ontario teachers' manuals household science in rural schools [illustration: printer's mark.] authorized by the minister of education toronto william briggs copyright. canada. . by the minister of education for ontario contents page preface vii three short courses in home-making introduction a library on home economics for the rural school twenty lessons in the care of the home suggestions to the teacher equipment reference books lesson i: arrangement and care of the kitchen lesson ii: care of cupboards and utensils lesson iii: care of foods lesson iv: disposal of waste lesson v: making soap lesson vi: setting and clearing the table lesson vii: waiting on table lessons viii and ix: general cleaning of a room lesson x: care of the bed-room lesson xi: care of lamps lesson xii: prevention of pests lesson xiii: removing stains, bleaching fabrics, and setting colours lesson xiv: washing dish-towels, aprons, etc. lesson xv: ironing lessons xvi and xvii: care of the baby lesson xviii: cost of food, clothing, and house lesson xix: how to keep accounts lesson xx: care of the exterior of the house reference books twenty lessons in cooking suggestions to the teacher abbreviations and measurements table of level measurements comparisons between weights and measures reference books lesson i: discussion of foods and cooking recipes lesson ii: preparing and serving vegetables recipes lesson iii: the value of carbohydrates in the diet recipes lesson iv: fruits and vegetables recipes--open-kettle method; cold-pack method; single process method; intermittent method lesson v: fats--vegetables--continued recipes experiments in using starch for thickening conclusions based on the foregoing experiments lesson vi: cereals recipes lesson vii: classification of foods--reviewed black-board summary lesson viii: the planning and serving of meals examples of well-chosen menus lesson ix: milk recipes lesson x: soups recipes lesson xi: eggs recipes lesson xii: simple desserts--custards recipes lesson xiii: batters and doughs recipes lesson xiv: batters and doughs--continued recipes lesson xv: meats recipes lesson xvi: baked pork and beans--baking-powder biscuits recipes lesson xvii: butter cakes--plain yellow cake--cocoa coffee--tea recipes lesson xviii: yeast bread recipes lesson xix: serving a simple dinner without meat--baked omelet--macaroni and cheese recipes lesson xx: sugar recipes twenty lessons in sewing suggestions to the teacher reference books lesson i: preparation for sewing lesson ii: hemming towels lesson iii: hemming towels--continued lesson iv: bags lesson v: bags--continued lesson vi: bags--continued lesson vii: bags--continued lesson viii: bags--continued lesson ix: darning stockings lesson x: patching lesson xi: cutting out aprons or undergarments lesson xii: aprons or undergarments--continued lesson xiii: aprons or undergarments--continued lesson xiv: aprons or undergarments--continued lesson xv: aprons or undergarments--continued lesson xvi: aprons or undergarments--continued lesson xvii: methods of fastening garments lesson xviii: methods of fastening garments--continued lesson xix: a padded holder for handling hot dishes binding lesson xx: a cap to wear with the cooking apron household science equipment household science cabinet materials required, stock bill, tools, directions for making equipment for rural school household science cabinet--no. i equipment for rural school household science cabinet--no. ii the hectograph the rural school lunch the box lunch contents of the lunch box sandwich making suggestions for sandwich fillings suggestions for planning suggestions for desserts packing the lunch box rules for packing equipment for packing serving a hot dish the method suggested menus suggestions for hot dishes for four weeks recipes suitable for the rural school lunch useful bulletins household science without school equipment first method second method the fireless cooker directions for fireless cooker--no. i the outside container the insulating material the inside container the kettle extra source of heat covering pad directions for fireless cooker--no. ii method of making directions for fireless cooker--no. iii method of making use of the fireless cooker in the preparation of lunches special grants for rural and village schools preface this manual is issued for the purpose of encouraging the introduction and furthering the progress of household science in the rural schools of this province. there are urban and , rural schools, and . % of the school population is in attendance at the latter schools. the value of household science as an educational and practical subject has been recognized, to some extent, in the urban schools of the province but, up to the present, little attempt has been made to give the subject a place among the activities of the rural schools. there is a wide-spread impression that it is not possible in household science to give any instruction that is of value without the provision of separate rooms, elaborate equipment, and specially trained teachers. where these conditions exist, of course, the best work can be accomplished; but, even where they cannot be realized, much may be done toward giving definite, useful instruction in the cardinal principles of home-making, which should be learned by every girl. there is certainly not a single rural school where some practical work in sewing and some valuable lessons in the care of the home may not be given. as for cookery, it is doubtful if there is a single school so small and so helpless that it is unable to use the hot noon-day lunch as a method of approach to this branch of the subject. students of the physical welfare of children are rapidly coming to the conclusion that a warm mid-day meal greatly increases the efficiency of the pupil and determines to a large extent the results of the afternoon's study. there are other benefits to be derived from a school lunch well prepared under proper conditions. in many communities it has been the means of bringing about a healthy and satisfactory co-operation between the school and the home, of developing a higher social life in the neighbourhood, and of introducing into the school a household science course, which has proved as great a benefit to the farmer's wife as to his children. this manual deals entirely with conditions that exist in our rural schools and outlines only such plans and schemes as can be carried out, even in adverse circumstances, by alert trustees, sympathetic inspectors, and resourceful teachers. permission has been obtained from the bureau of education, washington, u.s.a., to make use of a recently issued bulletin--"three courses in home-making for rural schools", and of various bulletins issued by state agricultural colleges. the freest use has been made of this material, and the permission to do so is hereby gratefully acknowledged. only such theory as can be readily assimilated has been given; and the teacher is advised for further information and help to consult the manuals issued by the department of education on _household management_ and _sewing_. those who wish to become thoroughly competent and to earn the highest departmental grants should attend the summer schools provided by the department of education. under certain conditions the expenses of teachers attending these courses are paid by the department. nothing has been included or recommended that cannot be accomplished in the average rural school; and trustees, teachers, and inspectors are urged to make a beginning by selecting the lessons that appeal to them as being most suitable to the districts in which their schools are situated. by careful planning and a wise use of the time before and after school and during recess, the regular organization of the school need not be interfered with; and, in addition to the educational and social advantages to be derived from undertaking this work, much benefit will result from the increased interest taken in the school by the parents and the general public. it is not essential that the lessons in this manual should be taken exactly in the order given. any other arrangement called for by the peculiar circumstances of the school is admissible. the inspector of manual training and household science is ready at all times to visit rural schools for the purpose of conferring with the public school inspectors, the trustees, and the teachers regarding the introduction of household science as a regular subject of the school curriculum. household science in rural schools three short courses in home-making introduction the three brief courses in home-making outlined in this manual have been especially prepared for use in elementary rural schools. they are in no sense complete outlines of the subjects with which they deal; rather, they indicate a few of the important phases of food study, sewing, and the care of the home with which the pupil in the elementary school should become familiar. the underlying thought for each problem should be: "will this help the pupils to live more useful lives, and will it lead to better conditions in their homes?" the lessons are purposely made simple, and the plans are definitely outlined, so that even the inexperienced teacher may be able to achieve a certain measure of success. the experienced teacher will find in them suggestions that may be of value in the further development of the course. the teacher who desires to use this course will necessarily have to adapt it to her own community, and it is hoped that she may be able to do this with but little alteration. while conditions of living and choice of foods differ in various parts of the province, the general principles of nutrition, the rules of sanitation, and the methods of cooking and serving are much the same for all. owing to the difficulty of securing time on the programme for frequent lessons in home-making, each of the courses has been limited to twenty lessons. some teachers may not be able to have a greater number of lessons during the school year, and they may find it well to carry the three courses through three successive years. in other schools, where more frequent lessons can be given, it may be well to offer all three courses during one year. the courses in cooking and the care of the home can be advantageously combined, as many of the problems in both are related. the lessons in sewing may be given on another day of the week, or it may be well to give them early in the year, to be followed, later, by the cooking lessons. thus an opportunity will be furnished for the making of the cooking aprons and the hemming of the towels. it is most desirable that periods of at least forty minutes should be provided for all the practical lessons. longer periods will be necessary for some of them, such as the preparation and the serving of a meal. if no practical work is undertaken in the lesson, a forty-minute period is sufficient. library on home economics for the rural school in addition to the text-books recommended as sources of special reference for the rural teacher, the following books, bearing on home economics or on methods of teaching, are suggested for the rural school library. these books have been chosen with the threefold purpose of providing references for the teachers, reading matter for the pupils, and a lending library for the parents. _laundering._ balderston, l. ray. pub. by the author. philadelphia $ . _country life and the country school._ carney, m. row, peterson & co., chicago . _how the world is fed._ carpenter, f. o. american book co., new york . _how the world is clothed._ carpenter, f. o. american book co., new york . _how the world is housed._ carpenter, f. o. american book co., new york . _how we are clothed._ chamberlain, j. f. macmillan's, toronto . _how we are fed._ chamberlain, j. f. macmillan's, toronto . _how we are sheltered._ chamberlain, j. f. macmillan's, toronto . _bacteria, yeasts, and molds in the home._ conn, h. w. ginn & co., boston . _the boston cooking-school cook book._ farmer, f. m. little, brown & co., boston. (mcclelland, goodchild & stewart, toronto) . _the rural school lunch._ farnsworth, n. w. webb pub. co., st. paul, minn. . _clothing and shelter._ kinne, h., and cooley, a. m. macmillan's, toronto . _foods and household management._ kinne, h., and cooley, a. m. macmillan's, toronto . _means and methods of agricultural education._ leake, a. h. houghton, mifflin co., new york. (thos. allen, toronto) . _rural hygiene._ ogden, h. n. saunders, philadelphia . _health and cleanliness._ o'shea, m. v., and kellogg, j. h. macmillan's, toronto . _rural education._ pickard, a. e. webb pub. co., st. paul, minn. . _manual of personal hygiene._ pyle, w. l. saunders, philadelphia . _feeding the family._ rose, m. s. macmillan's, toronto . _food products._ sherman, h. c. macmillan's, toronto . twenty lessons in the care of the home suggestions to the teacher the purpose of this course is to give the pupils instruction in various household tasks, in order that better living conditions may be secured in the homes. the beauty and sacredness of an ideal home life should receive emphasis, so that the pupils may be impressed with the importance of conscientious work in the performance of their daily household duties. they should have some insight into the sanitary, economic, and social problems that are involved in