. Now came a rap over the +shoulders of a boy whom Mr. Toil had caught at play; now he punished a +whole class who were behindhand with their lessons; and, in short, +unless a lad chose to attend quietly and constantly to his book, he had +no chance of enjoying a quiet moment in the school-room of Mr. Toil. + +"This will never do for me," thought Daffydowndilly. + +Now the whole of Daffydowndilly's life had hitherto been passed with his +dear mother, who had a much sweeter face than old Mr. Toil, and who had +always been very indulgent to her little boy. No wonder, therefore, that +poor Daffydowndilly found it a woeful change to be sent away from the +good lady's side and put under the care of this ugly-visaged +schoolmaster, who never gave him any apples or cakes, and seemed to +think that little boys were created only to get lessons. + +"I can't bear it any longer," said Daffydowndilly to himself, when he +had been at school about a week. "I'll run away and try to find my dear +mother; and, at any rate, I shall never find anybody half so +disagreeable as this old Mr. Toil!" + +So the very next morning, off started poor Daffydowndilly, and began his +rambles about the world, with only some bread and cheese for his +breakfast, and very little pocket-money to pay his expenses. But he had +gone only a short distance when he overtook a man of grave and sedate +appearance, who was trudging at a moderate pace along the road. + +"Good-morning, my lad," said the stranger; and his voice seemed hard and +severe, but yet had a sort of kindness in it. "Whence do you come so +early, and whither are you going?" + +Little Daffydowndilly was a boy of a very ingenuous disposition, and had +never been known to tell a lie in all his life. Nor did he tell one now. +He hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessed that he had run away +from school, on account of his great dislike for Mr. Toil; and that he +was resolved to find some place in the world where he should never see +or hear of the old schoolmaster again. + +"Oh, very well, my little friend!" answered the stranger. "Then we will +go together; for I, likewise, have had a good deal to do with Mr. Toil, +and should be glad to find some place where he was never heard of." + +Our friend Daffydowndilly would have been better pleased with a +companion of his own age, with whom he might have gathered flowers along +the road-side, or have chased butterflies, or have done many other +things to make the journey pleasant. But he had wisdom enough to +understand that he should get along through the world much easier by +having a man of experience to show him the way. So he accepted the +stranger's proposal, and they walked on very sociably together. + +They had not gone far, when the road passed by a field where some +haymakers were at work, mowing down the tall grass and spreading it out +in the sun to dry. Daffydowndilly was delighted with the sweet smell of +the new-mown grass, and thought how much pleasanter it must be to make +hay in the sunshine under the blue sky, and with the birds singing +sweetly in the neighbouring trees and bushes, than to be shut up in a +dismal school-room, learning lessons all day long, and continually +scolded by old Mr. Toil. But, in the midst of these thoughts, while he +was stopping to peep over the stone wall, he started back and caught +hold of his companion's hand. + +"Quick, quick!" cried he. "Let us run away, or he will catch us!" + +"Who will catch us?" asked the stranger. + +"Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster!" answered Daffydowndilly. "Don't you +see him amongst the haymakers?" + +And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man, who seemed to be the owner +of the field, and the employer of the men at work there. He had stripped +off his coat and waistcoat, and was busily at work in his shirt sleeves. +The drops of sweat stood upon his brow; but he gave himself not a +moment's rest, and kept crying out to the haymakers to make hay while +the sun shone. Now, strange to say, the figure and features of this old +farmer were precisely the same as those of old Mr. Toil, who, at that +very moment, must have been just entering his school-room. + +"Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "This is not Mr. Toil, the +schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer; and the +people say he is the more disagreeable man of the two. However, he won't +trouble you unless you become a labourer on the farm." + +Little Daffydowndilly believed what his companion said, but he was very +glad, nevertheless, when they were out of sight of the old farmer, who +bore such a singular resemblance to Mr. Toil. The two travellers had +gone but little farther, when they came to a spot where some carpenters +were erecting a house. Daffydowndilly begged his companion to stop a +moment; for it was a very pretty sight to see how neatly the carpenters +did their work, with their broad-axes and saws, and planes, and hammers, +shaping out the doors, and putting in the window-sashes, and nailing on +the clap-boards; and he could not help thinking that he should like to +take a broad-axe, a saw, a plane, and a hammer, and build a little house +for himself. And then, when he should have a house of his own, old Mr. +Toil would never dare to molest him. + +But, just while he was delighting himself with this idea, little +Daffydowndilly beheld something that made him catch hold of his +companion's hand, all in a fright. + +"Make haste. Quick, quick!" cried he. "There he is again!" "Who?" asked +the stranger, very quietly. + +"Old Mr. Toil," said Daffydowndilly, trembling. + +"There! he that is overseeing the carpenters. 'Tis my old schoolmaster, +as sure as I'm alive!" + +The stranger cast his eyes where Daffydowndilly pointed his finger; and +he saw an elderly man, with a carpenter's rule and compass in his hand. +This person went to and fro about the unfinished house, measuring pieces +of timber and marking out the work that was to be done, and continually +exhorting the other carpenters to be diligent. And wherever he turned +his hard and wrinkled visage, the men seemed to feel that they had a +task-master over them, and sawed, and hammered, and planed, as if for +dear life. + +"Oh, no! this is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster," said the stranger. "It +is another brother of his, who follows the trade of carpenter." + +"I am very glad to hear it," quoth Daffydowndilly; "but if you please, +sir, I should like to get out of his way as soon as possible." + +Then they went on a little farther, and soon heard the sound of a drum +and fife. Daffydowndilly pricked up his ears at this, and besought his +companion to hurry forward, that they might not miss seeing the +soldiers. Accordingly they made what haste they could, and soon met a +company of soldiers gaily dressed, with beautiful feathers in their +caps, and bright muskets on their shoulders. In front marched two +drummers and two fifers, beating on their drums and making such lively +music that little Daffydowndilly would gladly have followed them to the +end of the world. And if he was only a soldier, then, he said to +himself, old Mr. Toil would never venture to look him in the face. + +"Quick step! Forward march!" shouted a gruff voice. + +Little Daffydowndilly started, in great dismay; for this voice which had +spoken to the soldiers sounded precisely the same as that which he had +heard every day in Mr. Toil's school-room, out of Mr. Toil's own mouth. +And, turning his eyes to the captain of the company, what should he see +but the very image of old Mr. Toil himself, with a smart cap and feather +on his head, a pair of gold epaulets on his shoulders, a laced coat on +his back, a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword, instead of a +birch rod, in his hand. And though he held his head so high, and +strutted like a turkey-cock, still he looked quite as ugly and +disagreeable as when he was hearing lessons in the school-room. + +"This is certainly old Mr. Toil," said Daffydowndilly, in a trembling +voice. "Let us run away for fear he should make us enlist in his +company!" + +"You are mistaken again, my little friend," replied the stranger, very +composedly. "This is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of +his, who has served in the army all his life. People say he's a terribly +severe fellow; but you and I need not be afraid of him." + +"Well, well," said little Daffydowndilly, "but if you please, sir, I +don't want to see the soldiers any more." + +So the child and the stranger resumed their journey; and, by and by, +they came to a house by the road-side, where a number of people were +making merry. Young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with smiles on their +faces, were dancing to the sound of a fiddle. It was the pleasantest +sight that Daffydowndilly had yet met with, and it comforted him for all +his disappointments. + +"Oh, let us stop here," cried he to his companion; "for Mr. Toil will +never dare to show his face where there is a fiddler, and where people +are dancing and making merry. We shall be quite safe here!" + +But these last words died away upon Daffydowndilly's tongue; for, +happening to cast his eyes on the fiddler, whom should he behold again +but the likeness of Mr. Toil, holding a fiddle-bow instead of a birch +rod, and flourishing it with as much ease and dexterity as if he had +been a fiddler all his life! He had somewhat the air of a Frenchman, but +still looked exactly like the old schoolmaster; and Daffydowndilly even +fancied that he nodded and winked at him, and made signs for him to join +in the dance. + +"Oh, dear me!" whispered he, turning pale, "it seems as if there was +nobody but Mr. Toil in the world. Who could have thought of his playing +on a fiddle!" + +"This is not your old schoolmaster," observed the stranger, "but another +brother of his, who was bred in France, where he learned the profession +of a fiddler. He is ashamed of his family, and generally calls himself +Monsieur le Plaisir; but his real name is Toil, and those who have known +him best think him still more disagreeable than his brothers." + +"Oh, take me back!--take me back!" cried poor little Daffydowndilly, +bursting into tears. "If there is nothing but Toil all the world over, I +may just as well go back to the school-house!" + +"Yonder it is,--there is the school-house!" said the stranger, for +though he and Daffydowndilly had taken a great many steps, they had +travelled in a circle instead of a straight line. "Come; we will go back +to school together." + +There was something in his companion's voice that little Daffydowndilly +now remembered, and it is strange that he had not remembered it sooner. +Looking up into his face, behold! there again was the likeness of old +Mr. Toil; so that the poor child had been in company with Toil all day, +even while he was doing his best to run away from him. Some people, to +whom I have told little Daffydowndilly's story, are of the opinion that +old Mr. Toil was a magician, and possessed the power of multiplying +himself into as many shapes as he saw fit. + +Be this as it may, little Daffydowndilly had learned a good lesson, and +from that time forward was diligent at his task, because he knew that +diligence is not a whit more toilsome than sport or idleness. And when +he became better acquainted with Mr. Toil, he began to think that his +ways were not so very disagreeable, and that the old schoolmaster's +smile of approbation made his face almost as pleasant as even that of +Daffydowndilly's mother. + +NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE + + + + +THE SANDPIPER + + + Across the narrow beach we flit, + One little sandpiper and I; + And fast I gather, bit by bit, + The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. + The wild waves reach their hands for it, + The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, + As up and down the beach we flit,-- + One little sandpiper and I. + + Above our heads the sullen clouds + Scud black and swift across the sky: + Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds + Stand out the white lighthouses high. + Almost as far as eye can reach + I see the close-reefed vessels fly, + As fast we flit along the beach,-- + One little sandpiper and I. + + I watch him as he skims along, + Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; + He starts not at my fitful song, + Or flash of fluttering drapery; + He has no thought of any wrong, + He scans me with a fearless eye. + Stanch friends are we, well-tried and strong, + The little sandpiper and I. + + Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night + When the loosed storm breaks furiously? + My driftwood-fire will burn so bright! + To what warm shelter canst thou fly? + I do not fear for thee, though wroth + The tempest rushes through the sky: + For are we not God's children both, + Thou, little sandpiper, and I? + +CELIA THAXTER + + + + +FROM "THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT" + + +Blessed are the poor in spirit: for their's is the kingdom of heaven. +Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are +the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do +hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed +are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in +heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they +shall be called the children of God. + +Again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time, Thou +shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths. +But I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither by heaven; for it is God's +throne: nor by the earth; for it is his footstool: neither by Jerusalem; +for it is the city of the great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thy +head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. + +Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and +hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that +curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which +despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of +your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the +evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. +For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the +publicans the same? And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more +than others? do not even the publicans so? Be ye therefore perfect, even +as your Father which is in heaven is perfect. + +ST. MATTHEW, V. + + + + +THE LEGEND OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER + + + For many a year Saint Christopher + Served God in many a land; + And master painters drew his face, + With loving heart and hand, + On altar fronts and churches' walls; + And peasants used to say,-- + To look on good Saint Christopher + Brought luck for all the day. + + For many a year, in lowly hut, + The giant dwelt content + Upon the bank, and back and forth + Across the stream he went; + And on his giant shoulders bore + All travellers who came, + By night, by day, or rich or poor, + All in King Jesus' name. + + But much he doubted if the King + His work would note or know, + And often with a weary heart + He waded to and fro. + One night, as wrapped in sleep he lay, + He sudden heard a call,-- + "O Christopher, come, carry me!" + He sprang, looked out, but all + + Was dark and silent on the shore, + "It must be that I dreamed," + He said, and laid him down again; + But instantly there seemed + Again the feeble, distant cry,-- + "Oh, come and carry me!" + Again he sprang and looked: again + No living thing could see. + + The third time came the plaintive voice, + Like infant's, soft and weak; + With lantern strode the giant forth, + More carefully to seek. + Down on the bank a little child + He found,--a piteous sight,-- + Who