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diff --git a/old/51975-0.txt b/old/51975-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ad1598d..0000000 --- a/old/51975-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12232 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fourth Reader, by Various - -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/license - - -Title: Fourth Reader - The Alexandra Readers - -Author: Various - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51975] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOURTH READER *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - [Illustration: VICTORIA - - LATE QUEEN OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND] - - - - - THE ALEXANDRA READERS - - FOURTH READER - - BY - - W. A. McINTYRE, B.A., LL.D. - - PRINCIPAL, NORMAL SCHOOL, WINNIPEG - - JOHN DEARNESS, M.A. - - VICE-PRINCIPAL, NORMAL SCHOOL, LONDON - - AND - - JOHN C. SAUL, M.A. - - AUTHORIZED BY THE DEPARTMENTS OF EDUCATION - FOR USE IN THE SCHOOLS OF ALBERTA - AND SASKATCHEWAN - - PRICE 50 CENTS - - TORONTO - MORANG EDUCATIONAL COMPANY LIMITED - 1908 - - COPYRIGHT BY - MORANG EDUCATIONAL COMPANY LIMITED - 1908 - - COPYRIGHT IN GREAT BRITAIN - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -_Dominion Hymn_ _The Duke of Argyle_ 9 - -The Moonlight Sonata _Anonymous_ 10 - -_The Flight of the Birds_ _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 15 - -_The Minstrel Boy_ _Thomas Moore_ 16 - -The Good Saxon King _Charles Dickens_ 16 - -_A Song_ _James Whitcomb Riley_ 21 - -_Better than Gold_ _Mrs. J. M. Winton_ 22 - -The Tiger, the Brahman, and the Jackal _Joseph Jacobs_ 23 - -_A Canadian Boat-song_ _Thomas Moore_ 28 - -_The Song Sparrow_ _Henry van Dyke_ 29 - -The Child of Urbino _Louise de la Ramée_ 31 - -_Destruction of Sennacherib’s Army_ _Lord Byron_ 40 - -_The Arrow and - the Song_ _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 41 - -The Battle of the Ants _Henry David Thoreau_ 42 - -_The Curate and the Mulberry Tree_ _Thomas Love Peacock_ 45 - -_Miriam’s Song_ _Thomas Moore_ 46 - -_The Meeting of the Waters_ _Thomas Moore_ 47 - -The Battle of Balaklava _William Howard Russell_ 48 - -_True Worth_ _Ben Jonson_ 51 - -_Love of Country_ _Sir Walter Scott_ 52 - -_Home and Country_ _James Montgomery_ 52 - -_The Fatherland_ _James Russell Lowell_ 54 - -The Oak Tree and the Ivy _Eugene Field_ 55 - -_Harvest Song_ _James Montgomery_ 60 - -_Harvest Time_ _E. Pauline Johnson_ 61 - -Hare-and-Hounds at Rugby _Thomas Hughes_ 62 - -_An Adjudged Case_ _William Cowper_ 69 - -_Indian Summer_ _Susannah Moodie_ 71 - -A Winter Journey _Alexander Henry_ 73 - -_The Inchcape Rock_ _Robert Southey_ 78 - -The Bird of the Morning _Olive Thorne Miller_ 81 - -_The Four-leaved Shamrock_ _Samuel Lover_ 84 - -_King Hacon’s Last Battle_ _Lord Dufferin_ 86 - -Mr. Pickwick on the Ice _Charles Dickens_ 88 - -_Dickens in Camp_ _Francis Bret Harte_ 98 - -_Home they brought her Warrior_ _Lord Tennyson_ 100 - -The Locksmith of the Golden Key _Charles Dickens_ 101 - -_Tubal Cain_ _Charles Mackay_ 103 - -_The Bugle Song_ _Lord Tennyson_ 105 - -Leif Ericsson _John Preston True_ 106 - -_The Loss of the_ Birkenhead _Sir Francis Hastings Doyle_ 113 - -_The Burial of Sir John Moore_ _Charles Wolfe_ 115 - -The Second Voyage of Sinbad _Arabian Nights’ Entertainment_ 116 - -_The Daffodils_ _William Wordsworth_ 122 - -_The Harp that once thro’ Tara’s Halls_ _Thomas Moore_ 123 - -The Heroine of Verchères _Francis Parkman_ 123 - -_The Slave’s Dream_ _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 128 - -_The Song of the Camp_ _Bayard Taylor_ 130 - -An Uncomfortable Bed _Charles Kingsley_ 132 - -_Chinook_ _Ezra Hurlburt Stafford_ 138 - -_The Ivy Green_ _Charles Dickens_ 139 - -The Relief of Lucknow _From a Letter_ 140 - -_The Charge of the Light Brigade_ _Lord Tennyson_ 143 - -_Haste not, Rest not_ _Johann Wolfgang Goethe_ 146 - -Doubting Castle _John Bunyan_ 147 - -_The Daisy_ _James Montgomery_ 153 - -_Lead, Kindly Light_ _John Henry Newman_ 155 - -Escape from a Panther _James Fenimore Cooper_ 156 - -_Hunting Song_ _Sir Walter Scott_ 162 - -_The Landing of the Pilgrims_ _Felicia Dorothea Hemans_ 163 - -An Eskimo Hut _Isaac Hayes_ 166 - -_Young Lochinvar_ _Sir Walter Scott_ 170 - -_The Song my Paddle Sings_ _E. Pauline Johnson_ 172 - -The First Years of the Red River Settlement _Alexander Ross_ 174 - -_The Red River Voyageur_ _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 178 - -_Seven Times Four_ _Jean Ingelow_ 180 - -The Lark at the Diggings _Charles Reade_ 181 - -_The Phantom Light of the - Baie des Chaleurs_ _Arthur Wentworth Eaton_ 185 - -The Beatitudes _From the Sermon on the Mount_ 187 - -Maggie Tulliver and the Gypsies _George Eliot_ 188 - -_Lady Clare_ _Lord Tennyson_ 199 - -Don Quixote and the Lion _Miguel de Cervantes_ 203 - -_The Battle of Blenheim_ _Robert Southey_ 208 - -A Huron Mission House _Francis Parkman_ 211 - -_The Burial of Moses_ _Cecil Frances Alexander_ 213 - -The Cruise of the Coracle _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 216 - -_The Sea_ _Bryan Waller Procter_ 223 - -_The Wind’s Word_ _Archibald Lampman_ 225 - -Gulliver among the Giants _Jonathan Swift_ 226 - -_To a Water-fowl_ _William Cullen Bryant_ 229 - -_’Tis the Last Rose of Summer_ _Thomas Moore_ 231 - -The Archery Contest _Sir Walter Scott_ 232 - -_The Plains of Abraham_ _Charles Sangster_ 241 - -_The Graves of a Household_ _Felicia Dorothea Hemans_ 243 - -The Miraculous Pitcher _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 244 - -_The Unnamed Lake_ _Frederick George Scott_ 253 - -_The Hunter of the Prairies_ _William Cullen Bryant_ 255 - -Moses goes to the Fair _Oliver Goldsmith_ 257 - -_Columbus_ _Joaquin Miller_ 262 - -_Opportunity_ _Edward Rowland Sill_ 264 - -_To-day_ _Thomas Carlyle_ 265 - -An Eruption of Vesuvius _Anonymous_ 266 - -_The Sermon of St. Francis_ _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 269 - -_The Greenwood Tree_ _William Shakespeare_ 271 - -_Incident of the French Camp_ _Robert Browning_ 272 - -Robinson Crusoe _Daniel Defoe_ 273 - -_The Wonderful One-hoss Shay_ _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 280 - -William Tell and his Son _Chambers’ Tracts_ 285 - -_Saint Christopher_ _Helen Hunt Jackson_ 287 - -_General Brock_ _Charles Sangster_ 292 - -An Iceberg _Richard Henry Dana_ 293 - -_A Legend of Bregenz_ _Adelaide Anne Procter_ 295 - -Gluck’s Visitor _John Ruskin_ 300 - -_Jacques Cartier_ _Thomas D’Arcy McGee_ 313 - -_Bless the Lord, O my Soul_ _From the Book of Psalms_ 315 - -The Heroes of the Long Sault _Francis Parkman_ 317 - -_The Marseillaise_ _Rouget De Lisle_ 325 - -_The Watch on the Rhine_ _Max Schneckenburger_ 327 - -_Scots, Wha Hae Wi’ Wallace Bled_ _Robert Burns_ 329 - -The Coyote _Mark Twain_ 330 - -_Step by Step_ _Josiah Gilbert Holland_ 333 - -_A Summer Storm_ _Duncan Campbell Scott_ 335 - -The Death of Nelson _Robert Southey_ 336 - -_The Battle of the Baltic_ _Thomas Campbell_ 342 - -_Ye Mariners of England_ _Thomas Campbell_ 345 - -The Apples of Idun _Hamilton Wright Mabie_ 347 - -_How they brought the Good News_ _Robert Browning_ 354 - -_Marmion and Douglas_ _Sir Walter Scott_ 356 - -The Tempest _Mary Seymour_ 359 - -_Edinburgh after Flodden_ _William Edmondstoune Aytoun_ 371 - -The Discovery of the Mackenzie River _Lawrence J. Burpee_ 377 - -_The Face against the Pane_ _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ 381 - -The Carronade _Victor Hugo_ 385 - -The Vision of Mirza _Joseph Addison_ 390 - -_The Prairies_ _William Cullen Bryant_ 396 - -The Great Stone Face _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 400 - -_King Oswald’s Feast_ _Archibald Lampman_ 406 - -The Burning of Moscow _James T. Headley_ 409 - -_Ode to the Brave_ _William Collins_ 415 - -_The Torch of Life_ _Henry Newbolt_ 416 - - - - - FOURTH READER - - - - - DOMINION HYMN - - - God bless our wide Dominion, - Our fathers’ chosen land, - And bind in lasting union, - Each ocean’s distant strand, - From where Atlantic terrors - Our hardy seamen train, - To where the salt sea mirrors - The vast Pacific chain. - - Our sires when times were sorest - Asked none but aid Divine, - And cleared the tangled forest, - And wrought the buried mine. - They tracked the floods and fountains, - And won, with master hand, - Far more than gold in mountains,-- - The glorious prairie land. - - Inheritors of glory, - Oh! countrymen! we swear - To guard the flag that o’er ye - Shall onward victory bear. - Where’er through earth’s far regions - Its triple crosses fly, - For God, for home, our legions - Shall win, or fighting, die! - --THE DUKE OF ARGYLE. - - - - - THE MOONLIGHT SONATA - - -It happened at Bonn. One moonlight winter’s evening I called upon -Beethoven, for I wanted him to take a walk, and afterwards to sup with -me. In passing through some dark, narrow street, he paused suddenly. -“Hush!” he said--“what sound is that? It is from my Sonata in F!” he -said, eagerly. “Hark! how well it is played!” - -[Illustration: BEETHOVEN] - -It was a little, mean dwelling, and we paused outside and listened. The -player went on; but suddenly there was a break, then the voice of -sobbing: “I cannot play any more. It is so 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 shall play to her,” he said, in an excited tone. “Here is -feeling--genius--understanding. I shall play to her, and she will -understand it.” And, before I could prevent him, his hand was upon the -door. - -A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes; and near him, -leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned harpsichord, sat a young girl, -with a profusion of light hair falling over her bent face. Both were -cleanly but very poorly dressed, and both started and turned towards us -as we entered. - -“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--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 -pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken, and -all smiled involuntarily. - -“Thank you!” said the shoemaker; “but our harpsichord is so wretched, -and we have no music.” - -“No music!” echoed my friend. “How, then, does the young lady--” - -He paused, and colored up, for the girl looked full at him, and he saw -that she was blind. - -“I--I entreat your pardon!” he stammered. “But I had not perceived -before. Then you play by ear?” - -“Entirely.” - -“And where do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts?” - -“I used to hear a lady practising near us, when we lived at Brühl two -years. During the summer evenings her windows were generally open, and I -walked to and fro outside to listen to her.” - -She seemed shy; so 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--how grand he would be that night. -And I was not mistaken. 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 -was inspired; and from the instant that his fingers began to wander -along the keys, the very tone of the instrument began 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 harpsichord, as if fearful lest even the beating of her heart -should break the flow of those magical, sweet sounds. It was as if we -were all bound in a strange dream, and feared only to wake. - -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, -and the illumination fell strongest upon the piano and player. But the -chain of his ideas seemed to have been broken by the accident. His head -dropped upon his breast; his hands rested upon his knees; he seemed -absorbed in meditation. It was thus for some time. - -At length the young shoemaker rose, and approached him eagerly, yet -reverently. “Wonderful man!” he said, in a low tone; “who and what are -you?” - -The composer smiled as only he could smile, benevolently, indulgently, -kindly. “Listen!” he said, and he played the opening bars of the Sonata -in F. - -A cry of delight and 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 lit up his glorious, rugged head and -massive figure. “I shall improvise a sonata to the moonlight!” 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 sprites upon the sward. Then came -a swift, breathless, 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 shall come again, and -give the young lady some lessons. Farewell! I shall soon come again!” - -They followed us in silence more eloquent than words, and stood at their -door till we were out of sight and hearing. - -“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 that “Moonlight Sonata” with which we are all so fondly -acquainted.--ANONYMOUS. - - * * * * * - - Go to the ant, thou sluggard; - Consider her ways, and be wise: - Which having no chief, overseer, or ruler, - Provideth her meat in the summer, - And gathereth her food in the harvest. - --_From “The Book of Proverbs.”_ - - - - - THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRDS - - - Whither away, Robin, - Whither away? - Is it through envy of the maple leaf, - Whose blushes mock the crimson of thy breast, - Thou wilt not stay? - The summer days were long, yet all too brief - The happy season thou hast been our guest: - Whither away? - - Whither away, Bluebird, - Whither away? - The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky - Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, - The hue of May. - Warbler, why speed thy southern flight? ah, why, - Thou too, whose song first told us of the spring? - Whither away? - - Whither away, Swallow, - Whither away? - Canst thou no longer tarry in the north, - Here, where our roof so well hath screened thy nest? - Not one short day? - Wilt thou--as if thou human wert--go forth - And wander far from them who love thee best? - Whither away? - --EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. - - - - - 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, - “Though 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!” - --THOMAS MOORE. - - - - - THE GOOD SAXON KING - - -Alfred the Great was a young man three and twenty years of age when he -became king of England. Twice in his childhood he had been taken to -Rome, where the Saxon nobles were in the habit of going on pilgrimages, -and once he had stayed for some time in Paris. Learning, however, was -so little cared for in those days that at twelve years of age he had not -been taught to read, although he was the favorite son of King Ethelwulf. - -But like most men who grew up to be great and good, he had an excellent -mother. One day this lady, whose name was Osburga, happened, as she sat -among her sons, to read a book of Saxon poetry. The art of printing was -not known until long after that period. The book, which was written, was -illuminated with beautiful, bright letters, richly painted. The brothers -admiring it very much, their mother said, “I shall give it to that one -of you who first learns to read.” Alfred sought out a tutor that very -day, applied himself to learn with great diligence, and soon won the -book. He was proud of it all his life. - -[Illustration: CHARLES DICKENS] - -This great king, in the first year of his reign, fought nine battles -with the Danes. He made some treaties with them, too, by which the false -Danes swore that they would quit the country. They pretended that they -had taken a very solemn oath; but they thought nothing of breaking -oaths, and treaties, too, as soon as it suited their purpose, and of -coming back again to fight, plunder, and burn. - -One fatal winter, in the fourth year of King Alfred’s reign, the Danes -spread themselves in great numbers over England. They so dispersed the -king’s soldiers that Alfred was left alone, and was obliged to disguise -himself as a common peasant, and to take refuge in the cottage of one of -his cowherds, who did not know him. - -Here King Alfred, while the Danes sought him far and near, was left -alone one day by the cowherd’s wife, to watch some cakes which she put -to bake upon the hearth. But the king was at work upon his bow and -arrows, with which he hoped to punish the false Danes when a brighter -time should come. He was thinking deeply, too, of his poor, unhappy -subjects, whom the Danes chased through the land. And so his noble mind -forgot the cakes, and they were burnt. “What!” said the cowherd’s wife, -who scolded him well when she came back, and little thought she was -scolding the king; “you will be ready enough to eat them by and by, and -yet you cannot watch them, idle dog!” - -At length the Devonshire men made head against a new host of Danes who -landed on their coast. They killed the Danish chief, and captured the -famous flag, on which was the likeness of a raven. The loss of this -standard troubled the Danes greatly. They believed it to be enchanted, -for it had been woven by the three daughters of their king in a single -afternoon. And they had a story among themselves, that when they were -victorious in battle, the raven would stretch his wings and seem to fly; -and that when they were defeated, he would droop. - -It was important to know how numerous the Danes were, and how they were -fortified. And so King Alfred, being a good musician, disguised himself -as a minstrel, and went with his harp to the Danish camp. He played and -sang in the very tent of Guthrum, the Danish leader, and entertained the -Danes as they feasted. While he seemed to think of nothing but his -music, he was watchful of their tents, their arms, their -discipline,--everything that he desired to know. - -Right soon did this great king entertain them to a different tune. -Summoning all his true followers to meet him at an appointed place, he -put himself at their head, marched on the Danish camp, defeated the -Danes, and besieged them fourteen days to prevent their escape. But, -being as merciful as he was good and brave, he then, instead of killing -them, proposed peace,--on condition that they should all depart from -that western part of England, and settle in the eastern. Guthrum was an -honorable chief, and forever afterwards he was loyal and faithful to the -king. The Danes under him were faithful, too. They plundered and burned -no more, but ploughed and sowed and reaped, and led good honest lives. -And the children of those Danes played many a time with Saxon children -in the sunny fields; and their elders, Danes and Saxons, sat by the red -fire in winter, talking of King Alfred the Great. - -All the Danes, however, were not like these under Guthrum. After some -years, more of them came over in the old plundering, burning way. Among -them was a fierce pirate named Hastings, who had the boldness to sail up -the Thames with eighty ships. For three years there was war with these -Danes; and there was a famine in the country, too, and a plague, upon -both human creatures and beasts. But King Alfred, whose mighty heart -never failed him, built large ships, with which to pursue the pirates on -the sea. He encouraged his soldiers, by his brave example, to fight -valiantly against them on the shore. At last he drove them all away; and -then there was repose in England. - -As great and good in peace as he was great and good in war, King Alfred -never rested from his labors to improve his people. He loved to talk -with clever men, and with travellers from foreign countries, and to -write down what they told him for his people to read. He had studied -Latin, after learning to read English. And now one of his labors was to -translate Latin books into the English-Saxon tongue, that his people -might be improved by reading them. - -He made just laws that his people might live more happily and freely. He -turned away all partial judges that no wrong might be done. He punished -robbers so severely that it was a common thing to say that under the -great King Alfred, garlands of golden chains and jewels might have hung -across the streets and no man would have touched them. He founded -schools. He patiently heard causes himself in his court of justice. The -great desires of his heart were to do right to all his subjects, and to -leave England better, wiser, and happier in all ways than he had found -it. - -His industry was astonishing. Every day he divided into portions, and -in each portion devoted himself to a certain pursuit. That he might -divide his time exactly, he had wax torches, or candles, made, all of -the same size and notched across at regular distances. These candles -were always kept burning, and as they burned down he divided the day -into notches, almost as accurately as we now divide it into hours upon -the clock. But it was found that the wind and draughts of air, blowing -into the palace through the doors and windows, caused the candles to -burn unequally. To prevent this the king had them put into cases formed -of wood and white horn. And these were the first lanterns ever made in -England. - -King Alfred died in the year 901; but as long ago as that is, his fame, -and the love and gratitude with which his subjects regarded him, are -freshly remembered to the present hour.--CHARLES DICKENS. - - - - - A SONG - - - There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, - There is ever a something sings alway: - There’s the song of the lark when the skies are clear, - And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray. - The sunshine showers across the grain, - And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree; - And in and out, when the eaves drip rain, - The swallows are twittering carelessly. - - There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, - Be the skies above or dark or fair; - There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-- - There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-- - There is ever a song somewhere! - - There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, - In the midnight black or the midday blue: - The robin pipes when the sun is here, - And the cricket chirrups the whole night through; - The buds may blow and the fruit may grow, - And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sere: - But whether the sun or the rain or the snow, - There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. - --JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. - - _By permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. - Copyright, 1898._ - - - - - BETTER THAN GOLD - - - Better than grandeur, better than gold, - Than rank and title a thousand fold, - Is a healthy body, a mind at ease, - And simple pleasures that always please; - A heart that can feel for a neighbor’s woe, - And share his joys with a genial glow; - With sympathies large enough to enfold - All men as brothers, is better than gold. - - Better than gold is a thinking mind, - That in the realm of books can find - A treasure surpassing Australian ore, - And live with the great and good of yore:-- - The sage’s lore and the poet’s lay, - The glories of empires passed away. - The world’s great dream will thus unfold - And yield a pleasure better than gold. - - Better than gold is a peaceful home, - Where all the fireside charities come,-- - The shrine of love and the haven of life, - Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife. - However humble the home may be, - Or tried with sorrow by Heaven’s decree, - The blessings that never were bought or sold - And centre there, are better than gold. - --MRS. J. M. WINTON. - - - - - THE TIGER, THE BRAHMAN, AND THE JACKAL - - -Once upon a time a tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to get -out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when he -failed. - -By chance a poor Brahman came by. “Let me out of this cage, O pious -one!” cried the tiger. - -“Nay, nay, my friend,” replied the Brahman, mildly. “You would probably -eat me up if I did.” - -“Not at all!” declared the tiger, with many vows; “on the contrary, I -should be forever grateful, and would serve you as a slave!” - -Now, when the tiger sobbed and sighed and wept, the pious Brahman’s -heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of the cage. -At once, out sprang the tiger, and seizing the poor man, cried:-- - -“What a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now? After being -cooped up so long I am terribly hungry.” - -In vain the Brahman pleaded for his life. All that he could gain was a -promise from the tiger to abide by the decision of the first three -things that he chose to question concerning the tiger’s action. - -So the Brahman first asked a tree what it thought of the matter, but the -tree replied coldly:-- - -“What have you to complain about? Don’t I give shade and shelter to all -who pass by, and don’t they in return tear down my branches and pull off -my leaves to feed their cattle? Don’t complain, but be a man!” - -Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went further afield till he saw a -buffalo turning a water-wheel. He laid his case before it, but he got no -comfort, for the buffalo answered:-- - -“You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! Do you not see how hard -I work? While I was young and strong they fed me on the best of food, -but now when I am old and feeble they yoke me here, and give me only the -coarsest fodder to eat!” - -The Brahman, still more sad, asked the road to give him its opinion of -the tiger’s conduct. - -“My dear sir,” said the road, “how foolish you are to expect anything -else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great and -small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the ashes of -their pipes and the husks of their grain!” - -On hearing this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully. On his way he met a -jackal, who called out:-- - -“Why, what’s the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look as miserable as a fish -out of water!” - -Then the Brahman told him all that had occurred. - -“How very confusing!” said the jackal, when the recital was ended; “will -you tell it over again, for everything has got mixed up in my mind?” - -The Brahman told his story all over again, but the jackal shook his head -in a distracted sort of way, and still could not understand. - -“It’s very odd,” said he, sadly, “but it all seems to go in at one ear -and out the other! Take me to the place where it all happened, and then, -perhaps, I shall be able to understand it.” - -So the cunning jackal and the poor Brahman returned to the cage, and -there was the tiger waiting for his victim, and sharpening his teeth and -claws. - -“You’ve been away a long time!” growled the savage beast, “but now let -us begin our dinner.” - -“_Our_ dinner!” thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked -together with fright; “what a delicate way he has of putting it!” - -“Give me five minutes, my lord!” he pleaded, “in order that I may -explain matters to the jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits.” - -The tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again, -not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible. - -“Oh, my poor brain! Oh, my poor brain!” cried the jackal, wringing its -paws and scratching its head. “Let me see, how did it all begin? You -were in the cage, and the tiger came walking by--”? - -“Pooh! Not at all!” interrupted the tiger. “What a fool you are! _I_ was -in the cage.” - -“Yes, of course!” cried the jackal, pretending to tremble with fright. -“Yes! I was in the cage--no, I wasn’t--dear! dear! where are my wits? -Let me see--the tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking by. -No, no, that’s not it, either! Well, don’t mind me, but begin your -dinner, my lord, for I shall never understand it!” - -“Yes, you _shall_!” returned the tiger, in a rage at the jackal’s -stupidity; “I’ll _make_ you understand! Look here. I am the tiger--” - -“Yes, my lord!” - -“And that is the Brahman--” - -“Yes, my lord!” - -“And that is the cage--” - -“Yes, my lord!” - -“And I was in the cage--do you understand?” - -“Yes, but please, my lord, how did you get in?” - -“How did I get in! Why, in the usual way, of course!” cried the tiger, -impatiently. - -“O dear me! my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don’t be angry, -my lord, but what is the usual way?” - -[Illustration] - -At this the tiger lost all patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried, -“This way! Now do you understand how it was?” - -“Perfectly!” grinned the jackal, as he instantly shut the door; “and if -you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they -were!”--JOSEPH JACOBS. - - _From “Indian Fairy Tales,” by permission of the author._ - - - - - A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG - - -[Illustration: THOMAS MOORE] - - 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 favoring airs. - Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, - The Rapids are near, and the daylight’s past! - --THOMAS MOORE. - - * * * * * - - Attempt the end and never stand in doubt; - Nothing’s so hard but search will find it out. - - - - - THE SONG SPARROW - - - There is a bird I know so well, - It seems as if he must have sung - Beside my crib when I was young; - Before I knew the way to spell - The name of even the smallest bird, - His gentle, joyful song I heard. - Now see if you can tell, my dear, - What bird it is, that every year, - Sings “Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer.” - - He comes in March, when winds are strong, - And snow returns to hide the earth; - But still he warms his head with mirth, - And waits for May. He lingers long - While flowers fade, and every day - Repeats his sweet, contented lay; - As if to say we need not fear - The seasons’ change, if love is here, - With “Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer.” - - He does not wear a Joseph’s coat - Of many colors, smart and gay; - His suit is Quaker brown and gray, - With darker patches at his throat. - And yet of all the well-dressed throng, - Not one can sing so brave a song. - It makes the pride of looks appear - A vain and foolish thing to hear - His “Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer.” - - A lofty place he does not love, - But sits by choice, and well at ease, - In hedges, and in little trees - That stretch their slender arms above - The meadow-brook; and there he sings - Till all the field with pleasure rings; - And so he tells in every ear, - That lowly homes to heaven are near - In “Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer.” - - I like the tune, I like the words; - They seem so true, so free from art, - So friendly, and so full of heart, - That if but one of all the birds - Could be my comrade everywhere, - My little brother of the air, - This is the one I’d choose, my dear, - Because he’d bless me, every year, - With “Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer.” - --HENRY VAN DYKE. - - _From “The Builders and Other Poems.” - Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner’s Sons._ - - * * * * * - - The only way to have a friend is to be one. - - - - - THE CHILD OF URBINO - - -Many, many years ago, in old Urbino, in the pleasant land of Italy, a -little boy stood looking out of a high window into the calm, sunshiny -day. He was a pretty boy with hazel eyes and fair hair cut straight -above his brows. He wore a little blue tunic with some embroidery about -the neck of it, and in his hand he carried a little round cap of the -same color. - -[Illustration: RAPHAEL] - -He was a very happy little boy here in this stately, yet kindly, Urbino. -He had a dear old grandfather and a loving mother; and he had a father -who was very tender to him, and who was full of such true love of art -that the child breathed it with every breath he drew. He often said to -himself, “I mean to become a painter, too.” And the child understood -that to be a painter was to be the greatest thing in the world; for this -child was Raphael, the seven-year-old son of Giovanni Sanzio. - -At this time Urbino was growing into fame for its pottery work, and when -its duke wished to send a bridal gift or a present on other festal -occasions, he often chose some of his own Urbino ware. Jars and bowls -and platters and vases were all made and painted at Urbino, whilst -Raphael Sanzio was running about on rosy, infantine feet. - -There was a master potter in that day, one Benedetto, who did things -rare and fine in the Urbino ware. He lived within a stone’s throw of -Giovanni Sanzio, and had a beautiful daughter, by name Pacifica. The -house of Benedetto was a long, stone building with a porch at the back -all overclimbed by hardy rose trees, and looking on a garden in which -grew abundantly pear trees, plum trees, and strawberries. The little son -of neighbor Sanzio ran in and out of this bigger house and wider garden -of Benedetto at his pleasure, for the maiden Pacifica was always glad to -see him, and even the master potter would show the child how to lay the -color on the tremulous unbaked clay. Raphael loved Pacifica, as he loved -everything that was beautiful, and every one that was kind. - -Master Benedetto had four apprentices or pupils at that time, but the -one that Raphael and Pacifica liked best was one Luca, a youth with a -noble, dark beauty of his own. For love of Pacifica he had come down -from his mountain home, and had bound himself to her father’s service. -Now he spent his days trying in vain to make designs fair enough to find -favor in the eyes of his master. - -One day, as Raphael was standing by his favorite window in the potter’s -house, his friend, the handsome Luca, who was also standing there, -sighed so deeply that the child was startled from his dreams. “Good -Luca, what ails you?” he queried, winding his arms about the young man’s -knees. - -“Oh, ‘Faello!” sighed the apprentice, wofully, “here is a chance to win -the hand of Pacifica if only I had talent. If the good Lord had only -gifted me with a master’s skill, instead of all the strength of this -great body of mine, I might win Pacifica.” - -“What chance is it?” asked Raphael. - -“Dear one,” answered Luca, with a tremendous sigh, “you must know that a -new order has come in this very forenoon from the Duke. He wishes a dish -and a jar of the very finest majolica to be painted with the story of -Esther, and made ready in three months from this date. The master has -said that whoever makes a dish and a jar beautiful enough for the great -Duke shall become his partner and the husband of Pacifica. Now you see, -‘Faello mine, why I am so bitterly sad of heart; for at the painting of -clay I am but a tyro. Even your good father told me that, though I had a -heart of gold, yet I would never be able to decorate anything more than -a barber’s basin. Alas! what shall I do? They will all beat me;” and -tears rolled down the poor youth’s face. - -Raphael heard all this in silence, leaning his elbows on his friend’s -knee, and his chin on the palms of his own hands. He knew that the other -pupils were better painters by far than his Luca; though not one of them -was such a good-hearted youth, and for none of them did the maiden -Pacifica care. - -Raphael was very pensive for a while; then he raised his head and said, -“Listen! I have thought of something, Luca. But I do not know whether -you will let me try it.” - -“You angel child! What would your old Luca deny to you? But as for -helping me, put that out of your little mind forever, for no one can -help me.” - -“Let me try!” said the child a hundred times. - -Luca could hardly restrain his shouts of mirth at the audacious fancy. -Baby Raphael, only seven years old, to paint a majolica dish and vase -for the Duke! But the sight of the serious face of Raphael, looking up -with serene confidence, kept the good fellow grave. So utterly in -earnest was the child, and so intense was Luca’s despair, that the young -man gave way to Raphael’s entreaties. - -“Never can I do aught,” he said bitterly. “And sometimes by the help of -cherubs the saints work miracles.” - -“It shall be no miracle,” replied Raphael; “it shall be myself, and what -the dear God has put into me.” - -From that hour Luca let him do what he would, and through all the lovely -summer days the child shut himself in the garret and studied, and -thought, and worked. For three months Raphael passed the most anxious -hours of all his sunny young life. He would not allow Luca even to look -at what he did. The swallows came in and out of the open window and -fluttered all around him; the morning sunbeams came in, too, and made a -halo about his golden head. He was only seven years old, but he labored -as earnestly as if he were a man grown, his little rosy fingers grasping -that pencil which was to make him, in - -[Illustration: RAPHAEL’S MADONNA OF THE CHAIR] - -life and death, more famous than all the kings of the earth. - -One afternoon Raphael took Luca by the hand and said to him, “Come.” He -led the young man up to the table beneath the window where he had passed -so many days of the spring and summer. Luca gave a great cry, and then -fell on his knees, clasping the little feet of the child. - -“Dear Luca,” he said softly, “do not do that. If it be indeed good, let -us thank God.” - -What Luca saw was the great oval dish and the great jar or vase with all -manner of graceful symbols and classic designs wrought upon them. Their -borders were garlanded with cherubs and flowers, and the landscapes were -the beautiful landscapes round about Urbino; and amidst the figures -there was one white-robed, golden-crowned Esther, to whom the child -painter had given the face of Pacifica. - -“Oh, wondrous boy!” sighed the poor apprentice as he gazed, and his -heart was so full that he burst into tears. At last he said timidly: -“But, Raphael, I do not see how your marvellous creation can help me! -Even if you would allow it to pass as mine, I could not accept such a -thing,--not even to win Pacifica. It would be a fraud, a shame.” - -“Wait just a little longer, my good friend, and trust me,” said Raphael. - -The next morning was a midsummer day. Now, the pottery was all to be -placed on a long table, and the Duke was then to come and make his -choice from amidst them. A few privileged persons had been invited, -among them the father of Raphael, who came with his little son clinging -to his hand. - -The young Duke and his court came riding down the street, and paused -before the old stone house of the master potter. Bowing to the ground, -Master Benedetto led the way, and the others followed into the workshop. -In all there were ten competitors. The dishes and jars were arranged -with a number attached to each--no name to any. - -The Duke, doffing his plumed cap, walked down the long room and examined -each production in its turn. With fair words he complimented Signor -Benedetto on the brave show, and only before the work of poor Luca was -he entirely silent. At last, before a vase and a dish that stood at the -farthest end of the table, the Duke gave a sudden cry of wonder and -delight. - -“This is beyond all comparison,” said he, taking the great oval dish in -his hands. “It is worth its weight in gold. I pray you, quick, name the -artist.” - -“It is marked number eleven, my lord,” answered the master potter, -trembling with pleasure and surprise. “Ho, you who reply to that number, -stand out and give your name.” - -But no one moved. The young men looked at one another. Where was this -nameless rival? There were but ten of themselves. - -“Ho, there!” cried the master, becoming angry. “Can you not find a -tongue? Who has wrought this wondrous work?” - -Then the child loosened his little hand from his father’s hold and -stepped forward, and stood before the master potter. - -“I painted it,” he said, with a pleased smile; “I, Raphael.” - -Can you not fancy the wonder, the rapture, the questions, the praise, -that followed on the discovery of the child artist? The Duke felt his -eyes wet, and his heart swell. He took a gold chain from his own neck -and threw it over Raphael’s shoulders. - -“There is your first reward,” he said. “You shall have many, O wondrous -child, and you shall live when we who stand here are dust!” - -Raphael, with winning grace, kissed the Duke’s hand, and then turned to -his own father. - -“Is it true that I have won the prize?” - -“Quite true, my child,” said Sanzio, with tremulous voice. - -Raphael looked up at Master Benedetto and gently said, “Then I claim the -hand of Pacifica.” - -“Dear and marvellous child,” murmured Benedetto, “you are only jesting, -I know; but tell me in truth what you would have. I can deny you -nothing; you are my master.” - -“I am your pupil,” said Raphael, with sweet simplicity. “Had you not -taught me the secret of your colors, I could have done nothing. Now, -dear Master, and you, my lord Duke, I pray you hear me. By the terms of -this contest I have won the hand of Pacifica and a partnership with -Master Benedetto. I take these rights, and I give them over to my dear -friend, Luca, who is the truest man in all the world, and who loves -Pacifica as no other can do.” - -Signor Benedetto stood mute and agitated. Luca, pale as ashes, had -sprung forward and dropped on his knees. - -“Listen to the voice of an angel, my good Benedetto,” said the Duke. - -The master burst into tears. “I can refuse him nothing,” he said, with a -sob. - -“And call the fair Pacifica,” cried the sovereign, “and I shall give her -myself, as a dower, as many gold pieces as we can cram into this famous -vase. Young man, rise up, and be happy!” - -But Luca heard not; he was still kneeling at the feet of -Raphael.--LOUISE DE LA RAMÉE. - - _By permission of the publishers, Chatto & Windus, London._ - - * * * * * - - There is a tide in the affairs of men, - Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; - Omitted, all the voyage of their life - Is bound in shallows and in miseries. - On such a full sea are we now afloat; - And we must take the current when it serves, - Or lose our ventures. - --SHAKESPEARE. - - - - - DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB’S ARMY - - -[Illustration: LORD BYRON] - - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, - And his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold, - And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, - When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. - - Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, - That host with their banners at sunset were seen; - Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, - That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. - - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, - And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; - And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, - And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still. - - And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; - And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, - And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. - - And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, - With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; - And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, - The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. - - And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail; - And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; - And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, - Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! - --GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. - - - - - THE ARROW AND THE SONG - - - I shot an arrow into the air, - It fell to earth, I knew not where; - For, so swiftly it flew, the sight - Could not follow in its flight. - - I breathed a song into the air, - It fell to earth, I knew not where; - For who has sight so keen and strong, - That it can follow the flight of song? - - Long, long afterwards, in an oak, - I found the arrow, still unbroke; - And the song, from beginning to end, - I found again in the heart of a friend. - --HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. - - * * * * * - - Fear to do base, unworthy things, is valor! - I never thought an angry person valiant; - Virtue is never aided by a vice. - --BEN JONSON. - - - - - THE BATTLE OF THE ANTS - - -One day when I went out to my woodpile, or rather my pile of stumps, I -observed two large ants, the one red, the other much larger, nearly half -an inch long, and black, fiercely contending with one another. Having -once got hold, they never let go, but struggled and wrestled and rolled -on the chips incessantly. Looking farther, I was surprised to find that -the chips were covered with such combatants; that it was a war between -two races of ants, the red always pitted against the black, and -frequently two red ones to one black. - -[Illustration: H. D. THOREAU] - -The legions of these warriors covered all the hills and vales in my -wood-yard, and the ground was already strewn with the dead and dying, -both red and black. It was the only battle which I have ever witnessed, -the only battlefield I ever trod while the battle was raging; -internecine war: the red republicans on the one hand, and the black -imperialists on the other. On every side they were engaged in deadly -combat, yet without any noise that I could hear, and human soldiers -never fought so resolutely. - -I watched a couple that were fast locked in each other’s embraces, in a -little sunny valley amid the chips, now at noonday prepared to fight -till the sun went down, or life went out. The smaller red champion had -fastened himself like a vise to his adversary’s front, and through all -the tumblings on that field, never for an instant ceased to gnaw at one -of his feelers near the root, having already caused the other to go by -the board; while the stronger black one dashed him from side to side, -and, as I saw on looking nearer, had already divested him of several of -his members. - -In the meanwhile there came along a single red ant, evidently full of -excitement, who either had despatched his foe, or had not yet taken part -in the battle. He saw this unequal combat from afar,--for the blacks -were nearly twice the size of the red;--he drew near with rapid pace -till he stood on his guard within half an inch of the combatants; then, -watching his opportunity, he sprang upon the black warrior, and -commenced his operations near the root of his right fore-leg, leaving -the foe to select among his own members. So there were three united for -life, as if a new kind of attraction had been invented which put all -other locks and cements to shame. - -I took up the chip on which the three were struggling, carried it into -my house, and placed it under a tumbler on my window-sill, in order to -see the issue. Holding a microscope to the first-mentioned red ant, I -saw that, though he was assiduously gnawing at the near fore-leg of his -enemy, having severed his remaining feeler, his own breast was all torn -away, exposing what vitals he had there to the jaws of the black -warrior, whose breastplate was too thick for him to pierce; and the dark -carbuncles of the sufferer’s eyes shone with ferocity such as only war -could excite. - -They struggled half an hour longer under the tumbler, and when I looked -again, the black soldier had severed the heads of his foes from their -bodies, and the still living heads were hanging on either side of him -like ghastly trophies at his saddle-bow, still apparently as firmly -fastened as ever, and he was endeavoring with feeble struggles, being -without feelers and with only the remnant of a leg, and I know not how -many other wounds, to divest himself of them; which at length, after an -hour more, he accomplished. I raised the glass, and he went off over the -window-sill in that crippled state. Whether he finally survived that -combat, I do not know; but I thought that his industry would not be -worth much thereafter. I never learned which party was victorious, nor -the cause of the war; but I felt for the rest of that day as if I had -had my feelings excited and harrowed by witnessing the struggle, the -ferocity, and carnage of a human battle before my door.--HENRY DAVID -THOREAU. - - * * * * * - - Oh, many a shaft at random sent, - Finds mark the archer little meant! - And many a word at random spoken, - May soothe, or wound, a heart that’s broken. - - - - - THE CURATE AND THE MULBERRY TREE - - - Did you hear of the curate who mounted his mare? - And merrily trotted along to the fair? - Of creature more tractable none ever heard; - In the height of her speed she would stop at a word; - But again, with a word, when the curate said “Hey!” - She put forth her mettle and galloped away. - - As near to the gates of the city he rode, - While the sun of September all brilliantly glowed, - The good man discovered, with eyes of desire, - A mulberry tree in a hedge of wild-brier; - On boughs long and lofty, in many a green shoot, - Hung, large, black, and glossy, the beautiful fruit. - - The curate was hungry and thirsty to boot; - He shrunk from the thorns, though he longed for the fruit; - With a word he arrested his courser’s keen speed, - And he stood up erect on the back of his steed; - On the saddle he stood while the creature stood still, - And he gathered the fruit till he took his good fill. - - “Sure never,” he thought, “was a creature so rare, - So docile, so true, as my excellent mare: - Lo, here now I stand,” and he gazed all around, - “As safe and as steady as if on the ground; - Yet how had it been if some traveller this way - Had, dreaming no mischief, but chanced to cry ‘Hey’?” - - He stood with his head in the mulberry tree, - And he spoke out aloud in his fond reverie; - At the sound of the word the good mare made a push, - And the curate went down in the wild-brier bush. - He remembered too late, on his thorny green bed, - Much that well may be thought cannot wisely be said. - --THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK. - - - - - MIRIAM’S SONG - - - Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! - Jehovah has triumphed,--His people are free! - Sing,--for the pride of the tyrant is broken, - His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave,-- - How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken, - And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. - Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! - Jehovah has triumphed,--His people are free! - - Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord! - His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword. - Who shall return to tell Egypt the story - Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? - For the Lord has looked out from His pillar of glory, - And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. - Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! - Jehovah has triumphed,--His people are free! - --THOMAS MOORE. - - - - - 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 crystals and brightest of green; - ’Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill, - 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. - --THOMAS MOORE. - - * * * * * - - But truth shall conquer at the last, - For round and round we run, - And ever the right comes uppermost - And ever is justice done. - - - - - THE BATTLE OF BALAKLAVA - - -The cavalry, who had been pursuing the Turks on the right, are coming up -to the ridge beneath us, which conceals our cavalry from view. The heavy -brigade in advance is drawn up in two lines. The first line consists of -the Scots Greys and of their old companions in glory, the Enniskillens; -the second, of the 4th Royal Irish, of the 5th Dragoon Guards, and of -the 1st Royal Dragoons. The Light Cavalry Brigade is on their left, in -two lines also. The silence is oppressive; between the cannon bursts one -can hear the champing of bits and the clink of sabres in the valley -below. The Russians on their left drew breath for a moment, and then in -one grand line dashed at the Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their -horses’ feet; gathering speed at every stride, they dash on towards that -thin red streak topped with a line of steel. - -As the Russians come within six hundred yards, down goes that line of -steel in front and out rings a rolling volley of musketry. The distance -is too great; the Russians are not checked, but still sweep onward -through the smoke, with the whole force of horse and man, here and there -knocked over by the shot of our batteries above. - -With breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting of the wave upon -the line of Gaelic rock; but ere they come within a hundred and fifty -yards, another deadly volley flashes from the levelled rifles, and -carries death and terror into the Russians. They wheel about, open files -right and left, and fly back faster than they came. “Bravo, -Highlanders! well done!” shout the excited spectators. But events -thicken. The Highlanders and their splendid front are soon forgotten; -men scarcely have a moment to think of this fact, that the 93d never -altered their formation to receive that tide of horsemen. “No,” said Sir -Colin Campbell, “I did not think it worth while to form them even four -deep!” The ordinary British line, two deep, was quite sufficient to -repel the attack of these Muscovite cavaliers. - -Our eyes were, however, turned in a moment on our own cavalry. We saw -Brigadier-General Scarlett ride along in front of his massive squadrons. -The Russians, their light blue jackets embroidered with silver lace, -were advancing on their left, at an easy gallop, towards the brow of the -hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear, and several squadrons -of gray-coated dragoons moved up quickly to support them as they reached -the summit. The instant they came in sight, the trumpets of our cavalry -gave out a warning blast which told us all that in another moment we -should see the shock of battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all -his staff and escort, and groups of officers, the Zouaves, French -generals and officers, and bodies of French infantry on the height, were -spectators of the scene, as though they were looking on the stage from -the boxes of a theatre. Nearly every one dismounted and sat down, and -not a word was said. - -The Russians advanced down the hill at a slow canter, which they changed -to a trot, and at last nearly halted. Their first line was at least -double the length of ours--it was three times as deep. Behind them was a -similar line, equally strong and compact. They evidently despised their -insignificant-looking enemy; but their time was come. The trumpets rang -out again through the valley, and the Greys and Enniskilleners went -right at the centre of the Russian cavalry. The space between them was -only a few hundred yards; it was scarce enough to let the horses “gather -way,” nor had the men quite space sufficient for the full play of their -sword-arms. The Russian line brings forward each wing as our cavalry -advance, and threatens to annihilate them as they pass on. Turning a -little to their left so as to meet the Russian right, the Greys rush on -with a cheer that thrills to every heart--the wild shout of the -Enniskilleners rises through the air at the same instant. As lightning -flashes through a cloud, the Greys and Enniskilleners pierced through -the dark masses of the Russians. The shock was but for a moment. There -was a clash of steel and a light play of sword-blades in the air, and -then the Greys and the Red-coats disappear in the midst of the shaken -and quivering columns. In another moment we see them emerging and -dashing on with diminished numbers and in broken order against the -second line, which is advancing against them as fast as it can, to -retrieve the fortune of the charge. It was a terrible moment. “God help -them! they are lost!” was the exclamation of more than one man, and the -thought of many. - -It was a fight of heroes. The first line of Russians--which had been -smashed utterly by our charge, and had fled off at one flank and towards -the centre--were coming back to swallow up our handful of men. By sheer -steel and sheer courage, Enniskillener and Scot were winning their -desperate way right through the enemy’s squadrons, and already gray -horses and red coats had appeared right at the rear of the second mass, -when, with irresistible force, like a bolt from a bow, the 1st Royals, -the 4th Dragoon Guards, and the 5th Dragoon Guards rushed at the -remnants of the first line of the enemy, went through it as though it -were made of pasteboard, and, dashing on the second body of Russians, as -they were still disordered by the terrible assault of the Greys and -their companions, put them to utter rout. - - --WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL. - - - - - TRUE WORTH - - - It is not growing like a tree - In bulk doth make man better be, - Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, - To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear. - A lily of a day - Is fairer far in May, - Although it fall and die that night; - It was the plant and flower of light! - In small proportions we just beauties see, - And in short measures life may perfect be. - --BEN JONSON. - - - - - LOVE OF COUNTRY - - - Breathes there a man with soul so dead, - Who never to himself hath said, - This is my own, my native land! - Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, - As home his footsteps he hath turn’d - From wand’ring on a foreign strand? - If such there breathe, go, mark him well; - For him no minstrel raptures swell; - High though his titles, proud his name, - Boundless his wealth as wish can claim:-- - Despite those titles, power, and pelf, - The wretch concentred all in self, - Living, shall forfeit fair renown, - And, doubly dying, shall go down - To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, - Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung. - --SIR WALTER SCOTT. - - - - - HOME AND COUNTRY - - - There is a land, of every land the pride, - Beloved of Heaven o’er all the world beside, - Where brighter suns dispense serener light, - And milder moons imparadise the night; - A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, - Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth. - The wandering mariner, whose eye explores - The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, - Views not a realm so beautiful and fair, - Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air. - - In every clime, the magnet of his soul, - Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole; - For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar race, - The heritage of Nature’s noblest grace, - There is a spot of earth supremely blest, - A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, - Where man, creation’s tyrant, casts aside - His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, - While in his softened looks benignly blend - The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend. - - Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife, - Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life; - In the clear heaven of her delightful eye - The angel-guard of love and graces lie; - Around her knees domestic duties meet, - And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. - Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? - Art thou a man?