housekeeping, so that they may develop an increased appreciation of the importance of the home-maker's work. the two most important things to be taught are "cleanliness and order". too much emphasis cannot be placed on the value of fresh air and sunshine and the necessity for the free use of hot water and soap. the value of property should also be emphasized. economy in the purchase and handling of house furnishings and equipment should be considered. instruction should also be given in the care of foods and clothing and in the care and arrangement of furniture. simple instruction in the care of babies should be given, since the older children are often responsible, to some extent, for the care of the younger members of their families. in some of the lessons more subjects may be suggested than the teacher will have time to take up in a single period. in that case it will be well for her to choose the subject which seems most vital to the immediate needs of the community. in many cases she may be able to give an increased number of lessons. practice and drill in all of the processes involved in housewifery are essential to successful training. if a cupboard and a table have been arranged for the use of the cooking classes, most of the suggested work can be carried out with the school equipment. where there is no equipment in the school and school conditions do not approximate home conditions, it may be possible to secure permission to give the lesson after school hours in the home of one of the pupils who lives nearby. in each lesson the teacher, while giving the pupils helpful general information on the subject under discussion, should strive to impress on them the importance of doing some one simple thing well. the rural teacher who is eager to make her school-room an attractive place may devote some time in these lessons to such problems as the hanging and the care of simple curtains, the care of indoor plants, the arrangement of pictures, the planning of storage arrangements for supplies and of cupboards for dishes, and the preparations for the serving of the school lunch. in order to teach these lessons effectively, it is desirable to have the following simple equipment on hand. additional special equipment may be borrowed from the homes. equipment broom, cloths for cleaning, dish-cloths, dish-towels, dust-brush, dust-pan, garbage can (covered), lamp, oil-can, reference books _rural hygiene._ brewer, i. w. lippincott co., philadelphia $ . _the healthful farmhouse._ dodd, h. whitcomb & barrows, boston . _community hygiene._ hutchinson, woods. houghton, mifflin co., new york. (thos. allen, toronto) . _foods and sanitation._ forster, g. h., and weigley, m. row, peterson &. co., chicago . _the home and the family._ kinne, h., and cooley, a. m. macmillan's, toronto . _housekeeping notes._ kittredge, m. h. whitcomb & barrows, boston . _practical home-making._ kittredge, m. h. the century co., new york . _a second course in home-making._ kittredge, m. h. the century co., new york . lesson i: arrangement and care of the kitchen subject-matter in arranging the kitchen, the three things of most importance are the stove, the sink, and the kitchen table. if there is no sink in the kitchen, there will be some other place arranged for washing the dishes, probably the kitchen table, and this must be taken into consideration when the furniture is placed. as most of the work is done at the stove and the table, both these must be placed where they will have a good light, and they should be close to each other, so that but few steps are necessary for the worker. in furnishing the kitchen, the housekeeper will find a high stool very useful, as it will enable her to wash dishes, prepare vegetables, and do other work while seated. all the furniture should be kept so clean and free from dust that the kitchen will have a neat and attractive appearance. a vase of flowers or a potted plant, and a washable table-cover to be used after the dishes have been put away, will help to make this room a pleasant place for the family. special attention should be given to the ventilation. the kitchen should be thoroughly cleaned after each meal. if it has become dusty or disarranged, it should be put in order before the next meal is to be prepared. while the cooking is under way, everything should be kept in an orderly condition. as soon as the meal is completed, the left-over food should be covered and put away; the scraps and waste material should be gathered and disposed of; and the dishes, pots, and pans should be scraped, and washed in hot, soapy water, then rinsed in clear, hot water, dried, and put away. the table should be scrubbed, the stove cleaned, the floor swept and scrubbed whenever necessary, and everything put neatly in its place. _care of the coal or wood range._--all spots should be removed from the range by wiping it with old paper. if it is in bad condition, it should be washed with soap and water. if it is oiled occasionally, blacking will not be necessary; but if blacking is used, it should be applied with a cloth and rubbed to a polish with a brush, just as the fire is being started. the ashes and soot flues back of the oven and underneath it should be cleaned out once a week. _directions for building a fire._--to build and care for a fire in the coal or wood range, close all the dampers, clean the grate, and remove the ashes from the pan. put on the covers and brush the dust off the stove. open the creative damper and the oven damper, leaving the check damper closed. lay some paper, slightly crumpled into rolls, across the base of the grate. place small pieces of kindling wood across one another, with the large pieces on top. lay pieces of hardwood or a shovelful of coal on top of the kindling, building so as to admit of the free circulation of air. if the stove is to be polished, rub it with blacking. light the paper from below. when the fire begins to burn briskly, add coal or wood: then add more when that kindles. when the fire is well started and blue flame is no longer seen (about ten minutes), close the oven damper. close the creative damper when the fire is sufficiently hot. brush the stove and the floor beneath it as soon as the fire is started. polish the stove. if the fire becomes too hot, open the check damper. fill the tea-kettle with fresh water and set it on the front of the range. _care of the sink, wash-basin, and garbage pail._--a neglected sink or garbage pail may be a fruitful source of disease, in addition to attracting water-bugs and other pests. scraps should never be left in the sink. after washing the dishes it should be thoroughly cleaned, a brush and scouring material being used. the nickel part may be washed with hot soap-suds, wiped dry, and polished. water should never be left in the wash-basin. both the soap-dish and the wash-basin should be scoured daily. the garbage pail should be emptied and washed every day, and carefully scalded once or twice a week. preliminary plan it will be well to have this lesson succeed or follow a cooking lesson, for then the pupils will have a keener interest in the problems of the kitchen. (see twenty lessons in cooking, lesson i.) method of work cleanliness and order are the two points to be considered in this lesson. the doing well of each simple household task and the thoughtful arrangement and planning of all parts of the house should be emphasized as being of great importance to the housekeeper's success. begin the lesson with a discussion of the purpose of the kitchen; then discuss its arrangement from the standpoint of convenience for the work that must be done there. emphasize the importance of having the furniture so arranged that the work may be done quickly and easily, and that the kitchen may be given a comfortable and attractive appearance. let the pupils arrange the furniture in the school-room. discuss and demonstrate the care of the stove by the use of the school stove. assign each pupil a time when she is to look after the stove on succeeding days and grade her on her work. let each pupil bring a report from home as to what she is doing to help in the care of the home kitchen. make a specific assignment for home work. questions used to develop the lesson what is the purpose of the kitchen? what are the principal articles of furniture in the kitchen? how should we arrange these things? can we make any general rules as to arrangements? why is it difficult to keep the kitchen clean? at what times is the kitchen most apt to become disarranged? why is it important to keep the kitchen in good order? in what order should the kitchen be at the time we begin the preparation of the meal? how should the floor be cleaned? the utensils? what should we do with any left-over food? how should we take care of the stove after the meal? lesson ii: care of cupboards and utensils subject-matter it is of the utmost importance that cupboards and other places where food is stored should be kept free from dirt and scraps of food. ants, cockroaches, mice, and other pests infest dirty places where food is kept, and render a house unfit for human habitation. it requires constant care and watchfulness on the part of the housewife to keep the cupboards clean. she must look over the shelves daily, wiping them off whenever they need it, and giving them a thorough cleaning at least once a week. the housekeeper should know how to care for the various utensils used and understand the simplest and best methods of keeping them clean. utensils should never be put in the cupboards until perfectly clean and dry. particular attention should be paid to the care of milk vessels. pans, pails, pitchers, or bottles in which milk has been kept, should be rinsed in cold water, washed in strong, clean soap-suds, rinsed in clean, boiling water, and dried in the sun. if utensils have become discoloured or badly coated, they should be specially scoured. if something has been burned in a kettle, the kettle should be cleaned by filling with cold water, adding washing-soda, and boiling briskly for half an hour; after that a slight scraping ought to remove the burned portion. if the kettle is not yet clean, the process should be repeated. if a kettle has been used directly over a wood fire and becomes blackened with soot, it should be rubbed off with a newspaper and then with an old cloth. kettles should be dried well before being put away. with proper care they seldom become rusty. if an iron kettle has rusted, it should be rubbed with kerosene and ashes, then washed in strong, hot, soda-water, rinsed in clear hot water, and dried on the stove. if a kettle is very rusty, it should be covered thoroughly with some sort of grease, sprinkled with lime, and left overnight. in the morning it should be washed out with hot soda-water and rinsed in clear, hot water. a new kettle is generally rusty, and should be greased thoroughly inside and out and allowed to stand for two days; then washed in hot soda-water. bath-brick should be used for scouring iron utensils and steel knives and forks. if iron pots and frying-pans are scrubbed with a piece of bath-brick each time they are used and then washed in hot soap-suds, they can be kept in good condition. tinware and steel knives and forks may be cleaned by scouring with ashes, but only fine ashes should be used on tinware. the brown stains on granite utensils should be scoured off; and this ware should be carefully handled, in order to avoid chipping. coffee-pots and tea-pots should be cleaned daily, the grounds removed, and the interior of the pots washed out thoroughly. the tea-kettle should be washed and dried overnight and left uncovered to air. preliminary plan if school lunches are served or cooking lessons are given at the school, it will be well to use this lesson to get the cupboards in readiness. if it is impossible to do this at school, arrange to have such a lesson in one of the homes outside of school hours. be sure that the housekeeper is in sympathy with the work and is willing to co-operate. method of work assign each pupil a task in the cleaning, the scouring of the dishes, and the arrangement of the cupboard. set a definite amount to be done and carry out the plans, leaving a clean and neatly arranged cupboard at the end of the lesson. lesson iii: care of foods subject-matter several important points must be borne in mind if foods are to be kept in a good condition. most foods change easily. vegetables and fruits lose water, wilt, and become unfit to eat. flour and corn-meal become mouldy. potatoes decay and sprout. some foods, such as milk, turn sour. eggs become tainted, and fat grows rancid. with proper care in handling, storing, and keeping, this spoiling can be prevented. the spoiling of foods is due to the presence of micro-organisms; and if foods are fresh and sound and kept cool and clean in every way, they will not spoil readily, because such conditions are unfavourable to the development of the micro-organisms. on the other hand, if foods are roughly handled and bruised, decomposition will take place readily, for micro-organisms develop in the bruised portions. care must, therefore, be taken to select foods wisely, handle them carefully, wash them if they are not already clean, put them in clean receptacles, and keep them in a clean, cool place. all pots, pans, and dishes in which