weeping, earnestly implored + To cross that very night. + + With gruff good will he picked him up, + And on his neck to ride + He tossed him, as men play with babes, + And plunged into the tide. + But as the water closed around + His knees, the infant's weight + Grew heavier, and heavier, + Until it was so great + + The giant scarce could stand upright, + His staff shook in his hand, + His mighty knees bent under him, + He barely reached the land. + And, staggering, set the infant down, + And turned to scan his face; + When, lo! he saw a halo bright + Which lit up all the place. + + Then Christopher fell down, afraid + At marvel of the thing, + And dreamed not that it was the face + Of Jesus Christ, his King. + Until the infant spoke, and said: + "O Christopher, behold! + I am the Lord whom thou hast served, + Rise up, be glad and bold! + + "For I have seen and noted well, + Thy works of charity; + And that thou art my servant good + A token thou shalt see. + Plant firmly here upon this bank + Thy stalwart staff of pine, + And it shall blossom and bear fruit, + This very hour, in sign." + + Then, vanishing, the infant smiled. + The giant, left alone, + Saw on the bank, with luscious dates, + His stout pine staff bent down. + + I think the lesson is as good + To-day as it was then-- + As good to us called Christians + As to the heathen men-- + The lesson of Saint Christopher, + Who spent his strength for others, + And saved his soul by working hard + To help and save his brothers! + +HELEN HUNT JACKSON + + + + +WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON + + +The sun already shone brightly as William Tell entered the town of +Altorf, and he advanced at once to the public place, where the first +object that caught his eyes was a handsome cap, embroidered with gold, +stuck upon the end of a long pole. Soldiers were walking around it in +silence, and the people of Altorf, as they passed, bowed their head to +the symbol of authority. The cap had been set up by Gessler, the +Austrian commander, for the purpose of discovering those who were not +submissive to the Austrian power, which had ruled the people of the +Swiss Cantons for a long time with great severity. He suspected that the +people were about to break into rebellion, and with a view to learn who +were the most discontented, he had placed the ducal cap of Austria on +this pole, publicly proclaiming that every one passing near, or within +sight of it, should bow before it, in proof of his homage to the duke. + +Tell was much surprised at this new and strange attempt to humble the +people, and, leaning on his cross-bow, gazed scornfully on them and the +soldiers. Berenger, captain of the guard, at length observed this man, +who alone amidst the cringing crowd carried his head erect. He ordered +him to be seized and disarmed by the soldiers, and then conducted him to +Gessler, who put some questions to him, which he answered so haughtily +that Gessler was both surprised and angry. Suddenly, he was struck by +the likeness between him and the boy Walter Tell, whom he had seized and +put in prison the previous day for uttering some seditious words; he +immediately asked his name, which he no sooner heard than he knew him to +be the archer so famous, as the best marksman in the Canton. + +Gessler at once resolved to punish both father and son at the same time, +by a method which was perhaps the most refined act of torture which man +ever imagined. As soon, then, as the youth was brought out, the governor +turned to Tell, and said: "I have often heard of thy great skill as an +archer, and I now intend to put it to the proof. Thy son shall be placed +at a distance of a hundred yards, with an apple on his head. If thou +strikest the apple with thy arrow, I will pardon you both; but if thou +refusest this trial, thy son shall die before thine eyes." + +Tell implored Gessler to spare him so cruel a trial, in which he might +perhaps kill his beloved boy with his own hand. The governor would not +alter his purpose; so Tell at last agreed to shoot at the apple, as the +only chance of saving his son's life. Walter stood with his back to a +linden tree. Gessler, some distance behind, watched every motion. His +cross-bow and one arrow were handed to Tell; he tried the point, broke +the weapon, and demanded his quiver. It was brought to him and emptied +at his feet. He stooped down, and taking a long time to choose an arrow, +he managed to hide a second in his girdle. + +After being in doubt a long time, his whole soul beaming in his face, +his love for his son rendering him almost powerless, he at length roused +himself--drew the bow--aimed--shot--and the apple, struck to the core, +was carried away by the arrow. + +The market-place of Altorf was filled by loud cheers. Walter flew to +embrace his father, who, overcome by his emotion, fell fainting to the +ground, thus exposing the second arrow to view. Gessler stood over him, +awaiting his recovery, which speedily taking place, Tell rose, and +turned away from the governor with horror. The latter, however, +scarcely yet believing his senses, thus addressed him: "Incomparable +archer, I will keep my promise; but what needed you with that second +arrow which I see in your girdle?" + +Tell replied: "It is the custom of the bowmen of Uri to have always one +arrow in reserve." + +"Nay, nay," said Gessler, "tell me thy real motive; and, whatever it may +have been, speak frankly, and thy life is spared." + +"The second shaft," replied Tell, "was to pierce thy heart, tyrant, if I +had chanced to harm my son." + +CHAMBER'S "Tracts." + + + + +A MIDSUMMER SONG + + + O, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, + And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, + And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, + While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will: + "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! + O, where's Polly?" + + From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound-- + A murmur as of waters from skies and trees and ground. + The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo, + And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: + "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! + O, where's Polly?" + + Above the trees the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom, + And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom. + Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, + And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose. + But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! + O, where's Polly? + + How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter! + The farmer's wife is listening now and wonders what's the matter. + O, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, + While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill. + But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! + O, where's Polly? + +RICHARD WATSON GILDER + + + + +THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW + + +On every side death stared us in the face; no human skill could avert it +any longer. We saw the moment approach when we must bid farewell to +earth, yet without feeling that unutterable horror which must have been +experienced by the unhappy victims at Cawnpore. We were resolved rather +to die than yield, and were fully persuaded that in twenty-four hours +all would be over. The engineer had said so, and all knew the worst. We +women strove to encourage each other, and to perform the light duties +which had been assigned to us, such as conveying orders to the +batteries, and supplying the men with provisions, especially cups of +coffee, which we prepared day and night. + +I had gone out to try to make myself useful, in company with Jessie +Brown, the wife of a corporal in my husband's regiment. Poor Jessie had +been in a state of restless excitement all through the siege, and had +fallen away visibly within the last few days. A constant fever consumed +her, and her mind wandered occasionally, especially that day when the +recollections of home seemed powerfully present to her. At last, +overcome with fatigue, she lay down on the ground, wrapped up in her +plaid. I sat beside her, promising to awaken her when, as she said, her +"father should return from the ploughing." + +She fell at length into a profound slumber, motionless and apparently +breathless, her head resting in my lap. I myself could no longer resist +the inclination to sleep, in spite of the continual roar of the cannon. +Suddenly I was aroused by a wild, unearthly scream close to my ear; my +companion stood upright beside me, her arms raised, and her head bent +forward in the attitude of listening. + +A look of intense delight broke over her countenance. She grasped my +hand, drew me toward her, and exclaimed: "Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye +hear it? Aye. I'm no dreaming: it's the slogan o' the Highlanders! +We're saved! we're saved!" Then, flinging herself on her knees, she +thanked God with passionate fervour. + +I felt utterly bewildered; my English ears heard only the roar of +artillery, and I thought my poor Jessie was still raving, but she darted +to the batteries, and I heard her cry incessantly to the men: "Courage! +courage! Hark to the slogan--to the Macgregor, the grandest of them a'! +Here's help at last!" + +To describe the effect of these words upon the soldiers would be +impossible. For a moment they ceased firing, and every soul listened +with intense anxiety. Gradually, however, there arose a murmur of bitter +disappointment, and the wailing of the women, who had flocked to the +spot, burst out anew as the colonel shook his head. Our dull Lowland +ears heard only the rattle of the musketry. + +A few moments more of this deathlike suspense, of this agonizing hope, +and Jessie, who had again sunk on the ground, sprang to her feet, and +cried in a voice so clear and piercing that it was heard along the whole +line: "Will ye no believe it noo? The slogan has ceased, indeed, but the +Campbells are comin'! D'ye hear? d'ye hear?" + +At that moment all seemed, indeed, to hear the voice of God in the +distance, when the pibroch of the Highlanders brought us tidings of +deliverance; for now there was no longer any doubt of the fact. That +shrill, penetrating, ceaseless sound, which rose above all other sounds, +could come neither from the advance of the enemy nor from the work of +the sappers. No, it was, indeed, the blast of the Scottish bagpipes, now +shrill and harsh, as threatening vengeance on the foe, then in softer +tones, seeming to promise succour to their friends in need. + +Never, surely, was there such a scene as that which followed. Not a +heart in the residency of Lucknow but bowed itself before God. All, by +one simultaneous impulse, fell upon their knees, and nothing was heard +but bursting sobs and the murmured voice of prayer. Then all arose, and +there rang out from a thousand lips a great shout of joy, which +resounded far and wide, and lent new vigour to that blessed pibroch. + +To our cheer of "God save the Queen," they replied by the well-known +strain that moves every Scot to tears, "Should auld acquaintance be +forgot." After that, nothing else made any impression on me. I scarcely +remember what followed. Jessie was presented to the general on his +entrance into the fort, and at the officers' banquet her health was +drunk by all present, while the pipers marched around the table, playing +once more the familiar air of "Auld Lang Syne." + +"Letter from an officer's wife." + + + + +THE SONG IN CAMP + + + "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, + The outer trenches guarding, + When the heated guns of the camps allied + Grew weary of bombarding. + + The dark Redan, in silent scoff, + Lay, grim and threatening, under; + And the tawny mound of the Malakoff + No longer belched its thunder. + + There was a pause. A guardsman said: + "We storm the forts to-morrow; + Sing while we may, another day + Will bring enough of sorrow." + + They lay along the battery's side, + Below the smoking cannon: + Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, + And from the banks of Shannon. + + They sang of love, and not of fame; + Forgot was Britain's glory: + Each heart recalled a different name, + But all sang "Annie Laurie." + + Voice after voice caught up the song, + Until its tender passion + Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,-- + Their battle-eve confession. + + Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, + But, as the song grew louder, + Something upon the soldier's cheek + Washed off the stains of powder. + + Beyond the darkening ocean burned + The bloody sunset's embers, + While the Crimean valleys learned + How English love remembers. + + And once again a fire of hell + Rained on the Russian quarters, + With scream of shot, and burst of shell, + And bellowing of the mortars! + + And Irish Nora's eyes are dim + For a singer, dumb and gory; + And English Mary mourns for him + Who sang of "Annie Laurie." + + Sleep, soldiers! still in honoured rest + Your truth and valour wearing: + The bravest are the tenderest,-- + The loving are the daring. + +BAYARD TAYLOR + + + + +AFTERGLOW + + + After the clangour of battle + There comes a moment of rest, + And the simple hopes and the simple joys + And the simple thoughts are best. + + After the victor's paean, + After the thunder of gun, + There comes a lull that must come to all + Before the set of the sun. + + Then what is the happiest memory? + Is it the foe's defeat? + Is it the splendid praise of a world + That thunders by at your feet? + + Nay, nay, to the life-worn spirit + The happiest thoughts are those + That carry us back to the simple joys + And the sweetness of life's repose. + + A simple love and a simple trust + And a simple duty done, + Are truer torches to light to death + Than a whole world's victories won. + +WILFRED CAMPBELL + + + + +KING RICHARD AND SALADIN + + +Saladin led the way to a splendid pavilion where was everything that +royal luxury could devise. De Vaux, who was in attendance, then removed +the long riding-cloak which Richard wore, and he stood before Saladin in +the close dress which showed to advantage the strength and symmetry of +his person, while it bore a strong contrast to the flowing robes which +disguised the thin frame of the Eastern monarch. It was Richard's +two-handed sword that chiefly attracted the attention of the Saracen--a +broad straight blade, the seemingly unwieldy length of which extended +wellnigh from the shoulder to the heel of the wearer. + +"Had I not," said Saladin, "seen this brand flaming in the front of +battle, like that of Azrael, I had scarce believed that human arm could +wield it. Might I request to see the Melech Ric strike one blow with it +in peace and in pure trial of strength?" + +"Willingly, noble Saladin," answered Richard; and looking around for +something whereon to exercise his strength, he saw a steel mace, held by +one of the attendants, the handle being of the same metal, and about an +inch and a half in diameter. This he placed on a block of wood. + +The glittering broadsword, wielded by both his hands, rose aloft to the +king's left shoulder, circled round his head, descended with the sway of +some terrific engine, and the bar of iron rolled on the ground in two +pieces, as a woodman would sever a sapling with a hedging-bill. + +"By the head of the Prophet, a most wonderful blow!" said the Soldan, +critically and accurately examining the iron bar which had been cut +asunder; and the blade of the sword was so well tempered as to exhibit +not the least token of having suffered by the feat it had performed. He +then took the king's hand, and looking on the size and muscular strength +which it exhibited, laughed as he placed it beside his own, so lank and +thin, so inferior in brawn and sinew. + +"Ay, look well," said De Vaux in English, "it will be long ere your long +jackanape's fingers do such a feat with your fine gilded reaping-hook +there." + +"Silence, De Vaux," said Richard; "by Our Lady, he understands or +guesses thy meaning--be not so broad, I pray thee." + +The Soldan, indeed, presently said: "Something I would fain attempt, +though wherefore should the weak show their inferiority in presence of +the strong? Yet, each land hath its own exercises, and this may be new +to the Melech Ric." So saying, he took from the floor a cushion of silk +and down, and placed it upright on one end. "Can thy weapon, my brother, +sever that cushion?" he said to King Richard. + +"No, surely," replied the king; "no sword on earth, were it the +Excalibur of King Arthur, can cut that which opposes no steady +resistance to the blow." + +"Mark, then," said Saladin; and tucking up the sleeve of his gown, +showed his arm, thin indeed and spare, but which constant exercise had +hardened into a mass consisting of nought but bone, brawn, and sinew. He +unsheathed his scimitar, a curved and narrow blade, which glittered not +like the swords of the Franks, but was, on the contrary, of a dull blue +colour, marked with ten millions of meandering lines, which showed how +anxiously the metal had been welded by the armourer. Wielding this +weapon, apparently so inefficient when compared to that of Richard, the +Soldan stood resting his weight upon his left foot, which was slightly +advanced; he balanced himself a little as if to steady his aim, then, +stepping at once forward, drew the scimitar across the cushion, applying +the edge so dexterously and with so little apparent effort, that the +cushion seemed rather to fall asunder than to be divided by violence. + +"It is a juggler's trick," said De Vaux, darting forward and snatching +up the portion of the cushion which had been cut off, as if to assure +himself of the reality of the feat; "there is gramarye in this." + +The Soldan seemed to comprehend him, for he undid the sort of veil which +he had hitherto worn, laid it double along the edge of his sabre, +extended the weapon edgeways in the air, and drawing it suddenly through +the veil, although it hung on the blade entirely loose, severed that +also into two parts, which floated to different sides of the tent, +equally displaying the extreme temper and sharpness of the weapon and +the exquisite dexterity of him who used it. + +"Now, in good faith, my brother," said Richard, "thou art even matchless +at the trick of the sword, and right perilous were it to meet thee. +Still, however, I put some faith in a downright English blow, and what +we cannot do by sleight we eke out by strength. Nevertheless, in truth +thou art as expert in inflicting wounds as my sage Hakim in curing them. +I trust I shall see the learned leech; I have much to thank him for, and +had brought some small present." + +As he spoke, Saladin exchanged his turban for a Tartar cap. He had no +sooner done so, than De Vaux opened at once his extended mouth and his +large round eyes, and Richard gazed with scarce less astonishment, while +the Soldan spoke in a grave and altered voice: "The sick man, sayeth the +poet, while he is yet infirm, knoweth the physician by his step; but +when he is recovered, he knoweth not even his face when he looks upon +him." + +"A miracle!--a miracle!" exclaimed Richard. + +"Of Mahound's working, doubtless," said Thomas de Vaux. + +"That I should lose my learned Hakim," said Richard, "merely by absence +of his cap and robe, and that I should find him again in my royal +brother Saladin!" + +"Such is oft the fashion of the world," answered the Soldan: "the +tattered robe makes not always the dervish." + +SCOTT: "The Talisman." + + + + +ENGLAND'S DEAD + + + 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 noonday 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 storm rage on! + Let the fresh 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 lower;-- + + 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. + +FELICIA HEMANS + + + + +HOHENLINDEN + + + On Linden, when the sun was low, + All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, + And dark as winter was the flow + Of Iser, rolling rapidly. + + But Linden saw another sight, + When the drum beat, at dead of night, + Commanding fires of death to light + The darkness of her scenery. + + By torch and trumpet fast arrayed + Each horseman drew his battle-blade, + And furious every charger neighed, + To join the dreadful revelry. + + Then shook the hills with thunder riven, + Then rushed the steed to battle driven, + And louder than the bolts of heaven, + Far flashed the red artillery. + + But redder yet that light shall glow + On Linden's hills of stained snow, + And bloodier yet the torrent flow + Of Iser, rolling rapidly. + + 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun + Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, + Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, + Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. + + The combat deepens. On, ye brave, + Who rush to glory, or the grave! + Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, + And charge with all thy chivalry! + + Few, few, shall part where many meet! + The snow shall be their winding-sheet, + And every turf beneath their feet + Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. + +THOMAS CAMPBELL + + + + +THE DREAM OF THE OAK TREE + + +There stood in a wood, high on the bank near the open sea-shore, such a +grand old oak tree! It was three hundred and sixty-five years old; but +all this length of years had seemed to the tree scarcely more than so +many days appear to us men and women, boys and girls. + +A tree's life is not quite the same as a man's: we wake during the day, +and sleep and dream during the night; but a tree wakes throughout three +seasons of the year, and has no sleep till winter comes. The winter is +its sleeping time--its night after the long day which we call spring, +summer, and autumn. + +It was just at the holy Christmas-tide that the oak tree dreamed his +most beautiful dream. He seemed to hear the church-bells ringing all +around, and to feel as if it were a mild, warm summer day. Fresh and +green he reared his mighty crown on high, and the sunbeams played among +his leaves. As in a festive procession, all that the tree had beheld in +his life now passed by. + +Knights and ladies, with feathers in their caps and hawks perching on +their wrists, rode gaily through the wood; dogs barked, and the huntsman +sounded his bugle. + +Then came foreign soldiers in bright armour and gay vestments, bearing +spurs and halberds, setting up their tents, and presently taking them +down again. Then watch-fires blazed up and bands of wild outlaws sang, +revelled, and slept under the tree's outstretched boughs; or happy +lovers met in quiet moonlight and carved their initials on the grayish +bark. + +At one time a guitar and an AEolian harp had been hung among the old +oak's boughs by merry travelling apprentices; now they hung there again, +and the wind played sweetly with their strings. + +And now the dream changed. A new and stronger current of life flowed +through him, down to his lowest roots, up to his highest twigs, even to +the very leaves. The tree felt in his roots that a warm life stirred in +the earth, and that he was growing taller and taller; his trunk shot up +more and more, his crown grew fuller; and still he soared and spread. +He felt that his power grew, too, and he longed to advance higher and +higher to the warm, bright sun. + +Already he towered above the clouds, which drifted below him, now like a +troop of dark-plumaged birds of passage, now like flocks of large, white +swans. The stars became visible by daylight, so large and bright, each +one sparkling like a mild, clear eye. + +It was a blessed moment! and yet, in the height of his joy, the oak tree +felt a desire and longing that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and +flowers of the wood might be lifted up with him to share in his glory +and gladness. He could not be fully blessed unless he might have all, +small and great, blessed with him. + +The tree's crown bowed itself as though it had missed something, and +looked backward. Then he felt the fragrance of honeysuckle and violets, +and fancied he could hear the birds. And so it was! for now peeped forth +through the clouds the green summits of the wood; the other trees below +had grown and lifted themselves up likewise; bushes and herbs shot high +into the air, some tearing themselves loose from their roots to mount +the faster. + +Like a flash of white lightning the birch, moving fastest of all, shot +upward its slender stem. Even the feathery brown reeds had pierced their +way through the clouds, and the birds sang and sang, and on the grass +that fluttered to and fro like a streaming ribbon perched the +grasshopper, while cockchafers hummed and bees buzzed. All was music and +gladness. + +"But the little blue flower near the water--I want that, too," said the +oak; "and the bellflower, and the dear little daisy." "We are here! we +are here!" chanted sweet low voices on all sides. + +"But the pretty anemones, and the bed of lilies of the valley, and all +the flowers that bloomed so long ago,--would that they were here!" "We +are here! we are here!" was the answer, and it seemed to come from the +air above, as if they had fled upward first. + +"Oh, this is too great happiness!" exclaimed the oak tree; and now he +felt that his own roots were loosening themselves from the earth. "This +is best of all," he said. "Now no bounds shall detain me. I can soar to +the heights of light and glory, and I have all my dear ones with me." + +Such was the oak tree's Christmas dream. And all the while a mighty +storm swept the sea and land; the ocean rolled his heavy billows on the +shore, the tree cracked, and was rent and torn up by the roots at the +very moment when he dreamed that he was soaring to the skies. + +Next day the sea was calm again, and a large vessel that had weathered +the storm hoisted all its flags for Merry Christmas. "The tree is +gone--the old oak tree, our beacon! How can its place ever be supplied?" +said the crew. This was the tree's funeral eulogium, while the Christmas +hymn re-echoed from the wood. + +HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN +(Adapted) + + + + +A PRAYER + + +The day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns and +duties. Help us to play the man, help us to perform them with laughter +and kind faces; let cheerfulness abound with industry. Give us to go +blithely on our business all this day, bring us to our resting beds +weary and content and undishonoured; and grant us in the end the gift of +sleep. + +R. L. STEVENSON + +[Illustration: IN THE PASTURE] + + + + +THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS + + + The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, + Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. + Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; + They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. + The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs, the jay, + And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. + + Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood + In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? + Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers + Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. + The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain + Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. + + The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, + And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; + But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, + And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, + Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, + And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. + + And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, + To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home, + When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, + And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, + The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, + And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. + +BRYANT + + + + +'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER + + + 'Tis the last rose of summer + Left blooming alone; + All her lovely companions + Are faded and gone; + No flower of her kindred, + No rosebud is nigh, + To reflect back her blushes, + Or give sigh for sigh. + + I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! + To pine on the stem; + Since the lovely are sleeping, + Go, sleep thou with them. + Thus kindly I scatter + Thy leaves o'er the bed, + Where thy mates of the garden + Lie scentless and dead. + + So soon may I follow, + When friendships decay, + And from Love's shining circle + The gems drop away. + When true hearts lie withered, + And fond ones are flown, + Oh! who would inhabit + This bleak world alone! + +MOORE + + + + +A ROMAN'S HONOUR + + +The Romans had suffered a terrible defeat in B.C. 251, and Regulus, a +famous soldier and senator, had been captured and dragged into Carthage +where the victors feasted and rejoiced through half the night, and +testified their thanks to their god by offering in his fires the bravest +of their captives. + +Regulus himself was not, however, one of these victims. He was kept a +close prisoner for two years, pining and sickening in his loneliness; +while, in the meantime, the war continued, and at last a victory so +decisive was gained by the Romans, that the people of Carthage were +discouraged, and resolved to ask terms of peace. They thought that no +one would be so readily listened to at Rome as Regulus, and they +therefore sent him there with their envoys, having first made him swear +that he would come back to his prison, if there should neither be peace +nor an exchange of prisoners. They little knew how much more a +true-hearted Roman cared for his city than for himself--for his word +than for his life. + +Worn and dejected, the captive warrior came to the outside of the gates +of his own city and there paused, refusing to enter. "I am no longer a +Roman citizen," he said; "I am but the barbarian's slave, and the Senate +may not give audience to strangers within the walls." + +His wife, Marcia, ran out to greet him, with his two sons, but he did +not look up, and received their caresses as one beneath their notice, as +a mere slave, and he continued, in spite of all entreaty, to remain +outside the city, and would not even go to the little farm he had loved +so well. + +The Roman Senate, as he would not come in to them, came out to hold +their meeting in the Campagna. + +The ambassadors spoke first; then Regulus, standing up, said, as one +repeating a task: "Conscript fathers, being a slave to the +Carthaginians, I come on the part of my masters to treat with you +concerning peace and an exchange of prisoners." He then turned to go +away with the ambassadors, as a stranger might not be present at the +deliberations of the Senate. His old friends pressed him to stay and +give his opinion as a senator, who had twice been consul; but he refused +to degrade that dignity by claiming it, slave as he was. But, at the +command of his Carthaginian masters, he remained, though not taking his +seat. + +Then he spoke. He told the senators to persevere in the war. He said he +had seen the distress of Carthage, and that a peace would be only to her +advantage, not to that of Rome, and therefore he strongly advised that +the war should continue. Then, as to the exchange of prisoners, the +Carthaginian generals, who were in the hands of the Romans, were in full +health and strength, whilst