--a patriot?--look around; - Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam, - That land thy country, and that spot thy home. - --JAMES MONTGOMERY. - - * * * * * - - What’s brave, what’s noble, let’s do it. - - - - - THE FATHERLAND - - -[Illustration: J. R. LOWELL] - - Where is the true man’s fatherland? - Is it where he by chance is born? - Doth not the yearning spirit scorn - In such scant borders to be spanned? - O yes! his fatherland must be - As the blue heaven wide and free! - - Is it alone where freedom is, - Where God is God, and man is man? - Doth he not claim a broader span - For the soul’s love of home than this? - O yes! his fatherland must be - As the blue heaven wide and free! - - Where’er a human heart doth wear - Joy’s myrtle-wreath or sorrow’s gyves, - Where’er a human spirit strives - After a life more true and fair-- - There is the true man’s birthplace grand; - His is a world-wide fatherland! - - Where’er a single slave doth pine, - Where’er one man may help another-- - Thank God for such a birthright, brother-- - That spot of earth is thine and mine! - There is the true man’s birthplace grand; - His is a world-wide fatherland! - --JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. - - - - - THE OAK TREE AND THE IVY - - -In the greenwood stood a mighty oak. So majestic was he that all who -came that way paused to admire his strength and beauty, and all the -other trees of the greenwood acknowledged him to be their monarch. - -Now it came to pass that the ivy loved the oak tree, and inclining her -graceful tendrils where he stood, she crept about his feet, and twined -herself around his sturdy and knotted trunk. And the oak tree pitied the -ivy. - -[Illustration: EUGENE FIELD] - -“Oho!” he cried, laughing boisterously but good-naturedly,--“oho! so you -love me, do you, little vine? Very well then; play about my feet, and I -shall keep the storms from you and shall tell you pretty stories about -the clouds, the birds, and the stars.” - -The ivy marvelled greatly at the strange stories the oak tree told; they -were stories the oak tree heard from the wind that loitered about his -lofty head and whispered to the leaves of his topmost branches. -Sometimes the story was about the great ocean in the east, sometimes of -the broad prairies in the west, sometimes of the ice king who lived in -the north, sometimes of the flower queen who dwelt in the south. Then, -too, the moon told a story to the oak tree every night,--or at least -every night that she came to the greenwood, which was very often, for -the greenwood is a very charming spot, as we all know. And the oak tree -repeated to the ivy every story the moon told and every song the stars -sang. - -“Pray, what are the winds saying now?” or “What song is that I hear?” -the ivy would ask; and then the oak tree would repeat the story or the -song, and the ivy would listen in great wonderment. - -Whenever the storms came, the oak tree cried to the little ivy: “Cling -close to me, and no harm shall befall thee! See how strong I am; the -tempest does not so much as stir me--I mock its fury!” - -Then, seeing how strong and brave he was, the ivy hugged him closely; -his brown, rugged breast protected her from every harm, and she was -secure. - -The years went by; how quickly they flew,--spring, summer, winter, and -then again spring, summer, winter,--ah, life is short in the greenwood, -as elsewhere! And now the ivy was no longer a weakly little vine to -excite the pity of the passer-by. Her thousand beautiful arms had twined -hither and thither about the oak tree, covering his brown and knotted -trunk, shooting forth a bright, delicious foliage, and stretching far up -among his lower branches. - -The oak tree was always good and gentle to the ivy. “There is a storm -coming over the hills,” he would say. “The east wind tells me so; the -swallows fly low in the air. Cling close to me, and no harm shall befall -thee.” - -Then the ivy would cling more closely to the oak tree, and no harm came -to her. - -Although the ivy was the most luxuriant vine in all the greenwood, the -oak tree regarded her still as the tender little thing he had laughingly -called to his feet that spring day many years before,--the same little -ivy he had told about the stars, the clouds, and the birds. And just as -patiently as in those days, he now repeated other tales the winds -whispered to his topmost boughs,--tales of the ocean in the east, the -prairies in the west, the ice king in the north, and the flower queen in -the south. And the ivy heard him tell these wondrous things, and she -never wearied with the listening. - -“How good the oak tree is to the ivy!” said the ash. “The lazy vine has -naught to do but to twine herself about the strong oak tree and hear him -tell his stories!” - -The ivy heard these envious words, and they made her very sad; but she -said nothing of them to the oak tree, and that night the oak tree rocked -her to sleep as he repeated the lullaby a zephyr was singing to him. - -“There is a storm coming over the hills,” said the oak tree one day. -“The east wind tells me so; the swallows fly low in the air, and the sky -is dark. Clasp me round about with thy arms, and nestle close to me, and -no harm shall befall thee.” - -“I have no fear,” murmured the ivy. - -The storm came over the hills and swept down upon the greenwood with -deafening thunder and vivid lightning. The storm king himself rode upon -the blast; his horses breathed flames, and his chariot trailed through -the air like a serpent of fire. The ash fell before the violence of the -storm king’s fury, and the cedars, groaning, fell, and the hemlocks, and -the pines; but the oak tree alone quailed not. - -[Illustration] - -“Oho!” cried the storm king, angrily, “the oak tree does not bow to me; -he does not tremble in my presence. Well, we shall see.” - -With that the storm king hurled a mighty thunderbolt at the oak tree, -and the brave, strong monarch of the greenwood was riven. Then, with a -shout of triumph, the storm king rode away. - -“Dear oak tree, you are riven by the storm king’s thunderbolt!” cried -the ivy, in anguish. - -“Ay,” said the oak tree, feebly, “my end has come; see, I am shattered -and helpless.” - -“But I am unhurt,” remonstrated the ivy; “and I shall bind up your -wounds and nurse you back to health and vigor.” - -And so it was that, although the oak tree was ever afterwards a riven -and broken thing, the ivy concealed the scars upon his shattered form -and covered his wounds all over with her soft foliage. - -“I had hoped,” she said, “to grow up to thy height, to live with thee -among the clouds, and to hear the solemn voices thou didst hear.” - -But the old oak tree said, “Nay, nay, I love thee better as thou art, -for with thy beauty and thy love thou comfortest mine age.” - -Then would the ivy tell quaint stories to the oak tree,--stories she had -learned from the crickets, the bees, the butterflies, and the mice when -she was a humble little vine and played at the foot of the majestic oak -tree towering in the greenwood. And these simple tales pleased the old -and riven oak tree; they were not as heroic as the tales the wind, the -clouds, and the stars told, but they were far sweeter, for they were -tales of contentment, of humility, of love. So the old age of the oak -tree was grander than his youth. - -And all who went through the greenwood paused to behold and admire the -beauty of the oak tree then; for about his scarred and broken trunk the -gentle vine had so entwined her graceful tendrils and spread her fair -foliage, that one saw not the havoc of the years nor the ruin of the -tempest, but only the glory of the oak tree’s age, which was the ivy’s -love and ministering.--EUGENE FIELD. - - _From “A Little Book of Profitable Tales.” Copyright, 1889, by - Eugene Field. Published by Charles Scribner’s Sons._ - - - - - HARVEST SONG - - - The God of harvest praise; - In loud Thanksgiving raise - Hand, heart, and voice. - The valleys laugh and sing, - Forests and mountains ring, - The plains their tribute bring, - The streams rejoice. - - Yes, bless His holy name, - And joyous thanks proclaim - Through all the earth. - To glory in your lot - Is comely; but be not - God’s benefits forgot - Amid your mirth. - - The God of harvest praise, - Hands, hearts, and voices raise, - With sweet accord. - From field to garner throng, - Bearing your sheaves along, - And in your harvest song - Bless ye the Lord. - --JAMES MONTGOMERY. - - * * * * * - - A thing of beauty is a joy forever. - - - - - HARVEST TIME - - - Pillowed and hushed on the silent plain, - Wrapped in her mantle of golden grain, - - Wearied of pleasuring weeks away, - Summer is lying asleep to-day,-- - - Where winds come sweet from the wild-rose briers - And the smoke of the far-off prairie fires. - - Yellow her hair as the goldenrod, - And brown her cheeks as the prairie sod; - - Purple her eyes as the mists that dream - At the edge of some laggard sun-drowned stream; - - But over their depths the lashes sweep, - For Summer is lying to-day asleep. - - The north wind kisses her rosy mouth, - His rival frowns in the far-off south, - - And comes caressing her sunburnt cheek, - And Summer awakes for one short week,-- - - Awakes and gathers her wealth of grain, - Then sleeps and dreams for a year again. - --E. PAULINE JOHNSON. - - * * * * * - - People are great only as they are kind. - - - - - HARE-AND-HOUNDS AT RUGBY - - -The only incident worth recording here, however, was the first run at -hare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday but one of the half-year, Tom was -passing through the hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts -from Tadpole and several other boys. They were seated at one of the long -tables; the chorus of their shouts was, “Come and help us tear up -scent.” - -[Illustration: THOMAS HUGHES] - -Tom approached the table in obedience to the summons, always ready to -help, and found the party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, -copy-books, and magazines into small pieces, with which they were -filling four large canvas bags. - -“It’s the turn of our house to find scent for Big-side hare-and-hounds,” -exclaimed Tadpole. “Tear away; there’s no time to lose.” - -“I think it’s a great shame,” said another small boy, “to have such a -hard run for the last day.” - -“Which run is it?” said Tadpole. - -“Oh, the Barby run, I hear,” answered the other. “Nine miles at least, -and hard ground; no chance of getting in at the finish unless you’re a -first-rate runner.” - -“Well, I’m going to have a try,” said Tadpole. - -“I should like to try, too,” said Tom. - -“Well, then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen at the door, after -roll-call, and you’ll hear where the meet is.” - -After roll-call, sure enough, there were two boys at the door, calling -out, “Big-side hare-and-hounds meet at White Hall.” And Tom, having -girded himself with leather strap, and left all superfluous clothing -behind, set off for White Hall, an old gable-ended house some quarter of -a mile from the town, with East, whom he had persuaded to join. At the -meet they found some forty or fifty boys; and Tom felt sure, from having -seen many of them run at football, that he and East were more likely to -get in than they. - -After a few minutes’ waiting, two well-known runners, chosen for the -hares, buckled on the four bags filled with scent, compared their -watches with those of young Brooke and Thorne, and started off at a -long, swinging trot across the fields in the direction of Barby. Then -the hounds clustered round Thorne, who explained shortly: “They’re to -have six minutes’ law. We run into the Cock, and every one who comes in -within a quarter of an hour of the hares will be counted, if he has been -round Barby church.” - -Then comes a pause of a minute or so, and then the watches are pocketed, -and the pack is led through the gateway into the field which the hares -had first crossed. Here they break into a trot, scattering over the -field to find the first traces of the scent which the hares throw out as -they go along. - -The old hounds make straight for the likely points, and in a minute a -cry of “Forward” comes from one of them, and the whole pack, quickening -their pace, make for the spot. The boy who hit the scent first, and the -two or three nearest to him, are over the first fence, and making play -along the hedgerow in the long-grass field beyond. The rest of the pack -rush at the gap already made, and scramble through, jostling one -another. “Forward” again, before they are half through; the pace -quickens into a sharp run, the tail hounds all straining to get up with -the lucky leaders. - -They are gallant hares, and the scent lies thick right across another -meadow and into a ploughed field, where the pace begins to tell; then -over a good hedge with a ditch on the other side, and down a large -pasture studded with old thorns, which slopes down to the first brook. -The brook is a small one, and the scent lies right ahead up the opposite -slope, and as thick as ever. Many a youngster now begins to drag his -legs heavily, and feel his heart beat like a hammer, and those farthest -behind think that after all it isn’t worth while to keep it up. - -Tom, East, and Tadpole had a good start, and are well along for such -young hands. After rising the slope and crossing the next field, they -find themselves up with the leading hounds, who have overrun the scent -and are trying back. They have come a mile and a half in about eleven -minutes, a pace which shows that it is the last day. Only about -twenty-five of the original starters show here, the - -[Illustration: THE START] - -rest having already given in. The leaders are busy making casts into the -fields on the left and right, and the others get their second winds. - -Then comes the cry of “Forward” again from young Brooke, at the extreme -left, and the pack settles down to work again, steadily and doggedly, -the whole keeping pretty well together. The scent, though still good, is -not so thick. There is no need of that, for in this part of the run -every one knows the line which must be taken, and so there are no casts -to be made, but good downright running and fencing to be done. - -All who are now up mean coming in, and they come to the foot of Barby -Hill without losing more than two or three more of the pack. This last -straight two miles and a half is always a vantage-ground for the hounds, -and the hares know it well. They are generally viewed on the side of -Barby Hill, and all eyes are on the lookout for them to-day. But not a -sign of them appears, so now will be the hard work for the hounds, and -there is nothing for it but to cast about for the scent, for it is the -hares’ turn, and they may baffle the pack dreadfully in the next two -miles. - -Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they follow young Brooke; for -he takes the wide casts round to the left, conscious of his own powers, -and loving the hard work. However, they struggle after him, sobbing and -plunging along, Tom and East pretty close, and Tadpole some thirty yards -behind. - -Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which they can hardly -drag their legs; and they hear faint cries for help from the wretched -Tadpole, who has fairly stuck fast. But they have too little run left in -themselves to pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, and -another check, and then “Forward” called away to the extreme right. - -The two boys’ souls die within them. They can never do it. Young Brooke -thinks so, too, and says kindly, “You’ll cross a lane after next field; -keep down it, and you’ll hit the Dunchurch-road.” Then he steams away -for the run in, in which he’s sure to be first, as if he were just -starting. They struggle on across the next field, the “Forwards” getting -fainter and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole hunt is out of -ear-shot, and all hope of coming in is over. - -“Hang it all!” broke out East, as soon as he had wind enough, pulling -off his hat and mopping his face, all spattered with dirt and lined with -sweat, from which went up a thick steam into the still, cold air. “I -told you how it would be. What a thick I was to come! Here we are dead -beat, and yet I know we’re close to the run in, if we knew the country.” - -“Well,” said Tom, mopping away, and gulping down his disappointment, “it -can’t be helped. We did our best, anyhow. Hadn’t we better find this -lane, and go down it as young Brooke told us?” - -“I suppose so--nothing else for it,” grunted East. “If ever I go out -last day again,” growl--growl--growl. - -So they turned back slowly and sorrowfully, and found the lane, and -went limping down it, plashing in the cold, puddly ruts, and beginning -to feel how the run had taken the heart out of them. The evening closed -in fast, and clouded over, dark, cold, and dreary. - -“I say, it must be locking-up, I should think,” remarked East, breaking -the silence; “it’s so dark.” - -“What if we’re late?” said Tom. - -“No tea, and sent up to the Doctor,” answered East. - -The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. Presently a faint halloo -was heard from an adjoining field. They answered it and stopped, hoping -for some competent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some twenty -yards ahead crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state of collapse. He had -lost a shoe in the brook, and been groping after it up to his elbows in -the stiff, wet clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape of a boy -seldom has been seen. - -The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for he was some degree -more wretched than they. They also cheered him, as he was now no longer -under the dread of passing his night alone in the fields. And so in -better heart, the three plashed painfully down the never-ending lane. At -last it widened, just as utter darkness set in, and they came out on to -a turnpike road, and there paused, bewildered, for they had lost all -bearings, and knew not whether to turn to the right or left. - -Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lumbering along the road, -with one lamp lighted, and two spavined horses in the shafts, came a -heavy coach, which after a moment’s suspense they recognized as the -Oxford coach, the redoubtable Pig and Whistle. - -It lumbered slowly up, and the boys, mustering their last run, caught it -as it passed, and began scrambling up behind, in which exploit East -missed his footing and fell flat on his nose along the road. Then the -others hailed the old scarecrow of a coachman, who pulled up and agreed -to take them in for a shilling. So there they sat on the back seat, -drubbing with their heels, and their teeth chattering with cold, and -jogged into Rugby some forty minutes after locking-up.--THOMAS HUGHES. - - - - - AN ADJUDGED CASE - - -[Illustration: WILLIAM COWPER] - - Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, - The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; - The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, - To which the said spectacles ought to belong. - - So the Tongue was the Lawyer and argued the cause - With a great deal of skill and a wig full of learning; - While Chief Baron Ear sat to balance the laws, - So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. - - “In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, - And your lordship,” he said, “will undoubtedly find - That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, - Which amounts to possession time out of mind.” - - Then, holding the spectacles up to the court-- - “Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle - As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, - Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. - - “Again, would your lordship a moment suppose - (’Tis a case that has happened and may be again), - That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, - Pray who would or who could wear spectacles then? - - “On the whole it appears, and my argument shows - With a reasoning the court will never condemn, - That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, - And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.” - - Then, shifting his side as a lawyer knows how, - He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes, - But what were his arguments few people know, - For the court did not think they were equally wise. - - So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone, - Decisive and clear without one “if” or “but”-- - That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, - By daylight or candlelight, Eyes should be shut. - --WILLIAM COWPER. - - - - - INDIAN SUMMER - - -[Illustration: MRS. MOODIE] - - By the purple haze that lies - On the distant rocky height, - By the deep blue of the skies, - By the smoky amber light, - Through the forest arches streaming, - Where Nature on her throne sits dreaming, - And the sun is scarcely gleaming, - Through the cloudless snowy white,-- - Winter’s lovely herald greets us, - Ere the ice-crowned giant meets us. - - A mellow softness fills the air,-- - No breeze on wanton wings steals by, - To break the holy quiet there, - Or make the waters fret and sigh, - Or the yellow alders shiver, - That bend to kiss the placid river, - Flowing on and on forever; - - But the little waves are sleeping, - O’er the pebbles slowly creeping, - That last night were flashing, leaping, - Driven by the restless breeze, - In lines of foam beneath yon trees. - - Dress’d in robes of gorgeous hue, - Brown and gold with crimson blent; - The forest to the waters blue - Its own enchanting tints has lent;-- - In their dark depths, life-like glowing, - We see a second forest growing, - Each pictured leaf and branch bestowing - A fairy grace to that twin wood, - Mirror’d within the crystal flood. - - ’Tis pleasant now in forest shades; - The Indian hunter strings his bow, - To track through dark entangling glades - The antler’d deer and bounding doe,-- - Or launch at night the birch canoe, - To spear the finny tribes that dwell - On sandy bank, in weedy cell, - Or pool, the fisher knows right well-- - Seen by the red and vivid glow - Of pine-torch at his vessel’s bow. - - This dreamy Indian summer-day, - Attunes the soul to tender sadness; - We love--but joy not in the ray-- - It is not summer’s fervid gladness, - But a melancholy glory, - Hovering softly round decay, - Like swan that sings her own sad story, - Ere she floats in death away. - - The day declines, what splendid dyes, - In fleckered waves of crimson driven, - Float o’er the saffron sea that lies - Glowing within the western heaven! - Oh, it is a peerless even! - - See, the broad red sun has set, - But his rays are quivering yet - Through Nature’s vale of violet, - Streaming bright o’er lake and hill, - But earth and forest lie so still, - It sendeth to the heart a chill; - We start to check the rising tear-- - ’Tis beauty sleeping on her bier. - --SUSANNAH MOODIE. - - - - - A WINTER JOURNEY - - -On the first day of January, 1776, I set out from Beaver Lake, attended -by two men, and provided with dried meat, frozen fish, and a small -quantity of roasted maize, sweetened with sugar, which I had brought -from Sault Sainte Marie, for this express occasion. Our provisions were -drawn by the men, upon sledges made of thin boards, a foot in breadth, -and curved upwards in front, after the Indian fashion. - -Each day’s journey was commenced at three o’clock in the morning. -Although the sun did not rise until somewhat late, at no time was it -wholly dark, as the northern lights and the reflection of the snow -afforded always sufficient light. In addition, the river, the course of -which I was ascending, was a guide with the aid of which I was not -afraid of being lost. - -As the snow was four feet deep, it rendered my progress so much slower -than I had expected, that I soon began to fear the want of provisions. -Moreover, I had not gone far before the wood began to dwindle away, both -in size and quantity, so that it was with difficulty we could collect -sufficient for making a fire, and without fire we could not drink; for -melted snow was our only resource, the ice on the river being too thick -to be penetrated by the axe. - -[Illustration: ALEXANDER HENRY] - -As the weather continued severely cold, I made my two men sleep on the -same skin with myself, one on each side, and though this arrangement was -particularly beneficial to myself, it increased the comfort of all. At -the usual hour in the morning, we attempted to rise, but found that a -foot of snow had fallen upon our bed, as well as extinguished and -covered our fire. In this situation we remained till daybreak, when, -with much exertion, we collected fresh fuel. Proceeding on our journey, -we found that we could no longer use our sledges on account of the -quantity of newly fallen snow, and we were now compelled to carry our -provisions on our backs. Unfortunately they were a diminished burden. - -For the next two days the depth of the snow, and the violence of the -winds, so greatly retarded our journey that my men began to fear being -starved. However, I kept up their courage by telling them that I should -certainly kill red deer and elk, of which the tracks were visible along -the banks of the river, and on the sides of the hills. But to do this -was not easy, as the animals kept within the shelter of the woods, and -the snow was too deep to let me seek them there. - -A little later our situation was rendered still more alarming by a fresh -fall of snow, which added nearly two feet to the depth of that which was -on the ground before. At the same time, we were scarcely able to collect -enough wood for making a fire to melt the snow. The only trees around us -were small willows, and the hills were bare of every vegetable -production such as could rear itself above the snow. - -On the twentieth, the last remains of our provisions were exhausted, but -I had taken the precaution to conceal a cake of chocolate, in reserve -for an occasion such as this. Towards evening, my men, after walking the -whole day, began to lose their strength, but we, nevertheless, kept on -our feet till it was late. When we encamped, I desired them to fill the -kettle with snow, and showing them the chocolate, told them it would -keep us alive for five days at least, during which we would surely meet -with some Indian at the chase. This revived their spirits, and, the -kettle being filled with two gallons of water, I put into it one square -of the chocolate. The quantity was scarcely sufficient to alter the -color of the water, but each of us drank half a gallon of the warm -liquid, by which we were much refreshed. - -In the morning, we allowed ourselves a similar repast, after finishing -which, we marched vigorously for six hours. But now the spirits of my -companions again deserted them, and they declared that they neither -would, nor could, proceed any further. For myself, they advised me to -leave them, and accomplish the journey as I could; as for themselves, -they said they must die soon, and might as well die where they were as -anywhere else. - -While things were in this melancholy state, I filled the kettle, and -boiled another square of chocolate. When prepared, I prevailed upon my -desponding companions to return to their warm beverage. On taking it, -they recovered inconceivably, and, after smoking a pipe, consented to go -forward. While their stomachs were comforted by the warm water, they -walked well, but, as evening approached, fatigue overcame them, and they -relapsed into their former condition. The chocolate being now almost -entirely consumed, I began to fear that I must really abandon them, as, -had it not been for keeping company with them, I could have advanced -double the distance, within the time that had been spent. To my great -joy, however, the usual quantity of warm water revived them. - -For breakfast the next morning, I put the last square of chocolate into -the kettle, and, our meal finished, we began our march. We were -surrounded by large herds of wolves, which sometimes came close upon us, -and who seemed to know the extremity in which we were, but I carried a -gun, and this was our protection. I fired several times, but -unfortunately missed at each; for a morsel of wolf’s flesh would have -afforded us a banquet. - -Our misery, nevertheless, was nearer its end than we imagined. Before -sunset, we discovered, on the ice, some remains of the bones of an elk, -left there by the wolves. Having instantly gathered them, we encamped, -and, filling our kettle, prepared ourselves a meal of strong and -excellent soup. The greater part of the night was passed in boiling and -eating our booty, and early in the morning we felt ourselves strong -enough to proceed. - -At noon, we saw the horns of a red deer, standing in the snow on the -river, and on examination, we found that the whole carcass was with -them. By cutting away the ice, we were enabled to lay bare a part of the -back and shoulders, and thus procure a stock of food sufficient for the -rest of our journey. We accordingly encamped, and employed our kettle to -good purpose. We forgot all our misfortunes, and prepared to walk with -cheerfulness the twenty leagues, which, as we reckoned, still lay -between ourselves and Fort des Prairies.--ALEXANDER HENRY. - - - - - 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 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 his 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 heard no sound; the swell is strong; - Though the wind has 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. - --ROBERT SOUTHEY. - - * * * * * - - Thinking is very far from knowing. - - - - - THE BIRD OF THE MORNING - - -If every bird has his vocation, as a poetical French writer suggests, -that of the American robin must be to inspire cheerfulness and -contentment in men. His joyous “Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheery! Be cheery! -Be cheery!” poured out in the early morning from the top branch of the -highest tree in the neighborhood, is one of the most stimulating sounds -of spring. He must be unfeeling, indeed, who can help deserting his bed -and peering through blinds till he discovers the charming philosopher, -with head erect and breast glowing in the dawning light, forgetting the -cares of life in the ecstasy of song. - -Besides admonishing others to cheerfulness, the robin sets the example. -Not only is his cheering voice the first in the morning and the last at -night,--of the day birds,--but no rain is wet enough to dampen his -spirits. In a drizzly, uncomfortable day, when all other birds go about -their necessary tasks of food-hunting in dismal silence, the robin is -not a whit less happy than when the sun shines; and his cheery voice -rings out to comfort not only the inmates of the damp little home in the -maple, but the owners of waterproofs and umbrellas who mope in the -house. - -The most delightful study of one summer, not long ago, was the daily -life, the joys and sorrows, of a family of robins, whose pretty castle -in the air rested on a stout fork of a maple-tree branch near my -window. Day by day I watched their ways till I learned to know them -well. - -When I first took my seat I felt like an intruder, which the robin -plainly considered me to be. He eyed me with the greatest suspicion, -alighting on the ground in a terrible flutter, resolved to brave the -ogre, yet on the alert, and ready for instant flight should anything -threaten. The moment he touched the ground, he would lower his head and -run with breathless haste five or six feet; then stop, raise his head as -pert as a daisy, and look at the monster to see if it had moved. After -convincing himself that all was safe, he would turn his eyes downwards, -and in an instant thrust his bill into the soil where the sod was thin, -throwing up a little shower of earth, and doing this again and again, so -vehemently that sometimes he was taken off his feet by the jerk. Then he -would drag out a worm, run a few feet farther in a panic-stricken way, -as though “taking his life in his hands,” again look on the ground, and -again pull out a worm; all the time in an inconsequent manner, as though -he had nothing particular on his mind, and merely collected worms by way -of passing the time. - -So he would go on, never eating a morsel, but gathering worms till he -had three or four of the wriggling creatures hanging from his firm -little beak. Then he would fly to a low branch, run up a little way, -take another short flight, and thus having, as he plainly intended by -this zigzag course, completely deceived the observer as to his -destination, he would slip quietly to the nest and quickly dispose of -his load. In half a minute he was back again, running and watching, and -digging as before. And this work he kept up nearly all day,--in silence, -too, for, noisy and talkative as the bird is, he keeps his mouth shut -when on the ground. In all my watching of robins for years in several -places, I scarcely ever heard one make a sound when on the ground, near -a human dwelling. - -I was surprised to discover, in my close attention to them, that -although early to rise, robins are by no means early to bed. Long after -every feather was supposed to be at rest for the night, I would sit out -and listen to the gossip, the last words, the scraps of song,--different -in every individual robin, yet all variations on the theme, “Be -cheery,”--and often the sharp “He he he he he!” so like a girl’s laugh, -out of the shadowy depths of the maple. - -One of the most interesting entertainments of the later days was to hear -the young birds’ music lesson. In the early morning the father would -place himself in the thickest part of the tree, not as usual in plain -sight on the top, and with his pupil near him would begin, “Cheery! -cheery! be cheery!” in a loud, clear voice; and then would follow a -feeble, wavering, uncertain attempt to copy the song. Again papa would -chant the first strain, and baby would pipe out his funny notes. This -was kept up, till in a surprisingly short time, after much daily -practice both with the copy and without, I could hardly tell father from -son. - -The baby robin taken apart from his kind is an interesting study. -Before he can fairly balance himself on his uncertain, wavering little -legs, or lay claim to more than the promise of a tail, he displays the -brave, self-reliant spirit of his race. He utters loud, defiant calls, -pecks boldly at an intruding hand, and stands--as well as he is -able--staring one full in the face without blinking, asserting by his -attitude and by every bristling feather that he is a living being; and, -in the depths of your soul, you cannot gainsay him. If you have already, -in his helpless infancy, made him captive, the blush of shame arises, -and you involuntarily throw wide the prison-doors. - - --OLIVE THORNE MILLER. - - _By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston._ - - - - - THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK - - - I’ll seek a four-leaved Shamrock in all the fairy dells, - And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I’ll weave my spells! - I would not waste my magic mite on diamond, pearl, or gold, - For treasure tires the weary sense--_such_ triumph is but cold; - But I would play th’ enchanter’s part in casting bliss around-- - Oh, not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found. - - To worth I would give honor!--I’d dry the mourner’s tears, - And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years, - And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown cold, - Should meet again--like parted streams--and mingle as of old! - Oh! thus I’d play th’ enchanter’s part, thus scatter bliss around, - And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found! - - The heart that had been mourning, o’er vanished dreams of love, - Should see them all returning--like Noah’s faithful dove; - And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow’s darkening sea, - And Misery’s children have an ark and saved from sinking be. - Oh! thus I’d play th’ enchanter’s part, thus scatter bliss around, - And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found! - --SAMUEL LOVER. - - * * * * * - - Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again,-- - The eternal years of God are hers; - But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, - And dies among his worshippers. - - - - - KING HACON’S LAST BATTLE - - -[Illustration: LORD DUFFERIN] - - All was over; day was ending - As the foemen turned and fled. - Gloomy red - Glowed the angry sun descending; - While round Hacon’s dying bed - Tears and songs of triumph blending - Told how fast the conqueror bled. - - “Raise me,” said the king. We raised him-- - Not to ease his desperate pain; - That were vain! - “Strong our foe was, but we faced him-- - Show me that red field again.” - Then with reverent hands we placed him - High above the battle plain. - - Sudden, on our startled hearing, - Came the low-breathed, stern command-- - “Lo! ye stand? - Linger not--the night is nearing; - Bear me downwards to the strand, - Where my ships are idly steering - Off and on, in sight of land.” - - Every whispered word obeying, - Swift we bore him down the steep, - O’er the deep, - Up the tall ship’s side, low swaying - To the storm-wind’s powerful sweep, - And his dead companions laying - Round him--we had time to weep. - - But the king said, “Peace! bring hither - Spoil and weapons, battle-strown-- - Make no moan; - Leave me and my dead together; - Light my torch, and then--begone.” - But we murmured, each to other, - “Can we leave him thus alone?” - - Angrily the king replieth; - Flashed the awful eye again - With disdain-- - “Call him not _alone_ who lieth - Low amidst such noble slain; - Call him not alone who dieth - Side by side with gallant men.” - - Slowly, sadly we departed-- - Reached again that desolate shore, - Never more - Trod by him, the brave, true-hearted, - Dying in that dark ship’s core! - Sadder keel from land ne’er parted, - Nobler freight none ever bore! - - There we lingered, seaward gazing - Watching o’er that living tomb, - Through the gloom-- - Gloom which awful light is chasing; - Blood-red flames the surge illume! - Lo! King Hacon’s ship is blazing; - ’Tis the hero’s self-sought doom. - - Right before the wild wind driving, - Madly plunging--stung by fire-- - No help nigh her-- - Lo! the ship has ceased her striving! - Mount the red flames higher, higher, - Till, on ocean’s verge arriving, - Sudden sinks the viking’s pyre.-- - Hacon’s gone! - --LORD DUFFERIN. - - - - - MR. PICKWICK ON THE ICE - - -On Christmas morning Mr. Wardle invited Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Snodgrass, Mr. -Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and his other guests to go down to the pond. - -“You skate, of course, Winkle?” said Mr. Wardle. - -“Ye--s; 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 “swanlike.” - -“I should be very happy, I am sure,” said Mr. Winkle, reddening, “but I -have no skates.” - -This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of pairs, and -the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs; -whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely -uncomfortable. - -Mr. 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 was 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 Mr. Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by 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 shoes, and putting his -skates on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very -complicated 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 with you, and -show them 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 in -the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice. - -“These--these--are very awkward skates; aren’t they, Sam?” inquired Mr. -Winkle, staggering. - -“I’m afraid there’s an awkward gentleman 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 going to begin,” said Sam, endeavoring to disengage himself. “Now, -sir, start off!” - -“Stop an instant, Sam,” gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately -to Mr. Weller. “I find I’ve got 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 in 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 unswanlike -manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the bank, “Sam!” - -“Sir?” - -“Here. I want you.” - -“Let go, sir,” said Sam. “Don’t you hear the governor calling? 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. 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 on skates. He -was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish -was depicted on every lineament of his face. - -“Are you hurt?” inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety. - -“Not much,” said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard. - -Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and -said in a stern voice, “Take his skates off.” - -“No; but really I had scarcely begun,” remonstrated Mr. Winkle. - -“Take his skates off,” repeated Mr. Pickwick, firmly. - -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 shall speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, -sir.” - -[Illustration: ON THE SLIDE] - -With those words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and rejoined -his friends. - -While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment just -recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint endeavors -cut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon in a very masterly -and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular, was displaying that -beautiful feat of fancy sliding which is currently called “knocking at -the cobbler’s door,” and which is achieved by skimming over the ice on -one foot, and occasionally giving a postman’s knock upon it with the -other. It was a good, long slide, and there was something in the motion -which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold with standing still, could not -help envying. - -“It looks like a nice warm exercise that, doesn’t it?” he inquired of -Mr. Wardle. - -“Ah, it does indeed,” replied Wardle. “Do you slide?” - -“I used to do so on the gutters, when I was a boy,” replied Mr. -Pickwick. - -“Try it now,” said Wardle. - -“Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick!” cried all the ladies. - -“I should be very happy to afford you any amusement,” replied Mr. -Pickwick, “but I haven’t done such a thing these thirty years.” - -“Pooh, pooh! Nonsense!” said Wardle, dragging off his skates with the -impetuosity which characterized all his proceedings. “Here, I’ll keep -you company; come along!” And away went the good-tempered old fellow -down the slide, with a rapidity which came very close upon Mr. Weller, -and beat the fat boy all to nothing. - -Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put them in -his hat, took two or three short runs, stopped as often, and at last -took another run and went slowly and gravely down the slide, with his -feet about a yard and a quarter apart, amidst the gratified shouts of -all the spectators. - -“Keep the pot a-boiling, sir,” said Sam; and down went Wardle again, and -then Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr. Winkle, and then Mr. Bob -Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and then Mr. Snodgrass, following closely -upon each other’s heels, and running after each other with as much -eagerness as if all their future prospects in life depended on their -expedition. - -It was the most intensely interesting thing to observe the manner in -which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the ceremony; to watch the -torture of anxiety with which he viewed the person behind gaining upon -him at the imminent hazard of tripping him up; to see him gradually -expend the painful force he had put on at first, and turn slowly round -on the slide, with his face towards the point from which he had started; -to contemplate the playful smile which mantled his face when he had -accomplished the distance, and the eagerness with which he turned round -when he had done so and ran after his predecessor; his black gaiters -tripping pleasantly through the snow, and his eyes beaming cheerfulness -and gladness through his spectacles; and when he was knocked down -(which happened on the average of every third round), it was the most -invigorating sight that can possibly be imagined to behold him gather up -his hat, gloves, and handkerchief, with a glowing countenance, and -resume his station in the rank with an ardor and enthusiasm that nothing -could abate. - -The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, the -laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp, smart crack was heard. There -was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild scream from the ladies, and a -shout from Mr. Tupman. A large mass of ice disappeared; the water -bubbled up over it; Mr. Pickwick’s hat, gloves, and handkerchief were -floating on the surface, and this was all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody -could see. - -Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance; the men turned -pale and the women fainted; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle grasped each -other by the hand, and gazed with frenzied eagerness at the spot where -their leader had gone down; while Mr. Tupman, by way of rendering the -promptest assistance, ran off across the country at his utmost speed, -screaming “Fire!” with all his might. - -It was at this moment, when Mr. Wardle and Sam Weller were approaching -the hole with cautious steps, that a face, head, and shoulders emerged -from beneath the water, and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr. -Pickwick. - -“Keep yourself up for an instant--for only one instant!” bawled Mr. -Snodgrass. - -“Yes, do, let me implore you--for my sake!” roared Mr. Winkle, deeply -affected. - -“Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?” said Wardle. - -“Yes, certainly,” replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water from his head -and face, and gasping for breath. “I fell upon my back. I couldn’t get -on my feet at first.” - -The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick’s coat as was yet visible bore -testimony to the truth of this statement; and as the fears of the -spectators were still further relieved by the fat boy’s suddenly -recollecting that the water was nowhere more than five feet deep, -prodigies of valor were performed to get him out. After a vast quantity -of splashing, and cracking, and struggling, Mr. Pickwick was at length -fairly extricated from his unpleasant position, and once more stood on -dry land. - -“Oh, he’ll catch his death of cold,” said Emily. - -“Let me wrap this shawl round you,” said Arabella. - -“Ah, that’s the best thing you can do,” said Wardle; “and when you’ve -got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry you, and jump into -bed directly.” - -A dozen shawls were offered on the instant. Three or four of the -thickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was wrapped up, and started -off, under the guidance of Mr. Weller, presenting the singular -appearance of an elderly gentleman, dripping wet, and without a hat, -with his arms bound down to his sides, skimming over the ground, without -any clearly defined purpose, at the rate of six good English miles an -hour. - -But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an extreme case, and -urged on by Mr. Weller, he kept at the very top of his speed until he -reached the door of Manor Farm, where he paused not an instant till he -was snug in bed.--CHARLES DICKENS. - - - - - DICKENS IN CAMP - - -[Illustration: BRET HARTE] - - Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting, - The river sang below; - The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting - Their minarets of snow. - - The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted - The ruddy tints of health - On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted - In the fierce race for wealth; - - Till one arose, and from his pack’s scant treasure - A hoarded volume drew, - And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure - To hear the tale anew; - - And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, - And as the firelight fell, - He read aloud the book wherein the Master - Had writ of “Little Nell.” - - Perhaps ’twas boyish fancy,--for the reader - Was youngest of them all,-- - But as he read, from clustering pine and cedar - A silence seemed to fall; - - The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, - Listened in every spray, - While the whole camp with “Nell” on English meadows - Wandered, and lost their way. - - And so, in mountain solitudes, o’ertaken - As by some spell divine-- - Their cares drop from them, like the needles shaken - From out the gusty pine. - - Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire;-- - And he who wrought that spell? - Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, - Ye have one tale to tell! - - Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story - Blend with the breath that thrills - With hop-vines’ incense all the pensive glory - That fills the Kentish hills. - - And on that grave where English oak and holly - And laurel wreaths entwine, - Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, - This spray of Western pine! - --FRANCIS BRET HARTE. - - - - - HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR - - - Home they brought her warrior dead: - She nor swoon’d, nor utter’d cry: - All her maidens, watching, said, - “She must weep or she will die.” - - Then they praised him, soft and low, - Call’d him worthy to be loved, - Truest friend and noblest foe; - Yet she neither spoke nor moved. - - Stole a maiden from her place, - Lightly to the warrior stept, - Took the face-cloth from the face; - Yet she neither moved nor wept. - - Rose a nurse of ninety years, - Set his child upon her knee-- - Like summer tempest came her tears-- - “Sweet my child, I live for thee.” - --ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. - - * * * * * - - The world goes up and the world goes down, - And the sunshine follows the rain; - And yesterday’s sneer and yesterday’s frown - Can never come over again. - --KINGSLEY. - - - - - THE LOCKSMITH OF THE GOLDEN KEY - - -From the workshop of the Golden Key there issued forth a tinkling sound, -so merry and good-humored that it suggested the idea of some one working -blithely, and made quite pleasant music. _Tink, tink, tink_--clear as a -silver bell, and audible at every pause of the street’s harsher noises, -as though it said, “I don’t care; nothing puts me out; I am resolved to -be happy.” - -Women scolded, children squalled, heavy carts went rumbling by, horrible -cries proceeded from the lungs of hawkers. Still it struck in again, no -higher, no lower, no louder, no softer; not thrusting itself on people’s -notice a bit the more for having been outdone by louder sounds--_tink, -tink, tink, tink, tink_. - -It was a perfect embodiment of the still small voice, free from all -cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any kind. -Foot-passengers slackened their pace, and were disposed to linger near -it. Neighbors who had got up splenetic that morning felt good-humor -stealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees became quite -sprightly. Mothers danced their babies to its ringing--still the same -magical _tink, tink, tink_, came gayly from the workshop of the Golden -Key. - -Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun, -shining through the unsashed window, and checkering the dark workshop -with a broad patch of light, fell full upon him, as though attracted by -his sunny heart. There he stood, working at his anvil, his face radiant -with exercise and gladness--the easiest, freest, happiest man in all the -world. - -Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light, and -falling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess of comfort. -The very locks that hung around had something jovial in their rust, and -seemed like gouty old gentlemen of hearty natures, disposed to joke on -their infirmities. - -There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene. It seemed -impossible that any one of the innumerable keys could fit a churlish -strong-box or a prison-door. Store-houses of good things, rooms where -there were fires, books, gossip, and cheering laughter--these were their -proper sphere of action. Places of distrust and cruelty and restraint -they would have quadruple locked forever. - -_Tink, tink, tink._ No man who hammered on at a dull, monotonous duty -could have brought such cheerful notes from steel and iron; none but a -chirping, healthy, honest-hearted fellow, who made the best of -everything, and felt kindly towards everybody, could have done it for an -instant. He might have been a coppersmith, and still been musical. If he -had sat on a jolting wagon, full of rods of iron, it seemed as if he -would have brought some harmony out of it.