foods are kept or cooked should be thoroughly cleansed and rinsed well, so that no fragments stick to them which may decay and cause possible infection to the next food that is put in. every part of the kitchen and store-rooms should be kept clean, dry, and well aired. light is the best germicide and purifier known. covered receptacles should be secured for all foods. those that are mouse-proof and insect-proof are essential to a well-kept pantry. all bottles and cans should be neatly labelled and so arranged that each one can be conveniently reached. the outside of the bottle or case should always be wiped off after it has been opened and food has been removed from it. the shelves on which the cases are kept should be wiped off every day. if supplies of fruit or vegetables are kept on hand, they should be looked over frequently, and whatever shows even the slightest suggestion of spoiling should be removed. bread should be kept in a covered tin box, and the box should be washed out once or twice a week and frequently scalded and aired. preliminary plan if cooking lessons are to be given, it will be well to take this lesson on the care of foods in connection with the first cooking lesson, and to make it a means of arranging for the materials that are to be kept on hand and of determining how everything is to be handled. method of work devote a large part of the lesson to a discussion of the necessity for care in the handling, storing, and keeping of foods. if facilities permit, devote a few minutes to the putting away of foods that are to be used in the next cooking lesson or in the school lunch, discussing the reasons for such care. lesson iv: disposal of waste subject-matter if the daily disposal of waste is attended to, there will be no undesirable accumulation of garbage. scraps of food that cannot be utilized for the table should be fed to the pigs or the chickens and should not be allowed to stand and gather flies. a covered pail or pan should be used for holding the garbage, until final disposal is made of it. those portions that are badly spoiled and will be of no value in feeding the stock should be burned at once. waste vegetable substances, if suitable, should be fed to the stock, and if not, should be buried in a thin layer on the ground at some distance from the house, so that they may enrich the soil. old papers that are badly soiled should be burned, but all others should be kept for use in cleaning the stove, starting the fires, etc. empty cans should be well washed and buried, so that they will not prove a breeding-place for flies. it is well to pierce them through the bottom immediately after opening them, so that they will not hold water. dish-water should be emptied at some distance from the house, unless there is a drain nearby. all receptacles that hold water should be carefully emptied, and all depressions in the soil should be filled, in order to prevent mosquitoes from breeding. all waste water should be used on the garden. _protection of the water supply._--only the water from deep wells should be used for drinking purposes, because all surface water and water in shallow wells becomes dangerous through seepage from compost, pig-pens, privies, and other places where decayed organic matter may accumulate. in order that the water may be kept clean, the well must be supplied with a tight-fitting top which need not be opened and a metal pump to bring up the water. a well platform that allows the water spilled on it to run back into the well is unsafe, for any filth carried on the platform in any way will be washed directly into it. rats, mice, and other animals get into the well if the top is not tight, and these, in addition to being unpleasant, are liable to introduce disease germs. _simple disinfectants._--sunshine and fresh air are nature's disinfectants and should be freely admitted to every part of the house. windows should be left open whenever possible. the windows in the sleeping rooms should always be opened at night. the interior of the house should be kept perfectly dry. decay does not easily take place in dry places. a damp cellar should be drained, and the grounds around the house should not be allowed to drain into the cellar. coarse coal ashes should be used to fill in around the house, on the walks, etc., to help in securing thorough drainage. wood ashes may be used as a simple disinfectant to cover decayed organic matter. whitewash is a good disinfectant and should be frequently used both inside and outside the house and on all out-buildings. kerosene and creosote also make good disinfectants. _care of out-of-door closets._--the privy should be so arranged that it may be cleaned often and all excreta disposed of in a safe way. the building should be so well constructed that there will be no cracks for the admission of flies. in a poorly constructed building, old paper can be pasted over the cracks, to make the structure fly-proof. dry earth, street dust, or lime should be frequently sprinkled over the excreta, and the seat should be closed, to prevent the entrance of flies or mosquitoes. the seat should be washed frequently, and both the seat and the floor scrubbed at least once a week. preliminary plan it will be well to teach this lesson at a time when improvements are necessary in the care of the school-house. the discussions in regard to out-of-door closets will, of course, be taken when the girls are alone with the teacher. method of work discuss the disposal of waste, the care of garbage, etc., in the home and the school. talk over the care of waste from the school lunch and discuss methods of keeping the school in a sanitary condition. follow this by a general cleaning of the school-house. lesson v: making soap subject-matter _home-made hard soap_ lb. fat can lye pt. cold water tbsp. borax melt the fat slowly. mix the lye and water in a bowl or kettle (do not use a tin pan), stirring with a stick until the potash dissolves. add the borax and allow the mixture to cool. cool the fat and, when it is lukewarm, add the lye, pouring it in a thin stream and stirring constantly. stir with a smooth stick until about as thick as honey, and continue stirring for ten minutes. pour the mixture into a box and allow it to harden. cut into pieces the desired size and leave in a cool, dry place for ten days, to ripen before using. when making the soap, be careful not to spill potash or lye on the hands, as it makes a bad burn. if the hands are burned, rub them with grease at once. do not wet them. preliminary plan some time before this lesson is given ask the pupils to bring scraps of fat from home. see that these are in good condition, and weigh them, to determine the portion of the recipe that can be made. ask one of the pupils to bring sufficient borax for the recipe. method of work let the pupils look the fat over and put it on to melt, watching it carefully. while it is heating and cooling, discuss the process of soap-making, the cost of materials, the care necessary in the making of soap, and the importance of its use. get ready the other materials, and a box for moulding the soap, and let the pupils work together. after the soap has hardened and been cut, have it put away on a shelf to dry. lesson vi: setting and clearing the table subject-matter the following points must be remembered when a meal is to be served: the dining-room must be clean, well aired, sufficiently lighted, and in good order. the table must be perfectly clean and covered with a clean white cover (table-cloth, doilies, paper napkins, or oil-cloth). a vase of flowers or leaves or a small potted plant, in the centre of the table, will help to make it attractive. the table should be prepared with everything necessary for serving the meal, but only those foods should be placed on it that will not be spoiled by standing. if there is danger of the food attracting flies, cover it carefully. plates for everyone who is to partake of the meal should be arranged at equal distances from one another, and half an inch from the edge of the table. the knife should be placed at the right of the plate with the cutting edge toward the plate, and one inch from the edge of the table. the fork should be placed at the left of the plate with the tines turned up, and one inch from the edge of the table. the spoon should be placed, bowl upward, at the right of the plate, to the right of the knife. it should be placed one inch from the edge of the table. spoons and forks for serving should be placed at the right and left of the dish to be served, or in another convenient position. no one should have to use the personal fork or spoon for serving. the napkins should be folded simply and placed at the left of the fork. the tumbler should be placed at the upper end of the knife. the cups and saucers should be placed at the right of the plate with the handle of the cup toward the right. the bread-and-butter plate, if used, should be placed at the upper left hand of the fork. the salt-cellars and pepper-shakers should be placed near the centre of the table or at the sides, where they can be conveniently reached. individual salt-cellars, if used, should be placed immediately in front of the individual plate. the chairs should be placed at the table after it is set. care should be taken not to put them so close to it that it will be necessary to move them after they are occupied. preliminary plan if possible, arrange to give this lesson before lesson viii in the series of "twenty lessons in cooking" is given; then the emphasis in that lesson may be put upon the food to be served, proper combinations, etc., while this lesson gives the drill in the arrangement and handling of the dishes. it is desirable to give the pupils a thorough drill in table setting and table service, since much of the pleasure derived from eating depends upon the attention paid to these processes. be careful to see that everything necessary is on hand to set the table simply but daintily. for class practice a small table may be set for four. this will necessitate a table-cover, four or more dinner plates, four bread-and-butter plates, four tumblers, four cups and saucers, four knives, four forks, four teaspoons, four napkins, a salt-cellar, a pepper-shaker, a platter, one serving spoon, and one serving fork. if these things are not already in the school, probably they can be brought from home by the pupils. if linen cloths are not used and cannot be afforded on the tables in the homes, the pupils should be taught to use a white oil-cloth. have a diagram made on the black-board by one of the pupils of the arrangement of an individual place at the table. [illustration: _fig. ._--arrangement of an individual place at table . knife . spoon . tumbler . fork . napkin . bread-and-butter plate . dinner plate] method of work the process of table setting should be demonstrated with the materials at hand, and the work should be adapted to home conditions. if there is no available table in the school-room, the desk tops may be used for individual places. reasons for the arrangement of the table should be given--the convenience of placing the knives and the spoons to the right, the forks to the left, the cup and saucer and the tumbler to the right, the use of the napkin, etc. lesson vii: waiting on table subject matter the one who is to wait on table must be careful to see that everything is in readiness before the meal is announced, so that she can do her work easily, without subjecting those at the table to unnecessary delay. she should have water, bread, and butter (if used), hot dishes ready for the hot foods, and dessert dishes conveniently at hand. she must see that her hands are perfectly clean and her hair and dress in order. a clean, neat apron will always improve her appearance. the room should be clean and neatly arranged. if the meal is to be a family one and all are to sit at the table together, plates will be passed from one to another as they are served: but it will still be well to have one person appointed to wait on the table. she should be ready to supply more bread, water, etc., when it is necessary, and to change the plates for the dessert course. she should rise from the table quickly and quietly, in order not to disturb others, and should take her place again as soon as the necessary service has been rendered. the following rules should be observed: hold the tumblers near the bottom, being careful not to touch the upper edge. fill only three-quarters full. put the butter on the table just before the meal is announced, and serve in neat, compact pieces. cut the bread in even slices, pile them neatly on a serving plate, and place it on the table, covering it with a clean napkin or towel, if there are flies about or there is danger of dust. if preferred, the bread may be cut at the table as required. place the dessert dishes at one end of the table or, better still, on a side table, until it is time to use them. when carrying the dishes to and from the table, be careful not to let the fingers come in contact with the food. learn to place the hand under the dish. in particular service a napkin is used between the hand and the dish, or a tray, if the dish is a small one. the tray should be covered with a napkin or doily. when a dish is being passed, hold it at the left of the person to be served and at a convenient