he himself was too much broken down to be +fit for service again; and, indeed, he believed that his enemies had +given him a slow poison, and that he could not live long. Thus he +insisted that no exchange of prisoners should be made. + +It was wonderful, even to Romans, to hear a man thus pleading against +himself; and their chief priest came forward and declared that, as his +oath had been wrested from him by force, he was not bound by it to +return to his captivity. But Regulus was too noble to listen to this for +a moment. "Have you resolved to dishonour me?" he said. "I am not +ignorant that death and the extremest tortures are preparing for me; but +what are these to the shame of an infamous action, or the wounds of a +guilty mind? Slave as I am to Carthage, I have still the spirit of a +Roman. I have sworn to return. It is my duty to go; let the gods take +care of the rest." + +The Senate decided to follow the advice of Regulus, though they bitterly +regretted his sacrifice. His wife wept and entreated in vain that they +would detain him--they could merely repeat their permission to him to +remain; but nothing could prevail with him to break his word, and he +turned back to the chains and death he expected, as calmly as if he had +been returning to his home. This was in the year B.C. 249. + +CHARLOTTE M. YONGE: "Book of Golden Deeds." + + + + +THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE + + + It was eight bells ringing, + For the morning watch was done, + And the gunner's lads were singing, + As they polished every gun. + It was eight bells ringing, + And the gunner's lads were singing + For the ship she rode a-swinging, + As they polished every gun. + + _Oh! to see the linstock lighting, + Temeraire! Temeraire! + Oh! to hear the round shot biting, + Temeraire! Temeraire! + Oh! to see the linstock lighting, + And to hear the round shot biting, + For we're all in love with fighting + On the Fighting Temeraire._ + + It was noontide ringing, + And the battle just begun, + When the ship her way was winging, + As they loaded every gun. + It was noontide ringing + When the ship her way was winging, + And the gunner's lads were singing, + As they loaded every gun. + + _There'll be many grim and gory, + Temeraire! Temeraire! + There'll be few to tell the story, + Temeraire! Temeraire! + There'll be many grim and gory, + There'll be few to tell the story, + But we'll all be one in glory + With the Fighting Temeraire._ + + There's a far bell ringing + At the setting of the sun, + And a phantom voice is singing + Of the great days done. + There's a far bell ringing, + And a phantom voice is singing + Of renown for ever clinging + To the great days done. + + _Now the sunset breezes shiver, + Temeraire! Temeraire! + And she's fading down the river, + Temeraire! Temeraire! + Now the sunset breezes shiver, + And she's fading down the river, + But in England's song for ever + She's the Fighting Temeraire._ + +HENRY NEWBOLT + + + + +DON QUIXOTE'S FIGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS + + +"I beseech your worship, Sir Knight-errant," quoth Sancho to his master, +"be sure you don't forget what you promised me about the island; for I +dare say I shall make shift to govern it, let it be never so big." + +"You must know, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "that it has been +the constant practice of knights-errant in former ages to make their +squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they conquered." + +As they were thus discoursing, they discovered some thirty or forty +windmills that are in that plain; and as soon as the knight had spied +them, "Fortune," cried he, "directs our affairs better than we ourselves +could have wished: look yonder, friend Sancho, there are at least thirty +outrageous giants, whom I intend to encounter; and having deprived them +of life, we will begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils; for they +are lawful prize; and the extirpation of that cursed brood will be an +acceptable service to Heaven." + +"What giants?" quoth Sancho Panza. + +"Those whom thou seest yonder," answered Don Quixote, "with their long +extended arms; some of that detested race have arms of so immense a +size, that sometimes they reach two leagues in length." + +"Pray look better, sir," quoth Sancho; "those things yonder are no +giants, but windmills, and the arms you fancy, are their sails, which +being whirled about by the wind, make the mill go." + +"'Tis a sign," cried Don Quixote, "thou art but little acquainted with +adventures! I tell thee, they are giants; and therefore if thou art +afraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for I am resolved to engage in a +dreadful unequal combat against them all." This said, he clapped spurs +to his horse Rozinante, without giving ear to his squire Sancho, who +bawled out to him, and assured him that they were windmills, and no +giants. But he was so fully possessed with a strong conceit of the +contrary, that he did not so much as hear his squire's outcry, nor was +he sensible of what they were, although he was already very near them; +far from that: "Stand, cowards," cried he, as loud as he could; "stand +your ground, ignoble creatures, and fly not basely from a single knight, +who dares encounter you all!" + +At the same time, the wind rising, the mill-sails began to move, which +when Don Quixote spied, "Base miscreants," cried he, "though you move +more arms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance." + +He most devoutly recommended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, imploring her +assistance in this perilous adventure; and, so covering himself with his +shield, and couching his lance, he rushed with Rozinante's utmost speed +upon the first windmill he could come at, and running his lance into the +sail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidity +of the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled away +both knight and horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good +way off in the field. + +Sancho Panza ran as fast as his ass could drive to help his master, whom +he found lying, and not able to stir, such a blow had he and Rozinante +received. "Mercy o' me!" cried Sancho, "did not I give your worship fair +warning? Did not I tell you they were windmills, and that nobody could +think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head!" + +"Peace, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote: "there is nothing so +subject to the inconstancy of fortune as war. I am verily persuaded that +cursed necromancer, Freston, who carried away my study and my books, has +transformed these giants into windmills to deprive me of the honour of +the victory; such is his inveterate malice against me; but in the end, +all his pernicious wiles and stratagems shall prove ineffectual against +the prevailing edge of my sword." + +"Amen, say I," replied Sancho. + +And so heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted +poor Rozinante, that was half shoulder-slipped with his fall. + +This adventure was the subject of their discourse, as they made the best +of their way towards the pass of Lapice, for Don Quixote took that road, +believing he could not miss of adventure in one so mightily frequented. +However, the loss of his lance was no small affliction to him; and as he +was making his complaint about it to his squire, "I have read," said he, +"friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight, having broken his sword +in the heat of an engagement, pulled up by the roots a huge oak tree, or +at least tore down a massy branch, and did such wonderful execution, +crushing and grinding so many Moors with it that day, that he won +himself and his posterity the surname of The Pounder, or Bruiser. I tell +thee this, because I intend to tear up the next oak or holm tree we +meet; with the trunk whereof I hope to perform such wondrous deeds that +thou wilt esteem thyself particularly happy in having had the honour to +behold them, and been the ocular witness of achievements which posterity +will scarce be able to believe." + +"Heaven grant you may," cried Sancho; "I believe it all, because your +worship says it. But, an't please you, sit a little more upright in your +saddle; you ride sideling methinks; but that, I suppose, proceeds from +your being bruised by the fall." + +"It does so," replied Don Quixote; "and if I do not complain of the +pain, it is because a knight-errant must never complain of his wounds." + +"Then I have no more to say," quoth Sancho; "and yet Heaven knows my +heart, I should be glad to hear your worship groan a little now and then +when something ails you: for my part, I shall not fail to bemoan myself +when I suffer the smallest pain, unless, indeed, it can be proved that +the rule of not complaining extends to the squires as well as knights." + +Don Quixote could not forbear smiling at the simplicity of his squire; +and told him he gave him leave to complain not only when he pleased, but +as much as he pleased, whether he had any cause or no; for he had never +yet read anything to the contrary in any books of chivalry. + +CERVANTES: "The Adventures of Don Quixote." + + + + +THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST + + + Little Ellie sits alone + 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, + By a stream-side on the grass, + And the trees are showering down + Doubles of their leaves in shadow, + On her shining hair and face. + + She has thrown her bonnet by, + And her feet she has been dipping + In the shallow water's flow. + Now she holds them nakedly + In her hands, all sleek and dripping, + While she rocketh to and fro. + + Little Ellie sits alone, + And the smile she softly uses, + Fills the silence like a speech, + While she thinks what shall be done,-- + And the sweetest pleasure chooses + For her future within reach. + + Little Ellie in her smile + Chooses ... "I will have a lover, + Riding on a steed of steeds! + He shall love me without guile, + And to _him_ I will discover + The swan's nest among the reeds. + + "And the steed shall be red-roan, + And the lover shall be noble, + With an eye that takes the breath. + And the lute he plays upon, + Shall strike ladies into trouble, + As his sword strikes men to death. + + "And the steed it shall be shod + All in silver, housed in azure; + And the mane shall swim the wind; + And the hoofs along the sod + Shall flash onward and keep measure, + Till the shepherds look behind. + + "But my lover will not prize + All the glory that he rides in, + When he gazes in my face. + He will say: 'O Love, thine eyes + Build the shrine my soul abides in, + And I kneel here for thy grace.' + + "Then, ay, then--he shall kneel low, + With the red-roan steed anear him + Which shall seem to understand-- + Till I answer: 'Rise and go!' + For the world must love and fear him + Whom I gift with heart and hand. + + "Then he will arise so pale, + I shall feel my own lips tremble + With a _yes_ I must not say, + Nathless maiden-brave, 'Farewell,' + I will utter, and dissemble-- + 'Light to-morrow with to-day.' + + "Then he'll ride among the hills + To the wide world past the river, + There to put away all wrong; + To make straight distorted wills, + And to empty the broad quiver + Which the wicked bear along. + + "Three times shall a young foot-page + Swim the stream and climb the mountain + And kneel down beside my feet-- + 'Lo, my master sends this gage, + Lady, for thy pity's counting! + What wilt thou exchange for it?' + + "And the first time, I will send + A white rosebud for a guerdon,-- + And the second time, a glove; + But the third time--I may bend + From my pride, and answer: 'Pardon, + If he comes to take my love.' + + "Then the young foot-page will run-- + Then my lover will ride faster, + Till he kneeleth at my knee: + 'I am a duke's eldest son! + Thousand serfs do call me master,-- + But, O Love, I love but _thee!_' + + "He will kiss me on the mouth + Then, and lead me as a lover + Through the crowds that praise his deeds: + And, when soul-tied by one troth, + Unto _him_ I will discover + That swan's nest among the reeds." + + Little Ellie, with her smile + Not yet ended, rose up gaily, + Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, + And went homeward, round a mile, + Just to see, as she did daily, + What more eggs were with the two. + + Pushing through the elm tree copse, + Winding up the stream, light-hearted, + Where the osier pathway leads-- + Past the boughs she stoops--and stops. + Lo, the wild swan had deserted,-- + And a rat had gnawed the reeds. + + Ellie went home sad and slow. + If she found the lover ever, + With his red-roan steed of steeds, + Sooth I know not! but I know + She could never show him--never, + That swan's nest among the reeds. + +E. B. BROWNING + +[Illustration: DEEP SEA FISHERS] + + + + +MOONLIGHT SONATA + + +It happened at Bonn. One moonlight winter's evening I called upon +Beethoven; for I wished him to take a walk, and afterwards sup with me. +In passing through a dark, narrow street, he suddenly paused. "Hush!" he +said, "what sound is that? It is from my Sonata in F. Hark! how well it +is played!" + +It was a little, mean dwelling, and we paused outside and listened. The +player went on; but, in the midst of the finale, there was a sudden +break; then the voice of sobbing: "I cannot play any more. It is too +beautiful; it is utterly beyond my power to do it justice. Oh! what +would I not give to go to the concert at Cologne!" + +"Ah! my sister," said her companion; "why create regrets when there is +no remedy? We can scarcely pay our rent." + +"You are right, and yet I wish for once in my life to hear some really +good music. But it is of no use." + +Beethoven looked at me. "Let us go in," he said. + +"Go in!" I exclaimed. "What can we go in for?" + +"I will play to her," he said, in an excited tone. "Here is +feeling--genius--understanding! I will play to her, and she will +understand it." + +And before I could prevent him his hand was upon the door. It opened and +we entered. + +A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes, and near him, +leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned piano, sat a young girl, with +a profusion of light hair falling over her face. + +"Pardon me," said Beethoven, "but I heard music and was tempted to +enter. I am a musician." + +The girl blushed, and the young man looked grave and somewhat annoyed. + +"I--I also overheard something of what you said," continued my friend. +"You wish to hear--that is, you would like--that is--shall I play for +you?" + +There was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so comical +and pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken in +a moment. + +"Thank you!" said the shoemaker; "but our piano is so wretched, and we +have no music." + +"No music!" echoed my friend; "how, then, does the young lady--" he +paused and coloured; for, as he looked in the girl's face, he saw that +she was blind. "I--I entreat your pardon," he stammered. "I had not +perceived before. Then you play by ear? But when do you hear the music, +since you frequent no concerts?" + +"We lived at Bruhl for two years, and while there I used to hear a lady +practising near us. During the summer evenings her windows were +generally open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen to her." + +She seemed so shy that Beethoven said no more, but seated himself +quietly before the piano and began to play. He had no sooner struck the +first chord than I knew what would follow. Never, during all the years I +knew him, did I hear him play as he then played to that blind girl and +her brother. He seemed to be inspired; and, from the instant that his +fingers began to wander along the keys, the very tones of the +instrument seemed to grow sweeter and more