--CHARLES DICKENS. - - * * * * * - - A clear conscience is better than untold riches. - - - - - 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 the spear. - And he sang: “Hurrah for my handiwork! - Hurrah for the spear and the 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 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 ever I made, - Or that skill of mine should plan, - The spear and the sword for men whose joy - Is to slay their fellow-man!” - - And for many a day old Tubal Cain - Sat brooding o’er his woe; - And his hand forbore to smite the ore, - And his furnace 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 handicraft!” - As 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 staunch good friend is he; - And for the ploughshare and the plough - To him our praise shall be; - But while oppression lifts its head, - Or a tyrant would be lord, - Though we may thank him for the plough, - We’ll not forget the sword.” - --CHARLES MACKAY. - - - - - THE BUGLE SONG - - - The splendor 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 forever and forever. - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, - And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. - --ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. - - - - - LEIF ERICSSON - - -Out through the black wolf’s-mouth of massive cliffs one morning a swift -longship sped, with the early wind rounding the great sail and helping -the rowers with their oars. A line of shields hung along each side, -helmeted heads gleamed here and there, and high in the stern the rising -sun made a form shine like a statue of silver flame as he waved farewell -to those on shore, who cheerily waved and shouted farewells back again. -Ulf, the leader, still had a name to win; but what a glorious thing it -was to stand there in the stern of that swift craft and feel it quiver -with life beneath him in response to the rhythmic stroke of the oarsmen, -as it surged through the heaving water. Brightly the sunlight leaped -along the sea. Snow-white was the foam that flashed upwards underneath -the curving prow, and now and then jetted high enough to come hissing -inboard on the wind when the fitful gusts shifted to the rightabout. The -men laughed, and carelessly shook the drops from their broad backs when -it splashed among them. - -What a hardy set of men they were, those Northmen of old! They had no -compass; they must steer by the sun, or by the stars, guess at their -rate of sailing, and tell by that how many more days distant was their -destination. If the weather was fine, well. But if the sky clouded over, -and sun nor star was seen for a week or more, while the wind veered at -its own will, the chances were more than even that they would bring up -on some coast where they had never been, with water and food to get, and -perhaps every headland bristling with hostile spears. All this they -knew, yet out to sea they went as happily as a fisherman seeks his nets. -Trading, starving, fighting, plundering--it was all one to them. On the -whole, they seemed to like fighting the best of all, since that is what -their famous poems told most about. - -One morning the dawn-light revealed a black spot on the low horizon. A -speck that grew larger, with twinkling, fin-like flashes along each -side, and in due time it proved to be a galley like their own bearing -down straight for them. Nobody stopped to ask any questions. That was -not sea-style then. But just as naturally as two men now in a lonely -journey would shake hands on meeting, these two captains slipped their -arms through their shield-handles, sheered alongside just beyond -oar-tip, and exchanged cards in the shape of whistling javelins. - -Up from their benches sprang the rowers. Twang! sang their war bows the -song of the cord, and the air was full of hissing whispers of death as -their shafts hurtled past. Round and round the two galleys circled in a -strange dance, each steersman striving to bring his craft bows on, so as -to - -[Illustration: LEIF ERICSSON] - -ram and crush the other, while they lurched in the cross-seas, and -rolled till they dipped in tons of water over the rail. - -Up sprang the stranger on his prow; tall and broad-shouldered was he, -with a torrent of ruddy hair floating in the wind. As Ulf turned to give -an order to bale out the inrushing water, up rose a brawny arm, and a -great spear flashed down from the high bow of the enemy and struck -fairly between his shoulders. So sharp was the blow, so sudden, that Ulf -pitched forward on one knee for just half a breath. But the spear fell -clanging to the deck. The ruddy warrior stood looking at it with eyes of -amazement. His own spear, that never before had failed! A flash of light -leaped back like a lightning stroke; back to its master whistled the -brand, for, ere he rose, Ulf snatched it up, and, as he rose, he hurled -it--straight through the unguarded arm of the stranger. - -“Hold!” - -The shout rang sternly across the water and echoed back and forth from -sail to sail. The shouting hushed. Only the creak of the swaying yard, -the hoarse swash of the water, the panting of deep breathing broke the -silence; then once more from the lofty prow came the commanding voice. - -“Who and whence art thou?” - -“A son of the Forest am I,” answered the other. “Ulf is my name, Ulf the -Silent my title, Jarl Sigurd my father by adoption. The sea is my home, -from over sea I came, and over sea am I going.” - -“What dwarfs made that armor?” demanded the other, holding a cloth to -his wounded arm. - -“Ten dwarfs welded it, ten dwarfs tempered it, and the same ten guard -the wearer. Thou best shouldst know what five of them can do,” and Ulf -smiled grimly as he held up his hand with outspread fingers. - -“Now it is thy turn. Who art thou?” - -“Leif is my name,” said the other, “and Eric the Red is my father. To -the west have I been sailing, searching for a land with lumber for -ship-building. Now am I home-bound. Come thou with me and thou shalt be -as my brother; for a good spearman art thou as ever sailed the seas; and -afterwards we shall sail together.” - -“I like it well,” said Ulf, frankly, “and homewards I shall go with -thee”--for that was sea-politeness then. So they set a new course by the -stars that night, and before Leif’s arm had ceased to tingle they saw -the black walls of rock that guarded the entrance to his haven. - -Many a night in after years Ulf lay awake and watched the stars, -thinking the while of his visit to Greenland and of all that came of it. -A mighty man of his hands was Leif. None could strike a keener blow. Yet -was he hugely delighted when, one afternoon in friendly fray, Ulf again -and again slipped within his guard and with a lithe writhe of his -slender form twined a bear’s hug around his bulky friend and dashed him -earthwards. And to give Ulf one spear’s length advantage in a hot scurry -across country was never to come up with him again. - -“Thou art the man of men I long have hunted for!” Leif cried. “Let your -ship rest for a season;--or, better, let your longest-headed seaman -captain it for a voyage, trading, and come thou with me. Far to the -southwards and westwards lie rich timber lands. Where, we know not, yet -storm-driven ships have seen them. These I mean to find, and for such a -distant quest one ship is better than two.” So sunnily looked down the -great man at the slighter one, so joyous at the thought of that voyage -into the mists of the southern seas that Ulf held out his hand in -silence, and the compact was made. - -It did not take long to provision the craft, or to arrange other -matters. Soon they were surging once more across apparently boundless -seas. Three times they came to lands unknown to them, yet not the -country of great trees talked of by old sailors around the winter fires. -At last it loomed up in reality above the horizon, covered with timber -enough to build a great city,--more than ever was seen close at hand by -Northmen before. And right lustily swung the axes among them for days -and weeks, until even the keenest trader among them all was contented -with his share of wealth that was to come to him when back at home once -more. There were not lacking signs, either, that savage neighbors might -be unpleasant neighbors, as more than one stone-headed arrow had -whistled past, heralded by the first war-whoop that ever was heard by -ears of white men. - -So, like a careful captain, Leif carried his dried fish, his smoked -deer-meat, his water-casks, and his lumber by degrees all on board. He -lit the watch-fires as usual at sundown; but by moonrise, with the early -tide he and his men slipped quietly out of their stockaded camp and into -their vessel, and silently drifted out to sea before the warm land-wind -that still was faintly blowing. And late that night a savage war party -called at the camp with spear and torch to find it only an empty shell. - -And even now, in the entrance to a beautiful park in a great city of -that land where he went timber-cutting more than fifteen hundred years -ago, there, high in air, as though still standing on the prow of his -ship, looms up a brave figure in bronze. A close-knit, flexible shirt of -mail guards his form. One hand rests upon his side, holding his curved -war-horn. The other shades the eyes; for, even in this statue of him, -Leif Ericsson is still the crosser of far seas, the finder of strange -lands, the sleepless watcher forever gazing from beneath his shadowed -brows into the golden west.--JOHN PRESTON TRUE. - - _From “The Iron Star,” published by Little, Brown and Company, - Boston._ - - * * * * * - - I would not enter on my list of friends - (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, - Yet wanting sensibility) the man - Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. - An inadvertent step may crush the snail - That crawls at evening in the public path; - But he that has humanity, forewarned, - Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. - --COWPER. - - - - - THE LOSS OF THE _BIRKENHEAD_ - - - Right on our flanks the crimson sun went down; - The deep sea rolled around in dark repose; - When, like the wild shriek from some captured town, - A cry of women rose. - - The stout ship _Birkenhead_ lay hard and fast, - Caught, without hope, upon a hidden rock; - Her timbers thrill’d as nerves, when through them pass’d - The spirit of that shock. - - And ever like base cowards who leave their ranks - In danger’s hour, before the rush of steel, - Drifted away, disorderly, the planks - From underneath her keel. - - So calm the air, so calm and still the flood, - That low down in its blue translucent glass - We saw the great fierce fish that thirst for blood, - Pass slowly, then repass. - - They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey! - The sea turn’d one clear smile. Like things asleep - Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay, - As quiet as the deep. - - Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck, - Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, - Our Colonel gave the word, and on deck - Form’d us in line to die. - - To die!--’twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glow’d - Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers: - ALL TO THE BOATS! cried one;--he was, thank God, - No officer of ours! - - Our English hearts beat true:--we would not stir: - That base appeal we heard, but heeded not: - On land, on sea, we had our colors, Sir, - To keep without a spot! - - They shall not say in England, that we fought, - With shameful strength, unhonor’d life to seek; - Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought - By trampling down the weak. - - So we made women with their children go, - The oars ply back again, and yet again; - Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low, - Still under steadfast men. - - What followed, why recall?--the brave who died, - Died without flinching in the bloody surf: - They sleep as well, beneath that purple tide, - As others under turf:-- - - They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave, - Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again, - Joint-heirs with Christ, because they bled to save - His weak ones, not in vain. - --SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE. - - - - - THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE - - - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, - As his corse 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 moonbeam’s misty light, - And the lantern dimly burning. - - No useless coffin enclosed 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. - --CHARLES WOLFE. - - - - - THE SECOND VOYAGE OF SINBAD - - -I desired, after my first voyage, to spend the rest of my days at -Bagdad, but it was not long before I grew weary of an indolent life. My -desire to trade revived. I bought goods suitable for the commerce I -intended, and put to sea a second time with a number of my friends among -the merchants. We traded from island to island, and exchanged our goods -with great profit to ourselves. - -At length one day we landed on an island covered with several kinds of -fruit trees, but we could see neither man nor animal. We went to take a -little fresh air in the meadows, along the streams that watered them. -While some of the merchants amused themselves with gathering flowers and -fruits, I filled my bag with food, and sat down near a stream between -two high trees, which formed a thick shade. I made a good meal, and -afterwards fell asleep. I cannot tell how long I slept, but when I -awoke the ship was gone. I got up and looked around, but could not see -any of my friends who had landed with me. I perceived the ship under -sail, but so far away that I lost sight of her in a short time. - -In this sad condition I was ready to die with grief. I cried out in -agony, beat my head and breast, and threw myself upon the ground, where -I lay some time in despair. I reproached myself a hundred times for not -being content with the produce of my first voyage, which might have been -sufficient for me all my life. But all this was in vain, and my -repentance too late. - -At last I resigned myself to my condition. Not knowing what to do, I -climbed up to the top of a lofty tree, and looked about on all sides, to -see if I could discover anything that could give me hopes. When I gazed -towards the sea, I could see nothing but sky and water; but looking over -the land I beheld something white, at so great a distance, however, that -I could not distinguish what it was. I came down from the tree, and, -taking what provisions I had, walked towards the object. As I -approached, I thought it to be a white dome, of a great height and -extent, and when I came up to it, I touched it, and found it to be very -smooth. I examined it carefully to see if it was open on any side, but -saw that it was not. It was, at least, fifty paces around, and so smooth -that it was impossible for me to climb to the top. - -Just before sunset the sky became as dark as if it had been covered -with a thick cloud. I was much astonished at this sudden darkness, but -much more when I found it caused by a bird of a monstrous size that came -flying towards me. I remembered that I had often heard sailors speak of -a miraculous bird called the roc, and concluded that the great dome -which I so much admired must be its egg. In a few moments the bird -alighted, and sat over the egg. As I perceived her coming, I crept close -to the egg, so that I had before me one of her legs, which was as large -as the trunk of a tree. I tied myself strongly to it with my turban, in -hopes that the roc, next morning, would carry me with her out of this -desert island. - -As soon as it was daylight, the bird flew away and carried me so high -that I could not discern the earth. She afterwards descended with so -much rapidity that I almost lost my senses. But when I found myself on -the ground, I speedily untied the knot. I had scarcely done so, when the -roc, having taken up a large serpent in her bill, flew away. - -The spot where I found myself was surrounded on all sides by mountains, -that seemed to reach above the clouds, and so steep that there was no -possibility of getting out of the valley. This was a new perplexity. -When I compared this place with the desert island from which the roc had -brought me, I found that I had gained nothing by the change. - -As I walked through the valley, I saw that it was strewed with diamonds, -some of which were of a surprising size. I took pleasure in looking upon -them; but shortly saw at a distance a great number of serpents, so -large that the smallest of them was capable of swallowing an elephant. -The sight of these serpents greatly terrified me, and very much -diminished the satisfaction I had derived from the diamonds. - -I spent the day in exploring the valley, as I found that the serpents -retired in the daytime to their dens, where they hid themselves from -their enemy, the roc. When night came on, I went into a cave, and -secured the entrance, which was low and narrow, with a great stone. I -ate part of my provisions, but the serpents, which began hissing around -me, put me into such extreme fear, that I could not sleep. When the sun -rose, they disappeared and I came out of the cave trembling. I can -justly say that I walked upon diamonds, without feeling any desire to -touch them. At last I sat down, and, notwithstanding my fears, not -having closed my eyes during the night, fell asleep. But I had scarcely -shut my eyes when something that fell near by with a great noise awaked -me. This was a large piece of raw meat, and at the same time I saw -several others fall on the rocks in different places. - -I had always regarded as fabulous the stories I had heard sailors and -others relate of the valley of diamonds, and of the devices employed by -merchants to obtain the jewels. Now I found that they had stated nothing -but the truth. The fact is, that the merchants come to the neighborhood -of this valley when the eagles have young ones, and throw great joints -of meat into the valley; the diamonds upon whose points the joints fall -stick to them. The eagles, which are stronger in this country than -anywhere else, pounce upon these pieces of meat, and carry them to their -nests on the precipices of the rock, to feed their young. The merchants -at this time run to the nests, disturb and drive off the eagles by their -shouts, and take away the diamonds that stick to the meat. - -Until I perceived the device, I had concluded it to be impossible for me -to escape from the valley which I regarded as my grave; but now I -changed my opinion, and began to think upon the means of my deliverance. -I collected the largest diamonds I could find, and put them into the -leather bag in which I had carried my provisions. Then I took the -largest of the pieces of meat, tied it close round me with the cloth of -my turban, and laid myself upon the ground with my face downwards, the -bag of diamonds being made fast to my girdle. - -I had scarcely placed myself in this position when the eagles came. Each -of them seized a piece of meat, and one of the strongest having taken me -up, with the piece of meat to which I was fastened, carried me to his -nest on the top of the mountain. The merchants immediately began their -shouting to frighten the eagles; and when they had obliged them to quit -their prey, one of them came to the nest where I was. He was much -alarmed when he saw me; but recovering himself, instead of inquiring how -I came thither, began to quarrel with me, and asked why I stole his -goods. “You will treat me,” I replied, “with more civility, when you -know me better. Do not be uneasy; I have diamonds enough for you and -myself, more than all the other merchants together. Whatever they have -they owe to chance, but I selected for myself in the bottom of the -valley those which you see in this bag.” I had scarcely done speaking, -when the other merchants came crowding about us, much astonished to see -me. They were much more surprised, however, when I told them my story. - -They conducted me to their encampment, and, when I had opened my bag, -they were struck with wonder at the largeness of my diamonds, and -confessed that in all the places they had visited they had never seen -any of such size and perfection. I spent the night with them, and -related my story a second time, for the satisfaction of those who had -not heard it. I could not moderate my joy when I found myself delivered -from the dangers I have mentioned. I thought myself in a dream, and -could scarcely believe myself safe once more. - -The merchants continued for several days to throw their pieces of meat -into the valley, and when each was satisfied with the diamonds that had -fallen to his lot, we left the place. We took shipping at the first port -we reached, and finally landed at Bussorah, from whence I proceeded to -Bagdad. There I immediately gave large presents to the poor, and lived -honorably upon the vast riches I had gained with so much trouble and -danger. - - --_The “Arabian Nights’ Entertainment.”_ - - - - - THE DAFFODILS - - -[Illustration: WILLIAM WORDSWORTH] - - I wandered lonely as a cloud - That floats on high o’er vales and hills, - When all at once I saw a crowd, - A host of golden daffodils - Beside the lake beneath the trees, - Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. - - Continuous as the stars that shine - And twinkle on the milky way - They stretched in never-ending line - Along the margin of a bay: - Ten thousand saw I at a glance - Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. - - The waves beside them danced, but they - Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: - A poet could not but be gay - In such a jocund company: - I gazed--and gazed--but little thought - What wealth the show to me had brought: - - For oft, when on my couch I lie - In vacant or in pensive mood, - They flash upon that inward eye - Which is the bliss of solitude; - And then my heart with pleasure fills - And dances with the daffodils. - --WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. - - - - - THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA’S HALLS - - - The harp that once through Tara’s halls - The soul of music shed, - Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls - As if that soul were fled. - So sleeps the pride of former days, - So glory’s thrill is o’er, - And hearts that once beat high for praise, - Now feel that pulse no more! - - No more to chiefs and ladies bright - The harp of Tara swells; - The chord alone that breaks at night, - Its tale of ruin tells. - Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, - The only throb she gives - Is when some heart indignant breaks, - To shew that still she lives. - --_Thomas Moore._ - - - - - THE HEROINE OF VERCHÈRES - - -Among the many incidents that are preserved of Frontenac’s second -administration, none is so well worthy of record as the defence of the -fort at Verchères by the young daughter of the seignior. Some years -later the story was written down from the heroine’s own recital. - -Verchères is on the south shore of the St. Lawrence, about twenty miles -below Montreal. A strong blockhouse stood outside the fort, and was -connected with it by a covered way. - -[Illustration: FRANCIS PARKMAN] - -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 seignior was on duty at Quebec, and his wife was at -Montreal. Their daughter Madeleine, fourteen years of age, was at the -landing-place, not far from the gate of the fort, with a hired man. -Suddenly she heard firing from the direction where the settlers were at -work, and an instant after, the man cried out, “Run, Miss, run! here -come the Iroquois!” She turned and saw forty or fifty of them at the -distance of a pistol-shot. “I ran for the fort. The Iroquois who chased -me, seeing that they could not catch me alive before I reached the gate, -stopped and fired at me. The bullets whistled about my ears, and made -the time seem very long. As soon as I was near enough to be heard, I -cried out, ‘_To arms! To arms!_’ At the gate I found two women weeping -for their husbands, who had just been killed. I made them go in, and -then I shut the gate. I next thought what I could do to save myself and -the few people who were with me. - -“I went to inspect the fort, and found that several palisades had fallen -down, and left openings by which the enemy could easily get in. I -ordered them to be set up again, and helped to carry them myself. When -the breaches were stopped, I went to the blockhouse where the ammunition -was kept, and here I 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?’ I asked. He answered, ‘Light the powder and blow us -all up.’ ‘You are a miserable coward,’ said I; ‘go out of this place.’ I -spoke so resolutely that he obeyed. - -“I then threw off my bonnet; and after putting on a hat and taking a -gun, I said to my two brothers: ‘Let us fight to the death. We are -fighting for our country and our religion. Remember, our father has -taught you that gentlemen are born to shed their blood for the service -of God and the King.’” - -The boys, who were twelve and ten years old, aided by the soldiers, whom -her words had inspired with some little courage, began to fire from the -loopholes upon the Iroquois. They, 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 -neighboring fields. - -Madeleine 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. Presently a canoe was seen approaching the landing-place. -It contained a settler named Fontaine, and his family, who were trying -to reach the fort. The Iroquois were still near, and Madeleine feared -that the newcomers would be killed if something were not done to aid -them. She appealed to the soldiers, but finding their courage was not -equal to the attempt, she herself went to the landing-place, and was -able to save the Fontaine family. When they were all landed, she made -them march before her in full sight of the enemy. They put so bold a -face on that the Iroquois thought they themselves had most to fear. - -“After sunset a violent north-east wind began to blow, accompanied with -snow and hail. The Iroquois were meanwhile lurking about us; and I -judged by their movements that, instead of being deterred by the storm, -they would climb into the fort under cover of the darkness. I assembled -all my troops, that is to say, six persons, and spoke thus to them: ‘God -has saved us to-day from the hands of our enemies, but we must take care -not to fall into their snares to-night. I will take charge of the fort -with an old man of eighty, and you, Fontaine, with our two soldiers, -will go to the blockhouse with the women and children, because that is -the strongest place. If I am taken, don’t surrender, even if I am cut to -pieces and burned before your eyes. The enemy can’t hurt you in the -blockhouse, if you make the least show of fight.’ - -“I placed my young brothers on two of the bastions, the old man on the -third, while I took the fourth; and all night, in spite of wind, snow, -and hail, the cries of ‘All’s well’ were kept up from the blockhouse to -the fort, and from the fort to the blockhouse. The Iroquois thought the -place was full of soldiers, and were completely deceived, as they -confessed afterwards. - -“I may say with truth that I did not eat or sleep for twice twenty-four -hours, but kept always on the bastion, or went to the blockhouse to see -how the people there were behaving. I always kept a cheerful and smiling -face, and encouraged my little company with the hope of speedy succor. - -“We were a week in constant alarm, with the enemy always about us. At -last a lieutenant arrived in the night with forty men. I was at the time -dozing, with my head on the table. The sentinel told me that he heard a -voice from the river. I went up at once to the bastion and asked, ‘Who -are you?’ One of them answered, ‘We are Frenchmen, who 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 officer, I saluted him, -and said, ‘Sir, I surrender my arms to you.’ He answered gallantly, -‘They are already in good hands.’ - -“He inspected the fort and found everything in order, and a sentinel on -each bastion. ‘It is time to relieve them, sir,’ said I; ‘we have not -been off our bastions for a week.’” - - --FRANCIS PARKMAN. - - - - - THE SLAVE’S DREAM - - -[Illustration: H. W. LONGFELLOW] - - Beside the ungather’d 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 flow’d; - 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 clasp’d his neck, they kiss’d 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 follow’d their flight, - O’er plains where the tamarind grew, - Till he saw the roof of Kaffir huts, - And the ocean rose to view. - - At night he heard the lion roar, - And the hyena scream, - And the river-horse, as he crush’d the reeds, - Beside some hidden stream; - And it pass’d, 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! - --HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. - - - - - THE SONG OF THE 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 honored rest - Your truth and valor wearing; - The bravest are the tenderest,-- - The loving are the daring. - --BAYARD TAYLOR. - - * * * * * - - The tree does not fall at the first stroke. - - - - - AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED - - -As Theseus was skirting the valley along the foot of a lofty mountain, a -very tall and strong man came down to meet him, dressed in rich -garments. On his arms were golden bracelets, and round his neck a collar -of jewels. He came forward, bowing courteously, held out both his hands, -and spoke:-- - -[Illustration: CHARLES KINGSLEY] - -“Welcome, fair youth, to these mountains; happy am I to have met you! -For what is 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 -the end of the valley 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’s hands, and would not let him go. - -Theseus wished to go forward, but he was ashamed to seem churlish to so -hospitable a man; and he was curious to see that wondrous bed; and -besides, he was hungry and weary. Yet he shrank from the man, he knew -not why; for though his voice was gentle and fawning, it was dry and -husky, 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. - -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. Around them was neither tree nor bush, while from the -white peaks of the mountain the snow-blasts swept down the glen, cutting -and chilling, till a horror fell on Theseus as he looked round at that -doleful place. 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. Far below, along the -road which they had left, came a string of laden beasts, and merchants -walking by them. - -“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 shall eat and -drink together the livelong night. Happy am I, to whom Heaven sends so -many guests at once!” - -He ran back down the hill, waving his hand and shouting to the -merchants, while Theseus went slowly up the steep path. But as he went -up he met an aged man, who had been gathering driftwood in the torrent -bed. He had laid down his fagot in the road, and was trying to lift it -again to his shoulder. 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. 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 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.” - -[Illustration: THESEUS AND PROCRUSTES] - -“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. Once I was a wealthy merchant, and dwelt in a great city; but now -I hew wood and draw water for him, the tormentor 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. 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,” the old man screamed after him down the glen; but Theseus strode -on in his wrath. - -He said to himself: “This is an ill-ruled land. When shall I have done -ridding it of monsters?” As he spoke, Procrustes came up the hill, and -all the merchants with him, smiling and talking gayly. 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 the countenance of Procrustes 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 -around 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, and -went down into the depths 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 treasure among them, -and went down the mountains, and away. - - --CHARLES KINGSLEY. - - - - - CHINOOK - - - Mildly through the mists of night - Floats a breath of flowers sweet, - Warmly through the waning light - Wafts a wind with perfumed feet, - Down the gorge and mountain brook, - With the sound of wings--Chinook! - - By no trail his spirits go, - Through the mountain-passes high, - Where the moon is on the snow - And the screaming eagles fly, - Where the yawning canyon roars - With memories of misty shores. - - On still prairies, mountain-locked, - Frost lies white upon the grass, - But where the witch of winter walked, - Now the summer’s masquers pass; - And at May’s refreshing breath - Tender flowers rose from death. - - And the breeze, that on the Coast - Wakened softly at the morn, - Is on snowy prairies lost - When the twilight pales forlorn; - Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimes - Summer’s kiss in winter climes. - --EZRA HURLBURT STAFFORD. - - - - - THE IVY GREEN - - - Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green, - That creepeth o’er ruins old! - Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, - In his cell so lone and cold. - The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, - To pleasure his dainty whim; - And the mouldering dust that years have made - Is a merry meal for him. - Creeping where no life is seen, - A rare old plant is the Ivy green. - - Fast he stealeth on though he wears no wings, - And a staunch old heart has he; - How closely he twineth, how tight he clings - To his friend, the huge Oak Tree! - And slyly he traileth along the ground, - And his leaves he gently waves, - As he joyously hugs, and crawleth around, - The rich mould of dead men’s graves. - Creeping where grim death has been, - A rare old plant is the Ivy green. - - Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed, - And nations have scattered been, - But the stout old Ivy shall never fade - From its hale and hearty green. - The brave old plant in its lonely days - Shall fatten upon the past, - For the stateliest building man can raise - Is the Ivy’s food at last. - Creeping on where time has been, - A rare old plant is the Ivy green. - --CHARLES DICKENS. - - - - - 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 to 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 towards her, and exclaimed: “Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye -hear it? Ay. 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 fervor. 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 -in 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 succor 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 vigor 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.” - - --_From a letter by the wife of an officer at Lucknow._ - - - - - THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE - - -[Illustration: LORD TENNYSON] - - Half a league, half a league, - Half a league onward, - All in the valley of Death - Rode the six hundred. - “Forward, the Light Brigade! - Charge for the guns!” he said: - Into the valley of Death - Rode the six hundred. - - “Forward, the Light Brigade!” - Was there a man dismay’d? - Not tho’ the soldier knew - Some one had blunder’d: - Theirs not to make reply, - Theirs not to reason why, - -[Illustration: THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE] - - Theirs but to do and die: - Into the valley of Death - Rode the six hundred. - - Cannon to right of them, - Cannon to left of them, - Cannon in front of them - Volley’d and thunder’d; - 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. - Honor the charge they made! - Honor the Light Brigade, - Noble six hundred! - --ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. - - - - - HASTE NOT, REST NOT - - -[Illustration: J. W. GOETHE] - - Without haste, without rest! - Bind the motto to thy breast; - Bear it with thee as a spell; - Storm or sunshine, guard it well; - Heed not flowers that round thee bloom - Bear it onward to the tomb. - - Haste not! let no thoughtless deed - Mar fore’er the spirit’s speed; - Ponder well and know the right-- - Onward then with all thy might; - Haste not! years can ne’er atone - For one reckless action done. - - Rest not!--life is sweeping by; - Do and dare before you die; - Something mighty and sublime - Leave behind to conquer time. - Glorious ’tis to live for aye - When these forms have passed away. - - Haste not, rest not! calmly wait, - Meekly bear the storms of fate; - Duty be thy polar guide-- - Do the right, whate’er betide. - Haste not, rest not! conflicts past, - God shall crown thy work at last. - --JOHANN WOLFGANG GOETHE. - - - - - DOUBTING CASTLE - - -Now there was, not far from the place where they lay, a castle called -Doubting Castle, the owner whereof was Giant Despair, and it was in his -grounds they now were sleeping; wherefore he, getting up in the morning -early, and walking up and down his fields, caught Christian and Hopeful -asleep in his grounds. - -Then, with a grim and surly voice, he bade them awake, and asked them -whence they were and what they did in his grounds. They told him they -were pilgrims and that they had lost their way. Then said the Giant, -“You have this night trespassed on me by trampling in and lying on my -grounds, and therefore you must go along with me.” - -[Illustration: JOHN BUNYAN] - -So they were forced to go, because he was stronger than they. They also -had but little to say, for they knew themselves in fault. The Giant -therefore drove them before him, and put them into his castle, in a very -dark dungeon. Here, then, they lay from Wednesday morning till Saturday -night, without one bit of bread, or drop of drink, or light, or any -person to ask how they did. In this place Christian had double sorrow, -because it was through his counsel that they were brought into this -distress. - -Now Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence. So he told -his wife what he had done, that he had taken a couple of prisoners, and -cast them into his dungeon for trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked -her also what he had best do further with them? So she asked him what -they were, whence they came, and whither they were bound? and he told -her. Then she counselled him that when he arose in the morning he -should beat them without mercy. - -So when he arose, he getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes -down into the dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating them as -if they were dogs. Then he fell upon them and beat them fearfully, in -such sort that they were not able to help themselves or to turn upon the -floor. This done, he withdraws and leaves them there to condole their -misery, and to mourn under their distress. - -The next night she, talking with her husband further about them, and -understanding that they were yet alive, did advise him to counsel them -to make away with themselves. - -So, when morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner, as before, -and perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes that he had given -them the day before, he told them that since they were never likely to -come out of that place, their only way would be forthwith to make an end -of themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison. “For why,” said he, -“should you choose to live, seeing it is attended with so much -bitterness?” - -But they desired him to let them go. With that, he looked ugly upon -them, and rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of them himself, -but that he fell into one of his fits (for he sometimes in sunshiny -weather fell into fits), and lost for a time the use of his hands. -Wherefore he withdrew and left them as before to consider what to do. - -Towards evening the Giant goes down into the dungeon again, to see if -his prisoners had taken his counsel; but when he came there, he found -them alive, and truly, alive was all. For now, for want of bread and -water, and by reason of the wounds they received when he beat them, they -could do little but breathe. - -But, I say, he found them alive, at which he fell into a grievous rage, -and told them that seeing they had disobeyed his counsel, it should be -worse with them than if they had never been born. At this they trembled -greatly, and I think that Christian fell into a swoon; but coming a -little to himself again, they renewed their discourse about the Giant’s -counsel, and whether yet they had best take it or no. - -Now the Giant’s wife asked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had -taken his counsel. To which he replied, “They are sturdy rogues; they -choose rather to bear all hardships than to make away with themselves.” - -Then said she, “Take them into the castle yard to-morrow, and show them -the bones and skulls of those that thou hast already despatched; and -make them believe, ere a week comes to an end, thou wilt tear them in -pieces as thou hast done their fellows before them.” - -So when the morning was come, the Giant goes to them again, and takes -them into the castle yard and shows them, as his wife had bidden him. - -“These,” said he, “were once pilgrims as you are, and they trespassed on -my grounds as you have done, and when I thought fit, I tore them in -pieces; and so within ten days I shall do you. Go, get you down to your -den again!” and with that he beat them all the way thither. They lay, -therefore, all day on Saturday in lamentable case, as before. - -Now, when the night was come, Mistress Diffidence and her husband the -Giant began to renew their discourse of their prisoners; and the old -Giant wondered that he could neither by his blows nor counsel bring them -to an end. And with that his wife replied:-- - -“I fear,” said she, “that they live in hopes that some one will come to -relieve them; or that they have pick-locks about them, by means of which -they hope to escape.” - -“And sayest thou so, my dear?” said the Giant. “I shall therefore search -them in the morning.” - -Well, on Saturday, about midnight, they began to pray, and continued in -prayer till almost break of day. - -Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half amazed, -brake out into this passionate speech:-- - -“What a fool,” quoth he, “am I to lie in a dungeon, when I may as well -walk at liberty! I have a key in my bosom, called Promise, that will, I -am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle.” - -Then said Hopeful, “That’s good news; good brother, pluck it out of thy -bosom and try.” - -Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at the -dungeon door, whose bolt, as he turned the key, gave back, and the door -flew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both came out. Then he -went to the outward door that leads into the castle yard, and with his -key opened that door also. After that he went to the iron gate, for that -must be opened too; but that lock went hard, yet the key did open it. - -Then they thrust open the gate to make their escape with speed, but that -gate, as it opened, made such a creaking, that it waked Giant Despair, -who, hastily rising to pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs to fail, for -his fits took him again, so that he could by no means go after them. -Then they went on, and came to the king’s highway, and so were safe. - -Now when they were gone over the stile, they began to contrive with -themselves what they should do at that stile to prevent those that -should come after from falling into the hands of Giant Despair. So they -consented to erect there a pillar, and to engrave upon the side thereof -this sentence: “Over this stile is the way to Doubting Castle, which is -kept by Giant Despair, who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, -and seeks to destroy his holy pilgrims.” Many, therefore, that followed -after read what was written and escaped the danger.--JOHN BUNYAN. - - * * * * * - - Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! - Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle’s nest! - Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm! - Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! - Ye signs and wonders of the elements, - Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! - - - - - THE DAISY - - - There is a flower, a little flower, - With silver crest and golden eye, - That welcomes every changing hour, - And weathers every sky. - - The prouder beauties of the field - In gay but quick succession shine, - Race after race their honors yield, - They flourish and decline. - - But this small flower, to Nature dear, - While moons and stars their courses run, - Wreathes the whole circle of the year, - Companion of the sun. - - It smiles upon the lap of May, - To sultry August spreads its charms, - Lights pale October on his way, - And twines December’s arms. - - The purple heath, and golden broom, - In moory mountains catch the gale, - O’er lawns the lily spreads perfume, - The violet in the vale; - - But this bold floweret climbs the hill, - Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, - Plays on the margin of the rill, - Peeps round the fox’s den. - - Within the garden’s cultured round, - It shares the sweet carnation’s bed; - And blooms in consecrated ground - In honor of the dead. - - The lambkin crops its crimson gem, - The wild bee murmurs on its breast, - The blue fly bends its pensile stem - Light o’er the skylark’s nest. - - ’Tis Flora’s page: in every place, - In every season, fresh and fair, - It opens with perennial grace, - And blossoms everywhere. - - On waste and woodland, rock and plain, - Its humble buds unheeded rise: - The rose has but a summer reign, - The daisy never dies. - --JAMES MONTGOMERY. - - * * * * * - - If I can stop one heart from breaking, - I shall not live in vain: - If I can ease one life the aching, - Or cool one pain, - Or help one fainting robin - Unto his nest again, - I shall not live in vain.--DICKINSON. - - - - - LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT - - -[Illustration: CARDINAL NEWMAN] - - Lead, Kindly Light, amid the 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 awhile. - --JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. - - * * * * * - - To him that wills, ways are not wanting. - - - - - ESCAPE FROM A PANTHER - - -By this time Elizabeth Temple and Louisa had gained the summit of the -mountain, where they left the highway, and pursued their course under -the shade of the trees. Their conversation was entirely occupied with -the little incidents and scenes of their walk, and every tall pine, and -every shrub or flower, called forth some simple expression of -admiration. - -[Illustration: FENIMORE COOPER] - -In this manner they proceeded along the margin of the precipice, when -Elizabeth suddenly started, and exclaimed,--“Listen! there are the cries -of a child on this mountain! Is there a clearing near us, or can some -little one have strayed from its parents?” - -“Such things frequently happen,” returned Louisa. “Let us follow the -sounds: it may be a wanderer starving on the hill.” More than once -Elizabeth was on the point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, when -Louisa caught her by the arm, and, pointing behind them, cried,-- - -“Look at the dog!” - -Brave had been their companion from the time the voice of his young -mistress lured him from his kennel to the present moment. His advanced -age had long before deprived him of his activity; and when his -companions stopped to view the scenery, or to add to their bouquets, -the mastiff would lay his huge frame on the ground, and await their -movements, with his eyes closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill -accorded with the character of a protector. - -But when aroused by this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw -the dog with his eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent -near the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, through -fright or anger. It was most probably the latter, for he was growling in -a low key, and occasionally showing his teeth, in a manner that would -have terrified his mistress, had she not so well known his good -qualities. - -“Brave!” she said. “Be quiet, Brave! what do you see, fellow?” - -At the sound of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, instead of being at -all diminished, began to increase. He stalked in front of the ladies, -and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling louder than -before, and occasionally giving vent to his ire by a short, surly -barking. - -“What does he see?” said Elizabeth. “There must be some animal in -sight.” - -Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss Temple turned her head, and -beheld Louisa standing with her face whitened to the color of death, and -her finger pointing upwards. The quick eye of Elizabeth glanced in the -direction indicated by her friend, where she saw the fierce front and -glaring eyes of a female panther, fixed on them and threatening to -leap. - -“Let us fly,” exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the arm of Louisa, whose -form yielded like melting snow. - -There was not a single feeling in the temperament of Elizabeth Temple -that could prompt her to desert a companion in such an extremity. She -fell on her knees by the side of the inanimate Louisa, encouraging their -only safeguard, the dog, at the same time, by the sound of her voice. - -“Courage, Brave!” she cried, her own tones beginning to tremble, -“courage, courage, good Brave!” - -A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been unseen, now appeared, -dropping from the branches of a sapling. This vicious creature -approached the dog, imitating the actions and sounds of its parent, but -exhibiting a strange mixture of the playfulness of a kitten with the -ferocity of its race. Standing on its hind legs, it would rend the bark -of a tree with its fore paws, and play the antics of a cat; and then, by -lashing itself with its tail, growling and scratching the earth, it -would attempt the manifestations of anger that rendered its parent so -terrific. - -All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, short tail erect, his body -drawn backwards on its haunches, and his eyes following the movements of -both dam and cub. At every gambol played by the latter, it approached -nigher to the dog, the growling of the three becoming more horrid at -each moment, until the younger beast, overleaping its intended bound, -fell directly before the mastiff. There was a moment of fearful cries -and struggles, but they ended, almost as soon as commenced, by the cub -appearing in the air, hurled from the jaws of Brave with a violence that -sent it against a tree so forcibly as to render it completely senseless. - -Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her blood was warming with -the triumph of the dog, when she saw the form of the old panther in the -air, springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech to the back of -the mastiff. No words can describe the fury of the conflict that -followed. It was a confused struggle on the dry leaves, accompanied by -loud and terrific cries. Miss Temple continued on her knees, bending -over the form of Louisa, her eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest -so horrid, and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her own stake in -the result. - -So rapid and vigorous were the bounds of the inhabitant of the forest, -that its active frame seemed constantly in the air, while the dog nobly -faced his foe at each successive leap. When the panther lighted on the -shoulders of the mastiff, which were its constant aim, old Brave, though -torn with her talons, and stained with his own blood, that already -flowed from a dozen wounds, would shake off his furious foe like a -feather, and, rearing on his hind legs, rush to the fray again with his -jaws distended and a dauntless eye. - -But age, and his pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff -for such a struggle. In everything but courage he was only the vestige -of what he had once been. A higher bound than ever raised the wary and -furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was making a -desperate but fruitless dash at her, from which she alighted in a -favorable position on the back of her aged foe. For a single moment only -could the panther remain there, the great strength of the dog returning -with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth -in the side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck, -which had been glittering throughout the fray, was of the color of -blood, and, directly, that his frame was sinking to the earth, where it -soon lay prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the wildcat -to extricate herself from the jaws of the dog followed, but they were -fruitless, until the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and -his teeth loosened, when the short convulsions and stillness that -succeeded announced the death of poor Brave. - -Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There is said to be -something in the front of the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts -of the inferior beings of His creation; and it would seem that some such -power, in the present instance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes -of the monster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant, when the -former stooped to examine her fallen foe; next, to scent her luckless -cub. From the latter examination she turned, however, with her eyes -apparently emitting flashes of fire, her tail lashing her sides -furiously, and her claws projecting inches from her broad feet. - -Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her hands were clasped in the -attitude of prayer, but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible -enemy. Her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her lips -were slightly separated with horror. - -The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal termination, when a -rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the organs than to meet -her ears. “Hist! hist!” said a low voice, “stoop lower, girl; your -bonnet hides the creature’s head.” - -It was rather the yielding of nature than a compliance with this -unexpected order that caused the head of the girl to sink on her bosom. -Then she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, and -the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the earth, -tearing the twigs and branches within her reach. At the next instant -Leather-Stocking rushed by her, and called aloud:-- - -“Come in, Hector; come in; ’tis a hard-lived animal, and may jump -again.” - -The brave hunter fearlessly maintained his position, notwithstanding the -violent bounds of the wounded panther, until his rifle was again loaded, -when he stepped up to the animal, and, placing the muzzle close to her -head, every spark of life was extinguished by the discharge. - - --JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. - - * * * * * - - The purest treasure mortal times afford - Is spotless reputation; that away, - Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. - - - - - HUNTING SONG - - - Waken, lords and ladies gay! - On the mountain dawns the day; - All the jolly chase is here - With hawk and horse and hunting-spear! - Hounds are in their couples yelling, - Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling. - Merrily, merrily mingle they; - Waken, lords and ladies gay! - - Waken, lords and ladies gay! - The mist has left the mountain gray; - Springlets in the dawn are steaming, - Diamonds on the brake are gleaming, - And foresters have busy been - To track the buck in thicket green: - Now we come to chant our lay; - Waken, lords and ladies gay! - - Waken, lords and ladies gay! - To the greensward haste away! - We can show you where he lies, - Fleet of foot and tall of size; - We can show the marks he made - When ’gainst the oak his antlers frayed; - You shall see him brought to bay; - Waken, lords and ladies gay! - - Louder, louder chant the lay, - “Waken, lords and ladies gay!” - Tell them youth and mirth and glee - Run a course as well as we. - Time, stern huntsman! who can balk, - Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk? - Think of this, and rise with day, - Gentle lords and ladies gay! - --SIR WALTER SCOTT. - - - - - THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS - - - The breaking waves dashed high - On a stern and rock-bound coast, - And the woods against a stormy sky - Their giant branches tossed: - - And the heavy night hung dark - The hills and waters o’er, - When a band of exiles moored their bark - On the wild New England shore. - - Not as the conqueror comes, - They, the true-hearted, came; - Not with the roll of stirring drums, - And the trumpet that sings of fame; - - Not as the flying come, - In silence and in fear; - They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom - With their hymns of lofty cheer. - -[Illustration: THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS] - - Amidst the storm they sang, - And the stars heard, and the sea! - And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang - To the anthem of the free. - - The ocean eagle soared - From his nest by the white wave’s foam, - And the rocking pines of the forest roared-- - This was their welcome home! - - There were men with hoary hair - Amidst that pilgrim band;-- - Why had they come to wither there, - Away from their childhood’s land? - - There was woman’s fearless eye, - Lit by her deep love’s truth; - There was manhood’s brow serenely high, - And the fiery heart of youth. - - What sought they thus afar? - Bright jewels of the mine? - The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-- - They sought a faith’s pure shrine! - - Ay, call it holy ground, - The soil where first they trod; - They have left unstained what there they found,-- - Freedom to worship God! - --FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS. - - - - - AN ESKIMO HUT - - -On the slope, fifty yards from the beach, in the midst of rocks and -boulders, stood the settlement--two stone huts, twenty yards apart! -These huts were in shape much like an old-fashioned country clay oven, -square in front, and sloping back into the hill, now covered with snow, -and, until after entering, I could not discover of what material they -were made. To get inside, I was obliged to crawl on my hands and knees -through a covered passage about twelve feet long. The chief, upon -hearing my footsteps, came out to welcome me, which he did by patting me -on the back and grinning in my face. Preceding me with a smoking torch, -which was a piece of burning moss saturated with fat, he advanced -through these low, narrow passages, tramping over several snarling dogs -and half-grown puppies. - -After making two or three turns, I observed at last a bright light -streaming down through a hole, into which my guide elevated his body; -and then, moving to one side, he made room for his guest. I found myself -in a den in which I could not stand upright, but which was crowded with -human beings of all ages and sizes. I was received with a hilarious -shout which assured me of welcome. Like a flock of sheep crowding into a -pen, they packed themselves in the corners to make room for me on the -only seat which I could discover. I had come to gratify my own -curiosity, but theirs was even more rapacious than mine, and must be -first satisfied. Everything I had on and about me underwent the closest -examination. - -My long beard greatly excited their interest and admiration. Being -themselves without beards, or at most having only a few stiff hairs upon -the upper lip and the point of the chin, I could readily appreciate -their curiosity. They touched it and stroked it, patting me all the -while on the back, and hanging on my arms, legs, and shoulders. They -were greatly puzzled over my woollen clothing, and could not comprehend -of what kind of skins it was made. The nearest that I could approach to -a description was that it grew on an animal looking like a hare. That it -was not skin, I could not make them understand. - -During these incidents I found leisure to examine the hut. The whole -interior was about ten feet in diameter and five and a half feet high. -The walls were made of stones, moss, and the bones of whale, narwhal, -and other animals. They were not arched, but drawn in gradually from the -foundation, and capped by long slabs of slate-stone, stretching from -side to side. - -The floor was covered with thin, flat stones. Half of this floor, at the -back part of the hut, was elevated a foot. This elevation served both as -bed and seat, being covered with dry grass, over which were spread bear -and dog skins. At the corners in front were similar elevations, under -one of which lay a number of pups, with their mother, and under the -other was stowed a joint of meat. The front of the hut was square, and -through it, above the passageway, opened a window; a square sheet of -strips of dried intestine, sewed together, admitted the light. - -The hole of entrance in the floor was close to the front wall, and was -covered with a piece of sealskin. The walls were lined with seal or fox -skins, stretched to dry. In the cracks between the stones were thrust -whipstocks, and bone pegs on which hung coils of harpoon lines. On one -side of me sat an old woman, and on the other side a young one, each -busily engaged in attending to a smoky, greasy lamp. A third woman sat -in a corner, similarly occupied. - -The lamps were made of soapstone, and in shape much resembled a -clam-shell, being about eight inches in diameter. The cavity was filled -with oil, and on the straight edge a flame was burning quite -brilliantly. The wick which supplied fuel to the flame was of moss. The -only business of the women seemed to be to prevent the lamps from -smoking, and to keep them supplied with blubber, large pieces of which -were placed in them, the heat of the flame trying out the oil. About -three inches above this flame, hung, suspended from the ceiling, an -oblong square pot of the same material as the lamp, in which something -was slowly simmering. Over this was suspended a rack made of bear-rib -bones lashed together crosswise, on which were placed to dry, stockings, -mittens, and other articles of clothing. - -The inmates had no other fire than was supplied by the lamps, nor did -they need any. The hut was absolutely hot. So many persons crowded into -so small a space would, of themselves, keep the place warm. I counted -eighteen, and may, very probably, have missed two or three small ones. -Centring each around its own particular lamp and pot were three -families, one of which was represented by three generations. These three -families numbered, in all, thirteen individuals; but besides these there -were some visitors from the other hut. - -The air of the place was insufferable, except for a short time. There -may have been a vent-hole, but I did not see any. I perspired as if in -the tropics. Perceiving this, the company invited me to dispense with -part of my clothing. I declined, however, the intended courtesy, telling -them that I must go back to my people. - -First, however, I must have something to eat. This was an invitation -which I feared; and now that it had come, I knew that it would be unwise -to decline it. They laughed heartily when I thanked them in their own -language in reply to their invitation to eat; and immediately a not very -beautiful young damsel poured some of the contents of one of the -before-mentioned pots into a skin dish, and after sipping it, to make -sure, as I supposed, that it was not too hot, she passed it to me over a -group of heads. At first my courage forsook me; but all eyes were fixed -upon me, and it would have been highly impolitic to shrink. I therefore -shut my eyes, swallowed the dose, and retired. I was afterwards told -that it was their great delicacy, which had been proffered to me; but, -even then, it was well that I was ignorant of what it was -composed.