height and distance. be sure that each dish is supplied with a spoon or a fork for serving, and turn the handle of the spoon or the fork toward the one to be served. if a plate is to be placed in front of a person, set it down from the right. never reach in front of others at the table. when a course is finished, remove the dishes containing the food first; then the soiled plates, knives, and forks. be careful to handle only a few dishes at a time and not to pile them. if another course is to be served, remove the crumbs from the table, using for the purpose a napkin and plate, or a crumb tray and brush, and brushing the crumbs lightly into the plate. fill the tumblers, and arrange the dishes and forks or spoons quickly for the next course. when the meal is over, the chairs should be moved back from the table, the dishes neatly piled and carried to the kitchen sink, the table wiped, the crumbs brushed from the floor, and the room aired. preliminary plan let this lesson be a continuation of the previous one, placing emphasis on the method of waiting on table. the same articles will be required as were used in the last lesson. in addition to these the pupils must be careful to have clean aprons for this lesson. method of work have the table set, as a review of the work of the last lesson; then have four or six of the pupils seat themselves and go through the forms of serving one another to any simple meal upon which the class may decide. family meal service should be explained and demonstrated first; then service where there is one waitress. have the pupils, in turn, act as waitresses and serve all the others, offering and placing the food, removing the soiled dishes, filling the tumblers, etc. lessons viii and ix: general cleaning of a room subject-matter rooms which are in constant use should be swept and dusted every day. a thorough cleaning of each room in the house will be necessary every week or two, even though the room is swept and kept in order daily. first, all cupboards, drawers, and other receptacles in which articles collect should be cleaned; then all large movable articles should be dusted and moved out of the room; those that are not readily movable should be dusted and covered. the floor should be swept with the windows open; the ceiling and walls should be brushed with a covered broom, and the dust allowed to settle. the floor should then be wiped with a damp cloth on the broom.[a] the woodwork should be cleaned with a damp cloth and a soap that is not too strong. soda or sapolio should not be used. the furniture should be carefully uncovered, and everything arranged in perfect order. [a] if the floor is of unfinished-wood, it will require a thorough scrubbing. after sweeping the floor and allowing the dust to settle, a small portion at a time should be scrubbed with a floor-brush and soap. when scrubbing, the grain of the wood should be followed. the scrubbing-water should be changed frequently. for rinsing and drying the floor, a cloth should be wrung out of clear water. the things that are highest should be dusted first, and care should be taken to collect all the dust in the dust-cloth. after collecting the dust, the cloth should be shaken out-of-doors, washed thoroughly, and boiled. the dust-cloth should be dampened before using on all surfaces except the polished furniture and windows. sweeping should be done with short strokes and the broom should be kept close to the floor, so that the dust will not be scattered. the corners of the room should be swept first, the dust gathered in the centre, and then swept into the dust-pan. the dust should be burned, for it may contain disease germs. loose hairs and fluff should be removed from the broom after using, and it should also be washed periodically. small rugs should be cleaned out-of-doors. they should be swept, beaten, and re-swept, then rolled until ready to be put on the floor. if the rug is a large one and cannot be removed, it should be wiped over with a damp cloth, rolled, and the under side of the rug and the floor beneath it should be wiped. after the room has been cleaned, the windows should be arranged so that a supply of fresh, clean air can come constantly into it. this is essential to every room in the house, if perfect health is to be maintained. preliminary plan it will be well to have lesson ix given in one of the homes some day after school hours, if possible. if that cannot be arranged, the school-room may be utilized as the place for practice. method of work devote lesson viii to a discussion of the methods of cleaning and to various short tasks in connection with the school-room. in lesson ix have the pupils go through the entire process of cleaning a room. assign some portion of the task to each one of them, so that all may take part in the work. supervise the work carefully, assign home practice, and have each pupil clean a room at home once a week for a month. lesson x: care of the bed-room subject-matter as soon as one is dressed in the morning, the windows in the bed-room should be opened wide to air the room thoroughly, and the bed-clothes should be removed and put on chairs before the window to air. the night clothing should also be aired. the slops should be emptied, and the chamber should be washed with cold water, using a special cloth. the basin should be washed in warm, soapy water, which should then be poured into the chamber and used for washing it. the toilet articles should be washed, then the basin rinsed and wiped dry. the slop jar should be washed out thoroughly, and both the slop jar and the chamber should be cleaned frequently with chloride of lime or some other disinfectant. the pitcher should be filled with fresh water, and all the articles arranged neatly on the wash-stand. if the towels are soiled, clean ones should be supplied. the mattress should be turned and the bed made carefully; the lower sheet being tucked under the mattress all around, and the other covers tucked in at the bottom and sides of the bed. the bed should be kept free from wrinkles and smooth in appearance, and the pillows should be well shaken and arranged at the head of the bed. the floor should be swept, the furniture dusted, and everything put in place. the windows should be left partly opened, so that the bed-room may be well aired. fresh air is always necessary, but especially during sleep, when the body is repairing itself, and it is important that the room should be well aired during the day and the windows left open at night. when the room is to be thoroughly cleaned, the frame of the bed should be dusted, the mattress turned, and the bed should be made. the window shades should be dusted and rolled up. the curtains should be well shaken and covered, if one has a dust sheet. all the small articles on the bureau, table, and shelf should be placed on the bed, and the whole covered with a sheet. the tables, chairs, and any other movable furniture should be dusted and placed outside the room or covered. the rugs should be rolled and cleaned out-of-doors. the room should be swept and dusted. as soon as the dust has settled, the covers should be removed, and the furniture, rugs, and all the small articles should be restored to their places. the shades should be adjusted, and the room left in perfect order. the broom and everything else that has been used in the work should be cleaned and put back into their places. preliminary plan it may be possible for the teacher to give this lesson in her own bed-room or in the bed-room of one of the neighbours. if this is not feasible, the only way to make it effective is to have the pupils report each day on the work they do at home. method of work illustrate each process and give the reasons for everything that is done. emphasize the importance of the sanitary care of the bed-room, a regular time for doing the work, and the benefit of having each member of the family care for her own personal belongings and her own portion of the bed-room. lesson xi: care of lamps it is assumed that the teacher is acquainted with the possibilities of electricity and other methods of better lighting in country homes, and will instruct her pupils in the economic use of modern lighting facilities. subject-matter _directions for cleaning and filling lamps._--a bright light comes from clean burners that allow a good draught. this means constant care on the part of the one who looks after the lamps. in the daily cleaning, first dust the chimney shade and the body of the lamp. wash the chimney. if sooty, clean with a newspaper before washing. next, turn the wick high enough to show all the charred part; cut this off, making it perfectly even, then rub with a piece of soft paper. wipe the burner and any other part of the lamp that may be oily. dry with another cloth. fill the body of the lamp with oil to within an inch of the top, leaving plenty of room for the gas that may be generated from the kerosene, as this gas, in a lamp that has been used many times without refilling, may be a source of danger. when lighting the lamp, turn the wick down, allowing the chimney to become heated gradually. if it is necessary to move the lighted lamp, turn the wick low. the flaring up of the flame smokes the chimney. do not leave a lighted lamp in a room where there is no one to watch it. when putting out the light, blow across the chimney, never down into it, as this might send the flame down into the kerosene. about once a month give the lamp a thorough cleaning. spread out a newspaper and take the lamp apart. wash the chimney and the shade in hot water, dry with a towel, and polish, using soft paper. boil every part of the burner in water to which two tablespoonfuls of soda have been added. insert new wicks if the old ones are dirty, and put the parts all securely together again. keep an old pan and some cloths exclusively for this purpose, and be very careful not to allow the dirty hands or a drop of kerosene to come near any food. have a regular time in the day for cleaning the lamps, preferably immediately after all the morning work has been done after breakfast. do not fill the lamps near the kitchen stove. do not light a match while the oil-can is near, and never fill a lamp while it is lighted or while near another one which is lighted. if a fire is caused by kerosene, smother it with a heavy rug or a woollen garment, and do not attempt to put it out with water. preliminary plan it will be well to give this lesson just before some evening entertainment at the school-house. if there are no lamps at the school have a few brought in from neighbouring homes. secure an old pan and some cloths to use in cleaning. method of work discuss with the pupils the cost and properties of kerosene and the danger of having a light or too great heat near a can of kerosene. explain the draught by means of which the kerosene can be made to burn on the wick and the danger if the burner becomes clogged up and the draught is cut off. have the lamps taken apart, the burners boiled, the chimneys cleaned, and the body of the lamps filled and wiped off. then have the lamps lighted, to see that they burn properly. lesson xii: prevention of pests subject-matter household pests are annoying, dangerous to health, and destructive to property. they carry disease germs from one person to another and from the lower animals to human beings. absolute cleanliness is essential, if the house is to be kept free from pests. as a rule, they flourish in dark, damp, dirty places. with proper care the housekeeper can keep her house free from them and, if they are noticed, she should know how to exterminate them. a few simple methods of extermination are here given: _bedbugs._--kerosene should be poured into all the cracks, and a brush, dipped in kerosene, run briskly over all surfaces. care must be taken to have no fire in the room while this is being done. the windows should be open, and the room should be kept free from dust. in four days this should be repeated, in order to kill any bugs that may have just hatched. _cockroaches and water-bugs._--a solution of one pound of alum to three pints of water should be poured into all the cracks. insect-powder and borax are also effective. absolute cleanliness and freedom from dampness are necessary, if the house is to be kept free from cockroaches. _ants._--oil of cloves or pennyroyal on pieces of cotton-batting scattered about in the places where ants appear will drive them away. saturating the nests with coal-oil will destroy them. food which attracts ants should be removed from places which they are able to reach. _rats and mice._--these are best exterminated by the use of a trap or some preparation such as "rough on rats". traps should be set nightly and should be scalded and aired after a mouse has been caught. rat holes may be stopped by sprinkling with chloride of lime and then filling with mortar or plaster of paris. _mosquitoes._--these breed in swampy places, or in old barrels or kegs or tin cans which hold stagnant water. therefore, if the swampy places are drained and the grounds about the house are kept free from stagnant water, the housekeeper will, as a rule, not be troubled with mosquitoes. empty barrels or kegs should be inverted, and old tin cans should have a hole punched in the bottom, so that they will not hold water. all high weeds near the house