equal. + +The brother and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. The former +laid aside his work; the latter, with her head bent slightly forward, +and her hands pressed tightly over her breast, crouched down near the +end of the piano, as if fearful lest even the beating of her heart +should break the flow of those magical sounds. + +Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank, flickered, and +went out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the shutters, admitting a +flood of brilliant moonlight. The room was almost as light as before, +the moon rays falling strongest upon the piano and the player. His head +dropped upon his breast; his hands rested upon his knees; he seemed +absorbed in deep thought. He remained thus for some time. At length the +young shoemaker arose and approached him eagerly. + +"Wonderful man!" he said, in a low tone. "Who and what are you?" + +"Listen!" said Beethoven, and he played the opening bars of the Sonata +in F. A cry of recognition burst from them both, and exclaiming: "Then +you are Beethoven!" they covered his hands with tears and kisses. + +He rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties. + +"Play to us once more--only once more!" + +He suffered himself to be led back to the instrument. The moon shone +brightly in through the window, and lighted up his glorious, rugged head +and massive figure. + +"I will improvise a Sonata to the Moonlight!" said he, looking up +thoughtfully to the sky and stars. Then his hands dropped on the keys, +and he began playing a sad and infinitely lovely movement, which crept +gently over the instrument, like the calm flow of moonlight over the +dark earth. This was followed by a wild, elfin passage in triple time--a +sort of grotesque interlude, like the dance of spirits upon the lawn. +Then came a swift agitato finale--a breathless, hurrying, trembling +movement, descriptive of flight, and uncertainty, and vague impulsive +terror, which carried us away on its rustling wings, and left us all in +emotion and wonder. + +"Farewell to you!" said Beethoven, pushing back his chair, and turning +towards the door--"farewell to you!" + +"You will come again?" asked they in one breath. + +He paused and looked compassionately, almost tenderly, at the face of +the blind girl. + +"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly, "I will come again, and give the young +lady some lessons! Farewell! I will come again!" + +Their looks followed us in silence more eloquent than words till we were +out of sight. + +"Let us make haste back," said Beethoven, "that I may write out that +Sonata while I can yet remember it." + +We did so, and he sat over it till long past day dawn. And this was the +origin of the Moonlight Sonata with which we are all so fondly +acquainted. + +UNKNOWN + + + + +THE RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD + + + Black beneath as the night, + With wings of a morning glow, + From his sooty throat three syllables float, + Ravishing, liquid, low; + And 'tis oh, for the joy of June, + And the bliss that ne'er can flee + From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall-- + O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! + + Long ago as a child, + From the bough of a blossoming quince, + That melody came to thrill my frame, + And whenever I've caught it since, + The spring-soft blue of the sky + And the spring-bright bloom of the tree + Are a part of the strain--ah, hear it again!-- + O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! + + And the night is tenderly black, + The morning eagerly bright, + For that old, old spring is blossoming + In the soul and in the sight. + The red-winged blackbird brings + My lost youth back to me, + When I hear in the swale, from a gray fence rail, + O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! + +ETHELWYN WETHERALD + + + + +TO THE CUCKOO + + + Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! + Thou messenger of spring! + Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, + And woods thy welcome sing. + + What time the daisy decks the green, + Thy certain voice we hear. + Hast thou a star to guide thy path, + Or mark the rolling year? + + Delightful visitant! with thee + I hail the time of flowers, + And hear the sound of music sweet + From birds among the bowers. + + The school-boy, wandering through the wood + To pull the primrose gay, + Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, + And imitates thy lay. + + What time the pea puts on the bloom, + Thou fliest thy vocal vale, + An annual guest in other lands, + Another spring to hail. + + Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, + Thy sky is ever clear; + Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, + No winter in thy year! + + Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! + We'd make, with joyful wing, + Our annual visit o'er the globe, + Companions of the Spring. + +JOHN LOGAN + + + + +THE STORY OF A STONE + + +A great many years ago, when nearly the whole of Canada was covered with +water, and the Northern Ocean, which washed the highest crests of the +Alleghanies, made an island of the Laurentian Hills, and wrote its name +on the Pictured Rocks of Lake Superior, there lived somewhere near +Toronto, in the Province of Ontario, a little animal called a Polyp. He +was a curious creature, very small, not unlike a flower in appearance, a +plant-animal. + +One day, the sun shone down into the water and set this little fellow +free from the egg in which he was confined. For a time he floated about +near the bottom of the ocean, but at last settled down on a bit of +shell, and fastened himself to it. Then he made an opening in his upper +side, formed for himself a mouth and stomach, thrust out a whole row of +feelers, and began catching whatever morsels of food came in his way. He +had a great many strange ways, but the strangest of all was his +gathering little bits of limestone from the water and building them up +round him, as a person does who builds a well. + +But this little Favosite, for that was his name, became lonesome on the +bottom of that old ocean; so one night, when he was fast asleep and +dreaming as only a coral animal can dream, there sprouted out of his +side another little Favosite, who very soon began to wall himself up as +his parent had done. From these, other little Favosites were formed, +till at last there were so many of them, and they were so crowded +together, that, to economize the limestone they built with, they had to +make their cells six-sided, like those of a honey-comb: on this account +they are called Favosites. + +[Illustration] + +The colony thrived for a long time, and accumulated quite a stock of +limestone. But at last a change came: there was a great rush of muddy +water from the land, and all the Favosites died, leaving only a stony +skeleton to prove that industrious Polyps had ever existed there. + +This skeleton remained undisturbed for ages, until the earth began to +rise inch by inch out of the water. Then our Favosites' home rose above +the deep, and with it came all that was left of its old acquaintances +the Trilobites, who were the ancestors of our crabs and lobsters. + +[Illustration: Trilobite] + +Then the first fishes made their appearance, great fierce-looking +fellows like the gar pike of our lakes, but larger, and armed with +scales as hard as the armour of a crocodile. Next came the sharks, as +savage and voracious as they now are, with teeth like knives. But the +time of these old fishes and of many more animals came and went, and +still the home of the Favosites lay in the ground. + +Then came the long, hot, damp epoch, when thick mists hung over the +earth, and great ferns and rushes, as stout as an oak and as tall as a +steeple, grew in Nova Scotia, in Pennsylvania, and in other parts of +America where coal is now found. Huge reptiles, with enormous jaws and +teeth like cross-cut saws, and smaller ones with wings like bats, next +appeared and added to the strangeness of the scene. + +But the reptiles died; the ferns and the rush-trees fell into their +native swamps, and were covered up and packed away under great layers of +clay and sand brought down by the rivers, till at last they were turned +into coal, forming for us, what someone has called, beds of petrified +sunshine. But all this while the skeleton of the Favosites lay +undisturbed. + +Then the mists cleared away as gradually as they had come, the sun shone +out, the grass grew, and strange four-footed animals came and fed upon +it. Among these were odd-looking little horses no bigger than foxes; +great hairy monsters larger than elephants, with tremendous tusks; hogs +with snouts nearly as long as their bodies; and other strange creatures +that no man has ever seen alive. But still the house of the Favosites +remained where it was. + +Next came the great winter, and it continued to snow till the mountains +were hidden. Then the snow was packed into ice, and Canada became one +solid glacier. This ice age continued for many thousands of years. + +At last the ice began to melt, and the glacier came slowly down the +slopes, tearing up rocks, little and big, and crushing and grinding and +carrying away everything in its course. It ploughed its way across +Ontario, and the skeleton of our Favosites was rooted out from the quiet +place where it had lain so long, and was caught up in a crevice of the +ice. The glacier slid along, melting all the while, and covering the +land with clay, pebbles, and boulders. At last it stopped, and as it +gradually melted away, all the rocks and stones and dirt it had carried +with it thus far, were deposited into one great heap, and the home of +the Favosites along with them. + +Ages afterwards a farmer, near Toronto, when ploughing a field, picked +up a curious bit of "petrified honey-comb," and gave it to a geologist +to hear what he would say about it. And now you have read what he said. + +D. B. + + + + +THE SNOW-STORM + + + The sun that brief December day + Rose cheerless over hills of gray, + And, darkly circled, gave at noon + A sadder light than waning moon. + A chill no coat, however stout, + Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, + A hard, dull bitterness of cold, + That checked, mid-vein, the circling race + Of life-blood in the sharpened face, + The coming of the snow-storm told. + The wind blew east: we heard the roar + Of Ocean on his wintry shore, + And felt the strong pulse throbbing there + Beat with low rhythm our inland air. + + Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-- + Brought in the wood from out of doors, + Littered the stalls, and from the mows + Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows: + Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; + And, sharply clashing horn on horn, + Impatient down the stanchion rows + The cattle shake their walnut bows; + While, peering from his early perch + Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, + The cock his crested helmet bent + And down his querulous challenge sent. + + Unwarmed by any sunset light + The gray day darkened into night, + A night made hoary with the swarm + And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, + As zigzag wavering to and fro + Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: + And ere the early bed-time came + The white drift piled the window-frame, + And through the glass the clothes-line posts + Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. + + So all night long the storm roared on: + The morning broke without a sun; + And, when the second morning shone, + We looked upon a world unknown, + On nothing we could call our own. + Around the glistening wonder bent + The blue walls of the firmament, + No cloud above, no earth below,-- + A universe of sky and snow! + The old familiar sights of ours + Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers + Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, + Or garden wall, or belt of wood; + A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, + A fenceless drift what once was road; + The bridle-post an old man sat + With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; + The well-curb had a Chinese roof; + And even the long sweep, high aloof, + In its slant splendour, seemed to tell + Of Pisa's leaning miracle. + + A prompt, decisive man, no breath + Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" + Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy + Count such a summons less than joy?) + Our buskins on our feet we drew; + With mittened hands, and caps drawn low + To guard our necks and ears from snow, + We cut the solid whiteness through. + And, where the drift was deepest made + A tunnel walled and overlaid + With dazzling crystal: we had read + Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, + And to our own his name we gave, + With many a wish the luck were ours + To test his lamp's supernal powers. + We reached the barn with merry din, + And roused the prisoned brutes within. + + The old horse thrust his long head out, + And grave with wonder gazed about; + The cock his lusty greeting said, + And forth his speckled harem led; + The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, + And mild reproach of hunger looked; + The horned patriarch of the sheep, + Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, + Shook his sage head with gesture mute, + And emphasized with stamp of foot. + + All day the gusty north wind bore + The loosening drift its breath before; + Low circling round its southern zone, + The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. + +WHITTIER: "Snow-bound." + + + + +THE HEROINE OF VERCHERES + + +Vercheres was a fort on the south shore of the St. Lawrence, about +twenty miles below Montreal. A strong block-house stood outside the +fort, and was connected with it by a covered way. On the morning of the +twenty-second of October, (1692) the inhabitants were at work in the +fields, and nobody was left in the place but two soldiers, two boys, an +old man of eighty, and a number of women and children. The commandant +was on duty at Quebec; his wife was at Montreal; and their daughter, +Madeline, fourteen years of age, was at the landing-place not far from +the gate of the fort, with a man-servant. + +Suddenly she heard firing from the direction where the settlers were at +work, and an instant after the servant called out: "Run, miss!--run! +here come the Indians!" She turned and saw forty or fifty of them at the +distance of a pistol-shot. She ran to the fort as quickly as possible, +while the bullets whistled about her ears, and made the time seem very +long. As soon as she was near enough to be heard, she cried out: "To +arms!