--ISAAC HAYES. - - - - - YOUNG LOCHINVAR - - - O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west! - Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; - And, save his good broad-sword, he weapons had none; - He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. - So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, - There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. - - He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; - He swam the Esk river where ford there was none; - But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, - The bride had consented--the gallant came late: - For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, - Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. - - So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, - Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: - Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, - (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) - “O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, - Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” - - “I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; - Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; - And now am I come with this lost love of mine, - To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine; - There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, - That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.” - - The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up; - He quaffed off the wine and he threw down the cup; - She looked down to blush and she looked up to sigh, - With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye; - He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar-- - “Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar. - - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, - That never a hall such a galliard did grace; - While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, - And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume: - And the bride-maidens whispered, “’Twere better by far - To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.” - - One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, - When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; - So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, - So light to the saddle before her he sprung! - “She is won! We are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur! - They’ll have fleet steeds that follow!” quoth young Lochinvar. - - There was mounting ’mong Græmes of the Netherby clan; - Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; - There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, - But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. - So daring in love; and so dauntless in war, - Have you e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? - --SIR WALTER SCOTT. - - - - - THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS - - - West wind, blow from your prairie nest, - Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. - The sail is idle, the sailor too; - Oh! wind of the west, we wait for you. - Blow, blow! - I have wooed you so, - But never a favor you bestow. - You rock your cradle the hills between, - But scorn to notice my white lateen. - - I stow the sail and unship the mast: - I wooed you long, but my wooing’s past; - My paddle will lull you into rest: - O drowsy wind of the drowsy west, - Sleep, sleep! - By your mountains steep, - Or down where the prairie grasses sweep, - Now fold in slumber your laggard wings, - For soft is the song my paddle sings. - - August is laughing across the sky, - Laughing while paddle, canoe and I - Drift, drift, - Where the hills uplift - On either side of the current swift. - The river rolls in its rocky bed, - My paddle is plying its way ahead, - Dip, dip, - When the waters flip - In foam as over their breast we slip. - - And oh, the river runs swifter now; - The eddies circle about my bow: - Swirl, swirl! - How the ripples curl - In many a dangerous pool awhirl! - And far to forwards the rapids roar, - Fretting their margin for evermore; - Dash, dash, - With a mighty crash, - They seethe and boil and bound and splash. - - Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe! - The reckless waves you must plunge into. - Reel, reel, - On your trembling keel, - But never a fear my craft will feel. - - We’ve raced the rapids; we’re far ahead: - The river slips through its silent bed. - Sway, sway, - As the bubbles spray - And fall in tinkling tunes away. - - And up on the hills against the sky, - A fir-tree rocking its lullaby - Swings, swings, - Its emerald wings, - Swelling the song that my paddle sings. - --E. PAULINE JOHNSON. - - - - - THE FIRST YEARS OF THE RED RIVER SETTLEMENT - - -In the year 1812, several Scottish families emigrated to Hudson Bay, -with a view to colonizing the tract of country known as the Red River -district. This tract had been purchased from the Hudson’s Bay Company by -the Earl of Selkirk, under whose direction and patronage the settlers -left their native land to seek a home in the unknown wilderness of the -west. - -[Illustration: ALEXANDER ROSS] - -The emigrants arrived in safety, after a journey across sea and land -which gave them a slight foretaste of the perilous life on which they -had embarked. But a few hours had passed over their heads in the land of -their adoption, when an array of armed men, painted, disfigured, and -dressed in the savage costume of the country, warned them that they were -unwelcome visitors. These crested warriors, for the most part, were -employees of the North-West Company, the great rivals of the Hudson’s -Bay Company, who were afraid that the new settlers would ruin the -fur-trade. As this order to depart was soon followed by the fear of -perishing through want of food, the settlers resolved to seek refuge at -Pembina, seventy miles distant. Hither, a straggling party promised to -conduct them. - -The settlement of this contract between parties ignorant of each other’s -language furnished a scene as curious as it was interesting: the -language employed on the one side being Gaelic and broken English; on -the other, an Indian jargon and mongrel French, with a mixture of signs -and gestures, wry faces, and grim countenances. The bargain proved to be -a hard one for the emigrants. The Indians agreed to carry the children -and others not able to walk, but all the rest, both men and women, had -to trudge on foot; while all their treasured goods were given by way of -payment to their guides. One man, for example, had to give his gun, an -old family piece, that had been carried by his father at the battle of -Culloden. One of the women also parted with her marriage ring, the sight -of which on her finger was a temptation to the Indians, who are -remarkably fond of trinkets. - -No sooner had the gypsy train got under way, than the savages scampered -on ahead, and were soon out of sight with the children, leaving the -terrified mothers running and crying after them for their babes. This -heartless trick was often played them; but without any other harm than -a fright. In other ways the emigrants suffered greatly, especially from -cold, wet, and walking in English shoes; their feet blistered and -swelled, so that many of them were hardly able to move by the time they -reached their journey’s end. - -At Pembina the people passed the winter in tents or huts according to -Indian fashion, and lived on the products of the chase in common with -the natives. This mode of life was not without its charms; it tended to -foster kind and generous feelings between the two races, who parted with -regret when the Scots in May, 1813, returned to the colony to commence -their work as farmers. - -They now enjoyed peace, but hunger pressed on them, and they often had a -hard time to get food. Fish were very scarce that season, as were roots -and berries; so that their only dependence was on a harsh and tasteless -wild parsnip, and on a species of nettle. These, sometimes raw, -sometimes boiled, they ate without salt. - -While such was their summer fare, the hoe was at work, and a little seed -wheat, procured at Fort Alexander, an Indian trading-post on the -Winnipeg River, turned out very well. One of the settlers, from the -planting of four quarts, reaped twelve and a half bushels. But they had -a difficult task to save the crop from the fowls of the air. In the -spring myriads of blackbirds and wild pigeons passed the colony in their -migration to the north and returned again on their way to the south, -during the time of harvest. They were in such flocks as to threaten the -little patches of grain with total destruction. Bird-nets, guns, and -scarecrows were all in use, and men, women, and children kept constantly -going about their little gardens from morning till night, driving away -or slaying the greedy birds. - -The fears of the settlers had now vanished. They were cheered by the -hope that the North-Westers would not disturb them any more. Under this -impression, they began to take courage, and to prepare for the arrival -of their friends, for they expected all the other emigrants before the -winter. In this hope they were disappointed. It was late in the season -before they learned that their friends were delayed, and then, rather -than consume the little grain they had secured, they resolved to try -Pembina again, and to save what seed they could for another year. - -At Pembina disappointment awaited them. Notwithstanding the great -kindness shown by the French half-breeds to the Scottish settlers during -the last winter, they now kept aloof and treated their visitors coldly. -Ignorant and awkward as the settlers were with regard to the chase, they -had to think and act for themselves, slaving all winter in deep snows to -preserve life. A plot, too, was discovered to murder two of the party -who undertook to hunt, and so this means of life was closed to them. -Provisions, which they had to buy, and then to drag home with great -labor, were very scarce and very dear. - -At last, at the beginning of 1814, the settlers returned to the colony -once more in a state of great poverty. They had even had to barter away -their clothing for food. Half-naked, and discouraged, many of them -severely frostbitten, they again took up their struggle for life in the -Settlement.--ALEXANDER ROSS. - - _Adapted from “The Red River Settlement.”_ - - - - - THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR - - -[Illustration: J. G. WHITTIER] - - Out and in the river is winding - The links of its long red chain, - Through belts of dusky pine-land - And gusty leagues of plain. - - Only at times a smoke-wreath - With the drifting cloud-rack joins,-- - The smoke of the hunting-lodges - Of the wild Assiniboins! - - Drearily blows the north wind - From the land of ice and snow; - The eyes that look are weary, - And heavy the hands that row. - - And with one foot on the water, - And one upon the shore, - The Angel of Shadow gives warning - That day shall be no more. - - Is it the clang of wild-geese? - Is it the Indian’s yell, - That lends to the voice of the north wind - The tones of a far-off bell? - - The voyageur smiles as he listens - To the sound that grows apace; - Well he knows the vesper ringing - Of the bells of St. Boniface-- - - The bells of the Roman Mission, - That call from their turrets twain, - To the boatman on the river, - To the hunter on the plain! - - Even so in our mortal journey - The bitter north winds blow, - And thus upon life’s Red River - Our hearts, as oarsmen, row. - - And when the Angel of Shadow - Rests his feet on wave and shore, - And our eyes grow dim with watching, - And our hearts faint at the oar, - - Happy is he who heareth - The signal of his release - In the bells of the Holy City, - The chimes of eternal peace! - --JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. - - - - - SEVEN TIMES FOUR - - - Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, - Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall; - When the wind wakes, how they rock in the grasses, - And dance with the cuckoo-buds, slender and small; - Here’s two bonny boys, and here’s mother’s own lasses, - Eager to gather them all. - - Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, - Mother shall thread them a daisy-chain; - Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, - That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain; - Sing, “Heart thou art wide, though the house be but narrow”-- - Sing once, and sing it again. - - Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, - Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; - A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, - And haply one missing doth stand at her prow. - O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, - Maybe he thinks of you now! - - Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, - Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall; - A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, - And fresh hearts, unconscious of sorrow and thrall; - Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure-- - God that is over us all. - --JEAN INGELOW. - - - - - THE LARK AT THE DIGGINGS - - -The house was thatched and whitewashed, and English was written on it -and on every foot of ground round it. A furze bush had been planted by -the door. Vertical oak palings were the fence, with a five-barred gate -in the middle of them. From the little plantation all the magnificent -trees and shrubs of Australia had been excluded, and oak and ash reigned -safe from overtowering rivals. They passed to the back of the house, and -there George’s countenance fell a little, for on the oval grass-plot and -gravel-walk he found from thirty to forty rough fellows, most of them -diggers. - -[Illustration: CHARLES READE] - -“Ah, well,” said he, on reflection, “we could not expect to have it all -to ourselves, and indeed it would be a sin to wish it, you know. Now, -Tom, come this way; here it is, here it is--there!” Tom looked up, and -in a gigantic cage was a light brown bird. - -He was utterly confounded. “What, is it _this_ we came twelve miles to -see?” - -“Ay! and twice twelve wouldn’t have been much to me.” - -“Well, but what is the lark you talked of?” - -“This is it!” - -“This? This is a bird.” - -“Well, and isn’t a lark a bird?” - -“Oh, ay, I see! ha! ha! ha! ha!” - -Robinson’s merriment was interrupted by a harsh remonstrance from -several of the diggers, who were all from the other end of the camp. - -“Hold your cackle,” cried one, “he is going to sing;” and the whole -party had their eyes turned with expectation towards the bird. - -Like most singers, he kept them waiting a bit. But at last, just at -noon, when the mistress of the house had warranted him to sing, the -little feathered exile began, as it were, to tune his pipes. The savage -men gathered round the cage that moment, and amidst a dead stillness the -bird uttered some very uncertain chirps, but after a while he seemed to -revive his memories, to call his ancient cadences back to him one by -one, and to string them together. - -And then the same sun that had warmed his little heart at home came -glowing down on him here, and he gave music back for it more and more, -till at last--amidst breathless silence and glistening eyes of the rough -diggers hanging on his voice--out burst in that distant land his English -song. - -It swelled from his little throat and gushed from him with thrilling -force and plenty, and every time he checked his song to think of its -theme, the green meadows, the quiet stealing streams, the clover he -first soared from and the spring he sang so well, a loud sigh from many -a rough bosom, many a wild and wicked heart, told how tight the -listeners had held their breath to hear him. And, when he swelled with -song again, and poured with all his soul the green meadows, the quiet -brooks, the honey-clover, and the English spring, the rugged mouths -opened and so stayed, and the shaggy lips trembled, and more than one -drop trickled from fierce unbridled hearts down bronzed and rugged -cheeks. - -Home! sweet home! - -And these shaggy men, full of oaths and strife and cupidity, had once -been white-headed boys, and had strolled about the English fields with -little sisters and little brothers, and seen the lark rise, and heard -him sing this very song. The little playmates lay in the churchyard, and -they were full of oaths, and drink, and riot, and remorses; but no note -was changed in this immortal song. And so, for a moment or two, years of -vice rolled away like a dark cloud from the memory, and the past shone -out in the sunshine; they came back, bright as the immortal notes that -had lighted them, those faded pictures and those fleeted days; the -cottage, the old mother’s tears, when he left her without one grain of -sorrow; the village church and its simple chimes; the clover field hard -by in which he lay and gambolled, while the lark praised God overhead; -the chubby playmates that never grew to be wicked; the sweet hours of -youth and innocence, and home! - -“What will you take for him, mistress? I will give you five pounds for -him!” - -“No! no! I won’t take five pounds for my bird!” - -“Of course she won’t,” cried another, “she wouldn’t be such a flat. -Here, missus,” cried he, “I’ll give you that for him,” and he extended a -brown hand with at least thirty new sovereigns glittering in it. - -The woman trembled; she and her husband were just emerging from poverty -after a hard fight. - -“Oh!” she cried, “it is a shame to tempt a poor woman with so much gold. -We had six brought over, and all died on the way but this one!” and she -threw her white apron over her head, not to see the glittering bribe. - -“Bother you, put the money up and don’t tempt the woman,” was the cry. -Another added, “Why, you fool, it wouldn’t live a week if you had it,” -and they all abused the man; but the woman turned to him kindly, and -said:-- - -“You come to me every Sunday, and he shall sing to you. You will get -more pleasure from him so,” said she sweetly, “than if he was always by -you.” - -“So I shall, old girl,” replied the rough, in a friendly tone. - -George stayed till the lark gave up singing altogether, and then he -said: “Now, I’m off. I don’t want to hear bad language after that: let -us take the lark’s chirp home to bed with us.” And they made off; and -true it was, the pure strains dwelt upon their spirits, and refreshed -and purified these sojourners in an evil place. - - --CHARLES READE. - - * * * * * - - A good example is the best sermon. - - - - - THE PHANTOM LIGHT OF THE BAIE DES CHALEURS - - - ’Tis the laughter of pines that swing and sway - Where the breeze from the land meets the breeze from the bay; - ’Tis the silvery foam of the silver tide - In ripples that reach to the forest side; - ’Tis the fisherman’s boat, in a track of sheen, - Plying through tangled seaweed green - O’er the Baie des Chaleurs. - - Who has not heard of the phantom light - That over the moaning waves, at night, - Dances and drifts in endless play, - Close to the shore, then far away, - Fierce as the flame in sunset skies, - Cold as the winter light that lies - On the Baie des Chaleurs? - - They tell us that many a year ago, - From lands where the palm and the olive grow, - Where vines with their purple clusters creep - Over the hillsides gray and steep, - A knight in his doublet, slashed with gold, - Famed, in that chivalrous time of old, - For valorous deeds and courage rare, - Sailed with a princess wondrous fair - To the Baie des Chaleurs. - - That a pirate crew from some isle of the sea, - A murderous band as e’er could be, - With a shadowy sail, and a flag of night, - That flaunted and flew in heaven’s sight, - Sailed in the wake of the lovers there, - And sank the ship and its freight so fair - In the Baie des Chaleurs. - - Strange is the tale that the fishermen tell: - They say that a ball of fire fell - Straight from the sky, with crash and roar, - Lighting the bay from shore to shore; - Then the ship, with shudder and with groan, - Sank through the waves to the caverns lone - Of the Baie des Chaleurs. - - That was the last of the pirate crew; - But many a night a black flag flew - From the mast of a spectre vessel, sailed - By a spectre band that wept and wailed - For the wreck they had wrought on the sea, on the land, - For the innocent blood they had spilt on the sand - Of the Baie des Chaleurs. - - This is the tale of the phantom light - That fills the mariner’s heart, at night, - With dread as it gleams o’er his path on the bay, - Now by the shore, then far away, - Fierce as the flame in sunset skies, - Cold as the winter moon that lies - On the Baie des Chaleurs. - --ARTHUR WENTWORTH EATON. - - - - - THE BEATITUDES - - - Blessed are the poor in spirit: - For theirs 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. - Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: - For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. - --_From the Sermon on the Mount._ - - - - - MAGGIE TULLIVER AND THE GYPSIES - - -The resolution that gathered in Maggie’s mind was not so simple as that -of going home. No! she would run away and go to the gypsies, and Tom -should never see her any more. That was by no means a new idea to -Maggie. The gypsies, she considered, would gladly receive her, and pay -her much respect on account of her superior knowledge. She had once -mentioned her views on this point to her brother Tom and had suggested -that he should stain his face brown, and they should run away together. -But Tom had rejected the scheme with contempt, observing that gypsies -were thieves, and that they hardly got anything to eat, and had nothing -to drive but a donkey. - -[Illustration: GEORGE ELIOT] - -To-day, however, Maggie thought her misery had reached a pitch at which -gypsydom was her only refuge, and she rose from her seat on the roots of -the tree with the sense that this was a great crisis in her life. She -would run straight away till she came to Dunlow Common, where there -would certainly be gypsies; and cruel Tom, and the rest of her relations -who found fault with her, should never see her any more. She thought of -her father, as she ran along, but determined that she would secretly -send him a letter by a small gypsy, who would run away without telling -where she was, and just let him know that she was well and happy and -always loved him very much. - -It seemed to Maggie that she had been running a very great distance -indeed, and it was really surprising that the Common did not come within -sight. At last, however, the green fields came to an end, and she found -herself looking through the bars of a gate into a lane with a wide -margin of grass on each side of it. She crept through the bars and -walked on with a new spirit. It was not, however, without a leaping of -the heart that she caught sight of a small pair of bare legs sticking -up, feet uppermost, by the side of a hillock. It was a boy asleep, and -she trotted along faster and more lightly, lest she should wake him. It -did not occur to her that he was one of her friends, the gypsies, who -probably would have very kindly manners. But the fact was so, for at the -next bend in the lane she really saw the little black tent with the blue -smoke rising before it, which was to be her refuge. She even saw a tall -female figure by the column of smoke, doubtless the gypsy mother, who -provided the tea and other groceries. - -It was plain she had attracted attention. For the tall figure, who -proved to be a young woman with a baby on her arm, walked slowly to meet -her. - -“My little lady, where are you going?” the gypsy said, in a coaxing -tone. - -It was delightful, and just what she expected. The gypsies saw at once -that she was a little lady, and were prepared to treat her accordingly. - -“Not any farther,” said Maggie, feeling as if she were saying what she -had rehearsed in a dream. “I’m coming to stay with _you_, please.” - -“That’s pretty; come, then. Why, what a nice little lady you are, to be -sure!” said the gypsy, taking her by the hand. Maggie thought her very -agreeable, but wished she had not been so dirty. - -There was quite a group round the fire when they reached it. An old -gypsy woman was seated on the ground nursing her knees, and poking a -skewer into the round kettle that sent forth an odorous steam. Two small -shock-headed children were lying prone and resting on their elbows; and -a placid donkey was bending his head over a tall girl, who, lying on her -back, was scratching his nose and indulging him with a bite of excellent -stolen hay. - -The slanting sunlight fell kindly upon them, and the scene was really -very pretty and comfortable, Maggie thought, only she hoped they would -soon set out the teacups. - -At last the old woman said: “What! my pretty lady, are you come to stay -with us? Sit down and tell us where you come from.” - -[Illustration: MAGGIE AT THE GYPSY ENCAMPMENT] - -It was just like a story. Maggie liked to be called pretty lady and -treated in this way. She sat down, and said:-- - -“I’m come from home because I’m unhappy, and I mean to be a gypsy. I’ll -live with you if you like, and I can teach you a great many things.” - -“Such a clever little lady,” said the woman with the baby, sitting down -by Maggie, and allowing the baby to crawl. “And such a pretty bonnet and -frock,” she added, taking off Maggie’s bonnet, and looking at it while -she made a remark to the old woman, in an unknown language. The tall -girl snatched the bonnet and put it on her own head hind-foremost, with -a grin. But Maggie was determined not to show any weakness on this -subject. - -“I don’t want to wear a bonnet,” she said; “I’d rather wear a red -handkerchief, like yours.” - -“Oh, what a nice little lady!--and rich, I’m sure,” said the old woman. -“Didn’t you live in a beautiful house at home?” - -“Yes; my home is pretty, and I’m very fond of the river, where we go -fishing, but I’m often very unhappy. I should have liked to bring my -books with me, but I came away in a hurry, you know. But I can tell you -almost everything there is in my books; I’ve read them so many times, -and that will amuse you. And I can tell you something about geography, -too,--that’s about the world we live in,--very useful and interesting. -Did you ever hear about Columbus?” - -“Is that where you live, my little lady?” said the old woman, at the -mention of Columbus. - -“Oh, no!” said Maggie, with some pity. “Columbus was a very wonderful -man, who found out half the world, and they put chains on him and -treated him very badly, you know. It’s in my geography, but perhaps it’s -rather too long to tell before tea--I want my tea so.” The last words -burst from Maggie, in spite of herself. - -“Why, she’s hungry, poor little lady,” said the younger woman. “Give her -some of the cold victuals. You’ve been walking a good way, I’ll be -bound, my dear. Where’s your home?” - -“It’s Dorlcote Mill, a long way off,” said Maggie. “My father is Mr. -Tulliver, but we musn’t let him know where I am, or he will take me home -again. Where does the queen of the gypsies live?” - -“What! do you want to go to her, my little lady?” said the younger -woman. The tall girl, meanwhile, was constantly staring at Maggie and -grinning. Her manners were certainly not agreeable. - -“No,” said Maggie; “I’m only thinking that if she isn’t a very good -queen you might be glad when she died, and you could choose another. If -I were a queen, I’d be a very good queen, and kind to everybody.” - -“Here’s a bit of nice victuals, then,” said the old woman, handing to -Maggie a lump of dry bread, which she had taken from a bag of scraps, -and a piece of cold bacon. - -“Thank you,” said Maggie, looking at the food without taking it; “but -will you give me some bread and butter and tea, instead? I don’t like -bacon.” - -“We’ve got no tea or butter,” said the old woman, with something like a -scowl, as if she were getting tired of coaxing. - -“Oh, a little bread and treacle would do,” said Maggie. - -“We’ve got no treacle,” said the old woman, crossly. - -Then the old woman, seeming to forget Maggie’s hunger, poked the skewer -into the pot with new vigor, and the younger crept under the tent and -reached out some platters and spoons. Maggie trembled a little, and was -afraid the tears would come into her eyes. But the springing tears were -checked by new terror, when two men came up. The elder of the two -carried a bag, which he flung down, addressing the women in a loud and -scolding tone. - -Both the men now seemed to be asking about Maggie, for they looked at -her. At last the younger woman said in her coaxing tone, “This nice -little lady’s come to live with us; aren’t you glad?” - -“Ay, very glad,” said the younger man, who was looking at Maggie’s -silver thimble and other small matters that had been taken from her -pocket. He returned them all, except the thimble, to the younger woman, -with some remark, and she put them again in Maggie’s pocket. The men -seated themselves, and began to attack the contents of the kettle,--a -stew of meat and potatoes,--which had been taken off the fire and turned -out into a yellow platter. - -Maggie began to think that Tom must be right about the gypsies; they -must certainly be thieves, unless the man meant to return her thimble by -and by. She would willingly have given it to him, for she was not at all -attached to her thimble. But the idea that she was among thieves -prevented her from feeling any comfort. The women saw that she was -frightened. - -“We’ve nothing nice for a lady to eat,” said the old woman. “And she’s -so hungry, sweet little lady.” - -“Here, my dear, try if you can eat a bit of this,” said the younger -woman, handing some of the stew in a brown dish, with an iron spoon, to -Maggie, who remembered that the old woman had seemed angry with her for -not liking the bread and bacon, and dared not refuse the stew, though -fear had chased away her appetite. If her father would only come by in -the gig and take her up! - -“What! you don’t like the smell of it, my dear,” said the young woman, -observing that Maggie did not even take a spoonful of the stew. “Try a -bit, come.” - -“No, thank you,” said Maggie, trying to smile in a friendly way. “I -haven’t time, I think; it seems getting darker. I think I must go home -now, and come again another day, and then I can bring you a basket with -some jam tarts and things.” - -Maggie rose from her seat; but her hope sank when the old gypsy woman -said, “Stop a bit, stop a bit, little lady; we’ll take you home, all -safe, when we’ve done supper; you shall ride home, like a lady.” - -Maggie sat down again, with little faith in this promise, though she -presently saw the tall girl putting a bridle on the donkey, and throwing -a couple of bags on his back. - -“Now, then, little missis,” said the younger man, rising, and leading -the donkey forward, “tell us where you live; what’s the name of the -place?” - -“Dorlcote Mill is my home,” said Maggie, eagerly. “My father is Mr. -Tulliver; he lives there.” - -“What! a big mill a little way this side of St. Ogg’s?” - -“Yes,” said Maggie. “Is it far off? I think I should like to walk there, -if you please.” - -“No, no, it’ll be getting dark; we must make haste. And the donkey’ll -carry you as nice as can be; you’ll see.” - -He lifted Maggie as he spoke, and set her on the donkey. She felt -relieved that it was not the old man who was going with her, but she had -only a trembling hope that she was really going home. - -“Here’s your pretty bonnet,” said the younger woman, putting it on -Maggie’s head; “and you’ll say we’ve been very good to you, won’t you? -and what a nice little lady we said you were.” - -“Oh, yes, thank you,” said Maggie; “I’m very much obliged to you. But I -wish you’d go with me, too.” She thought that anything was better than -going with one of the dreadful men alone. - -“Ah, you’re fondest of me, aren’t you?” said the woman. “But I can’t go; -you’ll go too fast for me.” - -It now appeared that the man also was to be seated on the donkey, -holding Maggie before him, and no nightmare had ever seemed to her more -horrible. When the woman had patted her on the back, and said “Good-by,” -the donkey set off at a rapid walk along the lane towards the point -Maggie had come from an hour ago. - -At last--oh, sight of joy!--this lane, the longest in the world, was -coming to an end, was opening on a broad highroad, where there was -actually a coach passing! And there was a finger-post at the -corner,--she had surely seen that finger-post before,--“To St. Ogg’s, 2 -miles.” - -The gypsy really meant to take her home, then; he was probably a good -man, after all, and might have been rather hurt at the thought that she -didn’t like coming with him alone. This idea became stronger as she felt -more and more certain that she knew the road quite well. She was -thinking how she might open a conversation with the injured gypsy, when, -as they reached a cross-road, Maggie caught sight of some one coming on -a white-faced horse. - -“Oh, stop, stop!” she cried out. “There’s my father! Oh, father, -father!” - -The sudden joy was almost painful, and before her father reached her, -she was sobbing. Great was Mr. Tulliver’s wonder, for he had made a -round from Basset, and had not yet been home. - -“Why, what’s the meaning of this?” he said, checking his horse, while -Maggie slipped from the donkey and ran to her father’s stirrup. - -“The little miss lost herself, I reckon,” said the gypsy. “She’d come -to our tent at the far end of Dunlow Lane, and I was bringing her where -she said her home was. It’s a good way to come after being on the tramp -all day.” - -“Oh, yes, father, he’s been very good to bring me home,” said Maggie. “A -very kind, good man!” - -“Here, then, my man,” said Mr. Tulliver, taking out five shillings. -“It’s the best day’s work you ever did. I couldn’t afford to lose the -little lass; here, lift her up before me.” - -“Why, Maggie, how’s this, how’s this?” he said, as they rode along, -while she laid her head against her father and sobbed. “How came you to -be rambling about and lose yourself?” - -“Oh, father,” sobbed Maggie, “I ran away because I was so unhappy. Tom -was so angry with me. I couldn’t bear it.” - -“Pooh, pooh,” said Mr. Tulliver, soothingly; “you mustn’t think of -running away from father. What would father do without his little lass?” - -“Oh, no; I never shall again, father--never.” - -Mr. Tulliver spoke his mind very strongly when he reached home that -evening; and the effect was seen in the fact that Maggie never heard one -reproach from her mother or one taunt from Tom about this foolish -business of her running away to the gypsies.--GEORGE ELIOT. - - * * * * * - - He is idle that might be better employed. - - - - - LADY CLARE - - - It was the time when lilies blow, - And clouds are highest up in air, - Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe - To give his cousin, Lady Clare. - - I trow they did not part in scorn: - Lovers long-betroth’d were they: - They two will wed the morrow morn: - God’s blessing on the day! - - “He does not love me for my birth, - Nor for my lands so broad and fair; - He loves me for my own true worth, - And that is well,” said Lady Clare. - - In there came old Alice the nurse, - Said, “Who was this that went from thee?” - “It was my cousin,” said Lady Clare, - “To-morrow he weds with me.” - - “O God be thank’d!” said Alice the nurse, - “That all comes round so just and fair: - Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, - And you are not the Lady Clare.” - - “Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?” - Said Lady Clare, “that ye speak so wild?” - “As God’s above,” said Alice the nurse, - “I speak the truth: you are my child. - - “The old Earl’s daughter died at my breast; - I speak the truth, as I live by bread! - I buried her like my own sweet child, - And put my child in her stead.” - - “Falsely, falsely have ye done, - O mother,” she said, “if this be true, - To keep the best man under the sun - So many years from his due.” - - “Nay now, my child,” said Alice the nurse, - “But keep the secret for your life, - And all you have will be Lord Ronald’s, - When you are man and wife.” - - “If I’m a beggar born,” she said, - “I will speak out, for I dare not lie. - Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold, - And fling the diamond necklace by.” - - “Nay now, my child,” said Alice the nurse, - “But keep the secret all ye can.” - She said, “Not so: but I will know - If there be any faith in man.” - - “Nay now, what faith?” said Alice the nurse, - “The man will cleave unto his right.” - “And he shall have it,” the Lady replied, - “Tho’ I should die to-night.” - - “Yet give one kiss to your mother dear! - Alas, my child, I sinn’d for thee.” - “O mother, mother, mother,” she said, - “So strange it seems to me. - - “Yet here’s a kiss for my mother dear, - My mother dear, if this be so, - And lay your hand upon my head, - And bless me, mother, ere I go.” - - She clad herself in a russet gown, - She was no longer Lady Clare: - She went by dale and she went by down - With a single rose in her hair. - - The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought - Leapt up from where she lay, - Dropt her head in the maiden’s hand, - And follow’d her all the way. - - Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower: - “O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! - Why come you drest like a village maid, - That are the flower of the earth?” - - “If I come drest like a village maid, - I am but as my fortunes are: - I am a beggar born,” she said, - “And not the Lady Clare.” - - “Play me no tricks,” said Lord Ronald, - “For I am yours in word and in deed. - Play me no tricks,” said Lord Ronald, - “Your riddle is hard to read.” - - O and proudly stood she up! - Her heart within her did not fail: - She look’d into Lord Ronald’s eyes, - And told him all her nurse’s tale. - - He laugh’d a laugh of merry scorn: - He turn’d and kiss’d her where she stood: - “If you are not the heiress born, - And I,” said he, “the next in blood-- - - “If you are not the heiress born, - And I,” said he, “the lawful heir, - We two will wed to-morrow morn, - And you shall still be Lady Clare.” - --ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. - - - - - THE BRITISH EMPIRE - - - Not by the power of Commerce, Art, or Pen, - Shall our great Empire stand, nor has it stood, - But by the noble deeds of noble men-- - Heroic lives and heroes’ outpoured blood. - --FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT. - - - - - DON QUIXOTE AND THE LION - - -Absorbed in his thoughts, Don Quixote, the famous knight, had not -proceeded more than half a league on his journey when, raising his head, -he perceived a cart covered with royal flags coming along the road they -were travelling, and, persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he -called aloud to Sancho, his squire, to bring him his helmet. As the -squire approached, he called to him: “Give me that helmet, my friend, -for either I know little of adventures or what I observe yonder is one -that will, and does, call on me to arm myself.” - -[Illustration: CERVANTES] - -By the time that Don Quixote had put on his helmet, the cart with the -flags had come up, unattended by any one except the carter on a mule, -and a man sitting before the door of the cart. The knight planted -himself before it, and said: “Where are you going, brothers? What cart -is this? What have you got in it? What flags are those?” - -To this the carter replied: “The cart is mine; what is in it is a pair -of fine caged lions, which the governor of Oran is sending to court as a -present to his Majesty, and the flags are our lord the king’s, to show -that this is his property.” - -“Are the lions large?” asked Don Quixote. - -“So large,” replied the man who sat at the door of the cart, “that -larger have never crossed from Africa to Spain. I am the keeper, and I -have brought over others, but never any like these. They are hungry now, -for they have eaten nothing to-day, so let your worship stand aside, for -we must make haste to the place where we are to feed them.” - -Hereon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed: “Get down, my good -fellow, and as you are the keeper, open the cages and turn out those -beasts, and in the midst of this plain, I shall let them know who Don -Quixote of La Mancha is, in spite and in the teeth of the enchanters who -sent them to me.” - -At this instant Sancho came up, saying to the keeper of the lions: “Sir, -do something to keep my master, Don Quixote, from fighting those lions; -for if he does, they’ll tear us all to pieces here.” - -“Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “you leave this business to me;” and then -turning to the keeper, he exclaimed: “By all that’s good, Sir Keeper, if -you do not open the cages this very instant, I shall pin you to the cart -with this lance.” - -The carter, seeing the determination of the knight, said to him: “Please -your worship, let me unyoke the mules, and place myself in safety along -with them before the lions are turned out, for if they kill the mules, I -am ruined for life. All I possess is this cart and mules.” - -“O man of little faith,” replied Don Quixote, “get down and unyoke. You -shall soon see that you are exerting yourself for nothing, and that you -might have spared yourself the trouble.” - -The carter got down, and with all speed unyoked the mules, and the -keeper called out at the top of his voice: “I call all here to witness -that against my will and under compulsion I open the cages and let the -lions loose, and that I warn this gentleman that he shall be accountable -for all the harm and mischief which these beasts may do, and for my -salary and dues as well.” Then, speaking to the carter and Sancho, he -said: “You, gentlemen, place yourselves in safety before I open, for I -know they will do me no harm.” - -Sancho, with tears in his eyes, entreated his master to give up the -enterprise. “Look ye, señor,” said he, “there’s no enchantment here, not -anything of the sort; for between the bars and chinks of the cage I have -seen the paw of a real lion, and judging by that, I reckon that such a -paw should belong to a lion much bigger than a mountain.” - -“Fear, at any rate,” replied Don Quixote, “will make him look bigger to -thee than half the world. Retire, Sancho, and leave me. I say no more.” -And renewing his commands to the keeper, and repeating his threats, he -gave warning to Sancho to spur his horse, and to the carter to drive -away his mules. Both Sancho and the carter did not disobey the commands -of the knight, but strove to get away from the cart before the lions -broke loose. - -During the delay that occurred while the keeper was opening the cage, -Don Quixote was considering whether it would not be well to do battle on -foot instead of on horseback, and he finally resolved to fight on foot, -fearing that his horse might take fright at the sight of the lions. He -therefore sprang to the ground, flung his lance aside, braced his -buckler on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced slowly with resolute -courage, to plant himself in front of the cart. The keeper, seeing that -the knight had taken up his position, and that it was impossible for him -to avoid letting out the lions without getting into trouble, flung open -the doors of the cage containing the lion, which was now seen to be of -enormous size and grim and hideous mien. - -The first thing the lion did was to turn round in the cage in which he -lay, and protrude his claws and stretch himself thoroughly. He next -opened his mouth and yawned very leisurely. When he had done this, he -put his head out of the cage and looked all round with eyes like glowing -coals. Don Quixote merely observed him steadily, longing for him to leap -from the cart and come to close quarters with him, when he hoped to hew -him to pieces. But the noble beast turned about and very coolly and -tranquilly lay down again in the cage. Seeing this, Don Quixote ordered -the keeper to take a stick to him and provoke him, to make him come out. - -“That I will not,” said the keeper; “for if I anger him, the first he’ll -tear in pieces will be myself. Be satisfied, Sir Knight, with what you -have done, which leaves nothing more to be said on the score of courage, -and do not seek to tempt fortune a second time. The lion has the door -open; he is free to come out or not to come out; but as he has not come -out so far, he will not come out to-day. The greatness of your worship’s -courage has been fully manifested already; no brave champion, so it -strikes me, is bound to do more than challenge his enemy and wait for -him on the field. If his adversary does not come, on him lies the -disgrace, and he who waits for him carries off the crown of victory.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “close the door, my friend, and let me -have by way of certificate in the best form thou canst what thou hast -seen me do. Close the door, as I bade thee, while I make signals to the -fugitives that have left us, that they may learn this exploit from thy -lips.” - -The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, fixing his handkerchief on the point -of his lance, proceeded to recall the others, who still continued to -fly, looking back at every step. Sancho, however, happening to observe -the signal, exclaimed: “May I die if my master has not overcome the wild -beasts, for he is calling to us.” - -They stopped, and, perceiving that it was Don Quixote who was making -signals, they approached slowly until they were near enough to hear him -distinctly calling to them. They returned at length to the cart, and as -they came up, Don Quixote said to the carter: “Put your mules to the -cart once more, brother, and continue your journey; and do thou, Sancho, -give him two gold crowns for himself and the keeper, to compensate them -for the delay they have incurred through me.” - -Sancho paid the crowns, the keeper kissed Don Quixote’s hands for the -bounty bestowed on him, and promised to give an account of the valiant -exploit to the king himself, as soon as he saw him at court. The cart -went its way, and Don Quixote and Sancho went theirs. - - --MIGUEL DE CERVANTES. - - - - - 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 us 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. - - “With fire and sword the country round - Was wasted far and wide, - And many a nursing mother then - And new-born baby died; - But things like that, you know, must be - At every famous victory. - - “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.” - --ROBERT SOUTHEY. - - - - - A HURON MISSION HOUSE - - -By the ancient Huron custom, when a man or a family wanted a house, the -whole village joined in building one. In the present case the -neighboring town also took part in the work. Before October the task was -finished. - -The house was constructed after the Huron model. It was thirty-six feet -long and about twenty feet wide, framed with strong sapling poles -planted in the earth to form the sides, with the ends bent into an arch -for the roof,--the whole lashed firmly together, braced with cross -poles, and closely covered with overlapping sheets of bark. - -Without, the structure was strictly Indian; but within, the priests, -with the aid of their tools, made changes which were the astonishment of -all the country. They divided their dwelling by transverse partitions -into three apartments, each with its wooden door,--a wondrous novelty in -the eyes of their visitors. The first served as a hall, an anteroom, and -a place of storage for corn, beans, and dried fish. The second--the -largest of the three--was at once kitchen, workshop, dining-room, -drawing-room, school-room, and bedchamber. The third was the chapel. -Here they made their altar, and here were their images, pictures, and -sacred vessels. - -Their fire was on the ground, in the middle of the second apartment, the -smoke escaping by a hole in the roof. At the sides were placed two wide -platforms, after the Huron fashion, four feet from the earthen floor. On -these were chests in which they kept their clothing, and beneath them -they slept, reclining on sheets of bark, and covered with skins and the -garments they wore by day. Rude stools, a hand-mill, an Indian mortar -for crushing corn, and a clock completed the furniture of the room. - -There was no lack of visitors, for the house contained marvels the fame -of which was noised abroad to the uttermost confines of the Huron -nation. Chief among them was the clock. The guests would sit in -expectant silence by the hour, squatted on the ground, waiting to hear -it strike. They thought it was alive, and asked what it ate. As the last -stroke sounded, one of the Frenchmen would cry “Stop!”--and to the -admiration of the company the obedient clock was silent. The mill was -another wonder, and they never tired of turning it. Besides these, there -was a prism and a magnet; also a magnifying glass, wherein a flea was -transformed to a frightful monster, and a multiplying lens which showed -them the same object eleven times repeated. - -“What does the Captain say?” was the frequent question; for by this -title of honor they designated the clock. - -“When he strikes twelve times he says, ‘Hang on the kettle’; and when he -strikes four times he says, ‘Get up and go home.’” - -Both interpretations were remembered. At noon visitors were never -wanting; but at the stroke of four all arose and departed, leaving the -missionaries for a time in peace.