should be cut down and destroyed, so that they will not provide a damp place in which to harbour mosquitoes. if it is impossible to get rid of all standing water, the breeding of mosquitoes can be checked by pouring kerosene oil on the water. one ounce of oil on fifteen square feet of water is sufficient, and this will have to be renewed at least once in ten days. the doors, windows, and ventilators of the house should be well screened, as a protection against mosquitoes. _flies._--these are one of the greatest carriers of typhoid and other germs, as well as filth of all sorts. they can be got rid of only by destroying the breeding places and killing the flies as rapidly as possible. materials that attract them should not be exposed in and about the house. the house should be well screened with wire mesh or mosquito netting, in order to keep out the flies. a fly swatter should be kept at hand. the stables should be cleaned daily. manure piles should be screened, and every effort should be made to kill the larvae by frequent spraying with kerosene, creoline (dilute creosote), or lime. _fleas._--these will be troublesome if cats or dogs are kept in the house. these pets should be given frequent baths, the rugs on which they lie should be brushed and shaken daily, and the floors should be washed with soap and water and wiped with kerosene. _moths._--these are apt to develop in woollen clothes unless the garments are thoroughly shaken and absolutely protected by wrapping in newspapers before being put away. woollen garments that are used only occasionally should be kept in a light, dry place, examined frequently, and hung in the sun occasionally. moths or carpet beetles can be exterminated by the use of kerosene. preliminary plan give this lesson at a time when the pupils are asking about household pests or when the school is suffering from them. it would be well to have it in the spring, just before the school closes, so that the pupils may immediately put into practice what they learn. it may be desirable to devote their efforts to the destruction of one particular pest; for example, a fly crusade may be inaugurated. method of work if there are pests in the school-room, discuss their habits, what seems to attract them, where they come from, etc. have the pupils report any that they may have at home. explain why they are dangerous, tell how they can be exterminated, and assign to each pupil the task of exterminating one household pest. have her report, each day, the success of her efforts. continue this work for several weeks. lesson xiii: removing stains, bleaching fabrics, and setting colours subject-matter as garments and household linens are apt to become stained and thus lose their attractiveness, it is well to know the remedies for the most common stains and the principle upon which their removal depends. all stains should be removed as soon as possible. boiling water will loosen and remove coffee, tea, and fresh fruit stains. the stained spot should be held over a bowl, and the water should be poured upon it with some force. cold water will remove stains made by blood or meat juice. soaking will help in the removal of blood stains. rust stains may be removed by wetting the stained spot with lemon juice, covering it with salt, and placing the stained fabric in the sun. stains from stove blacking, paint, and grass may be removed by soaking in kerosene and washing well with soap and water. ink stains may be removed by soaking in water, removing as much of the stain as possible, and then soaking in milk. stains from cream and other forms of grease may be washed out in cold water, followed by warm water and soap. white cotton and white linen materials may be bleached by exposure to the sunshine while still damp. if they are left out overnight, the bleaching process is made effective by the moisture furnished by dew or frost. a stream of steam from the tea-kettle may also help in the bleaching process. some colours are set by the addition of a small amount of acid to the first water in which they are soaked, while others are set by the use of salt. it is necessary to try a small amount of the material before dipping in the entire garment, in order to be sure of satisfactory results. vinegar should be used for blues, one-half cup to one gallon of water. salt is most effective for browns, blacks, and pinks. in most cases, two cups of salt to one gallon of cold water will be sufficient. preliminary plan the towels used for drying dishes or the linen used for some school entertainment may have become stained with coffee, fruit, or some other substance. make this the basis of a lesson, and let the pupils bring from home other things which are stained. each pupil should have an article on which to practise. this lesson should be preliminary to the lesson on laundry work. method of work examine the various articles from which stains are to be removed. discuss the method of removal, and let each pupil work at her own stain until it is as nearly removed as possible. lesson xiv: washing dish-towels, aprons, etc. subject-matter dish-towels should be thoroughly washed at least once a day. wash one piece at a time (the cleanest first) in warm, soapy water and rinse in clear water in another pan. hang in the sun, if possible, so that the air will pass through. boil at least once a week in soapy water, to keep them fresh and white. sunshine and fresh air are valuable for the purposes of bleaching and purifying. wash the aprons in hot, soapy water; boil, rinse, and blue slightly. a small amount of thin starch may be desirable. a thin starch may be made as follows: _recipe for thin starch_ tbsp. starch tbsp. cold water / tsp. lard, butter, or paraffin qt. boiling water add the cold water to the starch and lard, stir until smooth, then add the boiling water slowly, stirring constantly. boil for several minutes in order to cook the starch thoroughly; then add one pint of cold water and a small amount of blueing. dilute if necessary. hang the articles in the sun to dry, shaking well before putting on the line, and folding the edge of each over at least six inches. be sure to have the line clean. when dry, fold carefully. a short time before ironing, sprinkle well. preliminary plan it may be desirable to give this lesson earlier in the course, if cooking lessons are being given and dish-towels are in use, or if the aprons are badly soiled. other articles may be washed, if time and facilities permit. method of work discuss briefly the need for laundry work and the general principles. let the pupils take turns at washing the towels or aprons; examine each article after it is washed, and give careful directions for the boiling, blueing, and starching. while these processes are being completed, let some of the pupils prepare the line. let two of them be appointed to bring the towels in, before going home from school. lesson xv: ironing subject-matter to do good ironing it is necessary to have a firm, unwarped ironing board. this should be covered with some thick woollen material and a white cotton cover that is clean, smooth, and tightly drawn. the thick cover should be tacked on, while the top cover should be pinned, so that it may be easily taken off to be washed. a heavy iron-holder should be provided; and the irons should be clean and smooth. for this purpose paper should be kept at hand, as well as a piece of beeswax, sandpaper, or salt. a small cloth should be used to wipe the iron after using the beeswax. a newspaper should be spread on the floor, to protect any pieces that may hang down while being ironed. the coarser towels should be ironed first, as the longer the irons are used, the smoother they become. starched pieces should not be ironed until the irons are very hot. if the article is first laid smooth, it will be easier to iron it and keep it in shape, and every piece should be ironed until it is perfectly dry. as soon as the ironing is completed, the articles should be hung up to air. preliminary plan arrange to have the ironing lesson just as soon after the laundry lesson as possible. it will probably be easy to borrow the necessary equipment from homes near the school. each pupil may be directed to bring something that will contribute toward the equipment, and one may be instructed to have the fire ready and another to put the irons on to heat before the lesson hour. method of work call the pupils together early in the morning or at some time previous to the lesson period, and give them directions for sprinkling the articles to be ironed. when the class hour comes, demonstrate the method of ironing, folding, and hanging the articles, and let the pupils take turns in doing the work. lessons xvi and xvii: care of the baby subject-matter because young girls are fond of little children and must help their mothers often with their baby brothers and sisters, they should know how to care for them. it is essential that they should understand the following points: the little body needs protection. the head is soft, and the brain may be injured by hard bumps or pressure. the skin is tender and is easily irritated by the bites of insects, friction, and so on. kicking and wiggling are necessary to the development of the muscles, but the baby should not be played with all the time; and it is well for it while awake to lie quiet for part of the time. it should not be made to sit up until ready to do so. a desire to creep should be encouraged. standing or walking should not be taught the baby until it tries to stand or walk itself, and then it must be helped very carefully. the baby should have plenty of fresh air and should be allowed to spend much of its time out-of-doors. in cold weather it must be warmly covered and sheltered from high winds. its eyes should always be protected from strong sunlight. regular hours should be observed for sleep, and the baby should be put to bed early in the evening. if the house is not well screened in summer, a mosquito bar should be put over the crib. the clothing should be light and loose, so that the body can move freely. perfect cleanliness is necessary to keep the baby's skin in good condition; and a daily bath should be given. a morning hour, midway between the meals, is usually the best time for this. the baby should be taught to use the chamber before the bath and after the nap. everything should be ready before it is undressed. the room should be very warm. the water should be only moderately warm, and should be carefully tested to make sure that it is not too hot. the towels and covers for the baby should be at hand. the head and the feet should be washed first, and the body soaped before putting the child into the bath. little soap should be used, for even the best soap is strong and is apt to irritate the delicate skin. the bath should be given quickly, and the body wrapped at once in a blanket or towel and kept covered as much as possible while it is being dried. the baby should be fed in small quantities at regular intervals and given plenty of cold water to drink. not until it is eleven or twelve months of age should it be given solid or semi-solid food. even then, milk should continue to form the basis of its diet, and of this a considerable quantity should be used--about a quart a day from the twelfth month on. as the child grows older a more varied diet will be necessary. the most hygienic methods of food preparation should always be observed. certain foods should never be given; for example, fried foods, pastries, condiments, pickles, preserves, canned meats, fish, pork, sausage, cheap candies, coarse vegetables, unripe and overripe fruits, stimulants, foods treated with a preservative or colouring matter, and half-cooked starches. preliminary plan the teacher should talk with the pupils, in order to see what points in connection with the care of the baby it is necessary for them to know, so that they may do their work at home intelligently. method of work it will probably not be possible to have anything more than a class discussion of the points in question, but the pupils' home experiences ought to make this discussion vital. if there is a nurse in the neighbourhood who can be secured to give one lesson on the care of the baby, the teacher should supplement her own lessons by an additional lesson given by the nurse. lesson xviii: cost of food, clothing, and house subject-matter it is of great importance that children should learn in an elementary way the value of property. this will prepare them for the knowledge of the cost of living that is essential. they should learn that the cost of food can be decreased by having gardens, and by the proper choice, care, and handling of foods; that taking care of clothing will reduce another item of expense; and that the owning of one's own house and lot is something worth working for, in order to obviate the necessity of paying rent. preliminary plan the teacher will have to acquaint herself thoroughly with conditions in the community, so that she can talk intelligently with the pupils, emphasize the right points, and give constructive help. method of work begin with a discussion of the cost of food; how much the pupils earn or spend during the week; and why it is worth while to cook and sew well and to look after property. continue such discussions from time to time, in connection with