--to arms!" hoping that somebody would come out and help her; but +it was of no use. The two soldiers in the fort were so scared that they +had hidden in the block-house. + +When she had seen certain breaches in the palisade stopped, she went to +the block-house, where the ammunition was kept; and there she found the +two soldiers, one hiding in a corner, and the other with a lighted match +in his hand. + +"What are you going to do with that match?" she asked. He answered: +"Light the powder and blow us all up." "You are a miserable coward!" +said she. "Go out of this place." She then threw off her bonnet, put on +a hat, and taking a gun in her hand she said to her two brothers: "Let +us fight to the death. We are fighting for our country and our +religion." + +The boys, who were ten and twelve years old, aided by the soldiers, whom +her words had inspired with some little courage, began to fire from the +loop-holes on the Indians, who, ignorant of the weakness of the +garrison, showed their usual reluctance to attack a fortified place, and +occupied themselves with chasing and butchering the people in the +neighbouring fields. Madeline ordered a cannon to be fired, partly to +deter the enemy from an assault, and partly to warn some of the soldiers +who were hunting at a distance. + +A canoe was presently seen approaching the landing-place. In it was a +settler named Fontaine, trying to reach the fort with his family. The +Indians were still near; and Madeline feared that the new-comers would +be killed, if something were not done to aid them. Distrusting the +soldiers, she herself went alone to the landing-place. + +"I thought," she said, in her account of the affair, "that the savages +would suppose it to be a ruse to draw them towards the fort, in order +to make a sortie upon them. They did suppose so; and thus I was able to +save the Fontaine family. When they were all landed, I made them march +before me in full sight of the enemy. We put so bold a face on it, that +they thought they had more to fear than we. Strengthened by this +reinforcement, I ordered that the enemy should be fired on whenever they +showed themselves. + +"After sunset a violent north-east wind began to blow, accompanied with +snow and hail, which told us that we should have a terrible night. The +Indians were all this time lurking about us; and I judged by all their +movements that, instead of being deterred by the storm, they would climb +into the fort under cover of darkness." + +She then assembled her troops, who numbered six, all told, and spoke to +them encouraging words. With two old men she took charge of the fort, +and sent Fontaine and the two soldiers with the women and children to +the block-house. She placed her two brothers on two of the bastions, and +an old man on a third, while she herself took charge of the fourth. All +night, in spite of wind, snow, and hail, the cry of "All's well" was +kept up from the block-house to the fort, and from the fort to the +block-house. One would have supposed that the place was full of +soldiers. The Indians thought so, and were completely deceived, as they +afterwards confessed. + +At last the daylight came again; and as the darkness disappeared, the +anxieties of the little garrison seemed to disappear with it. Fontaine +said he would never abandon the place while Madeline remained in it. She +declared that she would never abandon it: she would rather die than give +it up to the enemy. + +She did not eat or sleep for twice twenty-four hours. She did not go +once into her father's house, but kept always on the bastion, except +when she went to the block-house to see how the people there were +behaving. She always kept a cheerful and smiling face, and encouraged +her little company with the hope of speedy succour. + +"We were a week in constant alarm," she continues, "with the enemy +always about us. At last a lieutenant, sent by the governor, arrived in +the night with forty men. As he did not know whether the fort was taken +or not, he approached as silently as possible. One of our sentinels, +hearing a slight sound, cried: 'Who goes there?' I was at the time +dozing, with my head on a table and my gun lying across my arms. The +sentinel told me that he heard voices from the river. I went at once to +the bastion to see whether they were Indians or Frenchmen who were +there. I asked: 'Who are you?' One of them answered: 'We are Frenchmen +come to bring you help.'" + +"I caused the gate to be opened, placed a sentinel there, and went down +to the river to meet them. As soon as I saw the lieutenant I saluted +him, and said: 'I surrender my arms to you.' He answered gallantly: +'They are in good hands, Miss.' He inspected the fort, and found +everything in order, and a sentinel on each bastion. 'It is time to +relieve them,' said I; 'we have not been off our bastions for a week.'" + +A band of converts from St. Louis arrived soon afterwards, followed the +trail of their heathen countrymen, overtook them on Lake Champlain, and +recovered twenty or more French prisoners. + +PARKMAN: "Frontenac and New France." +(Adapted) + + + + +JACQUES CARTIER + + + In the seaport of St. Malo, 'twas a smiling morn in May, + When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; + In the crowded old Cathedral, all the town were on their knees, + For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas; + And every autumn blast that swept o'er pinnacle and pier, + Filled manly hearts with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear. + + A year passed o'er St. Malo--again came round the day, + When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; + But no tidings from the absent had come the way they went, + And tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent; + And manly hearts were filled with gloom, and gentle hearts with fear, + When no tidings came from Cartier at the closing of the year. + + But the earth is as the Future, it hath its hidden side, + And the Captain of St. Malo was rejoicing in his pride; + In the forests of the North--while his townsmen mourned his loss-- + He was rearing on Mount Royal the _fleur-de-lis_ and cross; + And when two months were over, and added to the year, + St. Malo hailed him home again, cheer answering to cheer. + + He told them of a region, hard, iron-bound and cold, + Nor seas of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold; + Where the wind from Thule freezes the word upon the lip, + And the ice in spring comes sailing athwart the early ship; + He told them of the frozen scene, until they thrilled with fear, + And piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make them better cheer. + + But when he changed the strain,--he told how soon is cast + In early Spring, the fetters that hold the waters fast; + How the Winter causeway, broken, is drifted out to sea, + And the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free; + How the magic wand of Summer clad the landscape to his eyes, + Like the dry bones of the just when they wake in Paradise. + + He told them of the Algonquin braves--the hunters of the wild; + Of how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child; + Of how, poor souls, they fancy in every living thing + A spirit good or evil, that claims their worshipping; + Of how they brought their sick and maimed for him to breathe upon; + And of the wonders wrought for them, thro' the Gospel of St. John. + + He told them of the river, whose mighty current gave + Its freshness for a hundred leagues to ocean's briny wave; + He told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight, + What time he reared the cross and crown on Hochelaga's height; + And of the fortress cliff, that keeps of Canada the key;-- + And they welcomed back Jacques Cartier from perils over sea. + +THOMAS D'ARCY M'GEE + + + + +ANTS AND THEIR SLAVES + + +Peter Huber, the son of the noted observer of the ways and habits of +bees, was walking one day in a field near Geneva, Switzerland, when he +saw on the ground an army of reddish-coloured ants on the march. He +decided to follow them and to find out, if possible, the object of their +journey. + +On the sides of the column, as if to keep it in order, a few of the +insects sped to and fro. After marching for about a quarter of an hour, +the army halted before an ant-hill, the home of a colony of small, black +ants. These swarmed out to meet the red ones, and, to Huber's surprise, +a combat, short but fierce, took place at the foot of the hill. + +A small number of the blacks fought bravely to the last, but the rest +soon fled, panic-stricken, through the gates farthest from the +battle-field, carrying away some of their young. They seemed to know it +was the young ants that the invaders were seeking. The red warriors +quickly forced their way into the tiny city and returned, loaded with +children of the blacks. + +Carrying their living booty, the kidnappers left the pillaged town and +started toward their home, whither Huber followed them. Great was his +astonishment when, at the threshold of the red ants' dwelling, he saw +numbers of black ants come forward to receive the young captives and to +welcome them--children of their own race, doomed to be bond-servants in +a strange land. + +Here, then, was a miniature city, in which strong red ants lived in +peace with small black ones. But what was the province of the latter? +Huber soon discovered that, in fact, these did all the work. They alone +were able to build the houses in which both races lived; they alone +brought up the young red ants and the captives of their own species; +they alone gathered the supplies of food, and waited upon and fed their +big masters, who were glad to have their little waiters feed them so +attentively. + +The masters themselves had no occupation except that of war. When not +raiding some village of the blacks, the red soldiers did nothing but +wander lazily about. + +Huber wanted to learn what would be the result if the red ants found +themselves without servants. Would the big creatures know how to supply +their own needs? He put a few of the red insects in a glass case, having +some honey in a corner. They did not go near it. They did not know +enough to feed themselves. Some of them died of starvation, with food +before them. Then he put into the case one black ant. It went straight +to the honey, and with it fed its big, starving, silly masters. Here was +a wonder, truly! + +The little blacks exert in many things a moral force whose signs are +plainly visible. For example, those tiny wise creatures will not give +permission to any of the great red ones to go out alone. Nor are these +at liberty to go out even in a body, if their small helpers fear a +storm, or if the day is far advanced. When a raid proves fruitless, the +soldiers coming back without any living booty are forbidden by the +blacks to enter the city, and are ordered to attack some other village. + +Not wishing to rely entirely on his own conclusions, Huber asked one of +the great naturalists of Switzerland, Jurine, to decide whether or not +mistakes had been made regarding these customs of the ants. This +witness, and indeed others, found that Huber's reports were true. + +"Yet, after all," says Huber, "I still doubted. But on a later day I +again saw in the park of Fontainebleau, near Paris, the same workings of +ant life and wisdom. A well-known naturalist was with me then, and his +conclusions were the same as mine. + +"It was half-past four in the afternoon of a very warm day. From a pile +of stones there came forth a column of about five hundred reddish ants. +They marched rapidly toward a field of turf, order in their ranks being +kept by their sergeants. These watched the flanks, and would not permit +any to straggle. + +"Suddenly the army disappeared. There was no sign of an ant-hill in the +turf, but, after awhile, we detected a little hole. Through this the +ants had vanished. We supposed it was an entrance to their home. In a +minute they showed us that our supposition was incorrect. They issued in +a throng, nearly every one of them carrying a small black captive. + +"From the short time they had taken, it was plain that they knew the +place and the weakness of its citizens. Perhaps it was not the reds' +first attack on this city of the little blacks. These swarmed out in +great numbers; and, truly, I pitied them. They did not attempt to fight. +They seemed terror-stricken, and made no attempt to oppose the warrior +ants, except by clinging to them. One of the marauders was stopped thus, +but a comrade that was free relieved him of his burden, and thereupon +the black ant let go his grasp. + +"It was in fact a painful sight. The soldiers succeeded in carrying off +nearly five hundred children. About three feet from the entrance to the +ant-hill the plundered black parents ceased to follow the red robbers, +and resigned themselves to the loss of their young. The whole raid did +not occupy more than ten minutes. + +"The parties were, as we have seen, very unequal in strength, and the +attack was clearly an outrage--an outrage no doubt often repeated. The +big red ants, knowing their power, played the part of tyrants; and, +whenever they wanted more slaves, despoiled the small weak blacks of +their greatest treasures--their children." + +MICHELET + + + + +LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT + + + Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom, + Lead Thou me on; + The night is dark, and I am far from home, + Lead Thou me on. + Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see + The distant scene; one step enough for me. + + I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou + Shouldst lead me on; + I loved to choose and see my path; but now + Lead Thou me on. + I loved the garish day; and, spite of fears, + Pride ruled my will: remember not past years. + + So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still + Will lead me on + O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till + The night is gone, + And with the morn those angel faces smile, + Which I have loved long since, and lost a while. + +NEWMAN + + + + +THE JOLLY SANDBOYS + + +The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn with a sign, representing +three Sandboys, creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite side +of the road. As the travellers had observed many indications of their +drawing nearer to the race town, such as gypsy camps, showmen of various +kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree, Mr. Codlin was fearful +of finding the accommodation forestalled; but had the gratification of +finding that his fears were without foundation, for the landlord was +leaning against the door-post, looking lazily at the rain which had +begun to descend heavily. + +"Make haste in out of the wet, Tom," said the landlord; "when it came on +to rain I told 'em to make the fire up, and there's a glorious blaze in +the kitchen, I can tell you." + +Mr. Codlin followed with a willing mind. A mighty fire was blazing on +the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound, which +a large iron cauldron, bubbling and simmering in the heat, lent its +pleasant aid to swell. There was a deep red ruddy blush upon the room, +and when the landlord stirred the fire, sending the flame skipping and +leaping up--when he took off the lid of the iron pot and there rushed +out a savoury smell, while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich, +and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in a delicious mist +above their heads--when he did this, Mr. Codlin's heart was touched. + +He sat down in the chimney-corner and smiled. + +Mr. Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord as +with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and feigning that his +doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered the +delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The glow of the +fire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his twinkling eye, and +upon his watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round +fat figure. Mr. Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, and said in a +murmuring voice: "What is it?" + +"It's a stew of tripe," said the landlord, smacking his lips, "and +cow-heel," smacking them again, "and bacon," smacking them once more, +"and steak," smacking them for the fourth time, "and peas, cauliflowers, +new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together in one +delicious gravy." Having come to the climax, he smacked his lips a great +many times, and taking a long, hearty sniff of the fragrance that was +hovering about, put on the cover again with the air of one whose toils +on earth were over. + +"At what time will it be ready?" asked Mr. Codlin, faintly. + +"It'll be done to a turn," said the landlord looking up to the +clock--and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face, and looked +a clock for Jolly Sandboys to consult--"it'll be done to a turn at +twenty-two minutes before eleven." + +Mr. Codlin now bethought him of his companions, and acquainted mine host +of the Sandboys that his partner Short, Nell and her grandfather might +shortly be looked for. At length they arrived drenched with rain and +presenting a most miserable appearance. But their steps were no sooner +heard upon the road than the landlord, who had been at the outer door +anxiously watching for their coming, rushed into the kitchen and took +the cover off. The effect was electrical. They all came in with smiling +faces though the wet was dripping from their clothes upon the floor, and +Short's first remark was: "What a delicious smell!" + +It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of a +cheerful fire, and in a bright room. They were furnished with slippers +and such dry garments as the house or their own bundles afforded, and +seating themselves, as Mr. Codlin had already done, in the warm +chimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles or only remembered them +as enhancing the delights of the present time. + +Strange footsteps were now heard without, and fresh company entered. +These were no other than four very dismal dogs, who came pattering in +one after the other, headed by an old bandy dog of particularly mournful +aspect, who, stopping when the last of his followers had got as far as +the door, erected himself upon his hind legs and looked round at his +companions, who immediately stood upon their hind legs, in a grave and +melancholy row. Nor was this the only remarkable circumstance about +these dogs, for each of them wore a kind of little coat of some gaudy +colour trimmed with tarnished spangles, and one of them had a cap upon +his head, tied very carefully under his chin, which had fallen down upon +his nose and completely obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudy +coats were all wet through and discoloured with rain, and that the +wearers were splashed and dirty, and some idea may be formed of the +unusual appearance of these new visitors to the Jolly Sandboys. + +Neither Short nor the landlord nor Thomas Codlin, however, was in the +least surprised, merely remarking that these were Jerry's dogs, and that +Jerry could not be far behind. So there the dogs stood, patiently +winking and gaping and looking extremely hard at the boiling pot, until +Jerry himself appeared, when they all dropped down at once, and walked +about the room in their natural manner. This posture, it must be +confessed, did not much improve their appearance, as their own personal +tails and their coat tails--both capital things in their way--did not +agree together. + +Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall black-whiskered man +in a velveteen coat, who seemed well known to the landlord and his +guests and accosted them with great cordiality. Disencumbering himself +of a barrel organ which he placed upon a chair, and retaining in his +hand a small whip wherewith to awe his company of comedians, he came up +to the fire to dry himself, and entered into conversation. + +"Your people don't usually travel in character, do they?" said Short, +pointing to the dresses of the dogs. "It must come expensive, if they +do." + +"No," replied Jerry, "no, it's not the custom with us. But we've been +playing a little on the road to-day, and we come out with a new wardrobe +at the races, so I didn't think it worth while to stop to undress. Down, +Pedro!" + +This was addressed to the dog with the cap on, who, being a new member +of the company, and not quite certain of his duty, kept his unobscured +eye anxiously on his master, and was perpetually starting up on his hind +legs when there was no occasion, and falling down again. + +The landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth, in which process +Mr. Codlin obligingly assisted by setting forth his own knife and fork +in the most convenient place and establishing himself behind them. When +everything was ready, the landlord took off the cover for the last time, +and then, indeed, there burst forth such a goodly promise of supper, +that if he had offered to put it on again or had hinted at postponement, +he would certainly have been sacrificed on his own hearth. + +However, he did nothing of the kind, but instead assisted a stout +servant girl in turning the contents of the cauldron into a large +tureen; a proceeding which the dogs, proof against various hot splashes +which fell upon their noses, watched with terrible eagerness. At length +the dish was lifted on the table, and mugs of ale having been previously +set round, little Nell ventured to say grace, and supper began. + +At this juncture the poor dogs were standing on their hind legs quite +surprisingly; the child, having pity on them, was about to cast some +morsels of food to them before she tasted it herself, hungry though she +was, when their master interposed. + +"No, my dear, no, not an atom from anybody's hand but mine if you +please. That dog," said Jerry, pointing out the old leader of the troop, +and speaking in a terrible voice, "lost a halfpenny to-day. _He_ goes +without his supper." + +The unfortunate creature dropped upon his forelegs directly, wagged his +tail, and looked imploringly at his master. + +"You must be more careful, sir," said Jerry, walking coolly to the chair +where he had placed the organ, and setting the stop. "Come here. Now, +sir, you play away at that, while we have supper, and leave off if you +dare." + +The dog immediately began to grind most mournful music. His master, +having shown him the whip, resumed his seat and called up the others, +who, at his directions, formed in a row, standing upright as a file of +soldiers. + +"Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at them attentively: "The dog +whose name's called, eats. The dogs whose names an't called, keep quiet. +Carlo." + +The lucky individual whose name was called, snapped up the morsel thrown +towards him, but none of the others moved a muscle. In this manner they +were fed at the discretion of their master. Meanwhile the dog in +disgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes in quick time, sometimes in +slow, but never leaving off for an instant. When the knives and forks +rattled very much, or any of his fellows got an unusually large piece of +fat, he accompanied the music with a short howl, but he immediately +checked it on his master looking round, and applied himself with +increased diligence to the Old Hundredth. + +DICKENS: "Old Curiosity Shop." + + + + + So, when a great man dies, + For years beyond our ken, + The light he leaves behind him lies + Upon the paths of men. + +LONGFELLOW + + + + +THE GLADNESS OF NATURE + + + Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, + When our mother Nature laughs around; + When even the deep blue heavens look glad, + And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? + + There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, + And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; + The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, + And the wilding bee hums merrily by. + + The clouds are at play in the azure space, + And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, + And here they stretch to the frolic chase, + And there they roll on the easy gale. + + There's a dance of leaves on that aspen bower, + There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, + There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, + And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. + + And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles + On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, + On the leaping waters and gay young isles; + Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. + +BRYANT + + + + +OLD ENGLISH LIFE + + +When the sun rose on England of olden time, its faint red light stirred +every sleeper from the sack of straw, which formed the only bed of the +age. Springing from this rustling couch, where he had lain naked, and +throwing off the coarse coverlets, usually of sheepskin, the subject of +King Alfred donned the day's dress. Gentlemen wore linen or woollen +tunics, which reached to the knee; and, over these, long fur-lined +cloaks, fastened with a brooch of ivory or gold. Strips of cloth or +leather, bandaged crosswise from the ankle to the knee over red and blue +stockings; and black, pointed shoes, slit along the instep almost to the +toes and fastened with two thongs, completed the costume of an +Anglo-Saxon gentleman. The ladies, wrapping a veil of linen or silk upon +their delicate curls, laced a loose-flowing gown over a tight-sleeved +bodice, and pinned the graceful folds of their mantles with golden +butterflies and other tasteful trinkets. + +Breakfast consisted probably of bread, meat, and ale, but was a lighter +repast than that taken when the hurry of the day lay behind. Often it +was eaten in the bower or private apartment. + +The central picture in Old English life--the great event of the day--was +_Noon-meat_, or dinner in the great hall. A little before three, the +chief and all his household, with any stray guests who might have +dropped in, met in the hall, which stood in the centre of its encircling +bowers--the principal apartment of every Old English house. Clouds of +wood smoke, rolling up from a fire which blazed in the middle of the +floor, blackened the carved rafters of the arched roof before they found +their way out of the hole above which did duty as a chimney. + +Tapestries, dyed purple, or glowing with variegated pictures of saints +and heroes, hung, and if the day was stormy, flapped upon the chinky +walls. In palaces and in earls' mansions coloured tiles, wrought into a +mosaic, formed a clean and pretty pavement; but the common flooring of +the time was clay, baked dry with the heat of winter evenings and summer +noons. The only articles of furniture always in the hall were wooden +benches; some of which, especially the _high settle_ or seat of the +chieftain, boasted cushions, or at least a rug. + +While the hungry crowd, fresh from woodland and furrow, were lounging +near the fire or hanging up their weapons on the pegs and hooks that +jutted from the wall, a number of slaves, dragging in a long, flat, +heavy board, placed it on movable legs, and spread on its upper half a +handsome cloth. Then were arranged with other utensils for the meal some +flattish dishes, baskets of ash-wood for holding bread, a scanty +sprinkling of steel knives shaped like our modern razors, platters of +wood, and bowls for the universal broth. + +The ceremony of "laying the board," as the Old English phrased it, being +completed, the work of demolition began. Great round cakes of +bread--huge junks of boiled bacon--vast rolls of broiled eel--cups of +milk--horns of ale--wedges of cheese--lumps of salt butter--and smoking +piles of cabbages and beans, melted like magic from the board under the +united attack of greasy fingers and grinding jaws. Kneeling slaves +offered to the lord and his honoured guests long skewers or spits, on +which steaks of beef or venison smoked and sputtered, ready for the +hacking blade. + +Poultry, too, and game of every variety, filled the spaces of the upper +board; but the crowd of _loaf-eaters_, as old English domestics were +suggestively called, saw little of these daintier kinds of food, except +the naked bones. Nor did they much care, if, to their innumerable +hunches of bread, they could add enough pig to appease their hunger. +Hounds, sitting eager-eyed by their masters, snapped with sudden jaws at +scraps of fat flung to them, or retired into private life below the +board with some sweet bone that fortune sent them. + +The solid part of the banquet ended with the washing of hands, performed +for the honoured occupants of the high settle by officious slaves. The +board was then dragged out of the hall; the loaf-eaters slunk away to +have a nap in the byre, or sat drowsily in corners of the hall; and the +drinking began. During the progress of the meal, Welsh ale had flowed +freely in horns or vessels of twisted glass. Mead and, in very grand +houses, wine now began to circle in goblets of gold and silver, or of +wood inlaid with those precious metals. In humbler houses, story-telling +and songs, sung to the music of the harp by each guest in turn, formed +the principal amusement of the drinking-bout. + +Meantime the music and the mead did their work in maddening brains; the +revelry grew louder; riddles, which had flown thick around the board at +first, gave place to banter, taunts, and fierce boasts of prowess; angry +eyes gleamed defiance; and it was well if, in the morning, the household +slaves had not to wash blood-stains from the pavement of the hall, or in +the still night, when the drunken brawlers lay stupid on the floor, to +drag a dead man from the red plash in which he lay. + +From the reek and riot of the hall the ladies of the household soon +withdrew to the bower, where they reigned supreme. There, in the earlier +part of the day, they had arrayed themselves in their bright-coloured +robes, plying tweezers and crisping-irons on their yellow hair, and +often heightening the blush that Nature gave them with a shade of rouge. +There, too, they used to scold their female slaves, and beat them, with +a violence which said more for their strength of lung and muscle than +for the gentleness of their womanhood. + +When their needles were fairly set a-going upon those pieces of delicate +embroidery, known and prized over all Europe as "English work," some +gentlemen dropped in, perhaps harp in hand, to chat and play for their +amusement, or to engage in games of hazard and skill, which seem to have +resembled modern dice and chess. When in later days supper came into +fashion, the round table of the bower was usually spread for +_Evening-food_, as this meal was called. And not long afterwards, those +bags of straw, from which they sprang at sunrise, received for another +night their human burden, worn out with the labours and the revels of +the day. + +W. F. COLLIER +(Adapted) + + + + +PUCK'S SONG + + + See you the dimpled track that runs, + All hollow through the wheat? + O that was where they hauled the guns + That smote King Philip's fleet. + + See you our little mill that clacks, + So busy by the brook? + She has ground her corn and paid her tax + Ever since Domesday Book. + + See you our stilly woods of oak, + And the dread ditch beside? + O that was where the Saxons broke, + On the day that Harold died. + + See you the windy levels spread + About the gates of Rye? + O that was where the Northmen fled, + When Alfred's ships came by. + + See you our pastures wide and lone, + Where the red oxen browse? + O there was a City thronged and known, + Ere London boasted a house. + + And see you, after rain, the trace + Of mound and ditch and wall? + O that was a Legion's camping-place, + When Caesar sailed from Gaul. + + And see you marks that show and fade, + Like shadows on the Downs? + O they are the lines the Flint Men made + To guard their wondrous towns. + + Trackway and Camp and City lost, + Salt Marsh where now is corn; + Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease, + And so was England born! + + She is not any common Earth, + Water or wood or air, + But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye, + Where you and I will fare. + +KIPLING: "Puck of Pook's Hill." + + + + +THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS + + +The thirteenth of October, 1812, is a day ever to be remembered in +Canada. All along the Niagara river the greatest excitement had +prevailed: many of the inhabitants had removed with their portable +property into the back country; small bodies of soldiers, regulars and +volunteers, were posted in the towns and villages; Indians were roving +in the adjacent woods; and