--FRANCIS PARKMAN. - - - - - THE BURIAL OF MOSES - - - By Nebo’s lonely mountain, - On this side Jordan’s wave, - In a vale in the land of Moab - There lies a lonely grave; - And no man knows that sepulchre, - And no man saw it e’er, - For the angels of God upturn’d the sod, - And laid the dead man there. - - That was the grandest funeral - That ever pass’d on earth; - But no man heard the trampling, - Or saw the train go forth-- - Noiselessly as the daylight - Comes back when night is done, - And the crimson streak on ocean’s cheek - Grows into the great sun; - - Noiselessly as the spring-time - Her crown of verdure weaves, - And all the trees on all the hills - Open their thousand leaves; - So without sound of music, - Or voice of them that wept, - Silently down from the mountain’s crown, - The great procession swept. - - Perchance the bald old eagle - On gray Beth-peor’s height - Out of his lonely eyrie - Look’d on the wondrous sight; - Perchance the lion stalking - Still shuns that hallow’d spot, - For beast and bird have seen and heard - That which man knoweth not. - - But when the warrior dieth, - His comrades in the war, - With arms reversed and muffled drum, - Follow his funeral car; - They show the banners taken, - They tell his battles won, - And after him lead his masterless steed, - While peals the minute gun. - - Amid the noblest of the land, - We lay the sage to rest, - And give the bard an honor’d place, - With costly marble dressed, - In the great minster transept, - Where lights like glories fall, - And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings, - Along the emblazon’d wall. - - This was the truest warrior - That ever buckled sword; - This the most gifted poet - That ever breathed a word; - And never earth’s philosopher - Traced with his golden pen - On the deathless page truths half so sage - As he wrote down for men. - - And had he not high honor-- - The hillside for a pall, - To lie in state while angels wait - With stars for tapers tall, - And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes, - Over his bier to wave, - And God’s own hand in that lonely land - To lay him in the grave,-- - - In that strange grave without a name, - Whence his uncoffin’d clay - Shall break again, O wondrous thought, - Before the judgment-day, - And stand with glory wrapt around - On the hills he never trod, - And speak of the strife that won our life - With the Incarnate Son of God? - - O lonely grave in Moab’s land! - O dark Beth-peor’s hill! - Speak to these curious hearts of ours - And teach them to be still. - God hath His mysteries of grace, - Ways that we cannot tell; - He hides them deep like the hidden sleep - Of him He loved so well. - --CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. - - - - - THE CRUISE OF THE CORACLE - - -It was broad day when I awoke, and found myself tossing at the -south-west end of Treasure Island. I was scarcely a quarter of a mile to -seaward, and it was my first thought to paddle in and land. But that -notion was soon given over. Among the fallen rocks the breakers spouted -and bellowed; loud reverberations, heavy sprays flying and falling, -succeeded one another from second to second; and I saw myself, if I -ventured nearer, dashed to death upon the rough shore, or spending my -strength in vain to scale the beetling crags. - -[Illustration: R. L. STEVENSON] - -Nor was that all; for crawling together on flat tables of rock, or -letting themselves drop into the sea with loud reports, I beheld huge -slimy monsters,--soft snails, as it were, of incredible bigness,--two or -three score of them together, making the rocks to echo with their -barkings. I have understood since that they were sea-lions, and entirely -harmless. But the look of them, added to the difficulty of the shore and -the high running of the surf, was more than enough to disgust me with -that landing-place. I felt willing rather to starve at sea than to -confront such perils. - -There was a great, smooth swell upon the sea. The wind blowing steady -and gentle from the south, there was no contrariety between that and the -current, and the billows rose and fell unbroken. Had it been otherwise, -I must long ago have perished; but as it was, it is surprising how -easily and securely my little and light boat could ride. Often, as I -still lay at the bottom, and kept no more than an eye above the gunwale, -I would see a big blue summit heaving close above me; yet the coracle -would but bounce a little, dance as if on springs, and subside on the -other side into the trough as lightly as a bird. - -I began after a little to grow very bold, and sat up to try my skill at -paddling. But even a small change in the disposition of the weight will -produce violent changes in the behavior of a coracle. And I had hardly -moved before the boat, giving up at once her gentle dancing movement, -ran straight down a slope of water so steep that it made me giddy, and -stuck her nose, with a spout of spray, deep into the side of the next -wave. - -I was drenched and terrified, and fell instantly back into my old -position, whereupon the coracle seemed to find her head again, and led -me as softly as before among the billows. It was plain she was not to be -interfered with, and at that rate, since I could in no way influence her -course, what hope had I left of reaching land? - -I began to be horribly frightened, but I kept my head, for all that. -First, moving with all care, I gradually bailed out the coracle with my -sea-cap; then getting my eye once more above the gunwale, I set myself -to study how it was she managed to slip so quietly through the rollers. -I found each wave, instead of the big, smooth, glossy mountain it looks -from the shore, or from a vessel’s deck, was for all the world like any -range of hills on the dry land, full of peaks and smooth places and -valleys. The coracle, left to herself, turning from side to side, -threaded, so to speak, her way through these lower parts, and avoided -the steep slopes and higher toppling summits of the wave. - -“Well, now,” thought I to myself, “it is plain I must lie where I am, -and not disturb the balance; but it is plain, also, that I can put the -paddle over the side, and from time to time, in smooth places, give her -a shove or two towards land.” - -No sooner thought upon than done. There I lay on my elbows, in the most -trying attitude, and every now and again gave a weak stroke or two to -turn her head to shore. It was very tiring, and slow work, yet I did -visibly gain ground; and, as we drew near the Cape of the Woods, though -I saw I must infallibly miss that point, I had still made some hundred -yards of easting. I was, indeed, close in. I could see the cool, green -tree-tops swaying together in the breeze, and I felt sure I should make -the next promontory without fail. - -It was high time, for I now began to be tortured with thirst. The glow -of the sun from above, its thousand-fold reflection from the waves, the -sea-water that fell and dried upon me, caking my very lips with salt, -combined to make my throat burn and my brain ache. The sight of the -trees so near at hand had almost made me sick with longing; but the -current had soon carried me past the point; and, as the next reach of -sea opened out, I beheld a sight that changed the nature of my thoughts. - -Right in front of me, not half a mile away, I beheld the _Hispaniola_ -under sail. I made sure, of course, that I should be taken; but I was so -distressed for want of water that I scarce knew whether to be glad or -sorry at the thought; and, long before I had come to a conclusion, -surprise had taken entire possession of my mind, and I could do nothing -but stare and wonder. - -The _Hispaniola_ was under her mainsail and two jibs, and the beautiful -white canvas shone in the sun like snow or silver. When I first sighted -her, all her sails were drawing, she was lying a course about -north-west, and I presumed the men on board were going round the island -on their way back to the anchorage. Presently she began to fetch more -and more to the westward, so that I thought they had sighted me and were -going about in chase. At last, however, she fell right into the wind’s -eye, was taken dead aback, and stood there awhile helpless, with her -sails shivering. - -Meanwhile, the schooner gradually fell off, and filled again upon -another tack, sailed swiftly for a minute or so, and brought up once -more dead in the wind’s eye. Again and again was this repeated. To and -fro, up and down, north, south, east, and west, the _Hispaniola_ sailed -by swoops and dashes, and at each repetition ended as she had begun, -with rapidly flapping canvas. It became plain to me that nobody was -steering. And, if so, where were the men? - -Either they were drunk, or had deserted her, I thought, and perhaps, if -I could get on board, I might return the vessel to her captain. - -The current was bearing coracle and schooner southwards at an equal -rate. As for the latter’s sailing, it was so wild and intermittent, and -she hung each time so long in irons, that she certainly gained nothing, -if she did not even lose. If only I dared to sit up and paddle, I made -sure that I could overhaul her. The scheme had an air of adventure that -inspired me, and the thought of the water-breaker beside the -fore-companion doubled my growing courage. - -Up I got, was welcomed almost instantly by another cloud of spray, but -this time stuck to my purpose; and set myself, with all my strength and -caution, to paddle after the unsteered _Hispaniola_. Once I shipped a -sea so heavy that I had to stop and bail, with my heart fluttering like -a bird; but gradually I got into the way of the thing, and guided my -coracle among the waves, with only now and then a blow upon her bows -and a dash of foam in my face. - -I was now gaining rapidly on the schooner; I could see the brass glisten -on the tiller as it banged about; and still no soul appeared upon her -decks. I could not choose but suppose she was deserted. If not, the men -were lying helpless below, where I might batten them down, perhaps; and -do what I chose with the ship. - -For some time she had been doing the worst thing possible for -me--standing still. She headed nearly due south, yawing, of course, all -the time. Each time she fell off her sails partly filled, and these -brought her, in a moment, right to the wind again. I have said this was -the worst thing possible for me; for, helpless as she looked in this -situation, with the canvas crackling like cannon, and the blocks -trundling and banging on the deck, she still continued to run away from -me, not only with the speed of the current, but by the whole amount of -her leeway, which was naturally great. - -But now, at last, I had my chance. The breeze fell, for some seconds, -very low, and the current gradually turning her, the _Hispaniola_ -revolved slowly round her centre, and at last presented me her stern, -with the cabin window still gaping open, and the lamp over the table -still burning on into the day. The mainsail hung drooped like a banner. -She was stock-still, but for the current. - -For the last little while I had even lost; but now, redoubling my -efforts, I began once more to overhaul the chase. I was not a hundred -yards from her when the wind came again in a clap; she filled on the -port tack, and was off again, stooping and skimming like a swallow. - -My first impulse was one of despair, but my second was towards joy. -Round she came, till she was broadside on to me--round still till she -had covered a half, and then two-thirds, and then three-quarters of the -distance that separated us. I could see the waves boiling white under -her forefoot. Immensely tall she looked to me from my low station in the -coracle. - -And then, of a sudden, I began to comprehend. I had scarce time to -think--scarce time to act and save myself. I was on the summit of one -swell when the schooner came stooping over the next. The bowsprit was -over my head. I sprang to my feet, and leaped, stamping the coracle -under water. With one hand I caught the jib-boom, while my foot was -lodged between the stay and the brace; and as I still clung there -panting, a dull blow told me that the schooner had charged down upon and -struck the coracle, and that I was left without retreat on the -_Hispaniola_. - - --ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - - _From “Treasure Island,” by permission._ - - * * * * * - - No man is born into the world whose work - Is not born with him: there is always work, - And tools to work withal, for those who will; - And blesséd are the horny hands of toil.--LOWELL. - - - - - 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 whereso’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 its 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! - -[Illustration: THE SEA - -James.] - - 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 power to range, - But never have sought, nor sighed for change; - And Death, whenever he comes to me, - Shall come on the wild unbounded sea! - --BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. - - - - - THE WIND’S WORD - - -[Illustration: ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN] - - The wind charged every way, and fled - Across the meadows and the wheat; - It whirled the swallows overhead, - And swung the daisies at my feet. - - As if in mockery of me, - And all the deadness of my thought, - It mounted to the largest glee, - And, like a lord that laughed and fought, - Took all the maples by surprise, - And made the poplars clash and shiver, - And flung my hair about my eyes, - And sprang and blackened on the river. - - And through the elm-tree tops, and round - The city steeples wild and high, - It floundered with a mighty sound, - A buoyant voice that seemed to cry,-- - - “Behold how grand I am, how free! - And all the forest bends my way! - I roam the earth, I stalk the sea, - And make my labor but a play.” - --ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN. - - - - - GULLIVER AMONG THE GIANTS - - -It was about twelve at noon, and a servant brought in dinner. It was -only one substantial meal of meat, fit for the plain condition of a -husbandman, in a dish of about four-and-twenty feet diameter. The -company consisted of the farmer and his wife, three children, and an old -grandmother. When they were seated, the farmer placed me at some -distance from him on the table, which was thirty feet high from the -floor. - -I was in a terrible fright, and kept as far as I could from the edge, -for fear of falling. The wife minced a bit of meat, then crumbled some -bread on a trencher, and placed it before me. I made her a low bow, -took out my knife and fork, and fell to eating, which gave them -exceeding delight. The mistress sent her maid for a small dram cup, -which held about two gallons, and filled it with drink. I took up the -vessel with much difficulty in both hands, and in a most respectful -manner drank to her ladyship’s health, expressing the words as loudly as -I could in English: which made the company laugh so heartily that I was -almost deafened with the noise. This liquor tasted like cider, and was -not unpleasant. - -[Illustration: DEAN SWIFT] - -Then the master made me a sign to come to his side; but, as I walked on -the table, being in great surprise all the time, I happened to stumble -against a crust, and fell flat on my face, but received no hurt. I got -up immediately, and, observing the good people to be in much concern, I -took my hat, which I held under my arm, out of good manners, and, waving -it over my head, gave three cheers to show I had received no mischief by -my fall. - -On advancing towards my master, his youngest son, who sat next to him, -an arch boy of about ten years old, took me up by the legs, and held me -so high in the air that I trembled in every limb; but his father -snatched me from him, and at the same time gave him such a box on the -left ear as would have felled a European troop of horse to the earth, -and ordered him to be taken from the table. As I was afraid the boy -might owe me a spite, I fell on my knees, and, pointing to him, made my -master to understand as well as I could that I desired his son might be -pardoned. The father complied, and the lad took his seat again; -whereupon I went to him and kissed his hand, which my master took, and -made him stroke me gently with it. - -In the midst of dinner, my mistress’s favorite cat leaped into her lap. -I heard a noise behind me like that of a dozen stocking weavers at work; -and, turning my head, I found it proceeded from the purring of that -animal, who seemed to be three times larger than an ox, as I computed by -the view of her head and one of her paws, while her mistress was feeding -and stroking her. The fierceness of the cat’s countenance altogether -discomposed me, though I stood at the farther end of the table, above -fifty feet off, and though my mistress held her fast, for fear she might -give a spring and seize me in her talons. But it happened that there was -no danger, for she took not the least notice of me, although my master -placed me within three yards of her. - -As I have been always told, and have found true by experience in my -travels, that flying, or discovering fear before a fierce animal, is a -certain way to make it pursue or attack you, I resolved, in this -dangerous juncture, to show no manner of concern. I walked with -intrepidity five or six times before the very head of the cat, and came -within half a yard of her; whereupon she drew herself back, as if she -were afraid of me. I had less apprehension concerning the dogs, whereof -three or four came into the room,--as it is usual in farmers’ -houses,--one of which was a mastiff, equal in bulk to four elephants, -and a greyhound somewhat taller than the mastiff, but not so large. - - --JONATHAN SWIFT. - - - - - TO A WATER-FOWL - - -[Illustration: W. C. BRYANT] - - Whither midst falling dew, - While glow the heavens with the last steps of day - Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue - Thy solitary way? - - Vainly the fowler’s eye - Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, - As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, - Thy figure floats along. - - Seek’st thou the plashy brink - Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, - Or where the rocking billows rise and sink - On the chafed ocean-side? - - There is a Power whose care - Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-- - The desert and illimitable air,-- - Lone wandering, but not lost. - - All day thy wings have fanned, - At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, - Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, - Though the dark night is near. - - And soon that toil shall end; - Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, - And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, - Soon, o’er thy sheltered nest. - - Thou’rt gone; the abyss of heaven - Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart - Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, - And shall not soon depart. - - He who, from zone to zone, - Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, - In the long way that I must tread alone, - Will lead my steps aright. - --WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. - - * * * * * - - Though the mills of God grind slowly, - Yet they grind exceeding small.--LONGFELLOW. - - - - -’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 rose-bud 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? - --THOMAS MOORE. - - - - - THE ARCHERY CONTEST - - -“The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy, “must not be dismissed -discontented for lack of their share in the sports.” - -“The day,” said Waldemar, “is not yet very far spent--let the archers -shoot a few rounds at the target, and the prize be adjudged. This will -be an abundant fulfilment of the Prince’s promises, so far as this herd -of Saxon serfs is concerned.” - -[Illustration: SIR WALTER SCOTT] - -“I thank thee, Waldemar,” said Prince John; “thou remindest me, too, -that I have a debt to pay to that insolent peasant who yesterday -insulted my person. The banquet also shall go forward to-night as we -proposed. Were this my last hour of power, it should be an hour sacred -to revenge and to pleasure--let new cares come with to-morrow’s new -day.” - -The sound of the trumpet soon recalled those spectators who had already -begun to leave the field; and proclamation was made that the Prince, -suddenly called by high public duties, was obliged to discontinue the -entertainments of to-morrow’s festival; nevertheless, unwilling that so -many good yeomen should depart without a trial of skill, he was pleased -to appoint that the archery competition intended for to-morrow should -take place at once. To the best archer a prize was to be awarded,--a -bugle-horn, mounted with silver, and a silken baldric, richly ornamented -with a medallion of St. Hubert, the patron of woodland sport. - -More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves as competitors, -several of whom were rangers and underkeepers in the royal forests. -When, however, the archers understood with whom they were to be matched, -upwards of twenty withdrew from the contest, unwilling to encounter the -dishonor of almost certain defeat. The diminished list of competitors, -however, still amounted to eight. Prince John, before the contest began, -stepped from his royal seat to view more nearly the persons of these -chosen yeomen, several of whom wore the royal livery. Having satisfied -his curiosity, he looked for the object of his resentment, whom he -observed standing on the same spot, and with the same composed -countenance which he had shown upon the preceding day. - -“Fellow,” said Prince John, “I guessed by thy insolent babble thou wert -no true lover of the longbow, and I see thou darest not adventure thy -skill among such merry men as stand yonder.” - -“Under favor, sir,” replied the yeoman, “I have another reason for -refraining to shoot, besides the fearing discomfiture and disgrace.” - -“And what is thy other reason?” said Prince John, who, for some cause -which perhaps he could not himself have explained, felt a painful -curiosity respecting this individual. - -“Because,” replied the woodsman, “I know not if these yeomen and I are -used to shoot at the same marks; and because, moreover, I know not how -your Grace might relish the winning of a third prize by one who has -unwittingly fallen under your displeasure.” - -Prince John colored as he put the question, “What is thy name, yeoman?” - -“Locksley,” answered the yeoman. - -“Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, “thou shalt shoot in thy turn, when -these yeomen have displayed their skill. If thou carriest the prize, I -shall add to it twenty nobles; but if thou losest it, thou shalt be -stripped of thy Lincoln green, and scourged out of the lists with -bowstrings, for a wordy and insolent braggart.” - -“And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager?” said the yeoman. “Your -Grace’s power, supported as it is by so many men-at-arms, may indeed -easily strip and scourge me, but cannot compel me to bend or to draw my -bow.” - -“If thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the Prince, “the provost of the -lists shall cut thy bowstring, break thy bow and arrows, and expel thee -from the presence as a faint-hearted craven.” - -“This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,” said the yeoman, -“to compel me to peril myself against the best archers of Leicester and -Staffordshire, under the penalty of infamy if they should overshoot me. -Nevertheless, I shall obey your will.” - -[Illustration: LOCKSLEY DISCHARGING HIS ARROW] - -“Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John; “his heart is -sinking; I am jealous lest he attempt to escape the trial. And do you, -good fellows, shoot boldly round; a buck and a butt of wine are ready -for your refreshment in yonder tent when the prize is won.” - -A target was placed at the upper end of the southern avenue which led to -the lists. One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered their -shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four arrows, shot in -succession, ten were fixed in the target, and the others ranged so near -it that, considering the distance of the mark, it was accounted good -archery. Of the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the inner -ring were shot by Hubert, a forester, who was accordingly pronounced -victorious. - -“Now, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeoman, with a bitter -smile, “wilt thou try conclusions with Hubert?” - -“Since it be no better,” said Locksley, “I am content to try my fortune; -on condition that when I have shot two shafts at yonder mark of -Hubert’s, he shall be bound to shoot one at that which I shall propose.” - -“That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “and it shall not be refused -thee. If thou dost beat this braggart, Hubert, I shall fill the bugle -with silver pennies for thee.” - -“A man can but do his best,” answered Hubert; “but my grandsire drew a -good longbow at Hastings, and I trust not to dishonor his memory.” - -The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of the same size -placed in its room. Hubert, who, as victor in the first trial of skill, -had the right to shoot first, took his aim with great deliberation. At -length he made a step forward, and raising the bow at the full stretch -of his left arm, till the centre or grasping place was nigh level with -his face, he drew the bowstring to his ear. The arrow whistled through -the air, and lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not -exactly in the centre. - -“You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said his antagonist, -bending his bow, “or that had been a better shot.” - -So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause upon his aim, -Locksley stepped to the appointed station, and shot his arrow as -carelessly in appearance as if he had not even looked at the mark. He -was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft left the bowstring, -yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer to the white spot which -marked the centre than that of Hubert. - -“By the light of heaven!” said Prince John to Hubert, “an thou suffer -that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows.” - -Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. - -“An your highness were to hang me,” he said, “a man can but do his best. -Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow--” - -“The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!” interrupted -John; “shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for -thee.” - -Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the caution -which he had received from his adversary, he made the necessary -allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just arisen, and shot -so successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre of the -target. - -“A Hubert! a Hubert!” shouted the populace, more interested in a known -person than in a stranger. “In the clout!--in the clout!--a Hubert -forever!” - -“Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the Prince, with an -insulting smile. - -“I shall notch his shaft for him, however,” replied Locksley. - -And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than before, it -lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it split to shivers. -The people who stood around were so astonished at his wonderful -dexterity that they could not even give vent to their surprise in their -usual clamor. “This must be the fiend, and no man of flesh and blood,” -whispered the yeomen to each other; “such archery has never been seen -since a bow was first bent in Britain.” - -“And now,” said Locksley, “I crave your Grace’s permission to plant such -a mark as is used in the North Country; and welcome every brave yeoman -who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the bonnie lass he loves -best.” - -He then turned to leave the lists. “Let your guards attend me,” he said, -“if you please--I go but to cut a rod from the nearest willow bush.” - -Prince John made a signal that some attendants should follow him in -case of his escape; but the cry of “Shame! shame!” which burst from the -multitude, induced him to alter his ungenerous purpose. - -Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand about six feet in -length, perfectly straight, and rather thicker than a man’s thumb. He -began to peel this with great composure, observing, at the same time, -that to ask a good woodsman to shoot at a target so broad as had -hitherto been used, was to put shame upon his skill. A child of seven -years old, he said, might hit it with a headless shaft; but, he added, -walking deliberately to the other end of the lists, and sticking the -willow wand upright in the ground, “he that hits that rod at fivescore -yards, I call him an archer fit to bear both bow and quiver before a -king, even if it were the stout King Richard himself.” - -“My grandsire,” said Hubert, “drew a good bow at the battle of Hastings, -and never shot at such a mark in his life--and neither shall I. If this -yeoman can cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers--or rather, I yield -to the fiend that is in his jerkin, and not to any human skill. I might -as well shoot at the edge of our parson’s whittle, or at a wheat straw, -or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which I can hardly see.” - -“Cowardly dog!” said Prince John. “Sirrah Locksley, do thou shoot; but, -if thou hittest such a mark, I shall say thou art the first man ever did -so. Howe’er it be, thou shalt not crow over us with a mere show of -superior skill.” - -“I shall do my best, as Hubert says,” said Locksley; “no man can do -more.” - -So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present occasion looked -with attention to his weapon, and changed the string which he thought -was no longer truly round, having been a little frayed by the two former -shots. He then took his aim with some deliberation, and the multitude -awaited the event in breathless silence. The archer vindicated their -opinion of his skill; his arrow split the willow rod against which it -was aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed; and even Prince John, in -admiration of Locksley’s skill, lost for an instant his dislike to his -person. “These twenty nobles,” he said, “which, with the bugle thou hast -fairly won, are thine own; we shall make them fifty, if thou wilt take -livery and service with us as a yeoman of our bodyguard, and be near to -our person. For never did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye -direct a shaft.” - -“Pardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley; “but I have vowed that if ever -I take service, it shall be with your royal brother, King Richard. These -twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this day drawn as brave a bow -as his grandsire did at Hastings. Had he not refused the trial, he would -have hit the wand as well as I.” - -Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance the bounty of the -stranger; and Locksley, anxious to escape further observation, mixed -with the crowd and was seen no more.--SIR WALTER SCOTT. - - - - - THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM - - - I stood upon the plain - That had trembled, when the slain - Hurled their proud, defiant curses at the battle-heated foe, - When the steed dashed right and left, - Through the bloody gaps he cleft, - When the bridle-rein was broken, and the rider was laid low. - - What busy feet had trod - Upon the very sod - When I marshalled the battalions of my fancy to my aid! - And I saw the combat dire, - Heard the quick, incessant fire, - And the cannons’ echoes startling the reverberating glade. - - I heard the chorus dire, - That jarred along the lyre - On which the hymn of battle rung, like surgings of the wave, - When the storm, at blackest night, - Wakes the ocean in affright, - As it shouts its mighty Pibroch o’er some shipwrecked vessel’s grave. - - I saw the broad claymore - Flash from its scabbard, o’er - The ranks that quailed and shuddered at the close and fierce attack; - When victory gave the word, - Auld Scotia drew the sword, - And with arms that never faltered drove the brave defenders back. - - I saw two great chiefs die, - Their last breaths like the sigh - Of the zephyr-sprite that wantons on the rosy lips of morn; - No enemy-poisoned darts, - No rancor in their hearts, - To unfit them for their triumph over death’s impending scorn. - - And as I thought and gazed, - My soul, exultant, praised - The power to whom each mighty act and victory are due; - For the saint-like peace that smiled - Like a heaven-gifted child, - And for the air of quietude that steeped the distant view. - - Oh, rare, divinest life - Of peace compared with strife! - Yours is the truest splendor, and the most enduring fame; - All the glory ever reaped - Where the fiends of battle leaped, - In harsh discord to the music of your undertoned acclaim. - --CHARLES SANGSTER. - - * * * * * - - Still runs the water when the brook is deep. - - - - - THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD - - -[Illustration: MRS. HEMANS] - - They grew in beauty side by side, - They fill’d one home with glee; - Their graves are sever’d far and wide - By mount and stream and sea. - - The same fond mother bent at night - O’er each fair sleeping brow; - She had each folded flower in sight: - Where are those dreamers now? - - One ’midst the forests of the West - By a dark stream is laid; - The Indian knows his place of rest, - Far in the cedar-shade. - - The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one; - He lies where pearls lie deep; - He was the loved of all, yet none - O’er his low bed may weep! - - One sleeps where southern vines are drest - Above the noble slain; - He wrapt his colors round his breast - On a blood-red field of Spain. - - And one--o’er her the myrtle showers - Its leaves, by soft winds fann’d; - She faded ’midst Italian flowers; - The last of that bright band. - - And parted thus they rest who play’d - Beneath the same green tree; - Whose voices mingled as they pray’d - Around one parent knee! - - They that with smiles lit up the hall - And cheer’d with mirth the hearth; - Alas, for love! if thou wert all, - And naught beyond, O Earth! - --FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS. - - - - - THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER - - -One evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his wife Baucis sat at -their cottage door, enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset. They talked -together about their garden, and their cow, and their bees, and their -grape vine on which the grapes were beginning to turn purple. - -The shouts of children, and the fierce barking of dogs in the village -near at hand, grew louder and louder, until, at last, it was hardly -possible for Baucis and Philemon to hear each other speak. - -“Ah, wife,” cried Philemon, “I fear some poor traveller is seeking food -and lodging in the village yonder, and our neighbors have set their dogs -at him, as their custom is.” - -“Welladay!” answered Baucis, “I do wish our neighbors felt a little more -kindness for their fellow-creatures.” - -“I never heard the dogs so loud!” observed the good old man. - -“Nor the children so rude!” answered his good old wife. - -[Illustration: NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE] - -They sat shaking their heads, while the noise came nearer and nearer, -until, at the foot of the little hill on which their cottage stood, they -saw two travellers approaching, on foot. Close behind them came the -fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels. A little farther off ran a -crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries, and flung stones at the two -strangers with all their might. The travellers were very humbly clad, -and this, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers had allowed -their children and dogs to treat them so rudely. - -“Come, wife,” said Philemon to Baucis, “let us go and meet these -people.” - -“Go you and meet them,” answered Baucis, “while I make haste within -doors, and see whether we can get them anything for supper.” - -Accordingly, she hastened into the cottage. Philemon went forward and -extended his hand, saying in the heartiest tone, “Welcome, strangers! -welcome!” - -“Thank you,” replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of a way. -“This is quite another greeting than we have met with yonder in the -village.” - -Philemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would -you have fancied, by the traveller’s look and manner, that he was weary -with a long day’s journey. He was dressed in rather an odd way, with a -sort of cap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears. -Though it was a summer evening, the traveller wore a cloak, which he -kept wrapped closely about him. Philemon perceived, too, that he had on -a singular pair of shoes. He was so wonderfully light and active that it -appeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the ground of their own -accord. - -“I used to be light-footed in my youth,” said Philemon to the traveller. -“But I always find my feet grow heavier towards nightfall.” - -“There is nothing like a good staff to help one along,” answered the -stranger; “and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see.” - -This staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had ever -beheld; it was made of olive wood, and had something like a little pair -of wings near the top. Two snakes carved in the wood were twining -themselves about the staff, and old Philemon almost thought them alive, -and that he could see them wriggling and twisting. Before he could ask -any questions, however, the elder stranger drew his attention from the -wonderful staff by speaking to him. - -“Was there not,” asked the stranger, in a deep tone of voice, “a lake, -in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands yonder -village?” - -“Not in my time, friend,” answered Philemon; “and yet I am an old man, -as you see. There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are -now, and the trees, and the stream murmuring through the midst of the -valley.” - -The stranger shook his head. “Since the inhabitants of yonder village -have forgotten the affections and sympathies of their nature, it were -better that the lake should be rippling over their dwellings again!” He -looked so stern that Philemon was almost frightened; the more so, that -when he shook his head, there was a roll as of thunder in the air. - -While Baucis was getting the supper, the travellers both began to talk -with Philemon. - -“Pray, my friend,” asked the old man of the younger stranger, “what may -I call your name?” - -“Why, I am very nimble, as you see,” answered the traveller. “So, if you -call me Quicksilver, the name will fit me well.” - -“Quicksilver? Quicksilver?” repeated Philemon. “It is a very odd name! -And your companion there! Has he as strange a one?” - -“You must ask the thunder to tell it you,” replied Quicksilver. “No -other voice is loud enough.” - -Baucis had now got supper ready and, coming to the door, began to make -apologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her -guests. - -“All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,” replied -the elder stranger, kindly. “An honest, hearty welcome to a guest turns -the coarsest food to nectar and ambrosia.” - -The supper was exceedingly small, and the travellers drank all the milk -in their bowls at one draught. - -[Illustration] - -“A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you please,” said -Quicksilver. “The day has been hot, and I am very much athirst.” - -“Now, my dear people,” said Baucis, in great confusion, “I am sorry and -ashamed; but the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk in the -pitcher.” - -“It appears to me,” cried Quicksilver, taking the pitcher by the handle, -“that matters are not quite so bad as you represent them. Here is -certainly more milk in the pitcher.” And to the vast astonishment of -Baucis, he proceeded to fill not only his own bowl, but his companion’s -likewise. The good woman could scarcely believe her eyes. - -“But I am old,” thought Baucis to herself, “and apt to be forgetful. I -suppose I must have made a mistake. At all events, the pitcher is empty -now.” - -“What excellent milk!” observed Quicksilver, after quaffing the entire -contents of the second bowl. “Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must -really ask you for a little more.” - -Baucis turned the pitcher upside down to show that there was not a drop -left. What was her surprise, therefore, when such a stream of milk fell -bubbling into the bowl that it was filled to the brim, and overflowed -upon the table. - -“And now a slice of your brown loaf, Mother Baucis,” said Quicksilver, -“and a little honey!” - -Baucis cut him a slice accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and -her husband ate of it, had been rather dry and crusty, it was now as -light and moist as if but a few hours out of the oven. But, oh, the -honey! Its color was that of the purest gold, and it had the odor of a -thousand flowers. Never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelled. - -Baucis could not but think that there was something out of the common in -all that had been going on. So, after helping the guests, she sat down -by Philemon, and told him what she had seen. - -“Did you ever hear the like?” she whispered. - -“No, I never did,” answered Philemon, with a smile. “And I rather think, -my dear wife, that there happened to be a little more in the pitcher -than you thought--that is all.” - -“Another cup of this delicious milk,” said Quicksilver, “and I shall -then have supped better than a prince.” - -This time old Philemon took up the pitcher himself; for he was curious -to discover whether there was any reality in what Baucis had whispered -to him. On taking up the pitcher, therefore, he slyly peeped into it, -and was fully satisfied that it contained not so much as a single drop. -All at once, however, he beheld a little white fountain which gushed up -from the bottom of the pitcher, and speedily filled it to the brim. It -was lucky that Philemon, in his surprise, did not drop the miraculous -pitcher from his hand. He quickly set it down and cried out, “Who are -ye, wonder-working strangers?” - -“Your guests, Philemon, and your friends!” replied the elder traveller, -in his mild, deep voice. “We are your guests and friends, and may your -pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, nor for the needy -wayfarers!” - -The supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to their -place of repose. When left alone the good old couple spent some time in -conversation about the events of the evening, and then lay down to -sleep. - -The old man and his wife were stirring betimes the next morning, and the -strangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to -depart. They asked Philemon and Baucis to walk forth with them a short -distance and show them the road. - -“Ah me!” exclaimed Philemon, when they had walked a little way from -their door. “If our neighbors knew what a blessed thing it is to show -hospitality to strangers, they would tie up their dogs, and never allow -their children to fling another stone.” - -“It is a sin and a shame for them to behave so!” cried good old Baucis. - -“My dear friends,” cried Quicksilver, with the liveliest look of -mischief in his eyes, “where is this village that you talk about? On -which side of us does it lie?” - -Philemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where at sunset, only -the day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the -street, the children playing in it. But what was their astonishment! -There was no longer any appearance of a village! Even the fertile valley -in the hollow of which it lay had ceased to have existence. In its stead -they beheld the broad blue surface of a lake which filled the great -basin of the valley from brim to brim. - -“Alas!” cried these kind-hearted old people, “what has become of our -poor neighbors?” - -“They exist no longer as men and women,” said the elder traveller, in -his grand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it in -the distance. “There was neither use nor beauty in such a life as -theirs; therefore the lake that was of old has spread itself forth again -to reflect the sky. - -“As for you, good Philemon,” continued the elder traveller,--“and you, -kind Baucis,--you, with your scanty means, have done well, my dear old -friends. Request whatever favor you have most at heart, and it is -granted.” Philemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then one -uttered the desire of both their hearts. - -“Let us live together while we live, and leave the world at the same -instant when we die!” - -“Be it so!” replied the stranger, with majestic kindness. “Now look -towards your cottage.” - -They did so. What was their surprise on beholding a tall edifice of -white marble on the spot where their humble residence had stood. - -“There is your home,” said the stranger, smiling on them both. “Show -your kindness in yonder palace as freely as in the poor hovel to which -you welcomed us last evening.” - -The astonished old people fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold! -neither he nor Quicksilver was there. - -So Philemon and Baucis took up their residence in the marble palace, and -spent their time in making everybody happy and comfortable who happened -to pass that way. They lived in their palace a very great while, and -grew older and older, and very old indeed. At length, however, there -came a summer morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make their -appearance, as on other mornings. The guests searched everywhere, but -all to no purpose. At last they espied in front of the door, two -venerable trees, which no one had ever seen there before. One was an oak -and the other a linden tree. - -While the guests were marvelling how these trees could have come to be -so tall in a single night, a breeze sprang up and set their boughs -astir. Then there was a deep murmur in the air, as if the two trees were -speaking. - -“I am Philemon!” murmured the oak. - -“I am Baucis!” murmured the linden tree. - -And oh, what a hospitable shade did they fling around them! Whenever a -wayfarer paused beneath it, he heard a whisper of the leaves above his -head, and wondered how the sound could so much resemble words like -these,-- - -“Welcome, welcome, dear traveller, welcome!” - - --NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. - - - - - THE UNNAMED LAKE - - - It sleeps among the thousand hills - Where no man ever trod, - And only Nature’s music fills - The silences of God. - - Great mountains tower above its shore, - Green rushes fringe its brim, - And o’er its breast forevermore - The wanton breezes skim. - - Dark clouds that intercept the sun - Go there in spring to weep, - And there, when autumn days are done, - White mists lie down to sleep. - - Sunrise and sunset crown with gold - The peaks of ageless stone, - Where winds have thundered from of old - And storms have set their throne. - - No echoes of the world afar - Disturb it night or day, - But sun and shadow, moon and star, - Pass and repass for aye. - - ’Twas in the gray of early dawn, - When first the lake we spied, - And fragments of a cloud were drawn - Half down the mountain side. - - Along the shore a heron flew, - And from a speck on high, - That hovered in the deepening blue, - We heard the fish-hawk’s cry. - - Among the cloud-capt solitudes, - No sound the silence broke, - Save when, in whispers down the woods, - The guardian mountains spoke. - - Through tangled brush and dewy brake, - Returning whence we came, - We passed in silence, and the lake - We left without a name. - --FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT. - - - - - THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES - - - Ay, this is freedom! these pure skies - Were never stained with village smoke: - The fragrant wind, that through them flies, - Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. - Here, with my rifle and my steed, - And her who left the world for me, - I plant me, where the red deer feed - In the green desert--and am free. - - For here the fair savannas know - No barriers in the bloomy grass; - Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, - Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. - In pastures, measureless as air, - The bison is my noble game; - The bounding elk, whose antlers tear - The branches, falls before my aim. - - Mine are the river-fowl that scream - From the long strip of waving sedge; - The bear that marks my weapon’s gleam. - Hides vainly in the forest’s edge; - In vain the she-wolf stands at bay; - The brinded catamount, that lies - High in the boughs to watch his prey, - Even in the act of springing, dies. - - With what free growth the elm and plane - Fling their huge arms across my way, - Gray, old, and cumbered with a train - Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray! - Free stray the lucid streams, and find - No taint in these fresh lawns and shades; - Free spring the flowers that scent the wind - Where never scythe has swept the glades. - - Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere - The heavy herbage of the ground, - Gathers his annual harvest here, - With roaring like the battle’s sound, - And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, - And smoke-streams gushing up the sky: - I meet the flames with flames again, - And at my door they cower and die. - - Here, from dim woods, the aged past - Speaks solemnly; and I behold - The boundless future in the vast - And lonely river, seawards rolled. - Who feeds its founts with rain and dew? - Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, - And trains the bordering vines, whose blue - Bright clusters tempt me as I pass? - - Broad are these streams--my steed obeys, - Plunges, and bears me through the tide. - Wide are these woods--I thread the maze - Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. - I hunt till day’s last glimmer dies - O’er woody vale and grassy height; - And kind the voice and glad the eyes - That welcome my return at night. - --WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. - - - - - MOSES GOES TO THE FAIR - - -As we were now to hold up our heads a little higher in the world, my -wife suggested that it would be proper to sell the colt, which was grown -old, at a neighboring fair, and buy us a horse that would carry single -or double upon an occasion, and make a pretty appearance at church or -upon a visit. This at first I opposed stoutly; but it was as stoutly -defended. However, as I weakened, my antagonist gained strength, till at -last we agreed to part with him. - -[Illustration: OLIVER GOLDSMITH] - -As the fair happened on the following day, I had intentions of going -myself; but my wife persuaded me that I had got a cold, and nothing -could prevail upon her to permit me from home. “No, my dear,” said she, -“our son Moses is a discreet boy, and can buy and sell to very good -advantage. You know all our great bargains are of his purchasing. He -always stands out and higgles, and actually tires them till he gets a -bargain.” - -As I had some opinion of my son’s prudence, I was willing enough to -intrust him with this commission; and the next morning I perceived his -sisters very busy in fitting out Moses for the fair,--trimming his hair, -brushing his buckles, and cocking his hat with pins. The business of the -toilet being over, we had at last the satisfaction of seeing him mounted -upon the colt, with a deal box before him to bring home groceries in. - -He had on a coat made of that cloth they call thunder and lightning, -which, though grown too short, was much too good to be thrown away. His -waistcoat was of gosling-green, and his sisters had tied his hair with a -broad black ribbon. We all followed him several paces from the door, -bawling after him, “Good luck! good luck!” till we could see him no -longer. - -When it was almost nightfall, I began to wonder what could keep our son -so long at the fair. “Never mind our son,” cried my wife; “depend upon -it, he knows what he is about. I’ll warrant we’ll never see him sell his -hen on a rainy day. I have seen him buy such bargains as would amaze -one. I’ll tell you a good story about that, that will make you split -your sides with laughing-- But, as I live, yonder comes Moses without a -horse, and the box at his back.” - -As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and sweating under the deal -box, which he had strapped round his shoulders like a pedler. - -“Welcome, welcome, Moses! Well, my boy, what have you brought us from -the fair?” - -“I have brought you myself,” said Moses, with a sly look, and resting -the box on the dresser. - -“Ay, Moses,” cried my wife, “that we know; but where is the horse?” - -“I have sold him,” replied Moses, “for three pounds five shillings and -twopence.” - -“Well done, my good boy,” returned she; “I knew you would touch them -off. Between ourselves, three pounds five shillings and twopence is no -bad day’s work. Come, let us have it then.” - -“I have brought back no money,” cried Moses, again; “I have laid it all -out in a bargain,--and here it is,” pulling out a bundle from his -breast; “here they are,--a gross of green spectacles, with silver rims -and shagreen cases.” - -“A gross of green spectacles!” repeated my wife, in a faint voice. “And -you have parted with the colt, and brought us back nothing but a gross -of green paltry spectacles!” - -“Dear mother,” cried the boy, “why won’t you listen to reason? I had -them a dead bargain, or I should not have bought them. The silver rims -alone will sell for double the money.” - -“A fig for the silver rims!” cried my wife, in a passion; “I dare swear -they won’t sell for above half the money at the rate of broken silver, -five shillings an ounce.” - -“You need be under no uneasiness,” said I, “about selling the rims, for -they are not worth sixpence; for I perceive they are only copper -varnished over.” - -[Illustration] - -“What!” cried my wife; “not silver! the rims not silver!” - -“No,” cried I; “no more silver than your saucepan.” - -“And so,” returned she, “we have parted with the colt, and have got only -a gross of green spectacles, with copper rims and shagreen cases? A -murrain take such trumpery! The blockhead has been imposed upon, and -should have known his company better.” - -“There, my dear,” cried I, “you are wrong; he should not have known them -at all.” - -“To bring me such stuff!” returned she; “if I had them, I would throw -them into the fire.” - -“There again you are wrong, my dear,” said I; “for though they are -copper, we shall keep them by us, as copper spectacles, you know, are -better than nothing.” - -By this time the unfortunate Moses was undeceived. He now saw that he -had been imposed upon by a prowling sharper, who, observing his figure, -had marked him for an easy prey. I therefore asked the circumstances of -his deception. He sold the horse, it seems, and walked the fair in -search of another. A reverend-looking man brought him to a tent, under -pretence of having one to sell. - -“Here,” continued Moses, “we met another man, very well dressed, who -desired to borrow twenty pounds upon these, saying that he wanted money, -and would dispose of them for a third of the value. The first gentleman -whispered me to buy them, and cautioned me not to let so good an offer -pass. I sent to Mr. Flamborough, and they talked him up as finely as -they did me; and so at last we were persuaded to buy the two gross -between us.” - -Our family had now made several vain attempts to be fine. “You see, my -children,” said I, “how little is to be got by attempts to impose upon -the world. Those that are poor and will associate with none but the rich -are hated by those they avoid, and despised by those they -follow.”