other school work. lesson xix: how to keep accounts subject-matter it is well for every one to keep a written record of all money received and all money spent. children should be taught to do this as soon as they are old enough to have money in their possession. a simple little note-book in which all expenditures are entered on the right side and all receipts on the left side, with the balance drawn up each week or month, will prove an easy and satisfactory method of keeping accounts. if the little girl learns to do this with her pennies, she will be better able to take care of the more important household accounts when she is in charge of a home. however, there will be no real incentive for her to keep accounts unless she is endeavouring to save for some good purpose. if she learns to save for the future purchase of a book, a dress, or some little treat, she will feel that her account-keeping is worth while. as a housekeeper, she will appreciate the importance of saving for some future benefit to the family. preliminary plan in order to make the lesson of vital interest, introduce it at a time when the pupils are saving for some specific purpose--material for a dress to be made in the sewing class, refreshments for a party for their mothers, a school library, or something else that will be a pleasure and help in the work of the school. method of work after discussing the sources of income of the pupil and of her family, and the means of increasing and taking care of that income, discuss simple methods of keeping accounts, illustrate these on the black-board, show how to balance the accounts, and see that each pupil has a small book suitable for the purpose. it may be necessary to make or to rule this book as a portion of the class exercise. lesson xx: care of the exterior of the house subject-matter closely allied to the housekeeper's work within the home is the care of the exterior of the house and its surroundings. it is absolutely necessary that the grounds be kept neat and clean. in addition to this they should be made attractive by the careful selection of a few trees and shrubs suitably placed. while the gardens at the rear of the house may be planned solely for the pleasure and use of the family, in planning the lawn at the sides and front the neighbours and passers-by must be considered. the grounds should be a picture of which the house is the centre, the trees and shrubs being grouped to frame the picture. in placing shrubs, the effect of the whole landscape should be considered. as a rule, shrubs should be placed in corners, to hide outhouses from view, or to screen other places which should be shielded. the centre of the lawn should be left free, and in no case should a shrub be placed in the middle of an open space in a lawn or yard. a few flowers should be planted among the shrubs, to give colour at different seasons. the exterior of the house must be considered, if the picture framed by the shrubs and vines is to be a pleasing one. the house should be painted in a soft brown or dark green to blend with the landscape of oaks and pines. the paint will help to preserve the house, but its colour must be carefully chosen to give a pleasing effect. the general plan of the grounds and local conditions in regard to soil and climate will determine to a large extent the kind of shrubs to be used. many beautiful shrubs which have been introduced from foreign countries do well in ontario, but our native shrubs serve all decorative purposes. for damp ground there is no better shrub than the red osier dogwood. this shrub will do well on almost any kind of soil. the swamp bush honeysuckle grows quickly and is suitable for clay land; so are the black elderberry and several species of viburnum. the hazel which may be obtained from the woods makes a good dense shrub, and the wild rose also has possibilities. the common barberry is an attractive shrub; but, as it assists in the formation of wheat rust, it should not be used in rural sections. the lilac may be used where a high shrub is desirable. the common arbor vitae or cedar of the swamps makes a good evergreen shrub. it serves well as a shield for both winter and summer and thrives with moderate care. the weigela, forsythia, and spiraea are also excellent shrubs. the ground at the back of the house should be used for vegetable gardens with flower borders. for this purpose a deep, rich soil is necessary, and every square foot of space should be utilized. every family should learn to make use of an increased number of vegetables and fruits and to cook them in a variety of ways. no crops should be allowed to go to waste. a family of five people could be entirely provided with vegetables for the summer and autumn from a garden less than fifty by seventy-five feet. the attractiveness, as well as the usefulness, of the borders depends upon the choice and arrangement of flowers. these should be chosen with due consideration as to height of plants, colour of blooms, and seasons of blooming. the tallest plants should be placed at the back of the border; for a border six feet wide none of the plants need be over five feet in height. there can be a riot of colours, if the flowers are arranged in clumps of four to six throughout the entire length of the border. in a well-planned flower border some flowers should be in bloom each month. hardy perennial flowers should predominate, with enough annuals to fill up the spaces and hide the soil. the well-tried, old-fashioned flowers will give the best satisfaction. every four years the flower borders need to be spaded, well manured, and replanted. the following lists of flowers for borders may be suggestive: _perennials._--bleeding-heart, carnations, chrysanthemums, columbine, coreopsis, dahlias, gaillardias, golden glow, iris, larkspur, oriental poppies, peonies, phlox, pinks, platycodon, snapdragon. _biennials._--forget-me-not, foxglove, canterbury bells, hollyhock, sweet-william, wallflower. _annuals._--african daisy, ageratum, aster, calendula, calliopsis, balsam, candytuft, cornflower, cosmos, marigold, mignonette, nasturtium, petunia, poppy, stock, sweet alyssum, sweet-pea, verbena, zinnia, annual phlox, red sunflower, cut-and-come-again sunflower. each home gardener should study garden literature, in order to assist in solving the garden problems; for the day has passed when one needed only to scratch the soil with a shell, plant the seeds, and receive an abundant crop. today successful gardening depends upon intelligent management of the soil and crop and upon persistent labour. preliminary plan the teacher should, if possible, visit the homes of all the pupils, in order to make herself familiar with the condition in which their grounds are kept. she may be able to secure permission from one of the housekeepers to use her grounds as the practice place for the lesson, or it may be more desirable to give this lesson at the school and to conduct a school garden as a model home garden. method of work discuss the arrangement and care of the home or school grounds. have the class tidy the lawn and garden chosen for the lesson, supervising the work carefully. assign the tidying up of the home lawns or work in the home gardens for the coming week. let this lesson serve as a means of interesting the pupils in home gardening, if that has not already been taken up, or of emphasizing the relation of gardening to the housekeeper's work, if they are already interested in the former. reference books _bush fruits._ card. macmillan's, toronto $ . _when mother lets us garden._ duncan. moffat, yard & co., new york . _a woman's hardy garden._ ely. macmillan's, toronto . _the beginner's garden book._ french. macmillan's, toronto . _productive vegetable garden._ lloyd. lippincott co., philadelphia . twenty lessons in cooking suggestions to the teacher the teacher should learn how the pupils live in their own homes, what food produce is grown for home use, what foods they use, and how they prepare and serve their foods. the instruction given in the lessons should be based on this knowledge, and the possibilities for the improvement of accepted methods of cooking should be considered. those foods should be used in the recipes which the pupils can afford to use at home. they should be encouraged to grow in their gardens a variety of garden produce, and to keep chickens, pigs, and cows. elementary principles of nutrition and sanitation should be taught. simple meals, with plain but well-cooked dishes, should be planned. variations should be suggested, and the value of a mixed diet emphasized. care should be taken not to waste time on points that are unrelated to the homes of the pupils, except as such points may be necessary to raise their ideals. all the work should be done carefully. the sanitary handling of food and care in the storage of foods should be insisted upon. careful attention should be given to the dish-washing, care of the dish-towels, etc., emphasizing the points in sanitation involved. the pupils should be drilled faithfully in all points connected with the handling of anything that comes in contact with the food. proper methods of sweeping and cleaning should be employed, and thoroughness must be practised in every detail of the work. constant drill in these processes should be given. the order in which the lessons are to be given will be regulated, in part, by the season of the year in which they occur, the locality, the foods obtainable, and any special local needs. however, care must be taken that the lessons are given in proper sequence, so that the pupils may see the relation of one to another and may appreciate the value of each. it may be necessary to combine two lessons or to give only part of a lesson. in some of the lessons more recipes are suggested than can be prepared in a brief period. in every case the choice of a recipe will have to be made by the teacher. wherever it is possible, simple experiments should be performed to show the composition of, and the effect of heat on, food. no attempt has been made to give a complete set of recipes; but those included here are chosen as illustrating the subjects to be discussed in the lessons. the teacher who desires to make use of a greater number of recipes will do well to supply herself with one of the text-books listed. level measurements should be used in the preparation of all the recipes, and all the directions should be carefully followed. the first few lessons are more fully outlined than the others, furnishing suggestions for methods of procedure that may be adapted to later lessons. the teacher should have a detailed plan for every lesson, outlining her method of work, the leading questions for the discussion, and the home assignments which she desires to make. foods that are in common use are suggested for the lessons outlined. there will necessarily be exceptions to their use in different localities. if any foods used in the homes are harmful because of the manner in which they are prepared, the teacher should do all in her power to correct the situation, but she must, at the same time, be careful not to be too radical. if the lessons given are not followed by home practice, the time devoted to them will be, to all intents and purposes, wasted. simple meal service should be introduced wherever it is possible, and as much instruction on the furnishing and the care of the kitchen should be included as time permits. by the time the course is completed, the pupil should be able to keep her kitchen in a sanitary condition and should have a sufficient knowledge of food values and of the processes of cooking to enable her to provide simple, wholesome meals for her family. for the teaching of food values, it will be helpful to secure the set of sixteen food charts which may be obtained from the superintendent of documents, government printing office, washington, d.c., price one dollar. it will be shown later how the school luncheon may be managed with very little interference with the ordinary organization of the school. where definite instruction is given in household science, a place must be provided for it on the school time-table, as is the case with the other school subjects. in sewing and household management lessons of forty minutes each are sufficient, and these can be arranged for at the times found to be most convenient. if each pupil keeps her sewing in a box or bag, it may often be used as "busy work" when the pupil has finished her assigned work or while she is waiting for the teacher, who may be engaged with another class. lessons in cookery should be, if possible, at least one hour in length, and should be given at a time when this period can be exceeded, if the character of the lesson renders it desirable; for example, in those cases where the cooking is not completed at the expiration of the time assigned. for this reason the last hour on friday afternoon has proved a very suitable time. in some schools the lesson is commenced at half-past three and runs on until completed, and in this way only half an hour of the regular school time is taken. the possibilities of a saturday morning cooking class should not be overlooked. abbreviations and measurements tbsp. = tablespoonful tsp. = teaspoonful c. = cupful qt. = quart pt. = pint oz. = ounce lb. = pound min. = minute hr. = hour table of level measurements