sentinels, posted along the banks of the +river, were looking eagerly for the enemy that was to come from the +American shore and attempt the subjugation of a free, a happy, and a +loyal people. + +In the village of Queenston, that nestles at the foot of an eminence +overlooking the mighty waters of Niagara, two companies of the +Forty-ninth Regiment, or "Green Tigers," as the Americans afterwards +termed them, with one hundred Canadian militia, were posted under the +command of Captain Dennis. + +When tattoo sounded on the night of the twelfth, the little garrison +retired to rest. All was silent but the elements, which raged furiously +throughout the night. Nothing was to be heard but the howling of the +wind and the sound of falling rain mingled with the distant roar of the +great cataract. Dripping with rain and shivering with cold, the sentries +paced their weary rounds, from time to time casting a glance over the +swollen tide of the river towards the American shore. At length, when +the gray dawn of morning appeared, a wary sentinel descried a number of +boats, filled with armed men, pushing off from the opposite bank below +the village of Lewiston. Immediately the alarm was given. The soldiers +were roused from their peaceful slumbers, and marched down to the +landing-place. Meanwhile, a battery of one gun, posted on the heights, +and another about a mile below, began to play on the enemy's boats, +sinking some and disabling others. + +Finding it impossible to effect a landing in the face of such +opposition, the Americans, leaving a few of their number to occupy the +attention of the troops on the bank, disembarked some distance up the +river, and succeeded in gaining the summit of the height by a difficult +and unprotected pathway. With loud cheers they captured the one-gun +battery, and rushed down upon Captain Dennis and his command; who, +finding themselves far outnumbered by the enemy, retired slowly towards +the north end of the village. Here they were met by General Brock, who +had set out in advance of reinforcements from the town of Niagara, +accompanied only by two officers. Placing himself at the head of the +little band, the gallant general cried: "Follow me!" and, amid the +cheers of regulars and militia, he led his men back to the height from +which they had been forced to retire. At the foot of the hill the +general dismounted, under the sharp fire of the enemy's riflemen, who +were posted among the trees on its summit, climbed over a high stone +wall, and waving his sword, charged up the hill at the head of his +soldiers. This intrepid conduct at once attracted the notice of the +enemy. One of their sharp-shooters advanced a few paces, took deliberate +aim, and shot the general in the breast. It was a mortal wound. Thus +fell Sir Isaac Brock, the hero of Upper Canada, whose name will outlive +the noble monument which a grateful country has erected to his memory. + +The fall of their beloved commander infuriated his followers. With loud +cheers of "Revenge the general!" they pressed forward up the hill, and +drove the enemy from their position. But reinforcements were continually +pouring in from the American shore; and after a deadly struggle, in +which Colonel Macdonell, Captain Dennis, and most of the other officers +fell, these brave men were again compelled to retire. They took refuge +under the guns of the lower battery, there awaiting the arrival of +reinforcements from Niagara. About mid-day the first of these arrived, +consisting of a band of fifty Mohawks, under their chiefs, Norton and +Brant. These Indian allies boldly engaged the enemy, and maintained for +a short time a sharp skirmish, but finally retired on the main +reinforcement. This arrived in the course of the afternoon, under the +command of Major-General Sheaffe. Instead of meeting the enemy on the +old ground, the officer now in command moved his whole force of one +thousand men to the right of the enemy's position, and sent forward his +left flank to attack the American right. This left flank was of a very +varied character, consisting of one company of the Forty-first Regiment +of the line, a company of coloured men, and a body of volunteer militia +and Indians, united, in spite of their difference of colour and race, by +loyalty to the British crown and heart-hatred of foreign aggression. +This division advanced in gallant style. After delivering a volley, the +whole line of white, red, and black charged the enemy, and drove in his +right wing at the point of the bayonet. + +General Sheaffe now led on the main body, and forced the lately +victorious Americans to retreat rapidly over the ridge. The struggle on +their part was of short duration. In front was a foe thirsting for +revenge; behind, the steep banks and swiftly-flowing waters of Niagara. +The "Green Tigers," the Indians, their most despised slaves, and last, +but certainly not least, the gallant Canadian militia, were objects of +terror to them. Some few in despair threw themselves over the precipices +into the river; but the majority of the survivors surrendered themselves +prisoners of war, to the number of nine hundred and fifty, among whom +was their commander, General Wadsworth. The leader of the expedition, +General Van Rensselaer, had retired to Lewiston--as he said, for +reinforcements--in the early part of the day. The loss of the Americans +in this memorable action was about five hundred killed and wounded; +while that of the Canadian forces amounted to one hundred and fifty. + +Throughout Canada the news of the victory of Queenston Heights awakened +universal joy and enthusiasm, second only to that with which the taking +of Detroit was hailed. But the joy and enthusiasm were damped by the sad +tidings, that he who had first taught Canada's sons the way to victory +had given his life for her defence, and slept in a soldier's grave with +many of her best and bravest. + +UNKNOWN + + + + +THE BUGLE SONG + + + The splendour falls on castle walls + And snowy summits old in story: + The long light shakes across the lakes, + And the wild cataract leaps in glory. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far from cliff and scar + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! + Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O love, they die in yon rich sky, + They faint on hill or field or river: + Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And grow for ever and for ever. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. + +TENNYSON + + + + +CHARITY + + +Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not +charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though +I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all +knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove +mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all +my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and +have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. + +Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity +vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, +seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth +not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, +believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity +never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether +there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall +vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that +which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. + +When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I +thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. +For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I +know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now +abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is +charity. + +I. CORINTHIANS, XIII. + + + + +A CHRISTMAS CAROL + + + "What means this glory round our feet," + The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?" + And voices chanted clear and sweet, + "To-day the Prince of Peace is born." + + "What means that star," the Shepherds said, + "That brightens through the rocky glen?" + And angels, answering overhead, + Sang, "Peace on earth, good-will to men!" + + 'Tis eighteen hundred years and more + Since those sweet oracles were dumb; + We wait for Him, like them of yore; + Alas, He seems so slow to come! + + But it was said, in words of gold + No time or sorrow e'er shall dim, + That little children might be bold + In perfect trust to come to Him. + + All round about our feet shall shine + A light like that the wise men saw, + If we our living wills incline + To that sweet Life which is the Law. + + So shall we learn to understand + The simple faith of shepherds then, + And, clasping kindly, hand in hand, + Sing, "Peace on earth, good-will to men." + + And they who do their souls no wrong, + But keep at eve the faith of morn, + Shall daily hear the angel song, + "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!" + +LOWELL + + + + +THE BARREN LANDS + + +Long before the treeless wastes are reached, the forests cease to be +forests except by courtesy. The trees--black and white spruce, the +Canadian larch, and the gray pine, willow, alder, etc.--have an +appearance of youth; so that the traveller would hardly suppose them to +be more than a few years old, at first sight. Really this juvenile +appearance is a species of second childhood; for, on the shores of the +Great Bear Lake, four centuries are necessary for the growth of a trunk +not as thick as a man's wrist. The further north the more lamentably +decrepit becomes the appearance of these woodlands, until, presently, +their sordidness is veiled by thick growths of gray lichens--the +"caribou moss," as it is called--which clothe the trunks and hang down +from the shrivelled boughs. And still further north the trees become +mere stunted stems, set with blighted buds that have never been able to +develop themselves into branches; until, finally, the last vestiges of +arboreal growth take refuge under a thick carpet of lichens and mosses, +the characteristic vegetation of the Barren Grounds. + +Nothing more dismal than the winter aspect of these wastes can be +imagined. The Northern forests are silent enough in winter time, but the +silence of the Barren Grounds is far more profound. Even in the depths +of midwinter the North-Western bush has voices and is full of animal +life. The barking cry of the crows (these birds are the greatest +imaginable nuisance to the trapper, whose baits they steal even before +his back is turned) is still heard; the snow-birds and other small +winged creatures are never quiet between sunset and sunrise; the +jack-rabbit, whose black bead-like eye betrays his presence among the +snow-drifts in spite of his snow-white fur, is common enough; and the +childlike wailing of the coyotes is heard every night. But with the +exception of the shriek of the snow-owl or the yelping of a fox emerged +from his lair, there is no sound of life during seven or eight or nine +months of winter on the Barren Grounds; unless the traveller is able to +hear the rushing sound--some can hear it, others cannot--of the shifting +Northern lights. + +In May, however, when the snows melt and the swamps begin to thaw, the +Barren Grounds become full of life. To begin with, the sky is literally +darkened with enormous flights of wild-fowl, whom instinct brings from +the southern reaches of the Mississippi and its tributaries to these +sub-Arctic wildernesses, where they find an abundance of food, and at +the same time build their nests and rear their young in safety. The +snow-geese are the first to arrive; next come the common and eider-duck; +after them the great northern black-and-red-throated divers; and last of +all the pin-tail and the long-tail ducks. Some of these go no further +than just beyond the outskirts of the forest region; others, flying +further northward, lay their eggs in the open on the moss. Eagles and +hawks prey on these migratory hosts; troops of ptarmigan (they are said +to go to no place where the mercury does not freeze) seek food among the +stunted willows on the shores of the lakes and sloughs; and in sunny +weather the snow-bunting's song is heard. + +Soon after the arrival of the migratory birds the wilderness becomes +newly clothed in green and gray. The snow, which never once thaws during +the long winter, forms a safe protection for vegetable life. + +As soon as the lengthening summer's day has thawed this coverlet of +snows, vegetation comes on at a surprising rate--a week's sunshine on +the wet soil completely transforming the aspect of the country. It is +then that the caribou leave their winter quarters in the forest region +and journey to the Barren Grounds. + +Just as the prairies might have been called "Buffalo-land" thirty years +ago, and the intervening enforested country may still be styled +"Moose-land"--not that the moose is nearly so common in Saskatchewan and +Athabaska as it was before the rebellion of 1885 opened up that +country--so from the hunter's point of view "Caribou-land" would be an +exceedingly apt name for the _tundra_ of Greater Canada. Only the +Indians and the Eskimos (the former living on the confines of the +forests, and the latter along the far Arctic coasts) visit these +territories, and but for the presence of the vast herds of caribou, it +is pretty certain that such mosquito-haunted wastes would never be +trodden by man. It is true that the musk-ox is an important inhabitant +of the wastes, but the numbers of that strange beast, which seems to be +half sheep, half ox, are not nearly so great, and there are reasons to +believe that it is being slowly but surely driven from its ancient +pastures by the caribou, just as, in so many parts of the world, the +nations of the antelope have receded before the deer-tribes. + +E. B. OSBORN: "Greater Canada." + + + + +A SPRING MORNING + + + There was a roaring in the wind all night; + The rain came heavily and fell in floods: + But now the sun is rising calm and bright, + The birds are singing in the distant woods, + Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods, + The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters, + And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. + + All things that love the sun are out of doors, + The sky rejoices in the morning's birth, + The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors + The hare is running races in her mirth; + And with her feet, she from the plashy earth + Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, + Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. + +WORDSWORTH + + + + +For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers +appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the +voice of the turtle is heard in our land. + +SOLOMON'S SONG. II, 11, 12 + + + + +CROSSING THE BAR + + + Sunset and evening star, + And one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar, + When I put out to sea, + + But such a tide as moving seems asleep, + Too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep + Turns again home. + + Twilight and evening bell, + And after that the dark! + And may there be no sadness of farewell, + When I embark; + + For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place + The flood may bear me far, + I hope to see my Pilot face to face + When I have crost the bar. + +TENNYSON + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ontario Readers, by +Ontario Ministry of Education + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONTARIO READERS *** + +***** This file should be named 18561.txt or 18561.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/5/6/18561/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Karina Aleksandrova and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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