--OLIVER GOLDSMITH. - - - - - COLUMBUS - - - Behind him lay the gray Azores, - Behind, the Gates of Hercules, - Before him not the ghost of shores, - Before him only shoreless seas. - The good mate said, “Now must we pray, - For lo! the very stars are gone; - Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?” - “Why, say, ‘Sail on! sail on! and on!’” - - “My men grow mutinous day by day, - My men grow ghastly wan, and weak.” - The stout mate thought of home; a spray - Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. - “What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, - If we sight naught but seas at dawn?” - “Why, you may say, at break of day, - ‘Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!’” - - They sailed and sailed as winds might blow, - Until at last the blanched mate said: - “Why, now not even God would know - Should I and all my men fall dead. - These very winds forget their way, - For God from these dread seas is gone. - Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say--” - He said, “Sail on! sail on! and on!” - -[Illustration: CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS] - - They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate: - “This mad sea shows his teeth to-night; - He curls his lips, he lies in wait - With lifted teeth as if to bite; - Brave Admiral, say but one good word, - What shall we do when hope is gone?” - The words leaped like a leaping sword, - “Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!” - - Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, - And peered through darkness. Ah, that night - Of all dark nights! and then a speck, - “A light! A light! A light! A light!” - It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! - It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn. - He gained a world; he gave that world - Its grandest lesson: “On! sail on!” - --JOAQUIN MILLER. - - - - - OPPORTUNITY - - - This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:-- - There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; - And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged - A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords - Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince’s banner - Wavered, then staggered backwards, hemmed by foes. - A craven hung along the battle’s edge, - And thought, “Had I a sword of keener steel-- - That blue blade that the king’s son bears,--but this - Blunt thing--!” he snapt and flung it from his hand, - And lowering crept away and left the field. - Then came the king’s son, wounded, sore bestead, - And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, - Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, - And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout - Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down, - And saved a great cause that heroic day. - --EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. - - - - - TO-DAY - - -[Illustration: THOMAS CARLYLE] - - 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? - --THOMAS CARLYLE. - - - - - AN ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS - - -Many years ago there stood a town in Italy, at the foot of Mount -Vesuvius, which was to Rome what Brighton or Hastings is to London--a -very fashionable watering-place, at which Roman gentlemen and members of -the senate built villas, to which they were in the habit of retiring -from the fatigues of business or the broils of politics. The outsides of -all the houses were adorned with frescoes, and every shop glittered with -all the colors of the rainbow. At the end of each street there was a -charming fountain, and any one who sat down beside it to cool himself -had a delightful view of the Mediterranean, then as beautiful, as blue, -and as sunny as it is now. On a fine day, crowds might be seen lounging -here; some sauntering up and down in gala dresses of purple, while -slaves passed to and fro, bearing on their heads splendid vases; others -sat on marble benches, shaded from the sun by awnings, and having before -them tables covered with wine, and fruit, and flowers. Every house in -that town was a little palace, and every palace was like a temple, or -one of our great public buildings. - -On entering one of these mansions, the visitor passed through a -vestibule decorated with rows of pillars, and then found himself in the -room in which the household gods kept guard over the owner’s treasure, -which was placed in a safe, or strong box, secured with brass or iron -bands. Issuing thence, the visitor found himself in an apartment paved -with mosaic, and decorated with paintings, in which were kept the family -papers and archives. It contained a dining room and a supper room, and a -number of sleeping rooms; a cabinet, filled with rare jewels and -antiquities, and sometimes a fine collection of paintings; and, last of -all, a pillared peristyle, opening out upon the garden, in which the -finest fruit hung temptingly in the rich light of a golden sky, and -fountains, which flung their waters aloft in every imaginable form and -device, cooled the air and discoursed sweet music to the ear. On the -gate there was always the image of a dog, and underneath it the -inscription, “Beware the dog.” - -The pillars in the peristyle were encircled with garlands of flowers, -which were renewed every morning. The tables of citron-wood were inlaid -with silver; the couches were of bronze, gilt and jewelled, and were -furnished with thick cushions and tapestry, embroidered with marvellous -skill. When the master gave a dinner party, the guests reclined upon -these cushions, washed their hands in silver basins, and dried them with -napkins fringed with purple. They ate oysters brought from the shores of -Britain, kids which were carved to the sound of music, and fruits served -up on ice in the hottest days of summer; and while the cup-bearers -filled their golden cups with the rarest and most delicate wines, other -attendants crowned them with flowers wet with dew, and dancers executed -for their pleasure the most graceful movements. - -One day, when such festivities as these were in full activity, Vesuvius -sent up a tall and very black column of smoke, something like a -pine-tree; and suddenly, in broad noonday, darkness black as pitch came -over the scene! There was a frightful din of cries and groans, mingled -confusedly together. The brother lost his sister, the husband his wife, -the mother her child; for the darkness became so dense that nothing -could be seen but the flashes which every now and then darted forth from -the summit of the neighboring mountain. The earth trembled, the houses -shook and began to fall, and the sea rolled back from the land as if -terrified; the air became thick with dust; and then, amidst tremendous -and awful noise, a shower of ashes and stones fell upon the town and -blotted it out forever! - -The inhabitants died just as the catastrophe found them--guests in their -banqueting halls, soldiers at their posts, prisoners in their dungeons, -thieves in their theft, maidens at the mirror, slaves at the fountain, -traders in their shops, students at their books. Some attempted flight, -guided by blind people, who had walked so long in darkness that no -thicker shadows could ever come upon them; but of these many were struck -down on the way. When, a few days afterwards, people came from the -surrounding country to the place, they found naught but a black, level, -smoking plain, sloping to the sea, and covered thickly with ashes! -Down, down beneath, thousands and thousands were sleeping “the sleep -that knows no waking,” with all their little pomps, and vanities, and -pleasures, and luxuries buried with them. - -This took place on the 23d of August, A.D. 79; and the name of the town, -thus suddenly overwhelmed with ruin, was Pompeii. Sixteen hundred and -seventeen years afterwards, curious persons began to dig and excavate on -the spot, and lo! they found the city pretty much as it was when -overwhelmed. The houses were standing, the paintings were fresh, and the -skeletons stood in the very positions and the very places in which death -had overtaken their owners so long ago! The researches are still going -on, new wonders are every day coming to light, and we soon shall have -almost as perfect an idea of a Roman town, in the first century of the -Christian era, as if we had walked the streets and gossiped with the -idle loungers at the fountains. Pompeii is the ghost of an extinct -civilization rising up before us. - - --ANONYMOUS. - - - - - THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS - - - Up soared the lark into the air, - A shaft of song, a wingèd prayer, - As if a soul, released from pain, - Were flying back to heaven again. - - St. Francis heard; it was to him - An emblem of the Seraphim; - The upward motion of the fire, - The light, the heat, the heart’s desire. - - Around Assisi’s convent gate - The birds, God’s poor who cannot wait, - From moor and mere and darksome wood - Came flocking for their dole of food. - - “O brother birds,” St. Francis said, - “Ye come to me and ask for bread, - But not with bread alone to-day - Shall ye be fed and sent away. - - “Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, - With manna of celestial words; - Not mine, though mine they seem to be, - Not mine, though they be spoken through me. - - “O, doubly are ye bound to praise - The great Creator in your lays; - He giveth you your plumes of down, - Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. - - “He giveth you your wings to fly - And breathe a purer air on high, - And careth for you everywhere, - Who for yourselves so little care!” - - With flutter of swift wings and songs - Together rose the feathered throngs, - And singing scattered far apart; - Deep peace was in St. Francis’ heart. - - He knew not if the brotherhood - His homily had understood: - He only knew that to one ear - The meaning of his words was clear. - --HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. - - - - - THE GREENWOOD TREE - - - Under the greenwood tree - Who loves to lie with me, - And turn his merry note - Unto the sweet bird’s throat, - Come hither, come hither, come hither; - Here shall he see - No enemy, - But winter and rough weather. - - Who doth ambition shun, - And loves to lie in the sun, - Seeking the food he eats, - And pleased with what he gets, - Come hither, come hither, come hither; - Here shall he see - No enemy, - But winter and rough weather. - --WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. - - - - - INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP - - -[Illustration: ROBERT BROWNING] - - You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: - A mile or so away, - On a little mound, Napoleon - Stood on our storming-day; - With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, - Legs wide, arms locked behind, - As if to balance the prone brow - Oppressive with its mind. - - Just as perhaps he mused, “My plans - That soar, to earth may fall, - Let once my army-leader Lannes - Waver at yonder wall,” - Out ’twixt the battery-smokes there flew - A rider, bound on bound - Full-galloping; nor bridle drew - Until he reached the mound. - - Then off there flung in smiling joy, - And held himself erect - By just his horse’s mane, a boy; - You hardly could suspect-- - (So tight he kept his lips compressed, - Scarce any blood came through)-- - You looked twice ere you saw his breast - Was all but shot in two. - - “Well,” cried he, “Emperor, by God’s grace - We’ve got you Ratisbon! - The Marshal’s in the market-place, - And you’ll be there anon - To see your flag-bird flap his vans - Where I, to heart’s desire, - Perched him!” The chief’s eye flashed; his plans - Soared up again like fire. - - The chief’s eye flashed; but presently - Softened itself, as sheathes - A film the mother-eagle’s eye - When her bruised eaglet breathes; - “You’re wounded!” “Nay,” the soldier’s pride - Touched to the quick, he said: - “I’m killed, Sire!” And his chief beside, - Smiling, the boy fell dead. - --ROBERT BROWNING. - - - - - ROBINSON CRUSOE - - -When I waked, it was broad day. The weather was clear, and the storm had -abated, so that the sea did not rage and swell as before; but what -surprised me most was, that by the swelling of the tide the ship was -lifted off in the night from the sand where she lay, and was driven up -almost as far as the rock where I had been so bruised by the waves -dashing me against it. I saw that I could easily swim to the vessel, -and accordingly I pulled off my clothes and took to the water. But when -I reached the ship, my difficulty was still greater to know how to get -on board; for, as she lay aground, and high out of the water, there was -nothing within my reach by which to climb on board. I swam round her -twice, and the second time I spied a small piece of rope, by the help of -which I got into the forecastle of the ship. - -[Illustration: DANIEL DEFOE] - -When I had climbed on board, I found that the ship was bulged, and that -she had a great deal of water in her hold, but that she lay on the side -of a bank of hard earth, in such a way that her stern was lifted up on -the bank, while her bow was low, almost to the water. By this means all -her quarter was free, and all that was in that part was dry; for you may -be sure my first work was to find out what was spoiled and what was not. -And, first, I found that all the ship’s provisions were dry and -untouched by the water; and, being very well disposed to eat, I went to -the bread-room, and filling my pockets with biscuits, ate them. - -I now needed nothing but a boat, to furnish myself with many things -which I foresaw would be very necessary to me. It was in vain, however, -to sit still and wish for what was not to be had, and this extremity -roused my application. We had several spare yards, and two or three -large spars of wood, and a spare topmast or two in the ship. I resolved -to fall to work with these, and so flung as many of them overboard as I -could manage, tying each one with a rope, that they might not float -away. When I had done this, I went down the ship’s side, and, pulling -them to me, tied four of them together at both ends, as well as I could, -in the form of a raft. By laying two or three short pieces of plank upon -them, crossways, I found I could walk upon them very well, but that they -were not able to bear any great weight, the pieces being too light. So I -went to work, and with a carpenter’s saw cut a spare topmast into three -lengths, and added these to my raft, with a great deal of labor and -pains. But the hope of furnishing myself with necessaries encouraged me -to go beyond what I should have been able to do upon another occasion. - -My raft was now strong enough to bear any reasonable weight. My next -care was what to load it with, and how to preserve what I laid upon it -from the surf of the sea. However, I was not long considering this. I -first laid all the plank, or boards, upon it that I could get, and, -having considered well what I most needed, I first got three of the -seamen’s chests, which I had broken open and emptied, and lowered them -down upon my raft. The first of these I filled with provisions; namely, -bread, rice, three cheeses, five pieces of dried goat’s flesh and a -little remainder of grain which had been laid by for some fowls which we -brought to sea with us, but which had been killed. There had been some -barley and wheat together; but, to my great disappointment, I found -afterwards that the rats had eaten or spoiled it all. - -While I was doing this, I found that the tide had begun to flow, though -it was very calm, and I had the mortification to see my coat, shirt, and -waistcoat, which I had left on the shore, upon the sands, swim away. As -for my trousers, which were only linen, and open-kneed, I had swam on -board in them and my stockings. However, this set me on rummaging for -clothes, of which I found enough, but took no more than I needed for -present use, for I had other things which my eye was more upon; as, -first, tools to work with on shore. And it was after long searching that -I found out the carpenter’s chest, which was, indeed, a very useful -prize to me, and much more valuable than a ship-load of gold would have -been at that time. I got it down to my raft, whole as it was, without -losing time to look into it, for I knew in general what it contained. - -My next care was for some ammunition and arms. There were two very good -fowling-pieces in the great cabin, and two pistols. These I secured -first, with some powder-horns and a small bag of shot, and two old rusty -swords. I knew there were three barrels of powder in the ship, but knew -not where our gunner had stowed them; but with much search I found them. -Two of them were dry and good, the third had taken water. These two I -got to my raft, with the arms. And now, I thought myself pretty - -[Illustration: CRUSOE ON THE RAFT] - -well freighted, and began to think how I should get to shore with them, -having neither sail, oar, nor rudder; and the least capful of wind would -have overset all my navigation. - -I had three encouragements: first, a smooth, calm sea; secondly, the -fact that the tide was rising and setting in to the shore; thirdly, what -little wind there was blew me towards the land. And thus, having found -two or three broken oars belonging to the boat, and, besides the tools -which were in the chest, two saws, an axe, and a hammer, with this cargo -I put to sea. For a mile or thereabouts my raft went very well, only -that I found it drive a little distant from the place where I had landed -before. By this I perceived that there was some indraft of the water, -and consequently hoped to find some creek or river there, which I might -use as a port to get to land with my cargo. - -At length I spied a little cove on the right shore of the creek, to -which, with great pain and difficulty, I guided my raft, and at last got -so near, that, reaching ground with my oar, I could thrust her directly -in. But here I almost dropped all my cargo into the sea again; for the -shore lay pretty steep and sloping, and, wherever I might land, one end -of my float, if it ran on shore, would lie so high, and the other be -sunk so low, that it would endanger my cargo again. All that I could do -was to wait till the tide was at the highest, keeping the raft with my -oar like an anchor, to hold the side of it fast to the shore, near a -flat piece of ground, which I expected the water would flow over. And -so it did. As soon as I found water enough, for my raft drew about a -foot of water, I thrust her up on that flat piece of ground, and there -moored her by sticking my two broken oars into the ground--one on one -side, near one end, and one on the other side, near the other end. Thus -I lay till the water ebbed away, and left my raft and all my cargo safe -on shore. - -I now began to consider that I might yet get a great many things out of -the ship, which would be useful to me, and particularly some of the -rigging and sails, and such other things as might come to land; and I -resolved to make another voyage on board the vessel, if possible. I got -on board the ship as before and prepared a second raft; and, having had -experience of the first, I neither made this so unwieldy, nor loaded it -so hard. Still, I brought away many things very useful to me; as, first, -in the carpenter’s stores, I found two or three bags full of nails and -spikes, a great screw-jack, a dozen or two of hatchets, and, above all, -that most useful thing, a grindstone. All these I secured, together with -several things belonging to the gunner, particularly two or three iron -crowbars, and two barrels of musket bullets, seven muskets, and another -fowling-piece, with a small quantity of powder, a large bagful of small -shot, and a great roll of sheet-lead; but this last was so heavy I could -not hoist it up to get it over the ship’s side. Besides these things, I -took all the men’s clothes that I could find, and a spare foretop-sail, -a hammock, and some bedding; and with these I loaded my second raft, -and brought them all safe on shore, to my very great comfort. - -On the thirteenth day I was preparing for my twelfth trip, when I found -the sky overcast. The wind began to rise, and in a quarter of an hour it -blew a gale from the shore. It blew very hard all that night, and in the -morning, when I looked out, behold, no ship was to be seen! I was a -little surprised, but recovered myself with this satisfactory -reflection, that I had lost no time, nor omitted any diligence, to get -everything out of her that could be useful to me; and, indeed, there was -little left in her that I was able to bring away, even if I had had more -time.--DANIEL DEFOE. - - - - - THE WONDERFUL ONE-HOSS SHAY - - -[Illustration: O. W. HOLMES] - - Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay - That was built in such a logical way? - It ran a hundred years to a day, - And then of a sudden it--ah, but stay, - I’ll tell you what happened without delay, - Scaring the parson into fits, - Frightening people out of their wits-- - Have you ever heard of that, I say? - Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. - Georgius Secundus was then alive-- - Snuffy old drone from the German hive. - That was the year when Lisbon town - Saw the earth open and gulp her down, - And Braddock’s army was done so brown, - Left without a scalp to its crown. - It was on the terrible Earthquake-day - That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. - Now, in building of chaises, I’ll tell you what, - There is always somewhere a weakest spot-- - In hub, tire, felloe, in spring, or thill, - In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, - In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace--lurking still, - Find it somewhere you must and will-- - Above or below, or within or without-- - And that’s the reason, beyond a doubt, - A chaise breaks down but doesn’t wear out. - - So the Deacon inquired of the village folk - Where he could find the strongest oak, - That couldn’t be split nor bent nor broke: - That was for spokes and floor and sills; - He sent for lancewood to make the thills; - The crossbars were ash from the straightest trees; - The panels of white-wood that cuts like cheese - But lasts like iron for things like these; - The hubs of logs from the “Settler’s ellum,” - Last of its timber--they couldn’t sell ’em; - Never an axe had seen their chips, - And the wedges flew from between their lips, - Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; - Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, - Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin, too, - Steel of the finest, bright and blue; - Thoroughbrace bison-skin thick and wide; - Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide - Found in the pit when the tanner died. - That was the way he “put her through.”-- - “There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew.” - Do! I tell you, I rather guess - She was a wonder, and nothing less! - Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, - Deacon and Deaconess dropped away, - Children and grandchildren--where were they? - But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay - As fresh as on Lisbon Earthquake-day! - - Eighteen hundred: it came and found - The Deacon’s masterpiece strong and sound. - Eighteen hundred increased by ten-- - “Hahnsum kerridge” they called it then. - Eighteen hundred and twenty came-- - Running as usual; much the same. - Thirty and forty at last arrive, - And then come fifty and fifty-five. - Little of all we value here - Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year - Without both feeling and looking queer. - In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth, - So far as I know, but a tree and truth. - (This is a moral that runs at large; - Take it.--You’re welcome.--No extra charge.) - - First of November--the Earthquake-day: - There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay; - A general flavor of mild decay, - But nothing local, as one may say. - There couldn’t be, for the Deacon’s art - Had made it so like in every part - That there wasn’t a chance for one to start. - For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, - And the floor was just as strong as the sills, - And the panels just as strong as the floor, - And the whippletree neither less nor more, - And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, - And spring and axle and hub encore. - And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt - In another hour it will be worn out! - - First of November, ’Fifty-five! - This morning the parson takes a drive. - Now, small boys, get out of the way! - Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, - Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. - “Huddup!” said the parson.--Off went they. - The parson was working his Sunday text-- - Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed - At what the--Moses--was coming next. - All at once the horse stood still - Close by the meet’n’-house on the hill. - --First a shiver, and then a thrill, - Then something decidedly like a spill, - And the parson was sitting upon a rock - At half-past nine by the meet’n’-house clock-- - Just the hour of the Earthquake-shock! - --What do you think the parson found, - When he got up and stared around? - The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, - As if it had been to the mill and ground! - You see, of course, if you’re not a dunce, - How it went to pieces all at once-- - All at once, and nothing first-- - Just as bubbles do when they burst. - - End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. - Logic is logic. That’s all I say. - --OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. - - * * * * * - - Have more than thou showest, - Speak less than thou knowest, - Lend less than thou owest. - --Shakespeare. - - - - - 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 heads 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 crossbow, gazed scornfully on them and the -soldiers. The 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. These 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 that man -ever imagined. As soon, then, as the youth was brought out, the governor -turned to Tell and said: “I have often heard of your great skill as an -archer and I now intend to put it to the proof. Your son shall be placed -at a distance of a hundred yards with an apple on his head. If you -strike the apple with your arrow, I shall pardon you both, but if you -refuse this trial, your son shall die before your 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 -crossbow 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, -managed to hide a second in his girdle. - -After being in doubt for some 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 was filled with loud cheers. Walter flew to embrace his -father, who, overcome by his emotions, 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 with -horror from the governor, who, however, scarcely yet believing his -senses, thus addressed him: “Incomparable archer, I shall keep my -promise; but what needed you with that second arrow which I see in your -girdle?” Tell replied that it was the custom of the bowmen of Uri to -have always one arrow in reserve. “Nay, nay,” said Gessler, “tell me -your real motive, and, whatever it may have been, speak frankly, and -your life is spared.” “The second shaft,” replied Tell, “was to pierce -your heart, tyrant, if I had chanced to harm my son.” - - --CHAMBERS’ _Tracts_. - - - - - 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; - -[Illustration: SAINT CHRISTOPHER - -Titian] - - 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. - - * * * * * - - Who sows his corn in the fields trusts in God. - - - - - GENERAL BROCK - - - One voice, one people,--one in heart - And soul, and feeling, and desire! - Relight the smouldering martial fire, - Sound the mute trumpet, strike the lyre. - The hero-deed cannot expire; - The dead still play their part. - - Raise high the monumental stone! - A nation’s fealty is theirs, - And we are the rejoicing heirs, - The honored sons of sires whose cares - We take upon us unawares, - As freely as our own. - - We boast not of the victory, - But render homage, deep and just, - To his--to their--immortal dust, - Who proved so worthy of their trust, - No lofty pile nor sculptured bust - Can herald their degree. - - No tongue can blazon forth their fame-- - The cheers that stir the sacred hill - Are but mere promptings of the will - That conquered then, that conquers still; - And generations yet shall thrill - At Brock’s remembered name. - --CHARLES SANGSTER. - - - - - AN ICEBERG - - -At twelve o’clock we went below, and had just got through dinner, when -the cook put his head down the scuttle and told us to come on deck and -see the finest sight we had ever seen. “Where away, Doctor?” asked the -first man who was up. “On the larboard bow.” And there lay, floating in -the ocean, several miles off, an immense, irregular mass, its top and -points covered with snow, and its centre of a deep indigo color. This -was an iceberg, and of the largest size, as one of our men said who had -been in the Northern Ocean. As far as the eye could reach, the sea in -every direction was of a deep blue color, the waves running high and -fresh, and sparkling in the light, and in the midst lay this immense -mountain-island, its cavities and valleys thrown into deep shade, and -its points and pinnacles glittering in the sun. - -All hands were soon on deck, looking at it, and admiring in various ways -its beauty and grandeur. But no description can give any idea of the -strangeness, splendor, and, really, the sublimity of the sight. Its -great size,--for it must have been from two to three miles in -circumference and several hundred feet in height,--its slow motion, as -its base rose and sank in the water and its high points nodded against -the clouds; the dashing of the waves upon it, which, breaking high with -foam, lined its base with a white crust; and the thundering sound of the -crackling of the mass, and the breaking and tumbling down of huge -pieces, together with its nearness and approach, which added a slight -element of fear,--all combined to give it the character of true -sublimity. - -The main body of the mass was, as I have said, of an indigo color, its -base incrusted with frozen foam; and as it grew thin and transparent -towards the edges and top, its color shaded off from a deep blue to the -whiteness of snow. It seemed to be drifting slowly towards the north, so -that we kept away and avoided it. - -It was in sight all the afternoon; and when we got to leeward of it the -wind died away, so that we lay to, quite near it for the greater part of -the night. Unfortunately, there was no moon, but it was a clear night, -and we could plainly mark the long, regular heaving of the stupendous -mass, as its edges moved slowly against the stars, now revealing them, -and now shutting them in. Several times in our watch loud cracks were -heard, and several pieces fell down, plunging heavily into the sea. -Towards morning a strong breeze sprang up, and we sailed away, and left -it astern. At daylight it was out of sight. - - --RICHARD HENRY DANA. - - * * * * * - - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, - To throw a perfume on the violet, - To smooth the ice, or add another hue - Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light - To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, - Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.--SHAKESPEARE. - - - - - A LEGEND OF BREGENZ - - - Girt round with rugged mountains - The fair Lake Constance lies; - In her blue heart reflected, - Shine back the starry skies; - And, watching each white cloudlet - Float silently and slow, - You think a piece of Heaven - Lies on our earth below! - - Midnight is there: and Silence, - Enthroned in Heaven, looks down - Upon her own calm mirror, - Upon a sleeping town: - For Bregenz, that quaint city - Upon the Tyrol shore, - Has stood above Lake Constance - A thousand years and more. - - Her battlements and towers, - From off their rocky steep, - Have cast their trembling shadow - For ages on the deep. - Mountain and lake and valley - A sacred legend know, - Of how the town was saved one night - Three hundred years ago. - - Far from her home and kindred - A Tyrol maid had fled, - To serve in the Swiss valleys, - And toil for daily bread; - And every year that fleeted - So silently and fast - Seemed to bear farther from her - The memory of the Past. - - She spoke no more of Bregenz - With longing and with tears; - Her Tyrol home seemed faded - In a deep mist of years; - Yet, when her master’s children - Would clustering round her stand, - She sang them ancient ballads - Of her own native land; - - And when at morn and evening - She knelt before God’s throne, - The accents of her childhood - Rose to her lips alone. - And so she dwelt: the valley - More peaceful year by year; - When suddenly strange portents - Of some great deed seemed near. - - One day, out in the meadow, - With strangers from the town - Some secret plan discussing, - The men walked up and down. - At eve they all assembled; - Then care and doubt were fled; - With jovial laugh they feasted; - The board was nobly spread. - - The elder of the village - Rose up, his glass in hand, - And cried, “We drink the downfall - Of an accursed land! - The night is growing darker; - Ere one more day is flown, - Bregenz, our foeman’s stronghold, - Bregenz shall be our own!” - - The women shrank in terror, - Yet Pride, too, had her part; - But one poor Tyrol maiden - Felt death within her heart. - Nothing she heard around her, - Though shouts rang forth again; - Gone were the green Swiss valleys, - The pasture and the plain; - - Before her eyes one vision, - And in her heart one cry - That said, “Go forth! save Bregenz, - And then, if need be, die!” - With trembling haste and breathless, - With noiseless step she sped; - Horses and weary cattle - Were standing in the shed; - - She loosed the strong white charger - That fed from out her hand; - She mounted, and she turned his head - Towards her native land. - Out--out into the darkness-- - Faster, and still more fast;-- - The smooth grass flies behind her, - The chestnut wood is past; - - She looks up; clouds are heavy; - Why is her steed so slow?-- - Scarcely the wind beside them - Can pass them as they go. - “Faster!” she cries, “oh, faster!” - Eleven the church bells chime; - “O God,” she cries, “help Bregenz, - And bring me there in time!” - - But louder than bells’ ringing, - Or lowing of the kine, - Grows nearer in the midnight - The rushing of the Rhine. - She strives to pierce the blackness, - And looser throws the rein; - Her steed must breast the waters - That dash above his mane. - - How gallantly, how nobly, - He struggles through the foam! - And see--in the far distance - Shine out the lights of home! - Up the steep bank he bears her, - And now they rush again - Towards the heights of Bregenz - That tower above the plain. - - They reach the gates of Bregenz - Just as the midnight rings, - And out come serf and soldier - To meet the news she brings. - Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight - Her battlements are manned; - Defiance greets the army - That marches on the land. - - Three hundred years are vanished, - And yet upon the hill - An old stone gateway rises - To do her honor still. - And there, when Bregenz women - Sit spinning in the shade, - They see in quaint old carving - The Charger and the Maid. - - And when, to guard old Bregenz - By gateway, street, and tower, - The warder paces all night long - And calls each passing hour; - “Nine,” “ten,” “eleven,” he cries aloud, - And then (Oh, crown of Fame!), - When midnight pauses in the skies, - He calls the maiden’s name! - --ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. - - - - - GLUCK’S VISITOR - - -In a secluded and mountainous part of Styria there was, in old time, a -valley of the most surprising fertility. It was surrounded on all sides -by steep and rocky mountains, rising into peaks, which were always -covered with snow, and from which a number of torrents descended in -constant cataracts. One of these fell westwards over the face of a crag -so high that when the sun had set to everything else, and all below was -darkness, his beams still shone full upon this waterfall, so that it -looked like a shower of gold. It was, therefore, called by the people of -the neighborhood the Golden River. It was strange that none of these -streams fell into the valley itself. They all descended on the other -side of the mountains, and wound away through broad plains and by -populous cities. But the clouds were drawn so constantly to the snowy -hills that in time of drought and heat, when all the country round was -burnt up, there was still rain in the little valley; and its crops were -so heavy, and its hay so high, and its apples so red, and its grapes so -blue, and its wine so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it was a marvel -to every one who beheld it, and was commonly called the Treasure Valley. - -[Illustration: JOHN RUSKIN] - -The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers called -Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers, -were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small dull eyes, which -were always half shut, so that you couldn’t see into _them_, and always -fancied that they saw very far into _you_. They lived by farming the -Treasure Valley, and very good farmers they were. - -They killed everything that did not pay for its eating. They shot the -blackbirds because they pecked the fruit, they poisoned the crickets for -eating the crumbs in the kitchen, and smothered the locusts, which used -to sing all summer in the lime trees. They worked their servants without -any wages till they would not work any more, and then quarrelled with -them, and turned them out of doors without paying them. It would have -been very odd, if, with such a farm and such a system of farming, they -hadn’t got very rich; and very rich they _did_ get. They generally -contrived to hold their own grain until it was very dear, and then sell -it for twice its value; they had heaps of gold lying about on their -floors, yet it was never known that they had given so much as a penny or -a crust in charity. They were, in a word, of so cruel and grinding a -temper as to receive from all those with whom they had any dealings the -nickname of the “Black Brothers.” - -The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in both -appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imagined -or desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and kind -in temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree -particularly well with his brothers; or, rather, they did not agree with -_him_. He was usually appointed to the honorable office of -turnspit,--when there was anything to roast, which was not often; for, -to do the brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon -themselves than upon other people. At other times he used to clean the -shoes, floors, and sometimes the plates,--occasionally getting what was -left upon them by way of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry -blows by way of education. - -Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last came a very wet -summer, and everything went wrong in the country around. The hay had -hardly been got in when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the -sea by a flood; the vines were cut to pieces by the hail; the grain was -all killed by a black blight; only in the Treasure Valley, as usual, all -was safe. As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else, so it had sun -when there was sun nowhere else. Everybody came to buy grain at the -farm, and went away pouring curses on the “Black Brothers.” They asked -what they liked and got it, except from the poor people, who could only -beg, and several of whom were starved at their very door without the -slightest regard or notice. - -It was drawing towards winter, and very cold weather, when one day the -two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to little -Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in and -give nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it was -raining very hard, and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or -comfortable-looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and -brown. “What a pity,” thought Gluck, “my brothers never ask anybody to -dinner! I’m sure when they have such a nice piece of mutton as this, and -nobody else has so much as a dry piece of bread, it would do their -hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them.” - -Just as he spoke there came a double knock at the house door, yet heavy -and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up,--more like a puff than -a knock. - -“It must be the wind,” said Gluck; “nobody else would venture to knock -double knocks at our door.” - -No, it wasn’t the wind; there it came again very hard, and what was -particularly surprising, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry, and not to -be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the window, -opened it, and put his head out to see who it was. - -It was the most extraordinary-looking gentleman he had ever seen in his -life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his cheeks were -very round and very red; his eyes twinkled merrily through long silky -eyelashes; his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each -side of his mouth, and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt -color, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four feet six in -height, and wore a conical, pointed cap of nearly the same altitude, -decorated with a black feather some three feet high. His coat was -prolonged behind, but was almost hidden by the swelling folds of an -enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must have been very much too -long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling round the old house, -carried it clear out from the wearer’s shoulders to about four times his -own length. - -Gluck was so frightened by the singular appearance of his visitor that -he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old gentleman, -having performed another, and a more energetic tune on the knocker, -turned round to look after his fly-away cloak. In so doing, he caught -sight of Gluck’s little yellow head jammed in the window, with its mouth -and eyes very wide open indeed. - -“Hello!” 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 mustaches the water was running into his -waistcoat pockets and out again like a mill stream. - -[Illustration: THE VISITOR AT THE DOOR] - -“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. What do you want, sir?” - -“Want?” said the old gentleman, crossly. “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 want only to warm -myself.” - -Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window, that he -began to feel that it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned -and saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring and throwing long bright -tongues by the chimney, 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, there came a -gust of wind through the house 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.” - -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 behavior of his guest, it was such a -strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string -thoughtfully for another five minutes. - -“That mutton looks very nice,” said the old gentleman. “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, 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 a blow 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 -swiftness. - -“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, “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, as I told you before. - -“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 in the corner on 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 mustaches, 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 there drove past the window at the same instant 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 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 broke 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 pillows and stared into the darkness. -The room was full of water, and by the misty moonbeam which found its -way through a hole in the shutter they could see in the midst of it an -immense 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 inconvenience you,” said their visitor, with a laugh. “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!” said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe -disappeared. - -Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck’s window in -the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and desolation. -The flood 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; grain, 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: - -[Illustration: _South-West Wind_] - - --JOHN RUSKIN. - - - - - JACQUES CARTIER - - - In the seaport of St. Malo, ’twas a smiling morn in May, - When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westwards 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, - Fill’d 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 westwards 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 him better cheer. - - But when he changed the strain--he told how soon are 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 through 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 his perils o’er the sea. - --THOMAS D’ARCY MCGEE. - - - - - BLESS THE LORD, O MY SOUL - - - Bless the Lord, O my soul; - And all that is within me, bless his holy name. - Bless the Lord, O my soul, - And forget not all his benefits: - Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; - Who healeth all thy diseases; - Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; - Who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies: - Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; - So that thy youth is renewed like the eagle. - - The Lord executeth righteous acts, - And judgments for all that are oppressed. - He made known his ways unto Moses, - His doings unto the children of Israel. - The Lord is full of compassion and gracious, - Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. - He will not always chide; - Neither will he keep his anger forever. - He hath not dealt with us after our sins, - Nor rewarded us after our iniquities. - - For as the heaven is high above the earth, - So great is his mercy towards them that fear him. - As far as the east is from the west, - So far hath he removed our transgressions from us. - Like as a father pitieth his children, - So the Lord pitieth them that fear him. - For he knoweth our frame; - He remembereth that we are dust. - - As for man, his days are as grass; - As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. - For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; - And the place thereof shall know it no more. - But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, - And his righteousness unto children’s children, - To such as keep his covenant, - And to those that remember his precepts to do them. - - The Lord hath established his throne in the heavens; - And his kingdom ruleth over all. - Bless the Lord, ye angels of his, - Ye mighty in strength; - That fulfil his word, - Hearkening unto the voice of his word. - Bless the Lord, all ye his hosts; - Ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure. - Bless the Lord, all ye his works, - In all places of his dominion. - --_From the Book of Psalms._ - - - - - THE HEROES OF THE LONG SAULT - - -In April, 1660, a young officer named Daulac, commandant of the garrison -at Montreal, asked leave of Maisonneuve, the governor, to lead a party -of volunteers against the Iroquois. His plan was bold to desperation. It -was known that Iroquois warriors, in great numbers, had wintered among -the forests of the Ottawa. Daulac proposed to waylay them on their -descent of the river, and fight them without regard to disparity of -force; and Maisonneuve, judging that a display of enterprise and -boldness might act as a check on the audacity of the enemy, at last gave -his consent. - -Adam Daulac was a young man of good family, who had come to the colony -three years before, at the age of twenty-two. He had held some military -command in France, though in what rank does not appear. He had been busy -for some time among the young men of Montreal, inviting them to join him -in the enterprise he meditated. Sixteen of them caught his spirit. They -bound themselves by oath to accept no quarter; and, having gained -Maisonneuve’s consent, they made their wills, confessed, and received -the sacraments. - -After a solemn farewell they embarked in several canoes, well supplied -with arms and ammunition. They were very indifferent canoe-men, and it -is said that they lost a week in vain attempts to pass the swift current -of Ste. Anne, at the head of the Island of Montreal. At length they were -successful, and entering the mouth of the Ottawa, crossed the Lake of -Two Mountains, and slowly advanced against the current. - -About the first of May they reached the foot of the formidable rapid -called the Long Sault, where a tumult of waters, foaming among ledges -and boulders, barred the onward way. It was needless to go farther. The -Iroquois were sure to pass the Sault, and could be fought here as well -as elsewhere. Just below the rapid, where the forests sloped gently to -the shore, among the bushes and stumps of a rough clearing made in -constructing it, stood a palisade fort, the work of an Algonquin -war-party in the past autumn. It was a mere enclosure of trunks of small -trees planted in a circle, and was already in ruins. Such as it was, the -Frenchmen took possession of it. They made their fires and slung their -kettles, on the neighboring shore; and here they were soon joined by -forty Hurons and four Algonquins. Daulac, it seems, made no objection to -their company, and they all bivouacked together. Morning, noon, and -night, they prayed in three different tongues; and when at sunset the -long reach of forest on the farther shore basked peacefully in the level -rays, the rapids joined their hoarse music to the notes of their evening -hymn. - -In a day or two their scouts came in with tidings that two Iroquois -canoes were coming down the Sault. Daulac had time to set his men in -ambush among the bushes at a point where he thought the strangers likely -to land. He judged aright. Canoes, bearing five Iroquois, approached, -and were met by a volley fired with such precipitation that one or more -of them escaped, fled into the forest, and told their mischance to their -main body, two hundred in number, on the river above. A fleet of canoes -suddenly appeared, bounding down the rapids, filled with warriors eager -for revenge. The allies had barely time to escape to their fort, leaving -their kettles still slung over the fires. The Iroquois made a hasty -attack, and were quickly repulsed. They next opened a parley, hoping, no -doubt, to gain some advantage by surprise. Failing in this, they set -themselves, after their custom on such occasions, to building a rude -fort of their own in the neighboring forest. - -This gave the French a breathing-time, and they used it for -strengthening their defences. Being provided with tools, they planted a -row of stakes within their palisade, to form a double fence, and filled -the intervening space with earth and stones to the height of a man, -leaving some twenty loopholes, at each of which three marksmen were -stationed. Their work was still unfinished when the Iroquois were upon -them again. They had broken to pieces the birch canoes of the French and -their allies, and, kindling the bark, rushed up to pile it blazing -against the palisade; but so brisk and steady a fire met them that they -recoiled, and at last gave way. They came on again, and again were -driven back, leaving many of their number on the ground, among them the -principal chief of the Senecas. - -This dashed the spirits of the Iroquois, and they sent a canoe to call -to their aid five hundred of their warriors, who were mustered near the -mouth of the Richelieu. These were the allies whom, but for this -untoward check, they were on their way to join for a combined attack on -Quebec, Three Rivers, and Montreal. It was maddening to see their grand -project thwarted by a few French and Indians ensconced in a paltry -redoubt, scarcely better than a cattle-pen, but they were forced to -digest the affront as best they might. - -Meanwhile, crouched behind trees and logs, they beset the fort, -harassing its defenders day and night with a spattering fire and a -constant menace of attack. Thus five days passed. Hunger, thirst, and -want of sleep wrought fatally on the strength of the French and their -allies, who, pent up together in their narrow prison, fought and prayed -by turns. Deprived as they were of water, they could not swallow the -crushed Indian corn, or “hominy,” which was their only food. Some of -them, under cover of a brisk fire, ran down to the river and filled such -small vessels as they had; but this pittance only tantalized their -thirst. They dug a hole in the fort, and were rewarded at last by a -little muddy water oozing through the clay. - -Among the assailants were a number of Hurons, adopted by the Iroquois, -and fighting on their side. These renegades now tried to seduce their -countrymen in the fort. Half dead with thirst and famine, they took the -bait, and one, two, or three at a time, climbed the palisade and ran -over to the enemy, amid the hootings and execrations of those whom they -deserted. Their chief stood firm; and when he saw his nephew join the -other fugitives, he fired his pistol at him in a rage. The four -Algonquins, who had no mercy to hope for, stood fast, with the courage -of despair. - -On the fifth day an uproar of unearthly yells from seven hundred savage -throats, mingled with a clattering salute of musketry, told the -Frenchmen that the expected reënforcement had come; and soon, in the -forest and on the clearing, a crowd of warriors mustered for the attack. -Knowing from the Huron deserters the weakness of their enemy, they had -no doubt of an easy victory. They - -[Illustration: THE DEATH OF DAULAC] - -advanced cautiously, as was usual with the Iroquois before their blood -was up, screeching, leaping from side to side, and firing as they came -on; but the French were at their posts, and every loophole darted its -tongue of fire. The Iroquois, astonished at the persistent vigor of the -defence, fell back discomfited. The fire of the French, who were -themselves completely under cover, had told upon them with deadly -effect. Three days more wore away in a series of futile attacks, made -with little concert or vigor; and during all this time Daulac and his -men, reeling with exhaustion, fought and prayed as before, sure of a -martyr’s reward. - -The uncertain temper common to all Indians now began to declare itself. -Some of the Iroquois were for going home. Others revolted at the -thought, and declared that it would be an eternal disgrace to lose so -many men, at the hands of so paltry an enemy, and yet fail to take -revenge. It was resolved to make a general assault, and volunteers were -called for to lead the attack. No precaution was neglected. Large and -heavy shields, four or five feet high, were made by lashing together -with the aid of cross-bars three split logs. Covering themselves with -these mantelets, the chosen band advanced, followed by the motley throng -of warriors. In spite of a brisk fire, they reached the palisade, and, -crouching below the range of shot, hewed furiously with their hatchets -to cut their way through. The rest followed close, and swarmed like -angry hornets around the little fort, hacking and tearing to get in. - -Daulac had crammed a large musketoon with powder and plugged up the -muzzle. Lighting the fuse inserted in it, he tried to throw it over the -barrier, to burst like a grenade among the crowd of savages without; but -it struck the ragged top of one of the palisades, fell back among the -Frenchmen, and exploded, killing or wounding several of them, and nearly -blinding others. In the confusion that followed, the Iroquois got -possession of the loopholes, and, thrusting in their guns, fired on -those within. In a moment more they had torn a breach in the palisade; -but, nerved with the energy of desperation, Daulac and his followers -sprang to defend it. Daulac was struck dead, but the survivors kept up -the fight. With a sword or a hatchet in one hand and a knife in the -other, they threw themselves against the throng of enemies, striking and -stabbing with the fury of madmen; till the Iroquois, despairing of -taking them alive, fired volley after volley, and shot them down. All -was over, and a burst of triumphant yells proclaimed the dear-bought -victory. - -Searching the pile of corpses, the victors found four Frenchmen still -breathing. Three had scarcely a spark of life, and, as no time was to be -lost, they burned them on the spot. The fourth, less fortunate, seemed -likely to survive, and they reserved him for future torments. As for the -Huron deserters, their cowardice profited them little. The Iroquois, -regardless of their promises, fell upon them, burned some at once, and -carried the rest to their villages for a similar fate. Five of the -number had the good fortune to escape, and it was from them, aided by -admissions made long afterwards by the Iroquois themselves, that the -French of Canada derived all their knowledge of this glorious disaster. - -To the colony it proved a salvation. The Iroquois had had fighting -enough. If seventeen Frenchmen, four Algonquins, and one Huron, behind a -picket fence, could hold seven hundred warriors at bay so long, what -might they expect from many such, fighting behind walls of stone? For -that year they thought no more of capturing Quebec and Montreal, but -went home dejected and amazed, to howl over their losses, and nurse -their dashed courage for a day of vengeance.