tsp. = tbsp. tbsp. = c. (dry measure) tbsp. (liquid) = c. c. = pt. comparisons between weights and measures c. butter, packed solidly = lb. c. sugar (granulated) = lb. c. meat, finely chopped = lb. - / c. brown sugar = lb. - / c. oatmeal = lb. - / c. rolled oats = lb. c. flour = lb. tbsp. butter = oz. tbsp. flour = oz. or eggs = lb. lemon (juice) = tbsp. _note._--the half-pint measuring cup and not the ordinary tea cup is the one to be used. reference books _household management._ ontario teachers' manual. the copp, clark co., ltd., toronto $ . _domestic science._ austin, b. j. lyons & carnahan, chicago. vol. i . vol. ii . _principles of cooking._ conley, g. american book co., new york . _home economics._ flagg, g. p. little, brown & co., boston. (mcclelland, goodchild & stewart, toronto). . _lessons in elementary cooking._ jones, m. c. boston cooking school magazine co., boston . _food and health._ kinne, h., and cooley, a. m. macmillan's, toronto . _the school kitchen text-book._ lincoln, m. j. little, brown & co., boston. (mcclelland, goodchild & stewart, toronto) . _food and cookery._ metcalf, m. l. industrial education co., indianapolis . _household science and arts._ morris, j. american book co., new york . _the science of home-making._ pirie, e. e. scott, foresman & co., chicago . _elements of the theory and practice of cookery._ williams, m. e., and fisher, k. r. macmillan's, toronto . lesson i: discussion of foods and cooking _management of the kitchen stove. cooking by dry heat. baked vegetable or fruit._ subject-matter _foods._--the body uses food to build and repair its tissues, to provide heat and energy, and to regulate the body processes. foods differ from one another in their composition and in their ability to assist the body in the performance of its varied functions. these differences have led to the classification of foods into five groups, which are spoken of as the five food-stuffs or food principles. _cooking._--while some foods can be used as they occur in nature, most of them are made more acceptable by the application of heat. heat softens the structure of vegetables and fruits, makes tender the tissues of meat, prepares starch for digestion, develops the flavour in many foods, and destroys the parasites and germs that may be present. the five food-stuffs are differently affected by heat--some require slow cooking, others require intense heat. hence, it is necessary to study cooking, in order that each food may be properly prepared. _the stove._--a knowledge of the construction of the stove and the methods whereby heat is obtained is imperative if one is to be a successful cook. for all stoves three things are necessary--fuel, a supply of oxygen, and a certain degree of heat, known as the kindling point, whereby the fire is started. the supply of oxygen is regulated by dampers and checks so arranged as to admit or cut off the draught of air. the creative dampers are doors or slides that come below the fire box. when open, they admit the entrance of air, increase the draught, and facilitate combustion. the oven damper is a flat plate which closes the opening into the chimney flue, to decrease the drawing of the draught. when the oven damper is closed, the heat from the fire remains in the stove and passes around the oven. checks are doors or slides higher than the fire-box, which, when open, allow the cold air to pass over the fire, retarding combustion. a stove is also provided with means for disposing of the ashes, soot, and the gases formed. all parts of the stove are so arranged that they may be kept clean. (see twenty lessons in the care of the home. lesson i) preliminary plan there should be provided for this lesson (from the homes of the pupils or the school garden), some fruit or vegetable in season that can be cooked by dry heat. each pupil may be able to bring an apple or a potato. the teacher should be sure to have an oven that can be well heated for baking and to have the fire well started before the lesson begins, so that the oven will be ready for use. lessons in geography and nature study should be correlated with the cooking lesson, to give the pupils an opportunity to study the source of foods and the reasons for cooking them. one of the pupils should write the recipes on the black-board before the lesson hour. recipes _baked apples_ wash the apples, core them, and cut through the skin with a knife, so that the apple can expand in baking without breaking the skin. place the apples in a baking-dish and fill each cavity with sugar. cover the bottom of the dish with water one quarter of an inch deep and bake until the apples are soft ( to minutes), basting them every minutes. place them in a serving dish and pour the juice over them. serve hot or cold. _baked potatoes_ select smooth potatoes of medium size, scrub carefully, and place in a baking-pan. bake in a hot oven from minutes to one hour. when soft, break the skin to let the steam escape and serve at once. method of work discuss very briefly the food that is to be cooked and the method of cooking it. have as many apples or potatoes baked as there are members of the class or as the baking-dish will hold. assign tasks to special members of the class. as quickly as possible put the vegetable or fruit in the oven to bake. while the baking is in process, take up a general discussion of foods and cooking and a special discussion of the food which is being used and the method of cooking that is being employed. give as thorough a lesson on the stove and combustion as time permits. examine the baked article and discuss the methods of serving it, the time for serving, and so on. use the finished product for the school lunch or have it served daintily in the class. encourage the pupils to bring a dish to school in order to take the results of their work home for the family meal, if a school lunch is not served or if they do not need a lunch. give careful directions for washing the dishes and supervise the housework carefully. (see pages , , _household management._) _note._--it may be necessary to go on with some other recitation before the baking is completed, in which case one member of the class should be appointed to watch the oven. questions used to develop the lesson what food have we on hand for use to-day? does this food need cooking? why? how shall we prepare it for cooking? how shall we prepare the oven? how shall we care for the fire? how long will it be necessary to cook this food? (time the baking carefully and discuss more thoroughly at the close of the lesson.) how can we tell when it is cooked? how shall we serve it? for what meal shall we serve it? of what value is it to the body? _home assignment._--the pupils should prepare the baked dish at home and at the next lesson report the result of their work. _note._--the recipes given in this manual are prepared for normal times; but in every case the regulations of the canada food board should be observed, and substitutes used wherever possible. lesson ii: preparing and serving vegetables _water and mineral matter in vegetables. how to prepare and serve uncooked vegetables--lettuce, cress, cabbage, etc. cooking by moist heat. how to boil, season, and serve beet tops, turnip tops, cabbage, sprouts, kale, spinach, mustard, or other vegetable greens._ subject-matter _water._--all fluids and tissues of the body contain large quantities of water, therefore water is regarded as one of the most important food-stuffs required by the body. practically all foods contain some water. fresh vegetables and fruits provide the body with a high percentage of water. water is a valuable medium for cooking. as it heats, small bubbles are formed, which continually increase in number and size, but gradually disappear. some time before the boiling-point is reached, an occasional large bubble will rise to the surface and disappear. the water has then reached the simmering-point, °, a temperature frequently made use of in cooking. when many bubbles form and break, causing a commotion on the surface of the water, the boiling-point, °, has been reached. _mineral matter._--mineral matter is a second food-stuff that is needed by the body, but the amount required is very small. if a variety of food is used, there is generally sufficient mineral matter in the diet. fruits and vegetables, especially fresh green vegetables, are comparatively rich in mineral matter. mineral matter builds up the bones and certain tissues, such as the hair, teeth, and nails, and regulates the body processes by keeping the blood and digestive fluids in proper condition. _green vegetables._--green vegetables hold an important place in the diet, because they contain valuable mineral matter. they also contain a high percentage of water and considerable cellulose. with few exceptions they should be eaten raw, because the mineral salts, being soluble, are lost in the water in which they are cooked and because the cellulose serves its purpose best in the crisp form. cabbage is rendered much more difficult of digestion by cooking. spinach, beet tops, etc., are more palatable when cooked. the delicately flavoured vegetables should be boiled in a very small amount of water, so that they need not be drained. thus the mineral matter will be retained when the vegetables are served. preliminary plan there should be provided for the lesson (from the homes of the pupils or the school garden), some fresh vegetables in season; one that can be cooked by boiling and one that can be served uncooked with a simple dressing. one of the pupils should write the recipes on the black-board before the lesson hour. recipes _preparation of fresh green vegetables_[a] wash the vegetables thoroughly, leaving them in cold water to crisp, if wilted. keep cool until ready to serve, then arrange daintily, and dress with salt, vinegar, and oil as desired, or prepare a dressing as follows: _cooked dressing_ / tbsp. salt tsp. mustard - / tbsp. sugar a few grains pepper / tbsp. flour egg or yolks of eggs - / tbsp. melted butter / c. milk / c. vinegar mix the dry ingredients, add the egg slightly beaten and the butter and the milk. cook over boiling water until the mixture thickens. add the vinegar, stirring constantly. strain and cool. note.[a]--it may be well to omit from this lesson the uncooked vegetable that is served in the form of a salad and to give it at some other time. it is not well to attempt to teach more than the pupils can master thoroughly. _recipe for boiling and seasoning fresh green vegetables_ wash the vegetables carefully and put them on to cook in boiling water. delicately flavoured vegetables (spinach, celery, fresh peas, etc.) will require but little water, and that should be allowed to boil away at the last. if spinach is stirred constantly, no water need be added. starchy vegetables should be completely covered with water, and strongly flavoured vegetables (as turnips, onions, cabbage, and cauliflower) should be cooked in water at simmering temperature. after the vegetables have cooked for a few minutes, salt should be added, one teaspoonful to each quart of water. cook the vegetable until it can be easily pierced with a fork. let the water boil away at the last. if it is necessary to drain, do so as soon as the vegetable is tender. season with salt, pepper, and butter ( / teaspoon salt, / teaspoon pepper, and / tablespoon butter to each cup of vegetable). _note._--the water in which the vegetables are cooked should be saved for soups and sauces, as it contains most of the valuable mineral matter. method of work discuss the heating of water and apply the facts to cooking. have the pupils observe and describe the heating of water. if a new tin sauce-pan or other bright tin vessel is at hand in which to heat the water, the changes which take place as the temperature increases will be more readily apparent, and the pupils will enjoy watching the process. discuss why one vegetable is to be cooked and another served uncooked. emphasize the cleaning of the vegetable, its structure, composition, and the effect of the boiling water upon it. after the vegetable has been put on to cook, discuss the method of seasoning or dressing the vegetable which is to be served uncooked, and have it prepared attractively to serve on the plates. especial emphasis should be placed on the use and importance of fresh, green vegetables. continue the discussion of vegetables, letting the members of the class suggest others that may be prepared as salads or cooked in the manner being illustrated, and write the list on the black-board for the pupils to copy in their note-books. when the cooked vegetable is tender, have it drained, seasoned, and served, and serve the uncooked vegetable at the same time. when ready for serving, let the pupils arrange their plates and forks carefully, then let them all sit down except the two who pass the vegetables. be sure that they eat carefully and daintily. emphasize the careful washing of the dishes, etc., as on the previous day. _questions used to develop the lesson_ how shall we prepare our vegetables for serving? of what value is hot water in cooking food? how must the vegetable be prepared for boiling? does this vegetable contain any water? will it be necessary to add any more? will it be necessary to cover the sauce-pan? how hot must the water be kept? how can one tell when the