--FRANCIS PARKMAN. - - - - - THE MARSEILLAISE - - - Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory! - Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise-- - Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, - Behold their tears and hear their cries! - Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding, - With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, - Affright and desolate the land, - While peace and liberty lie bleeding? - To arms! to arms! ye brave! - The avenging sword unsheath: - March on! march on! all hearts resolved - On victory or death. - - Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling, - Which treacherous kings confederate raise; - The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, - And lo! our fields and cities blaze; - And shall we basely view the ruin, - While lawless force with guilty stride, - Spreads desolation far and wide, - With crimes and blood his hands imbruing? - - With luxury and pride surrounded, - The vile, insatiate despots dare - (Their thirst of power and gold unbounded) - To mete and vend the light and air. - Like beasts of burden would they load us, - Like gods would bid their slaves adore; - But man is man, and who is more? - Then shall they longer lash and goad us? - - O Liberty! can man resign thee, - Once having felt thy generous flame? - Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee, - Or whips thy noble spirit tame? - Too long the world has wept bewailing - That Falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield; - But Freedom is our sword and shield, - And all their arts are unavailing. - --ROUGET DE LISLE. - - * * * * * - - He that humbles himself shall be exalted. - - - - - THE WATCH ON THE RHINE - - - A voice resounds like thunder-peal, - ’Mid dashing waves and clang of steel, - “The Rhine! the Rhine! the German Rhine! - Who guards to-day my stream divine?” - Dear Fatherland! no danger thine: - Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine. - - They stand, a hundred thousand strong, - Quick to avenge their country’s wrong: - With filial love their bosoms swell: - They’ll guard the sacred landmark well. - - And though in death our hopes decay, - The Rhine will own no foreign sway; - For rich with water as its flood - Is Germany with hero blood. - - From yon blue sky are bending now - The hero-dead to hear our vow: - “As long as German hearts are free - The Rhine, the Rhine, shall German be.” - - “While flows one drop of German blood, - Or sword remains to guard thy flood, - While rifle rests in patriot hand, - No foe shall tread thy sacred strand.” - -[Illustration: QUEEN LOUISE OF PRUSSIA AND HER SONS] - - Our oath resounds; the river flows; - In golden light our banner glows; - Our hearts will guard thy stream divine: - The Rhine! the Rhine! the German Rhine! - --MAX SCHNECKENBURGER. - - - - - SCOTS, WHA HAE WI’ WALLACE BLED - - -[Illustration: ROBERT BURNS] - - Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, - Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, - Welcome to your gory bed, - Or to victorie! - Now’s the day, and now’s the hour; - See the front o’ battle lour; - See approach proud Edward’s power-- - Chains and slaverie! - - Wha will be a traitor knave? - Wha can fill a coward’s grave? - Wha sae base as be a slave? - Let him turn and flee! - Wha, for Scotland’s king and law, - Freedom’s sword will strongly draw, - Free-man stand, or free-man fa’, - Let him on wi’ me! - - By oppression’s woes and pains! - By your sons in servile chains! - We will drain our dearest veins, - But they _shall_ be free! - Lay the proud usurpers low! - Tyrants fall in every foe! - Liberty’s in every blow!-- - Let us do--or die! - --ROBERT BURNS. - - - - - THE COYOTE - - -The coyote is a long, slim, sick, and sorry-looking skeleton, with a -gray wolfskin stretched over it, a tolerably bushy tail that forever -sags down with a despairing expression of forsakenness and misery, a -furtive and evil eye, and a long, sharp face, with slightly lifted lip -and exposed teeth. - -[Illustration: MARK TWAIN] - -He has a general slinking expression all over. The coyote is a living, -breathing allegory of Want. He is always hungry. He is always poor, out -of luck, and friendless. He is so spiritless and cowardly that even -while his exposed teeth are pretending a threat, the rest of his face is -apologizing for it. And he is _so_ homely!--so scrawny, and ribby, and -coarse-haired, and pitiful. - -When he sees you, he lifts his lip and lets a flash of his teeth out, -and then turns a little out of the course he was pursuing, depresses his -head a bit, and strikes a long, soft-footed trot through the brush, -glancing over his shoulder at you, from time to time, till he is about -out of easy pistol range, and then he stops and takes a deliberate -survey of you; he will trot fifty yards and stop again--another fifty -and stop again; and, finally, the gray of his gliding body blends with -the gray of the brush, and he disappears. - -All this is when you make no demonstration against him; but if you do, -he develops a livelier interest in his journey, and instantly -electrifies his heels and puts such a deal of real estate between -himself and your weapon, that by the time you have raised the hammer you -see that you need a rifle, and by the time you have got him in line you -need a cannon, and by the time you have drawn a bead on him you see well -enough that nothing but an unusually long-winded streak of lightning -could reach him where he is now. - -But if you start a swift-footed dog after him, you will enjoy it ever so -much--especially if it is a dog that has a good opinion of himself, and -has been brought up to think that he knows something about speed. The -coyote will go swinging gently off on that deceitful trot of his, and -every little while he will smile a fraudful smile over his shoulder that -will fill that dog entirely full of encouragement and worldly ambition, -and make him lay his head still lower to the ground, and stretch his -neck farther to the front, and pant more fiercely, and stick his tail -out straighter behind, and move his furious legs with a yet wilder -frenzy, and leave a broader and broader, and higher and denser cloud of -dust behind, marking his long wake across the level plain! - -And all this time the dog is only a short twenty feet behind the coyote, -and to save the life of him he cannot understand why it is that he -cannot get perceptibly closer; and he begins to get aggravated, and it -makes him more and more angry to see how gently the coyote glides along -and never pants or sweats or ceases to smile; and he grows still more -and more incensed to see how shamefully he has been taken in by an -entire stranger, and what an ignoble swindle that long, calm, -soft-footed trot is; and next he notices that he is getting fagged, and -that the coyote actually has to slacken speed a little to keep from -running away from him--and then that town dog is angry in earnest, and -he begins to strain, and weep, and paw the sand higher than ever, and -reach for the coyote with concentrated and desperate energy. - -This spurt finds him six feet behind the gliding enemy, and two miles -from his friends. And then, in the instant that a wild new hope is -lighting up his face, the coyote turns and smiles blandly upon him once -more, and with a something about it which seems to say: “Well, I shall -have to tear myself away from you,--business is business, and it will -not do for me to be fooling along this way all day,”--and forthwith -there is a rushing sound, and the sudden splitting of a long crack -through the atmosphere, and behold that dog is solitary and alone in -the midst of a vast solitude! - -It makes his head swim. He stops, and looks all around; climbs the -nearest mound, and gazes into the distance; shakes his head -reflectively, and then, without a word, he turns and jogs along back to -his train, and takes up a humble position under the hindmost wagon, and -feels unspeakably mean, and looks ashamed, and hangs his tail at -half-mast for a week. And for as much as a year after that, whenever -there is a great hue and cry after a coyote, that dog will merely glance -in that direction without emotion, and apparently observe to himself, “I -believe I do not wish any of the pie.” - - --SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS [MARK TWAIN]. - - - - - STEP BY STEP - - - Heaven is not reached by a single bound, - But we build the ladder by which we rise - From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, - And we mount to its summit, round by round. - - I count this thing to be grandly true, - That a noble deed is a step towards God, - Lifting the soul from the common clod - To a purer air and a fairer view. - - We rise by the things that are ’neath our feet; - By what we have mastered of good; and gain - By the pride deposed, and the passion slain, - And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. - - We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, - When the morning calls to life and light; - But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night - Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. - - We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray; - And we think that we mount the air on wings - Beyond the recall of earthly things, - While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. - - Wings are for angels, but feet for men! - We may borrow the wings to find the way; - We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray, - But our feet must rise or we fall again. - - Only in dreams is a ladder thrown - From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; - But the dreams depart and the ladder falls, - And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. - - Heaven is not reached at a single bound, - But we build the ladder by which we rise - From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, - And we mount to its summit round by round. - --JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND. - - * * * * * - - A right thought is as a true key. - - - - - A SUMMER STORM - - - Last night a storm fell on the world - From height of drouth and heat, - The surly clouds for weeks were furled, - The air could only sway and beat; - - The beetles clattered at the blind, - The hawks fell twanging from the sky, - The west unrolled a feathery wind, - And the night fell sullenly. - - A storm leaped roaring from its lair, - Like the shadow of doom; - The poignard lightning searched the air, - The thunder ripped the shattered gloom; - - The rain came down with a roar like fire, - Full-voiced and clamorous and deep; - The weary world had its heart’s desire, - And fell asleep. - - And now in the morning early, - The clouds are sailing by; - Clearly, oh! so clearly, - The distant mountains lie. - - The wind is very mild and slow, - The clouds obey his will, - They part and part and onwards go, - Travelling together still. - - ’Tis very sweet to be alive, - On a morning that’s so fair, - For nothing seems to stir or strive, - In the unconscious air. - - A tawny thrush is in the wood, - Ringing so wild and free; - Only one bird has a blither mood, - The white-throat on the tree. - --DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT - - - - - THE DEATH OF NELSON - - -It had been part of Nelson’s prayer, that the British fleet might be -distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an -example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing on the -_Redoubtable_, supposing that she had struck, because her guns were -silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly -ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, -he received his death. A ball fired from her mizzentop, which, in the -then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from -that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulet on his -left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He -fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor -secretary’s blood. - -Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men -raising him up. “They have done for me at last, Hardy,” said he. “I hope -not,” cried Hardy. “Yes,” he replied; “my backbone is shot through.” Yet -even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as -they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had -been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should -be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he -took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he -but concealed these badges of honor from the enemy, England, perhaps, -would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of Trafalgar. -The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he -was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the -midshipmen’s berth. - -[Illustration: ROBERT SOUTHEY] - -It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. -This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the -chaplain, and the medical attendants. Nelson himself being certain, from -the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within -his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the -surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be -useful; “for,” said he, “you can do nothing for me.” All that could be -done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to -alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much -anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. -As often as a ship struck, the crew of the _Victory_ hurrahed, and at -every hurrah, a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes, and -marked the countenance of the dying hero. But he became impatient to see -Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the -deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly -cried, “Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely -dead!” An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson -received his wound, before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in -silence, Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most -painful and yet sublime moment. “Well, Hardy,” said Nelson, “how goes -the day with us?” “Very well,” replied Hardy; “ten ships have struck, -but five of the van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon -the _Victory_. I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and -have no doubt of giving them a drubbing.” “I hope,” said Nelson, “none -of our ships have struck.” Hardy answered, “There is no fear of that.” -Then, and not till then, Nelson spoke of himself. “I am a dead man, -Hardy,” said he; “I am going fast; it will be all over with me soon. -Come nearer to me.” Hardy observed that he hoped Mr. Beatty could yet -hold out some prospect of life. “Oh, no,” he replied; “it is -impossible. My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so.” Hardy -then once more shook hands with him, and with a heart almost bursting, -hastened upon deck. - -[Illustration] - -By this time all feeling below the breast was gone, and Nelson, having -made the surgeon ascertain this, said to him: “You know I am gone. I -know it. I feel something rising in my breast,” putting his hand on his -left side, “which tells me so.” And upon Beatty’s inquiring whether his -pain was very great, he replied, so great that he wished he was dead. -“Yet,” said he, in a lower voice, “one would like to live a little -longer, too!” Captain Hardy, some fifty minutes after he had left the -cockpit, returned, and again taking the hand of his dying friend and -commander, congratulated him on having gained a complete victory. How -many of the enemy were taken he did not know, as it was impossible to -perceive them distinctly, but fourteen or fifteen at least. “That’s -well,” cried Nelson; “but I bargained for twenty.” And then, in a -stronger voice, he said, “Anchor, Hardy, anchor.” Hardy, upon this, -hinted that Admiral Collingwood would take upon himself the direction of -affairs. “Not while I live, Hardy,” said the dying Nelson, ineffectually -endeavoring to raise himself from the bed; “do you anchor.” His previous -orders for preparing to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the -necessity of this. - -Presently, calling Hardy back, he said to him in a low voice, “Don’t -throw me overboard;” and he desired that he might be buried by his -parents, unless it should please the king to order otherwise. Then, -“Kiss me, Hardy,” said he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek; and -Nelson said, “Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty!” Hardy -stood over him in silence for a moment or two, then knelt again and -kissed his forehead. “Who is that?” said Nelson; and being informed, he -replied, “God bless you, Hardy.” And Hardy then left him forever. Nelson -now desired to be turned upon his right side, and said, “I wish I had -not left the deck, for I shall soon be gone.” Death was, indeed, rapidly -approaching. He said to the chaplain, “Doctor, I have _not_ been a -_great_ sinner.” His articulation now became difficult; but he was -distinctly heard to say, “Thank God, I have done my duty!” These words -he repeatedly pronounced, and they were the last words which he uttered. -He expired at thirty minutes after four, three hours and a quarter after -he had received his wound. - -The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public -calamity; men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they -had heard of the loss of a near friend. An object of our admiration and -affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; -and it seemed as if we had never till then known how deeply we loved and -reverenced him. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with -the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such -already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson’s surpassing -genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most -signal victory that ever was achieved upon the seas; and the destruction -of this mighty fleet hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; -for while Nelson was living to watch the combined squadrons of the -enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in -existence. - -There was reason to suppose that in the course of nature Nelson might -have attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be said -to have fallen prematurely whose work was done; nor ought he to be -lamented who died so full of honors, and at the height of human fame. -He has left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but a name and an -example which are at this moment inspiring thousands of the youth of -England--a name which is our pride, and an example which will continue -to be our shield and our strength. Thus it is that the spirits of the -great and the wise continue to live and to act after them.--$1 - - - - - THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC - - -[Illustration: THOMAS CAMPBELL] - - Of Nelson and the North, - Sing the glorious day’s renown, - When to battle fierce came forth - All the might of Denmark’s crown, - And her arms along the deep proudly shone; - By each gun the lighted brand, - In a bold, determined hand, - And the Prince of all the land - Led them on. - - Like leviathans afloat, - Lay their bulwarks on the brine; - While the sign of battle flew - On the lofty British line: - It was ten of April morn by the chime: - As they drifted on their path, - There was silence deep as death; - And the boldest held his breath, - For a time. - - But the might of England flush’d - To anticipate the scene; - And her van the fleeter rush’d - O’er the deadly space between. - “Hearts of oak!” our captains cried; when each gun - From its adamantine lips - Spread a death-shade round the ships, - Like the hurricane eclipse - Of the sun. - - Again! again! again! - And the havoc did not slack, - Till a feeble cheer the Dane - To our cheering sent us back; - Their shots along the deep slowly boom-- - Then ceased--and all is wail, - As they strike the shattered sail; - Or, in conflagration pale, - Light the gloom. - - Out spoke the victor then, - As he hail’d them o’er the wave; - “Ye are brothers! ye are men! - And we conquer but to save:-- - So peace instead of death let us bring; - But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, - With the crews, at England’s feet, - And make submission meet - To our King.” - - Then Denmark blessed our chief - That he gave her wounds repose; - And the sounds of joy and grief - From her people wildly rose, - As death withdrew his shades from the day. - While the sun look’d smiling bright - O’er a wide and woful sight, - Where the fires of funeral light - Died away. - - Now joy, old England, raise - For the tidings of thy might, - By the festal cities’ blaze, - Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; - And yet amidst that joy and uproar, - Let us think of them that sleep - Full many a fathom deep, - By thy wild and stormy steep, - Elsinore! - - Brave hearts! to Britain’s pride - Once so faithful and so true, - On the deck of fame that died, - With the gallant good Riou: - Soft sighs the winds of Heaven o’er their grave! - While the billow mournful rolls, - And the mermaid’s song condoles, - Singing glory to the souls - Of the brave! - --THOMAS CAMPBELL. - - - - - YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND - - - Ye mariners of England! - That guard our native seas; - Whose flag has braved a thousand years, - The battle and the breeze! - Your glorious standard launch again - To match another foe! - And sweep through the deep - While the stormy winds do blow; - While the battle rages loud and long, - And the stormy winds do blow. - - The spirits of your fathers - Shall start from every wave! - For the deck it was their field of fame, - And ocean was their grave: - Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell - Your manly hearts shall glow, - As ye sweep through the deep - While the stormy winds do blow; - While the battle rages loud and long, - And the stormy winds do blow. - - Britannia needs no bulwarks, - No towers along the steep; - Her march is o’er the mountain-waves, - Her home is on the deep. - With thunders from her native oak, - She quells the floods below, - As they roar on the shore - When the stormy winds do blow; - When the battle rages loud and long, - And the stormy winds do blow. - - The meteor flag of England - Shall yet terrific burn; - Till danger’s troubled night depart, - And the star of peace return. - Then, then, ye ocean warriors! - Our song and feast shall flow - To the fame of your name, - When the storm has ceased to blow; - When the fiery fight is heard no more, - And the storm has ceased to blow! - --THOMAS CAMPBELL. - - * * * * * - - Do what you ought, come what may. - - - - - THE APPLES OF IDUN - - -Once upon a time Odin, Loke, and Hœner started on a journey. They had -often travelled together before on all sorts of errands, for they had a -great many things to look after, and more than once they had fallen into -trouble through the prying, meddlesome, malicious spirit of Loke, who -was never so happy as when he was doing wrong. When the gods went on a -journey, they travelled fast and hard, for they were strong, active, -spirits who loved nothing so much as hard work, hard blows, storm, -peril, and struggle. There were no roads through the country over which -they made their way, only high mountains to be climbed by rocky paths, -deep valleys into which the sun hardly looked during half the year, and -swift-rushing streams, cold as ice, and treacherous to the surest foot -and the strongest arm. Not a bird flew through the air, not an animal -sprang through the trees. It was as still as a desert. The gods walked -on and on, getting more tired and hungry at every step. The sun was -sinking low over the steep, pine-crested mountains, and the travellers -had neither breakfasted nor dined. Even Odin was beginning to feel the -pangs of hunger, like the most ordinary mortal, when suddenly, entering -a little valley, the famished gods came upon a herd of cattle. It was -the work of a minute to kill a great ox and to have the carcass swinging -in a huge pot over a roaring fire. - -But never were gods so unlucky before! In spite of their hunger the pot -would not boil. They piled on the wood until the great, flames crackled -and licked the pot with their fiery tongues, but every time the cover -was lifted there was the meat just as raw as when it was put in. It is -easy to imagine that the travellers were not in very good humor. As they -were talking about it, and wondering how it could be, a voice called out -from the branches of the oak overhead, “If you will give me my fill, -I’ll make the pot boil.” - -The gods looked first at each other and then into the tree, and there -they discovered a great eagle. They were glad enough to get their supper -on almost any terms, so they told the eagle he might have what he wanted -if he would only get the meat cooked. The bird was as good as his word, -and, in less time than it takes to tell it, supper was ready. Then the -eagle flew down and picked out both shoulders and both legs. This was a -pretty large share, it must be confessed, and Loke, who was always angry -when anybody got more than he, no sooner saw what the eagle had taken -than he seized a great pole and began to beat the rapacious bird -unmercifully. Whereupon a very singular thing happened: the pole stuck -fast in the huge talons of the eagle at one end, and Loke stuck fast at -the other end. Struggle as he might, he could not get loose, and as the -great bird sailed away over the tops of the trees, Loke went pounding -along on the ground, striking against rocks and branches until he was -bruised half to death. - -The eagle was not an ordinary bird by any means, as Loke soon found when -he begged for mercy. The giant Thjasse happened to be flying abroad in -his eagle plumage when the hungry travellers came under the oak and -tried to cook the ox. It was into his hands that Loke had fallen, and he -was not to get away until he had promised to pay roundly for his -freedom. - -If there was one thing which the gods prized above their other treasures -in Asgard, it was the beautiful fruit of Idun, kept by the goddess in a -golden casket and given to the gods to keep them forever young and fair. -Without these Apples all their power could not have kept them from -getting old like the meanest of mortals. Without the Apples of Idun, -Asgard itself would have lost its charm; for what would heaven be -without youth and beauty forever shining through it? - -Thjasse told Loke that he could not go unless he would promise to bring -him the Apples of Idun. Loke was wicked enough for anything; but when it -came to robbing the gods of their immortality, even he hesitated. And -while he hesitated the eagle dashed hither and thither, flinging him -against the sides of the mountains and dragging him through the great -tough boughs of the oaks until his courage gave out entirely, and he -promised to steal the Apples out of Asgard and give them to the giant. - -Loke was bruised and sore enough when he got on his feet again to hate -the giant, who handled him so roughly, with all his heart, but he was -not unwilling to keep his promise to steal the Apples, if only for the -sake of tormenting the other gods. But how was it to be done? Idun -guarded the golden fruit of immortality with sleepless watchfulness. No -one ever touched it but herself, and a beautiful sight it was to see her -fair hands spread it forth for the morning feasts in Asgard. The power -which Loke possessed lay not so much in his own strength, although he -had a smooth way of deceiving people, as in the goodness of others who -had no thought of his doing wrong because they never did wrong -themselves. - -Not long after all this happened, Loke came carelessly up to Idun as she -was gathering her Apples to put them away in the beautiful carven box -which held them. - -“Good morning, goddess,” said he. “How fair and golden your Apples are!” - -“Yes,” answered Idun; “the bloom of youth keeps them always beautiful.” - -“I never saw anything like them,” continued Loke, slowly, as if he were -talking about a matter of no importance, “until the other day.” - -Idun looked up at once with the greatest interest and curiosity in her -face. She was very proud of her Apples, and she knew that no earthly -trees, however large and fair, bore the immortal fruit. - -“Where have you seen any Apples like them?” she asked. - -“Oh, just outside the gates,” said Loke, indifferently. “If you care to -see them, I’ll take you there. It will keep you but a moment. The tree -is only a little way off.” - -Idun was anxious to go at once. - -“Better take your Apples with you to compare them with the others,” said -the wily god, as she prepared to go. - -Idun gathered up the golden Apples and went out of Asgard, carrying with -her all that made it heaven. No sooner was she beyond the gates than a -mighty rushing sound was heard, like the coming of a tempest, and before -she could think or act, the giant Thjasse, in his eagle plumage, was -bearing her swiftly away through the air to his desolate, icy home in -Thrymheim, where, after vainly trying to persuade her to let him eat the -Apples and be forever young like the gods, he kept her a lonely -prisoner. - -Loke, after keeping his promise and delivering Idun into the hands of -the giant, strayed back into Asgard as if nothing had happened. The next -morning, when the gods assembled for their feast, there was no Idun. Day -after day went past, and still the beautiful goddess did not come. -Little by little the light of youth and beauty faded from the home of -the gods, and they themselves became old and haggard. Their strong, -young faces were lined with care and furrowed by age, their raven locks -passed from gray to white, and their flashing eyes became dim and -hollow. Brage, the god of poetry, could make no music while his -beautiful wife was gone he knew not whither. - -Morning after morning the faded light broke on paler and ever paler -faces, until even in heaven the eternal light of youth seemed to be -going out forever. - -Finally the gods could bear the loss of power and joy no longer. They -made rigorous inquiry. They tracked Loke on that fair morning when he -led Idun beyond the gates; they seized him and brought him into solemn -council, and when he read in their haggard faces the deadly hate which -flamed in all their hearts against his treachery, his courage failed, -and he promised to bring Idun back to Asgard if the goddess Freyja would -lend him her falconguise. No sooner said than done; and with eager gaze -the gods watched him as he flew away, becoming at last only a dark, -moving speck against the sky. - -After long and weary flight, Loke came to Thrymheim, and was glad enough -to find Thjasse gone to sea and Idun alone in his dreary house. He -changed her instantly into a nut, and taking her thus disguised in his -talons, flew away as fast as his falcon wings could carry him. And he -had need of all his speed, for Thjasse, coming suddenly home and finding -Idun and her precious fruit gone, guessed what had happened, and, -putting on his eagle plumage, flew forth in a mighty rage, with -vengeance in his heart. Like the rushing wings of a tempest, his mighty -pinions beat the air and bore him swiftly onwards. From mountain peak to -mountain peak he measured his wide course, almost grazing at times the -murmuring pine forests, and then sweeping high in mid-air with nothing -above but the arching sky and nothing beneath but the tossing sea. - -At last he sees the falcon far ahead, and now his flight becomes like -the flash of the lightning for swiftness, and like the rushing of clouds -for uproar. The haggard faces of the gods line the walls of Asgard and -watch the race with tremulous eagerness. Youth and immortality are -staked upon the winning of Loke. He is weary enough and frightened -enough too, as the eagle sweeps on close behind him; but he makes -desperate efforts to widen the distance between them. Little by little -the eagle gains on the falcon. The gods grow white with fear; they rush -off and prepare great fires upon the walls. With fainting, drooping wing -the falcon passes over and drops exhausted by the wall. In an instant -the fires have been lighted, and the great flames roar to heaven. The -eagle sweeps across the fiery line a second later, and falls, maimed and -burned, to the ground, where a dozen fierce hands smite the life out of -him, and the great giant Thjasse perishes among his foes. - -Idun resumes her natural form as Brage rushes to meet her. The gods -crowd around her. She spreads the feast, the golden Apples gleaming with -unspeakable lustre in the eyes of the gods. They eat; and once more -their faces glow with the beauty of immortal youth, their eyes flash -with the radiance of divine power, and, while Idun stands like a star -for beauty among the throng, the song of Brage is heard once more; for -poetry and immortality are wedded again.--HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE. - - _From “Norse Stories,” by permission of the author and of the - publishers, Dodd, Mead and Company, New York._ - - * * * * * - - He that is not wise will not be taught. - - - - - HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX - - - I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; - I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; - “Good speed!” cried the watch as the gate bolts undrew; - “Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through. - Behind shut the postern, the light sank to rest, - And into the midnight we galloped abreast. - - Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace, - Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; - I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, - Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, - Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, - Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. - - ’Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near - Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear; - At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; - At Duffeld, ’twas morning as plain as could be; - And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime. - So Joris broke silence with, “Yet there is time!” - - At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, - And against him the cattle stood black every one, - To stare through the mist at us galloping past, - And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, - With resolute shoulders, each butting away - The haze, as some bluff river-headland its spray: - - And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back - For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; - And one eye’s black intelligence--ever that glance - O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! - And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon - His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. - - By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay spur! - Your Roos galloped bravely; the fault’s not in her, - We’ll remember at Aix,”--for one heard the quick wheeze - Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, - And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, - As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. - - So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, - Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; - The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, - ’Neath our foot broke the brittle, bright stubble, like chaff; - Till over by Dalhem a dome-tower sprang white, - And “Gallop,” cried Joris, “for Aix is in sight!” - - “How they’ll greet us!”--and all in a moment his roan - Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; - And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight - Of the news, which alone could save Aix from her fate, - With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, - And with circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim. - - Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, - Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, - Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, - Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer; - Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, - Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood! - - And all I remember is,--friends flocking round - As I sat with his head ’twixt my knees on the ground; - And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, - As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, - Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) - Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. - --ROBERT BROWNING. - - - - - MARMION AND DOUGLAS - - - The train from out the castle drew; - But Marmion stopped to bid adieu. - “Though something I might plain,” he said, - “Of cold respect to stranger guest, - Sent hither by your king’s behest, - While in Tantallon’s towers I stayed, - Part we in friendship from your land, - And, noble earl, receive my hand.” - - But Douglas round him drew his cloak, - Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: - “My manors, halls, and bowers shall still - Be open, at my sovereign’s will, - To each one whom he lists, howe’er - Unmeet to be the owner’s peer. - My castles are my king’s alone, - From turret to foundation stone: - The hand of Douglas is his own, - And never shall, in friendly grasp, - The hand of such as Marmion clasp.” - - Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire, - And shook his very frame for ire; - And “This to me?” he said; - “An ’twere not for thy hoary beard, - Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared - To cleave the Douglas’ head. - And first, I tell thee, haughty peer, - He who does England’s message here, - Although the meanest in her state, - May well, proud Angus, be thy mate. - - “And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, - Even in thy pitch of pride, - Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, - I tell thee thou’rt defied! - And if thou saidst I am not peer - To any lord in Scotland here, - Lowland or Highland, far or near, - Lord Angus, thou hast lied.” - - On the earl’s cheek the flush of rage - O’ercame the ashen hue of age: - Fierce he broke forth: “And dar’st thou then - To beard the lion in his den, - The Douglas in his hall? - And hop’st thou hence unscathed to go? - No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!-- - Up drawbridge, grooms!--what, warder, ho! - Let the portcullis fall!” - - Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need,-- - And dashed the rowels in his steed; - Like arrow through the archway sprung; - The ponderous gate behind him rung; - To pass there was such scanty room, - The bars, descending, grazed his plume. - The steed along the drawbridge flies, - Just as it trembled on the rise; - Nor lighter does the swallow skim - Along the smooth lake’s level brim. - And when Lord Marmion reached his band, - He halts, and turns with clenchèd hand, - And shout of loud defiance pours, - And shook his gauntlet at the towers. - --SIR WALTER SCOTT. - - - - - THE TEMPEST - - -Upon a lonely island of the sea, far from the haunts of humanity, there -dwelt an old man and his beautiful daughter. She had been very young -when she was taken there, so young that she could not remember ever -having seen a human face, excepting the face of Prospero, her father. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE] - -Their home was in a rocky cavern, which was divided into two or three -apartments, and in one of these the old man kept his books, which -treated of a strange art, much thought of in olden time. It was called -magic; and it is said that by this means Prospero had released many good -spirits which a bad witch named Sycorax had managed to confine in the -hollow trunks of large old trees, just because they would not do the -wicked things she commanded. - -One of these released spirits had the pretty name of Ariel; a lively -little sprite, who, in gratitude to Prospero, was always ready to do his -will. But Ariel had a dislike to a monster called Caliban,--the son of -wicked Sycorax,--and took great pleasure in tormenting him. - -Though Prospero found this ugly Caliban in the woods, and took him home -to his cavern, treating him with great - -[Illustration: THE STORM] - -kindness, it seemed impossible to teach him anything really useful; so -at length he was put to draw water and carry wood, while Ariel watched -to see how he executed these duties. - -Ariel was such a delicate sprite that no mortal’s eye could perceive him -save the eye of Prospero; and thus, when Caliban was lazy, he was not -able to see that it was Ariel who would pinch him and tease him, or else -take some fantastic shape and tumble in his way, and so vex him, as a -punishment for not doing the will of Prospero. - -Strange as it may seem, this old man of the island could get the spirits -to rouse the winds and the waves at his pleasure. Once, when a violent -storm was raging, he showed his daughter Miranda a ship quite full of -human beings, whose lives were in peril from the surging waves. “Oh, -dear father,” cried the maiden, “if indeed your power has raised this -storm, have pity on these poor creatures and calm the wind. If I could, -I would rather sink the sea beneath the earth, than have the ship and so -many lives destroyed.” - -“No person on board the vessel shall be harmed,” said Prospero, soothing -her alarm. “I have done this for your sake, Miranda. You wonder--ah! you -know not who you are, or whence you came; in fact, you only know that I -am your father, and that this cavern is our home. You were scarce three -years old when I brought you here; you cannot then remember any previous -time?” - -“Yes, my father, I can,” replied Miranda. - -Then Prospero entreated her to say what remembrance she had of the days -of her infancy. - -“It is but little,” said the maiden. “It seems indeed like unto a dream, -and yet surely there was a time when several women were in attendance on -me.” - -“That is quite true,” replied Prospero. “How can you recall this?--can -it be possible that you remember our coming here?” - -“No, I can recall nothing more than I have said, father.” - -Upon this Prospero decided that the time had come when he should tell -his daughter the story of her life. “Twelve years ago, Miranda,” he -began, “I was duke of Milan, and you the heiress of my wealth and a -princess. I had a brother younger than myself, to whom I trusted the -management of my affairs, little dreaming of his unworthiness. Buried -among my books, I neglected all else, and Antonio used this opportunity -to gain an influence over my subjects; and then, with the aid of an -enemy of mine, the king of Naples, to make himself duke in my place. - -“He feared to take our lives by violence, but having forced us on board -a vessel, Antonio put out to sea, and then removing us into a smaller -boat without sail or mast, left us to what he believed would prove a -certain death. - -“A lord of my court, by name Gonzalo, had, however, felt some -presentiment of danger, and thus had, out of his love for me, taken the -precaution of putting food, apparel, and my highly valued books into the -boat.” - -“Oh, father,” said Miranda, “what a care, what a trouble must I, a -little child, have been to you, then!” - -“Nay, my child,” replied Prospero, passing his hand fondly over her -hair; “not a care, but a comforter, a consoler! I could hardly have -borne up under such misfortunes, but for your innocent face and baby -tongue. Our food lasted till the boat touched this island; and here my -great joy has been to watch over and instruct you.” - -“But tell me, father, why this furious storm?” cried Miranda. - -“By this storm my cruel brother and the king of Naples are cast ashore -upon this island.” - -As he spoke these words Prospero touched his daughter with his magic -wand, and her eyes closed in sleep. - -Just then Ariel came to his master to tell how he had treated the -company on board the ship, describing their great alarm, and how the -young Ferdinand, son of the king, had leaped into the sea, to the grief -of his father, who believed him lost. “But he is not lost,” said Ariel. -“He is sitting now in a corner of the island, with not one hair of his -head injured; but he is grieving sadly, because he concludes that the -king, his father, has been drowned.” - -“Bring the young prince hither, Ariel,” said Prospero. “Where is the -king, and where my brother Antonio?” - -“Searching for Ferdinand,” replied the sprite. “Searching with a very -faint hope, for they believe they saw him perish. In fact, although all -the ship’s company is safe, each believes himself the only survivor; -and even the ship is invisible to them, though it lies in the harbor.” - -“Thy duty has been well done,” said Prospero. “There is more work yet -for thee, Ariel.” - -“More work!” cried the sprite. “But, master, you promised me my liberty; -and pray remember I have done you good service. I have made no mistakes, -told no lies, neither have I murmured at the commands laid upon me.” - -“How now?” said Prospero. “Do you forget from what I freed you? Do you -forget Sycorax, the wicked witch? Where was she born? Tell me, Ariel.” - -“Sir, she was born in Algiers.” - -“Was she?” said Prospero. “Now let me remind you of something which -methinks you have forgotten. Sycorax was for her wicked witchcraft -banished from Algiers, and left upon this lonely island by some sailors; -and because you were not able to obey her commands, she shut you up in a -hollow tree. Do you forget that I found you howling there, and set you -free?” - -Ariel was ashamed of having seemed ungrateful. “Pardon me, dear master,” -he said. “I will continue to obey your orders.” - -“Do so, and then I shall set you free,” said Prospero; and having -received his directions, Ariel went off to where Ferdinand sat upon the -grass with a sad countenance. - -“Come, young gentleman,” said the sprite. “Come, and let the lady -Miranda have a sight of you;” and he began to sing this song, which -gave Ferdinand news of his father, and roused him from his silent -grief:-- - - “Full fathom five thy father lies: - Of his bones are coral made; - Those are pearls that were his eyes: - Nothing of him that doth fade - But doth suffer a sea-change - Into something rich and strange. - Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: - Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell.” - -Following the sound of Ariel’s sweet voice, Ferdinand found himself in -the presence of Prospero and Miranda, who stood under the shade of a -large tree. - -“O father,” cried the maiden, who had never before seen any human being -besides Prospero, “surely this must be a spirit coming towards us?” - -“It is a young man who was one of the company in the ship,” said -Prospero. “He is in great grief, which somewhat lessens the beauty of -his features. Having lost his companions, he is wandering in search of -them.” - -Ferdinand now saw with amazement and delight the beautiful Miranda, and -he began to address her as if she were the goddess of an enchanted -island. - -She replied that she was but a simple maiden and no goddess, and would -have given an account of herself, had not Prospero interrupted her. He -foresaw that these two young people would become much attached to each -other, and therefore resolved to throw many difficulties in Ferdinand’s -way, that he might prove the strength and constancy of his affection. - -“I will bind you hand and foot,” he cried. “Shell-fish, acorns, withered -roots shall be your food, and salt sea water your only drink.” - -“No,” cried Ferdinand, drawing his sword; “I shall resist such -entertainment--at any rate until I am overcome by some more powerful -enemy than yourself.” - -At this Prospero raised his magic wand, which completely fixed Ferdinand -to the spot, so that he could not move! - -“O father, be not so unkind,” cried Miranda, clinging to the old man. -“Have some pity on him, for indeed it seems to me that he is good and -true.” - -“Silence, girl. You think much of this youth because you have seen no -comelier form than mine: but I tell you there are others who in person -excel him as far as he excels in beauty the monster, Caliban.” - -Then, turning to the prince, Prospero cried, “Come, young sir; you have -no power to disobey me.” - -And Ferdinand found himself compelled to follow the old man into the -cavern, although he turned once and again to gaze upon Miranda. “In -truth this man’s threats would seem as nothing to me,” he sighed, “if -only I might from my prison behold this fair maid.” - -Ferdinand was not confined very long; he was brought out and set to some -laborious task, while Prospero from his study watched both the young man -and Miranda. - -The prince had been ordered to pile up some heavy logs of wood, and -soon the maiden saw him half-fainting beneath his burden. “Pray rest,” -she cried; “my father will for three hours be at his studies. I entreat -you not to work so hard.” - -“Dear lady, I dare not rest,” said Ferdinand; “I must finish my task.” - -“Sit down and I shall carry the logs for a while,” said the maiden; but -Ferdinand would not have it so, and so she began to assist him, though -the business went on but slowly because they were talking together. - -But Prospero was not among his books, as Miranda thought; he was quite -close to them, although invisible, and he smiled as he heard his -daughter tell her name, and smiled again as Ferdinand professed his -great love and admiration for her. - -“I fear I am talking too freely. I have forgotten my father’s command,” -said Miranda, at last. - -And here Prospero nodded his head, and said to himself, “My daughter -shall be queen of Naples.” - -They had not talked long, before Miranda had promised to be the bride of -Ferdinand; and then her father no longer concealed his presence, but -made himself visible to the eyes of these young people. “Be not afraid, -daughter,” he said; “I have heard all that has passed, but I approve it. -As for you, Ferdinand, if I have been hard, it was but to try if you -were worthy of my child; and by giving her to you I make amends for it -all.” - -Calling his attendant, Ariel, Prospero left them, saying he had -business to attend to; which business was to hear how the sprite had -been tormenting and frightening his master’s brother and the king of -Naples. When they were weary and well-nigh famished, he set a delicate -banquet before them; but only to appear again as a monster, who carried -the untasted food away. Then he spoke to them, still in the form of a -harpy, and reminded them of the shameful way in which they had treated -Prospero and his little child, adding that in punishment this shipwreck -had befallen them. - -The king and Antonio were greatly distressed at this; and Ariel declared -that though he was but a sprite, he could not but pity them, their grief -seemed so sincere. - -“Bring them here,” cried Prospero. “Bring them quickly, my good Ariel; -for if you feel for them, much more should I who am a human being, such -as they, take compassion on them in their misfortune, and freely forgive -the past.” - -So Ariel brought the king and Prospero’s brother into his presence; and -with them came Gonzalo, who had proved his love for his master by -putting food and apparel into the boat in which he had been left to the -mercy of the winds and waves. - -When Prospero spoke to Gonzalo, and called him the preserver of his -life, Antonio knew this old man must be his own much-injured brother, -and he began to implore his pardon with many tears; the king also asked -forgiveness for the part he had taken against him. - -Prospero assured them that he freely forgave all; and, opening a door, -he showed them Ferdinand, who was engaged in a game of chess with -Miranda. What joy was this to the father and son, both of whom believed -the other had been lost in the storm! - -The king of Naples was astonished at the beauty of Miranda. “Is this a -goddess” he asked, “who parted us that she might bring us together?” - -“Not a goddess,” answered Ferdinand, smiling. “A fair maiden, whom I -have asked to be my bride. She is the daughter of the duke of Milan, -who, in giving her to me, has made himself my second father.” - -“Then I must be her father,” said the king. “And, first, I must ask her -forgiveness.” - -“Not so,” interrupted Prospero; “let us rather forget the past and think -only of the happy present.” And then, embracing his brother, he declared -that all his troubles had been overruled by Providence; as, but for -their meeting on the desert island, perhaps Ferdinand would never have -known and loved Miranda. - -The ship was safe in harbor, the sailors were on board, and the whole -company intended to depart together in the morning; but for that last -evening they partook of some refreshments in the cavern, which was so -soon now to be deserted, while Prospero gave them the story of his -adventures. - -Before he left the island he dismissed Ariel from his service, to the -joy of the active sprite, who loved liberty above all else. “But, -master, I shall attend your passage home, and get for you prosperous -winds; and then how merrily I’ll live.” And at this Ariel broke into a -sweet song, which went like this:-- - - “Where the bee sucks, there suck I: - In a cowslip’s bell I lie; - There I couch when owls do cry. - On the bat’s back I do fly - After summer merrily: - Merrily, merrily shall I live now, - Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.” - -Prospero’s last act was to bury all his magical books and his wand; for -he meant to have nothing more to do with the art, but to spend the rest -of his life in his native land, watching over the welfare of his people, -and at peace with all the world. - -As soon as the party reached Naples, the marriage of Ferdinand and -Miranda took place with much splendor, thus completing the happiness of -Prospero, now again duke of Milan, but whom we have learned to know as -the old man of the island.--MARY SEYMOUR. - - _From “Tales from Shakespeare,” by Mary Seymour, published by - Thomas Nelson & Sons, Edinburgh._ - - * * * * * - - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, - Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears; - To me the meanest flower that blows can give - Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. - --WORDSWORTH. - - - - - EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN - - - News of battle! News of battle! - Hark! ’tis ringing down the street; - And the archways and the pavement - Bear the clang of hurrying feet. - News of battle! who hath brought it? - News of triumph! who should bring - Tidings from our noble army, - Greetings from our gallant king? - All last night we watched the beacons - Blazing on the hills afar, - Each one bearing, as it kindled, - Message of the opened war. - All night long the northern streamers - Shot across the trembling sky; - Fearful lights, that never beckon - Save when kings or heroes die. - - News of battle! who hath brought it? - All are thronging to the gate; - “Warder--warder! open quickly! - Man--is this a time to wait?” - And the heavy gates are opened: - Then a murmur long and loud, - And a cry of fear and wonder - Bursts from out the bending crowd. - For they see in battered harness - Only one hard-stricken man; - And his weary steed is wounded, - And his cheek is pale and wan: - Spearless hangs a bloody banner - In his weak and drooping hand-- - What! can this be Randolph Murray, - Captain of the city band? - - Round him crush the people, crying, - “Tell us all--oh, tell us true! - Where are they who went to battle, - Randolph Murray, sworn to you? - Where are they, our brothers,--children? - Have they met the English foe? - Why art thou alone, unfollowed? - Is it weal, or is it woe?” - - Like a corpse the grisly warrior - Looks out from his helm of steel; - But no words he speaks in answer-- - Only with his armèd heel - Chides his weary steed, and onwards - Up the city streets they ride; - Fathers, sisters, mothers, children, - Shrieking, praying by his side. - “By the God that made thee, Randolph! - Tell us what mischance has come.” - Then he lifts his riven banner, - And the asker’s voice is dumb. - The elders of the city - Have met within their hall-- - The men whom good King James had charged - To watch the tower and wall. - “Your hands are weak with age,” he said, - “Your hearts are stout and true; - So bide ye in the Maiden Town, - While others fight for you. - My trumpet from the border side - Shall send a blast so clear, - That all who wait within the gate - That stirring sound may hear. - Or if it be the will of Heaven - That back I never come, - And if, instead of Scottish shouts, - Ye hear the English drum,-- - Then let the warning bells ring out, - Then gird you to the fray, - Then man the walls like burghers stout, - And fight while fight you may. - ’Twere better that in fiery flame - The roof should thunder down, - Than that the foot of foreign foe - Should trample in the town!” - - Then in came Randolph Murray,-- - His step was slow and weak, - And, as he doffed his dinted helm, - The tears ran down his cheek: - They fell upon his corselet, - And on his mailèd hand, - As he gazed around him wistfully, - Leaning sorely on his brand. - And none who then beheld him - But straight were smote with fear, - For a bolder and a sterner man - Had never couched a spear. - They knew so sad a messenger - Some ghastly news must bring, - And all of them were fathers, - And their sons were with the King. - - And up then rose the Provost-- - A brave old man was he, - Of ancient name, and knightly fame, - And chivalrous degree. - He ruled our city like a Lord - Who brooked no equal here. - And ever for the townsman’s rights - Stood up ’gainst prince and peer. - And he had seen the Scottish host - March from the Borough-muir, - With music-storm and clamorous shout, - And all the din that thunders out - When youth’s of victory sure. - But yet a dearer thought had he,-- - For, with a father’s pride, - He saw his last remaining son - Go forth by Randolph’s side, - With casque on head and spur on heel - All keen to do and dare; - And proudly did that gallant boy - Dunedin’s banner bear. - Oh! woful now was the old man’s look, - And he spake right heavily-- - “Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings, - However sharp they be! - Woe is written on thy visage, - Death is looking from thy face: - Speak!--though it be of overthrow, - It cannot be disgrace!” - - Right bitter was the agony - That wrung that soldier proud: - Thrice did he strive to answer, - And thrice he groaned aloud. - Then he gave the riven banner - To the old man’s shaking hand, - Saying--“That is all I bring ye - From the bravest of the land! - Ay! ye may look upon it-- - It was guarded well and long, - By your brothers and your children, - By the valiant and the strong. - - One by one they fell around it, - As the archers laid them low, - Grimly dying, still unconquered, - With their faces to the foe. - Ay! ye may well look upon it-- - There is more than honor there, - Else, be sure, I had not brought it - From the field of dark despair. - Never yet was royal banner - Steeped in such a costly dye; - It hath lain upon a bosom - Where no other shroud shall lie. - Sirs! I charge you, keep it holy, - Keep it as a sacred thing, - For the stain you see upon it - Was the life-blood of your King!” - - Woe, and woe, and lamentation! - What a piteous cry was there! - Widows, maidens, mothers, children, - Shrieking, sobbing in despair! - “Oh, the blackest day for Scotland - That she ever knew before! - Oh, our king! the good, the noble, - Shall we see him never more? - Woe to us, and woe to Scotland! - Oh, our sons, our sons and men! - Surely some have ’scaped the Southron, - Surely some will come again!” - Till the oak that fell last winter - Shall uprear its shattered stem-- - Wives and mothers of Dunedin-- - Ye may look in vain for them! - --WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN. - - - - - THE DISCOVERY OF THE MACKENZIE RIVER - - -[Illustration: ALEXANDER MACKENZIE] - -Upon a bright June morning, in the year 1789, the gates of Fort -Chipewyan, on the south shore of Lake Athabaska, opened to give passage -to a party of gayly dressed fur-traders. At their head strode a handsome -young Scotsman named Alexander Mackenzie. The love of adventure had -brought him from the Highlands to Montreal, where he joined a company of -merchants engaged in the western fur-trade. Bartering blankets and beads -for beaver-skins soon grew wearisome, however, and Mackenzie looked -around eagerly for a chance to win fame for himself and glory for his -adopted country. He had heard of the wonderful journey of Samuel Hearne, -from the shores of Hudson Bay to the far-off mouth of the Coppermine -River, and determined that he too would explore the immense unknown -country that lay to the northward. - -Fort Chipewyan had been built only in 1788, by Mackenzie’s cousin -Roderick, and although some of the fur-traders had pushed their way a -few hundred miles farther north to the shores of Great Slave Lake, -nothing was known of what lay beyond, except from the reports of roving -Indians. These Indians were in the habit of bringing their furs to Fort -Chipewyan to trade, and Mackenzie never lost a chance of questioning -them as to the nature of the country through which they had travelled. -They would draw rude maps for him on birch-bark, or in the sand, of -rivers, lakes, and mountains. Finally they told him of a mighty river -that ran out of the western end of Great Slave Lake. None of them had -ever been to its mouth, but they had been told by Indians of a different -tribe who lived upon the banks of this river, that it emptied into the -sea at such an immense distance that one would have to journey for -several years to reach the salt water. Mackenzie knew that this could -not be true, but he made up his mind to explore this great river and -discover whether it flowed into the Arctic Sea or into the Pacific. - -All preparations having been made, therefore, he and his plucky little -band of French-Canadian boatmen and Indian hunters got into their -canoes. Amid shouts of farewell from the fort, the paddles dipped -noiselessly into the water, and they were off on their long journey to -the mouth of the Mackenzie. A few days’ paddling brought them to Great -Slave Lake, which they had to cross very carefully in their frail -birch-bark canoes, as great masses of ice were still floating about in -spite of the warm June sun. Before the end of the month they had reached -the western end of the lake, and entered the Mackenzie River. - -Day by day and week by week they paddled steadily onwards, the days -growing longer as they went farther north. It must have seemed strange -to rise, as they did, at two o’clock in the morning, and find the sun -already up before them. As they journeyed down the river they met many -new tribes of Indians, who had never before seen white men. Sometimes -the Indians would rush into the woods in terror; at other times they -would brandish their spears and clubs threateningly, until Mackenzie -made them understand by signs that the white men were friends, not -enemies. Then they would come near and examine with wonder his strange -clothes and weapons, and they were willing to offer him all that they -owned for a handful of bright-colored beads. - -Early in July, Mackenzie reached a point where another river emptied -into the one he was exploring. The Indians told him that this river came -from a very great lake, which they called Bear Lake, some distance off -to the eastward. Two days later he came to what were afterwards known as -the Ramparts of the Mackenzie River, where the rocky banks rise to a -great height, as straight as the walls of a room. The river grew narrow -at this point and rushed forward so violently that Mackenzie and his men -feared every moment would be their last. With great care, however, they -managed to keep the canoes afloat, and presently the river widened out -again and the current became less rapid. - -Mackenzie now knew, from the direction of the river, that it must empty -into the Arctic Sea, and as the short summer would soon be over, he -would have to turn back within a few days. He therefore urged his men -forward at their utmost speed. On July 10th, he came to a place where -the river divides into a number of channels. He chose what seemed the -largest, and on they went, racing for the mouth of the great river. -Finally the banks widened out into what seemed at first to be a lake. -Weary and dispirited, the explorer landed upon an island and threw -himself down upon the hard ground to sleep. A shout from one of his men -aroused him a few hours later. The water had risen, he said, and was -carrying away their provisions. There could no longer be any doubt. The -rising water was the tide, and the long task was completed. They had -reached the mouth of the Mackenzie, and stood upon the shores of the -Arctic Sea. A post was driven into the frozen ground, upon which -Mackenzie carved his own name and those of his men, with the date. Then -he gave the word, and the canoes bounded away with renewed energy on the -long journey back to Fort Chipewyan. - - --LAWRENCE J. BURPEE. - - * * * * * - - Count that day lost whose low descending sun - Views from thy hand no worthy action done. - - - - - THE FACE AGAINST THE PANE - - - Mabel, little Mabel, - With face against the pane, - Looks out across the night, - And sees the Beacon Light - A-trembling in the rain. - She hears the sea-bird screech, - And the breakers on the beach - Making moan, making moan. - And the wind about the eaves - Of the cottage sobs and grieves; - And the willow tree is blown - To and fro, to and fro, - Till it seems like some old crone - Standing out there all alone, - With her woe! - Wringing, as she stands, - Her gaunt and palsied hands; - While Mabel, timid Mabel, - With face against the pane, - Looks out across the night, - And sees the Beacon Light - A-trembling in the rain. - - Set the table, maiden Mabel, - And make the cabin warm; - Your little fisher lover - Is out there in the storm; - And your father,--you are weeping! - O Mabel, timid Mabel, - Go spread the supper table, - And set the tea a-steeping. - Your lover’s heart is brave, - His boat is staunch and tight; - And your father knows the perilous reef - That makes the water white. - But Mabel, Mabel darling, - With her face against the pane, - Looks out across the night - At the Beacon in the rain. - - The heavens are veined with fire - And the thunder, how it rolls! - In the lullings of the storm - The solemn church bell tolls - For lost souls! - But no sexton sounds the knell; - In that belfry, old and high, - Unseen fingers sway the bell, - As the wind goes tearing by! - How it tolls, for the souls - Of the sailors on the sea! - God pity them, God pity them, - Wherever they may be! - God pity wives and sweethearts - Who wait and wait, in vain! - And pity little Mabel, - With her face against the pane. - - A boom! the lighthouse gun! - How its echo rolls and rolls! - ’Tis to warn home-bound ships - Off the shoals. - See, a rocket cleaves the sky-- - From the fort, a shaft of light! - See, it fades, and, fading, leaves - Golden furrows on the night! - What makes Mabel’s cheek so pale? - What makes Mabel’s lips so white? - Did she see the helpless sail - That, tossing here and there - Like a feather in the air, - Went down and out of sight-- - Down, down, and out of sight? - Oh, watch no more, no more, - With face against the pane; - You cannot see the men that drown - By the Beacon in the rain! - - From a shoal of richest rubies - Breaks the morning clear and cold; - And the angel of the village spire, - Frost-touched, is bright as gold. - Four ancient fishermen - In the pleasant autumn air, - Come toiling up the sands - With something in their hands,-- - Two bodies stark and white, - Ah! so ghastly in the light, - With sea-weed in their hair. - - Oh, ancient fishermen, - Go up to yonder cot! - You’ll find a little child - With face against the pane, - Who looks towards the beach, - And, looking, sees it not. - She will never watch again! - Never watch and weep at night! - For those pretty, saintly eyes - Look beyond the stormy skies, - And they see the Beacon Light. - --THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. - - _By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company._ - - * * * * * - - This above all: to thine own self be true, - And it must follow, as the night the day, - Thou canst not then be false to any man. - - - - - THE CARRONADE - - -A frightful thing had just happened; one of the carronades of the -battery, a twenty-four pound cannon, had become loose. - -This is perhaps the most dreadful thing that can take place at sea. -Nothing more terrible can happen to a man-of-war under full sail. A -cannon that breaks loose from its fastenings is suddenly transformed -into a supernatural beast. It is a monster developed from a machine. -This mass rolls along on its wheels as easily as a billiard ball; it -rolls with the rolling, pitches with the pitching, comes and goes, stops -and seems to meditate, begins anew, darts like an arrow from one end of -the ship to the other, whirls around, turns aside, evades, rears, hits -out, crushes, kills, exterminates. - -[Illustration: VICTOR HUGO] - -It has the air of having lost its patience, and of taking a mysterious, -dull revenge. The mad mass leaps like a panther; it has the weight of an -elephant, the agility of a mouse, the obstinacy of an axe; it takes one -by surprise like the surge of the sea; it flashes like lightning; it is -deaf as the tomb; it weighs ten thousand pounds, and it bounds like a -child’s ball. How can one guard against these terrible movements? - -The ship had within its depths, so to speak, imprisoned lightning -struggling to escape; something like the rumbling of thunder during an -earthquake. In an instant the crew were on their feet. Brave men though -they were, they paused, silent, pale, and undecided, looking down at the -gun deck. Some one pushed them aside with his elbow and descended. It -was their passenger, the peasant, the man about whom they had been -talking a minute ago. - -Having reached the foot of the ladder he halted. The cannon was rolling -to and fro on the gun deck. A dim wavering of lights and shadows was -added to this spectacle by the marine lantern swinging under the deck. -The outlines of the cannon were becoming indistinguishable by reason of -the rapidity of its motion; sometimes it looked black when the light -shone upon it, then again it would cast pale, glimmering reflections in -the darkness. - -It was still pursuing its work of destruction. It had already shattered -four other pieces, and made two breaches in the ship’s side, fortunately -above the water line. It rushed frantically against the timbers; the -stout riders resisted,--curved timbers have great strength; but one -could hear them crack under this tremendous assault. The whole ship was -filled with the tumult. - -The captain, who had rapidly recovered his self-possession, had given -orders to throw down the hatchway all that could abate the rage and -check the mad onslaught of this infuriated gun,--mattresses, hammocks, -spare sails, coils of rope, and bales of paper. But what availed these -rags? No one dared to go down to arrange them, and in a few moments they -were reduced to lint. Meanwhile the havoc increased. The mizzenmast was -split and even the mainmast was damaged by the convulsive blows of the -cannon. The fractures in the side grew larger and the ship began to -leak. - -The old passenger, who had descended to the gun deck, looked like one -carved in stone, as he stood motionless at the foot of the ladder. -Suddenly, as the escaped cannon was tossing from side to side, a man -appeared, grasping an iron bar. It was the chief gunner, whose criminal -negligence was the cause of the catastrophe. Having brought about the -evil, he now intended to repair it. Holding a handspike in one hand, and -in the other a rope with a noose in it, he had jumped through the -hatchway to the deck below. - -Then began a terrible struggle; a contest between mind and matter; a -duel between man and the inanimate. The man stood in one corner holding -in his hands the bar and the rope; calm, livid, and tragic, he stood -firmly on his legs that were like two pillars of steel. He was waiting -for the cannon to approach him. The gunner knew his piece, and he felt -as if it must know him. They had lived together a long time. How often -had he put his hand into its mouth! He began to talk to it as he would -to a dog. “Come,” said he. Possibly he loved it. - -When, in the act of accepting this awful hand-to-hand struggle, the -gunner approached to challenge the cannon, it happened that the surging -sea held the gun motionless for an instant, as if stupefied. “Come on!” -said the man. It seemed to listen. Suddenly it leaped towards him. The -man dodged. Then the struggle began,--a contest unheard of; the human -warrior attacking the brazen beast; blind force on one side, soul on the -other. It was as if a gigantic insect of iron was endowed with the will -of a demon. Now and then this colossal grasshopper would strike the low -ceiling of the gun deck, then falling back on its four wheels, like a -tiger on all fours, would rush upon the man. He--supple, agile, -adroit--writhed like a serpent before these lightning movements. - -A piece of broken chain remained attached to the carronade; one end was -fastened to the gun carriage; the other end thrashed wildly around, -aggravating the danger with every bound of the cannon. The screw held it -as in a clenched hand, and this chain, multiplying the strokes of the -battering ram by those of the thong, made a terrible whirlwind around -the gun,--a lash of iron in a fist of brass. The chain complicated the -combat. - -Despite all this, the man fought. Suddenly the cannon seemed to say to -itself: “Now, then, there must be an end to this.” And it stopped. A -crisis was felt to be at hand. All at once it hurled itself upon the -gunner, who sprang aside with a laugh as the cannon passed him. Then, -as though blind and beside itself, it turned from the man and rolled -from stern to stem, splintering the latter and causing a breach in the -walls of the prow. - -The gunner took refuge at the foot of the ladder, a short distance from -the old man, who stood watching. Without taking the trouble to turn, the -cannon rushed backwards on the man, as swift as the blow of an axe. The -gunner, if driven against the side of the ship, would be lost. A cry -arose from the crew. - -The old passenger, who until this moment had stood motionless, sprang -forwards more swiftly than all those mad whirls. He had seized a bale of -paper, and at the risk of being crushed succeeded in throwing it between -the wheels of the carronade. - -The bale had the effect of a plug. The carronade stumbled, and the -gunner thrust his iron bar between the spokes of the back wheels. -Pitching forwards, the cannon stopped; and the man, using his bar for a -lever, rocked it backwards and forwards. The heavy mass upset, with the -resonant sound of a bell that crashes in its fall. The man flung himself -upon it, and passed the slip noose round the neck of the defeated -monster. - -The combat was ended. The man had conquered. The ant had overcome the -mastodon; the pigmy had imprisoned the thunderbolt. - - --_From the French of_ VICTOR HUGO. - - - - - THE VISION OF MIRZA - - -On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my -forefathers, I always keep holy, after having offered up my morning -devotions, I ascended to the high hills of Bagdad, in order to pass the -rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on -the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the -vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another, “Surely,” -said I, “man is but a shadow, and life a dream.” Whilst I was thus -musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far -from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a -little musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him, he applied -it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding -sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly -melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard. My -heart melted away in secret raptures. - -[Illustration: JOSEPH ADDISON] - -I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius, -and that several had been entertained with that music who had passed by -it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. -When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs which he -played to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked upon him -like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand, -directed me to approach to the place where he sat. I drew near with that -reverence which is due to a superior nature; and as my heart was -entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at -his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion -that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the -fears with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and -taking me by the hand, “Mirza,” said he, “I have heard thee in thy -soliloquies; follow me.” - -He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placing me on -the top of it. “Cast thy eyes eastward,” said he, “and tell me what thou -seest.”--“I see,” said I, “a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water -rolling through it.” “The valley that thou seest,” said he, “is the vale -of Misery; and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great -tide of Eternity.” “What is the reason,” said I, “that the tide I see -rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick -mist at the other?” “What thou seest,” said he, “is that portion of -Eternity which is called Time, measured out by the sun, and reaching -from the beginning of the world to its consummation.” - -“Examine now,” said he, “this sea that is bounded with darkness at both -ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it.” “I see a bridge,” said -I, “standing in the midst of the tide.” “The bridge thou seest,” said -he, “is Human life; consider it attentively.” Upon a more leisurely -survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten entire -arches, with several broken arches, which, added to those that were -entire, made up the number to about an hundred. As I was counting the -arches, the genius told me that this bridge first consisted of a -thousand arches; but that a great flood swept away the rest, and left -the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. - -“But tell me further,” said he, “what thou discoverest on it.” “I see -multitudes of people passing over it,” said I, “and a black cloud -hanging on each end of it.” As I looked more attentively, I saw several -of the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that -flowed underneath it; and upon further examination, perceived there were -innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the -passengers no sooner trod upon but they fell through them into the tide, -and immediately disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick -at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke -through the cloud but many of them fell into them. They grew thinner -towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the -end of the arches that were entire. There were, indeed, some persons, -but their number was very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march -on the broken arches, but fell through, one after another, being quite -tired and spent with so long a walk. - -I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure, -and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled -with a deep melancholy, to see several dropping unexpectedly in the -midst of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by -them to save themselves; some were looking up towards the heavens in a -thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a speculation stumbled and fell -out of sight; multitudes were busy in the pursuit of bubbles, that -glittered in their eyes, and danced before them, but often when they -thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed, and -down they sank. In this confusion of objects I observed some with -scimiters in their hands, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting -several persons upon trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, -and which they might have escaped had they not been thus forced upon -them. - -The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy prospect, told me -I had dwelt long enough upon it. “Take thine eyes off the bridge,” said -he, “and tell me if thou seest any thing that thou dost not comprehend.” -Upon looking up, “What mean,” said I, “those great flocks of birds that -are perpetually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from -time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and, among -many other feathered creatures, several little winged boys, that perch -in great numbers upon the middle arches.” “These,” said the genius, “are -Envy, Avarice, Superstition, Despair, Love, with the like cares and -passions that infest human life.” - -I here fetched a deep sigh: “Alas,” said I, “man was made in vain! how -is he given away to misery and mortality, tortured in life, and -swallowed up in death!” The genius being moved with compassion towards -me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. “Look no more,” said he, -“on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for -eternity, but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide -bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it.” I directed -my sight as I was ordered, and I saw the valley opening at the farther -end, and spreading into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of -adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal -parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could -discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to me a vast ocean, -planted with innumerable islands that were covered with fruits and -flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that rang -among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits, with -garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the -side of fountains, or resting on beds of flowers, and could hear a -confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and -musical instruments. - -Gladness grew in me at the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished -for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; -but the genius told me there was no passage to them, except through the -gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. “The -islands,” said he, “that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with -which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted, as far as thou canst -see, are more in number than the sand on the sea-shore: there are -myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching -farther than thine eye, or even thine imagination, can extend itself. -These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the -degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among -these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds -and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are -settled in them; every island is a paradise, accommodated to its -respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth -contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee -opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will -convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, -who has such an eternity reserved for him.” - -I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length -said I, “Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under -those dark clouds which cover the ocean, on the other side of the rock -of adamant.” The genius making me no answer, I turned about to address -myself to him a second time, but I found he had left me. I then turned -again to the vision I had been so long contemplating; but instead of the -rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing -but the long, hollow valley of Bagdad, with oxen, sheep, and camels -grazing upon the sides of it.--JOSEPH ADDISON. - - - - - THE PRAIRIES - - - These are the gardens of the desert, these - The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, - For which the speech of England has no name-- - The Prairies. I behold them for the first, - And my heart swells, while the dilated sight - Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! they stretch - In airy undulations, far away, - As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell, - Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, - And motionless forever. Motionless?-- - No--they are all unchained again. The clouds - Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, - The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye; - Dark hollows seem to glide along, and chase - The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South! - Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers, - And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high, - Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not,--ye have played - Among the palms of Mexico and vines - Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks - That from the fountains of Sonora glide - Into the calm Pacific--have ye fanned - A nobler or a lovelier scene than this? - Man hath no part in all this glorious work: - The Hand that built the firmament hath heaved - And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes - With herbage, planted them with island groves, - And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor - For this magnificent temple of the sky-- - With flowers whose glory and whose multitude - Rival the constellations! The great heavens - Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love,-- - A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue, - Than that which bends above our Eastern hills. - - As o’er the verdant waste I guide my steed, - Among the high, rank grass that sweeps his sides, - The hollow beating of his footstep seems - A sacrilegious sound. I think of those - Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here-- - The dead of other days?--and did the dust - Of these fair solitudes once stir with life, - And burn with passion? Let the mighty mounds - That overlook the rivers, or that rise - In the dim forest crowded with old oaks,-- - Answer. A race, that long has passed away, - Built them;--a disciplined and populous race - Heaped with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek - Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms - Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock - The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields - Nourished their harvests, here their herds were fed, - When haply by their stalls the bison lowed, - And bowed his manèd shoulder to the yoke. - All day this desert murmured with their toils, - Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked, and wooed - In a forgotten language, and old tunes, - From instruments of unremembered form, - Gave to soft winds a voice. The red man came-- - The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce, - And the mound-builders vanished from the earth. - The solitude of centuries untold - Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie-wolf - Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den - Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the ground - Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone; - All,--save the piles of earth that hold their bones, - The platforms where they worshipped unknown gods, - The barriers which they builded from the soil - To keep the foe at bay, till o’er the walls - The wild beleaguerers broke, and, one by one, - The strongholds of the plain were forced, and heaped - With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood - Flocked to those vast uncovered sepulchres, - And sat, unscared and silent, at their feast. - Haply, some solitary fugitive, - Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense - Of desolation and of fear became - Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die. - Man’s better nature triumphed then; kind words - Welcomed and soothed him; the rude conquerors - Seated the captive with their chiefs; he chose - A bride among their maidens, and at length - Seemed to forget--yet ne’er forgot--the wife - Of his first love, and her sweet little ones, - Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race. - - Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise - Races of living things, glorious in strength, - And perish, as the quickening breath of God - Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too, - Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long, - And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought - A wider hunting-ground. The beaver builds - No longer by these streams, but far away - On waters whose blue surface ne’er gave back - The white man’s face--among Missouri’s springs, - And pools whose issues swell the Oregon, - He rears his little Venice. In the plains - The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues - Beyond remotest smoke of hunter’s camp, - Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake - The earth with thundering steps;--yet here I meet - His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool. - - Still this great solitude is quick with life. - Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers - They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, - And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of man, - Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, - Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer - Bounds to the woods at my approach. The bee, - A more adventurous colonist than man, - With whom he came across the Eastern deep, - Fills the savannas with his murmurings, - And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, - Within the hollow oak. I listen long - To his domestic hum, and think I hear - The sound of that advancing multitude - Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground - Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice - Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn - Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds - Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain - Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once - A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream, - And I am in the wilderness alone. - --WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. - - - - - THE GREAT STONE FACE - - -One afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boy -sat at the door of their cottage in a fertile and populous valley, -talking about the Great Stone Face. They had but to lift their eyes, and -there it was plainly to be seen, though miles away, with the sunshine -brightening all its features. - -This Great Stone Face was a work of nature, formed on the perpendicular -side of a mountain by some immense rocks, which had been thrown -together in such a position as, when viewed at a proper distance, -precisely to resemble the features of the human countenance. It seemed -as if an enormous giant had sculptured his own likeness on the -precipice. There was the broad arch of the forehead, a hundred feet in -height; the nose with its long bridge; and the vast lips, which, if they -could have spoken, would have rolled their thunder accents from one end -of the valley to the other. - -It was a happy lot for the children in the valley to grow up to manhood -or womanhood with the Great Stone Face before their eyes, for all the -features were noble, and the expression was at once grand and sweet, as -if it were the glow of a vast, warm heart, that embraced all mankind in -its affections and had room for more. It was an education only to look -at it. According to the belief of many people, the valley owed much of -its fertility to this benign aspect that was continually beaming over -it, illuminating the clouds and infusing its tenderness into the -sunshine. - -As the mother and her son, whose name was Ernest, continued to talk -about the Great Stone Face, the boy said, “Mother, if I were to see a -man with such a face I should love him dearly.” - -“If an old prophecy should come to pass,” answered his mother, “we may -see a man, sometime or other, with exactly such a face as that.” - -“What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?” eagerly inquired Ernest. -“Pray, tell me all about it!” - -So his mother told him a story that her own mother had told to her when -she herself was even younger than little Ernest; a story not of things -that were past, but of what was yet to come; a story, nevertheless, so -very old that even the Indians, who formerly inhabited this valley, had -heard it from their forefathers, to whom, as they said, it had been -murmured by the mountain streams and whispered by the wind among the -tree-tops. The story was that at some future day a child should be born -hereabouts who was destined to become the greatest and noblest personage -of his time, and whose countenance in manhood should bear an exact -resemblance to the Great Stone Face. - -And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. It was -always in his mind whenever he looked upon the Great Stone Face. He -spent his childhood in the log cottage where he was born, and was -dutiful to his mother and helpful to her in many things, assisting her -much with his little hands and more with his loving heart. In this -manner, from a happy yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a mild, -quiet, unobtrusive boy, sun-browned with labor in the fields, but with -intelligence beaming from his face. Yet he had had no teacher, save only -that the Great Stone Face became one to him. When the toil of the day -was over, he would gaze at it for hours, until he began to imagine that -those vast features recognized him, and gave him a smile of kindness and -encouragement, responsive to his own look of veneration. - -As time went on there were many apparent fulfilments of the ancient -prophecy which had excited such hope and longing in the boy’s heart. -First came the merchant, Mr. Gathergold, who had gone forth from the -valley in childhood and had now returned with great wealth. Ernest -thought of all the ways by which a man of wealth might transform himself -into an angel of beneficence, and he waited the great man’s coming, -hoping to behold the living likeness of those wondrous features on the -mountainside. But he turned sadly away from the people who were -shouting, “The very image of the Great Stone Face,” and gazed up the -valley, where, gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still distinguish -those glorious features which had so impressed themselves into his soul. - -Ten years later it began to be rumored that one who had gone forth to be -a soldier, and was now a great general, bore striking likeness to the -Great Stone Face. Again, when Ernest was in middle life, there came a -report that the likeness of the Great Stone Face had appeared upon the -shoulders of an eminent statesman. But in both soldier and statesman the -cherished hopes of the dwellers in the valley were doomed to -disappointment, and Ernest became an aged man with his childhood’s -prophecy yet unfulfilled. - -Meantime Ernest had ceased to be obscure. Wise and busy men came from -far to converse with him. While they talked together, his face would -kindle, unawares, and shine upon them as with mild evening light. -Passing up the valley as they took their leave, and pausing to look at -the Great Stone Face, his guests imagined that they had seen its -likeness in a human countenance, but could not remember where. - -While Ernest had been growing up and growing old, a new poet had made -his way to fame. He likewise was a native of the valley. The songs of -this poet found their way to Ernest. As he read stanzas that caused the -soul to thrill within him, he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance -beaming on him so kindly. - -“O majestic friend,” he murmured, addressing the Great Stone Face, “is -not this man worthy to resemble thee?” - -The Face seemed to smile, but answered not a word. - -Now it happened that the poet had not only heard of Ernest, but had also -meditated much upon his character, until he deemed nothing so desirable -as to meet this man, whose untaught wisdom walked hand in hand with the -noble simplicity of his life. One summer morning found him at Ernest’s -cottage. - -As Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that the Great Stone Face -was bending forward to listen too. He gazed earnestly into the poet’s -glowing eyes. - -“Who are you, my strangely gifted guest?” he said. - -The poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest had been reading. - -“You have read these poems,” said he. “You know me, then,--for I wrote -them.” - -Again and still more earnestly than before, Ernest examined the poet’s -features. But his countenance fell; he shook his head and sighed. - -“You hoped,” said the poet, faintly smiling, “to find in me the likeness -of the Great Stone Face, and you are disappointed. I am not worthy to be -typified by yonder image. I have had grand dreams, but they have been -only dreams, because I have lived--and that, too, by my own -choice--among poor and mean realities.” The poet spoke sadly, and his -eyes were dim with tears. So likewise were those of Ernest. - -At the hour of sunset, as had long been his custom, Ernest was to preach -to the people in the open air. He and the poet, arm in arm, still -talking together as they went along, proceeded to the spot. It was a -small nook among the hills, with a gray precipice behind, the stern -front of which was relieved by the pleasant foliage of many creeping -plants. At a distance was seen the Great Stone Face, with solemnity and -cheer in its aspect. - -At a small elevation, set in a rich framework of vegetation, there -appeared a niche spacious enough to admit a human figure. Into this -natural pulpit Ernest ascended, and threw a look of familiar kindness -around upon the audience. He began to speak, giving to the people of -what was in his heart and mind. His words had power, because they -accorded with his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality and depth, -because they harmonized with the life which he had always lived. - -The poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character of Ernest -were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. His eyes -glistened with tears as he gazed reverently at the venerable man. At -that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he was about to utter, the -face of Ernest assumed a grandeur of expression so imbued with -benevolence that the poet, by an irresistible impulse, threw his arms -aloft and shouted,-- - -“Behold! behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great Stone -Face!” - -Then all the people looked, and saw that what the deep-sighted poet said -was true. The prophecy was fulfilled. But Ernest, having finished what -he had to say, took the poet’s arm and walked slowly homewards, still -hoping that some wiser and better man than himself would by and by -appear, bearing a resemblance to the Great Stone Face. - - --NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (_Adapted_). - - - - - KING OSWALD’S FEAST - - - The king had labored all an autumn day - For his folk’s good, and welfare of the kirk, - And now when eventide was well away, - And deepest mirk - - Lay heavy on York town, he sat at meat, - With his great councillors round him and his kin, - And a blithe face was sat in every seat, - And far within - - The hall was jubilant with banqueting, - The tankards foaming high as they could hold - With mead, the plates well heaped, and everything - Was served with gold. - - Then came to the king’s side the doorkeeper, - And said, “The folk are thronging at the gate, - And flaunt their rags and many plaints prefer, - And through the grate - - “I see that many are ill-clad and lean, - For fields are poor this year, and food hard-won.” - And the good king made answer, “’Twere ill seen, - And foully done, - - “Were I to feast while many starve without;” - And he bade bear the most and best of all - To give the folk; and lo, they raised a shout - That shook the hall. - - And now lean fare for those at board was set, - But came again the doorkeeper and cried,-- - “The folk still hail thee, sir, nor will they yet - Be satisfied; - - “They say they have no surety for their lives, - When winters bring hard nights and heatless suns, - Nor bread nor raiment have they for their wives - And little ones.” - - Then said the king, “It is not well that I - Should eat from gold when many are so poor, - For he that guards his greatness guards a lie; - Of that be sure.” - - And so he bade collect the golden plate, - And all the tankards, and break up, and bear, - And give them to the folk that thronged the gate, - To each his share. - - And the great councillors in cold surprise - Looked on and murmured; but unmindfully - The king sat dreaming with far-fixèd eyes, - And it may be - - He saw some vision of that Holy One - Who knew no rest or shelter for His head, - When self was scorned and brotherhood begun. - “’Tis just,” he said: - - “Henceforward wood shall serve me for my plate, - And earthen cups suffice me for my mead; - With them that joy or travail at my gate - I laugh or bleed.” - --ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN. - - * * * * * - - Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day - Which from the night shall drive thy peace away. - In months of sun so live that months of rain - Shall still be happy. Evermore restrain - Evil and cherish good; so shall there be - Another and a happier life for thee.--WHITTIER. - - - - - THE BURNING OF MOSCOW - - -At length Moscow, with its domes and towers and palaces, appeared -insight of the French army; and Napoleon, who had joined the advanced -guard, gazed long and thoughtfully on that goal of his wishes. Marshal -Murat went forward, and entered the gates with his splendid cavalry; but -as he passed through the streets, he was struck by the solitude that -surrounded him. Nothing was heard but the heavy tramp of his squadrons -as he passed along, for a deserted and abandoned city was the meagre -prize for which such unparalleled efforts had been made. - -As night drew its curtain over the splendid capital, Napoleon entered -the gates, and immediately appointed Marshal Mortier governor. In his -directions he commanded him to abstain from all pillage. “For this,” -said he, “you shall be answerable with your life. Defend Moscow against -all, whether friend or foe.” The bright moon rose over the mighty city, -tipping with silver the domes of more than two hundred churches, and -pouring a flood of light over a thousand palaces and the dwellings of -three hundred thousand inhabitants. The weary soldiers sank to rest, but -there was no sleep for Mortier’s eyes. - -Not the palaces and their rich ornaments, nor the parks and gardens and -the magnificence that everywhere surrounded him, kept him wakeful, but -the foreboding that some calamity was hanging over the silent capital. -When he entered it, scarcely a living soul met his gaze as he looked -down the long streets; and when he broke open the buildings, he found -parlors and bedrooms and chambers all furnished and in order, but no -occupants. This sudden abandonment of their homes betokened some secret -purpose yet to be fulfilled. The midnight moon was setting over the -city, when the cry of “Fire!” reached the ears of Mortier; and the first -light over Napoleon’s faltering empire was kindled, and that most -wondrous scene of modern times commenced,--the Burning of Moscow. - -Mortier, as governor of the city, immediately issued his orders, and was -putting forth every exertion, when at daylight Napoleon hastened to him. -Affecting to disbelieve the reports that the inhabitants were firing -their own city, he put more rigid commands on Mortier, to keep the -soldiers from the work of destruction. The Marshal simply pointed to -some iron-covered houses that had not yet been opened, from every -crevice of which smoke was issuing like steam from the sides of a -pent-up volcano. Sad and thoughtful, Napoleon turned towards the -Kremlin, the ancient palace of the Czars, whose huge structure rose high -above the surrounding edifices. - -In the morning, Mortier, by great exertions, was enabled to subdue the -fire; but the next night, September 15th, at midnight, the sentinels on -watch upon the lofty Kremlin saw below them the flames bursting through -the houses and palaces, and the cry of “Fire! fire!” passed through the -city. The dread scene was now fairly opened. Fiery balloons were seen -dropping from the air and lighting on the houses; dull explosions were -heard on every side from the shut-up dwellings; and the next moment -light burst forth, and the flames were raging through the apartments. - -All was uproar and confusion. The serene air and moonlight of the night -before had given way to driving clouds and a wild tempest, that swept -like the roar of the sea over the city. Flames arose on every side, -blazing and crackling in the storm; while clouds of smoke and sparks, in -an incessant shower, went driving towards the Kremlin. The clouds -themselves seemed turned into fire, rolling wrath over devoted Moscow. -Mortier, crushed with the responsibility thrown upon his shoulders, -moved with his Young Guard amid this desolation, blowing up the houses -and facing the tempest and the flames, struggling nobly to arrest the -conflagration. - -He hastened from place to place amid the ruins, his face blackened with -smoke, and his hair and eyebrows singed with the fierce heat. At length -the day dawned,--a day of tempest and of flame,--and Mortier, who had -strained every nerve for thirty-six hours, entered a palace and dropped -down from fatigue. The manly form and stalwart arm that had so often -carried death into the ranks of the enemy, at length gave way, and the -gloomy Marshal lay and panted in utter exhaustion. But the night of -tempest had been succeeded by a day of tempest; and when night again -enveloped the city, it was one broad flame, waving to and fro in the -blast. - -The wind had increased to a perfect hurricane, and shifted from quarter -to quarter, as if on purpose to swell the sea of fire and extinguish the -last hope. The fire was approaching the Kremlin; and already the roar of -the flames and crash of falling houses, and the crackling of burning -timbers, were borne to the ears of the startled Emperor. He arose and -walked to and fro, stopping convulsively and gazing on the terrific -scene. His Marshals rushed into his presence, and on their knees -besought him to flee; but he still clung to that haughty palace as if it -were his empire. - -But at length the shout, “The Kremlin is on fire!” was heard above the -roar of the conflagration, and Napoleon reluctantly consented to leave. -He descended into the streets with his staff, and looked about for a way -of egress, but the flames blocked every passage. At length they -discovered a postern gate, leading to the Moskwa, and entered it; but -they had passed still further into the danger. As Napoleon cast his eye -round the open space, girdled and arched with fire, smoke, and cinders, -he saw one single street yet open, but all on fire. Into this he rushed, -and amid the crash of falling houses and the raging of the flames, over -burning ruins, through clouds of rolling smoke, and between walls of -fire, he pressed on. At length, half suffocated, he emerged in safety -from the blazing city, and took up his quarters in a palace nearly three -miles distant. - -Mortier, relieved from his anxiety for the Emperor, redoubled his -efforts to arrest the conflagration. His men cheerfully rushed into -every danger. Breathing nothing but smoke and ashes; canopied by flame -and smoke and cinders; surrounded by walls of fire, that rocked to and -fro, and fell, with a crash, amid the blazing ruins, carrying down with -them red-hot roofs of iron,--he struggled against an enemy that no -boldness could awe or courage overcome. - -Those brave troops had often heard without fear the tramp of thousands -of cavalry sweeping to battle; but now they stood in still terror before -the march of the conflagration, under whose burning footsteps was heard -the incessant crash of falling houses, palaces, and churches. The roar -of the hurricane, mingled with that of the flames, was more terrible -than the thunder of artillery; and before this new foe, in the midst of -this battle of the elements, the awe-struck army stood affrighted and -powerless. - -When night again descended on the city, it presented a spectacle, the -like of which was never seen before, and which baffles all description. -The streets were streets of fire, the heavens a canopy of fire, and the -entire body of the city a mass of fire, fed by a hurricane that sped the -blazing fragments in a constant stream through the air. Incessant -explosions, from the blowing up of stores of oil, tar, and spirits, -shook the very foundations of the city, and sent vast volumes of smoke -rolling furiously towards the sky. - -Huge sheets of canvas on fire came floating like messengers of death -through the flames; the towers and domes of the churches and palaces, -glowing with a red heat over the wild sea below, then tottering a moment -on their bases, were hurled by the tempest into the common ruin. -Thousands of wretches, before unseen, were driven by the heat from the -cellars and hovels, and streamed in an incessant throng through the -streets. - -Children were seen carrying their parents; the strong, the weak; while -thousands more were staggering under the loads of plunder which they had -snatched from the flames. This, too, would frequently take fire in the -falling shower; and the miserable creatures would be compelled to drop -it and flee for their lives. It was a scene of woe and fear -inconceivable and indescribable! A mighty and closely packed city of -houses, churches, and palaces, wrapped from limit to limit in flames, -which are fed by a whirling hurricane, is a sight this world will seldom -see. - -But this was within the city. To Napoleon, without, the spectacle was -still more sublime and terrific. When the flames had overcome all -obstacles, and had wrapped everything in their red mantle, that great -city looked like a sea of rolling fire, swept by a tempest that drove it -into billows. Huge domes and towers, throwing off sparks like blazing -firebrands, now disappeared in their maddening flow, as they rushed and -broke high over their tops, scattering their spray of fire against the -clouds. The heavens themselves seemed to have caught the conflagration, -and the angry masses that swept it rolled over a bosom of fire. - -Napoleon stood and gazed on the scene in silent awe. Though nearly three -miles distant, the windows and walls of his apartment were so hot that -he could scarcely bear his hand against them. Said he, years -afterwards, “It was the spectacle of a sea and billows of fire, a sky -and clouds of flame; mountains of red rolling flames, like immense waves -of the sea, alternately bursting forth and elevating themselves to skies -of fire, and then sinking into the flame below. O, it was the most -grand, the most sublime, and the most terrific sight the world ever -beheld!” - - --JAMES T. HEADLEY. - - - - - ODE TO THE BRAVE - - - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, - By all their country’s wishes blest! - When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, - Returns to deck their hallowed mould, - She there shall dress a sweeter sod - Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod. - - By fairy hands their knell is rung; - By forms unseen their dirge is sung; - There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, - To bless the turf that wraps their clay; - And Freedom shall awhile repair, - To dwell a weeping hermit there. - --WILLIAM COLLINS. - - * * * * * - - If little labor, little are our gains; - Man’s fortunes are according to his pains. - - - - - THE TORCH OF LIFE - - - There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night-- - Ten to make and the match to win-- - A bumping pitch and a blinding light, - An hour to play and the last man in. - And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat, - Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame, - But his Captain’s hand on his shoulder smote: - “Play up! play up! and play the game!” - - The sand of the desert is sodden red,-- - Red with the wreck of a square that broke;-- - The Gatling’s jammed and the Colonel dead, - And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. - The river of death has brimmed his banks, - And England’s far, and Honor a name, - But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks: - “Play up! play up! and play the game!” - - This is the word that year by year - While in her place the school is set, - Every one of her sons must hear, - And none that hears it dare forget. - This they all with a joyful mind - Bear through life like a torch in flame, - And falling fling to the host behind: - “Play up! play up! and play the game!” - --HENRY NEWBOLT. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fourth Reader, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOURTH READER *** - -***** This file should be named 51975-0.txt or 51975-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/7/51975/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -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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