water is sufficiently hot? how can we determine when the food has cooked long enough? how shall we serve this vegetable? how does boiling compare with baking-- in the time needed? in the matter of flavour? in the amount of fuel used? in the amount of work necessary? _home assignment._--practice in the boiling and the serving of vegetables. lesson iii: the value of carbohydrates in the diet _potatoes as a source of carbohydrates. the choice, cost, care, composition, food value, and cooking of potatoes, baked squash, steamed squash._ subject-matter _carbohydrates._--a third class of food-stuffs required by the body is known as the carbohydrates, or sugars and starches. this class of foods is used as fuel, for the production of heat and energy in the body. excess of carbohydrates may be stored in the body as fatty tissue. _potatoes._--potatoes are a cheap source of carbohydrates. they are also valuable for their mineral matter and for the large quantity of water which they contain. three fourths of the potato is water. the framework of the potato is cellulose, which is an indigestible carbohydrate material. potatoes have only a small amount of cellulose, however, and they are comparatively easy of digestion. when dry and mealy, they are most digestible. when used for a meal, potatoes should be supplemented by some muscle-building food, such as milk, cheese, eggs, fish, or meat. preliminary plan at some previous period the teacher should have discussed with the pupils the use of potatoes and learned from them the different ways in which they cook them in their homes. she should determine upon some recipes for the lesson that will increase the variety of ways in which potatoes may be served and that will improve the methods used in the homes. each pupil should be asked to bring one or two potatoes for the lesson. the best methods of cooking and the means of securing variety should be emphasized. recipes _mashed potatoes_ potatoes / c. hot milk or cream tbsp. butter tsp. salt wash and pare the potatoes, boil, drain, dry, and mash (with a potato masher) in the sauce-pan in which they were cooked. beat them until very light and creamy; add hot milk, butter, and salt, and beat again, re-heat, and serve. serves six to eight. _browned potatoes_ wash, scrub, and pare potatoes of a uniform size. parboil for minutes, then put in a dripping-pan with the meat or on a rack in a baking-pan. baste with fat every minutes, when the meat is basted. allow about minutes for the potatoes to cook. experiment to show the presence of starch in potatoes scrub and pare a potato. examine a thin cross-section. grate the potato. remove the coarse, shredded portion. examine. examine the liquid and note any sediment. heat the liquid and stir until boiling. how has it changed? examine the portion of the grater. how has the colour changed? why? _baked squash_ wipe the shell of the squash, cut it into pieces for serving, remove the seeds and stringy portion, place in a dripping-pan, and bake in a slow oven for three quarters of an hour (until tender). serve at once. _steamed squash_ prepare the squash as for baking, put in a steamer over boiling water, and cook for minutes or until soft. then scrape the squash from the shell, mash, and season with butter, salt, and pepper. method of work discuss the composition and structure of the potato. read over and discuss the recipes that are to be used. make assignments of work. after the potatoes have been put on to cook, have the class examine a raw potato, following the directions given.[a] [a] squash is another vegetable containing a high percentage of carbohydrate. the recipe for squash can be used at this time or in some other lesson. if one of the recipes requires the use of the oven, be careful to have the potatoes for it prepared first and as quickly as possible. it may be necessary to proceed with another class, assigning one pupil to take charge of the baking. special attention should be given to the careful serving of the potatoes. _home assignment._--before the next lesson, each pupil should be able to report that she has cooked potatoes at home, using the recipes learned in class. lesson iv: fruits and vegetables _food value and use of fruits. reasons and rules for canning. how to can and use such vegetables as beets, beans, tomatoes, and carrots, and such fruits as figs, grapes, apples, and peaches. the drying of fruits and vegetables._ subject-matter fruits impart palatability and flavour to other foods and exercise a favourable influence upon the digestive organs, though their food value is low. they contain a high percentage of water and only a small percentage of nutrients. most fruits are eaten raw and are exceedingly valuable to the body because of the fresh acids they contain. cooking softens the cellulose of the fruit and, therefore, renders some fruits more easy of digestion. the cooking of fruit is of value chiefly for the purpose of preservation. _the drying of fruits._--fruits are dried so that they may be preserved for use. bacteria and moulds, which cause the decay of fruits, need moisture for development and growth. if the moisture is evaporated, the fruits will keep almost indefinitely. fruits and vegetables can be easily and inexpensively dried. when dried fruits are to be used for the table, they must be washed thoroughly and soaked for several hours, or overnight, in water, so as to restore to them as much water as possible. they should be cooked, until soft, in the same water in which they are soaked. _canning and preserving._--other methods of preservation are desirable, in order that vegetables and fruits be made of value for a longer period of time than through their ripening season. canning is one of the methods most commonly employed in the home, being both easy and satisfactory. fruit which is to be canned is first sterilized by boiling or steaming, in order to destroy all germs and spores. this can be adequately accomplished by boiling for twenty minutes, but a shorter time is sometimes sufficient. in order to ensure complete success, all germs must also be destroyed on the cans and on everything which comes in contact with the food. this will be effected by boiling or steaming for twenty minutes. the jars, covers, dipper, and funnel should all be placed in cold water, heated until the water comes to the boiling-point, boiled five minutes, and left in the water until just before sealing. as for the rubbers, it will be sufficient to dip them into the boiling water. after the fruit has been put into the can, it must be sealed so that it is perfectly air-tight. in order to do this, it is necessary to have good covers, with new, pliable rubbers, and to see to it that they fit tightly. when the jar is to be filled, it should be placed on a board or wooden table, or on a cloth wrung out of hot water, and should be filled to overflowing. sugar is not essential to sterilization and is used only to improve the flavour. both fruits and vegetables can be canned without sugar. however, fruits canned with a large amount of sugar do not spoil readily, for germs develop slowly in a thick syrup. _methods of canning._--the simplest method of canning is the "open-kettle method" employed for small, watery fruits, such as berries, grapes, tomatoes, etc. the fruit is boiled in an open kettle (which permits of the evaporation of some of the water in the fruit) and transferred at once to a sterilized jar, which is immediately sealed. another and safer method, which secures more complete sterilization without serious change of flavour in the fruit, is that known as the "cold-pack method". after being transferred to the cans, the vegetable or fruit is subjected to an additional period of heating of considerable length, or to three periods of briefer length on three successive days. if the three periods of sterilization are used, the process is known as the "intermittent method". the single process method is described in the recipe for canned beets. the intermittent process proves more satisfactory for canned beans. preliminary plan the teacher should ascertain what fruits and vegetables are most abundant and select for canning those that the class can provide. each pupil should be asked to bring some vegetable or fruit, some granulated sugar, and a jar in which to can her fruit. if the school does not possess enough kettles or sauce-pans in which to do the cooking, they may be borrowed from the homes. only one fruit or one vegetable should be taken up at a time, for the preparation necessarily varies slightly, and the different methods will prove confusing. it is not necessary to confine the choice of fruits and vegetables to those mentioned in the recipes included here. the teacher will find it better to base her instruction on the products of the particular time and place. the principles of canning should be taken up at some other period, if possible, in order that the cooking lesson may be devoted entirely to the practical work. recipes _canned tomatoes_ (open-kettle method) scald and peel the tomatoes. boil gently for minutes. sterilize the jars, covers, and rubbers. stand the jars on a cloth in a pan of hot water or on a board or wooden table. fill the jars with hot tomatoes, being careful to fill to overflowing and to expel all air bubbles from the jar. adjust the rubbers and covers. seal and allow to cool. test, label, and set away in a cool, dry, dark place. (cold-pack method) scald in water hot enough to loosen the skins. plunge quickly in cold water and remove the skins. pack whole or in pieces in the jars. fill the jars with tomatoes only. add level teaspoonful of salt to each quart. place the rubber and cover in position. partially seal, but not tightly. place the jars on a rack in a boiler. pour sufficient warm water into the boiler to come half-way up the jars. place the filled jars on the rack so as not to touch one another, and pack the spaces between them with cotton, to prevent the jars striking when the water boils. sterilize for minutes after the water begins to boil. remove the jars from the boiler. tighten the covers. invert to cool, and test the joints. wrap the jars in paper to prevent bleaching and store in a cool, dry, dark place. this method of cooking is also called "the hot water bath". _canned grapes_ (open-kettle method) qt. grapes qt. sugar / c. water pick over, wash, drain, and remove the stems from the grapes. separate the pulp from the skins. cook the pulp minutes and then rub through a sieve that is fine enough to hold back the seeds. put the water, skins, and pulp into the preserving kettle and heat slowly to the boiling-point. skim the fruit and then add the sugar. boil minutes. put into jars as directed. sweet grapes may be canned with less sugar; very sour grapes will require more sugar. _canned peaches_ choose firm, solid fruit. scald long enough to loosen the skins. peel and cut in halves. if clingstone peaches are used, they may be canned whole. pack the fruit into sterilized jars, fill with boiling syrup ( c. sugar to - / c. water). then put on the covers loosely and place on wooden racks in the boiler. sterilize in hot water bath for minutes. remove the jars and tighten the covers. invert to cool, and test the joints. wrap the jars in paper to prevent bleaching; then store. _canned beets_ (single process) wash the beets and boil them until they are nearly tender and the skins come off easily. remove the skins and carefully pack the beets in a jar. cover with boiling water, to which one tablespoonful of salt is added for each quart, and put the cover on the jar, but do not fasten it down. place the jar on a rack or a folded cloth in a large kettle that can be closely covered. pour enough water into the kettle to reach within two inches of the top of the jar, cover the kettle, bring the water to the boiling-point, and boil from one and one-half to two hours. as the water around the jar boils down, replenish with boiling water, never with cold. remove the jars and tighten the covers. invert to cool, and test the joints. wrap the jars in paper to prevent bleaching; then store. _note._--in canning beets, if vinegar is added to the water in the proportion of one part vinegar to four parts water, the natural bright colour will be retained. _canned string beans and peas_ (intermittent method) can on the same day that the vegetables are picked. blanch in boiling water from to minutes. remove, and plunge into cold water. pack in sterilized jars. add boiling water to fill the crevices. add level teaspoonful of salt to each quart. place rubbers and covers in position. set the jars on the rack in the boiler and bring gradually to boiling heat. at the end of an hour's boiling, remove the jars from the boiler. tighten the clamps or rims and set the jars aside to cool until the following day. do not let the vegetables cool off in the boiler, as this results in over-cooking. on the second day, loosen the clamps or unscrew the rims, place the jars in warm water, heat again to boiling temperature, and boil for an hour; then remove them again. on the third day, repeat the hour's boiling, as on the preceding day. corn may be canned successfully in the same way. _dried corn_ pick the corn early in the morning. immediately husk, silk, and cut the corn from the cob. spread in a very thin layer on a board, cover with mosquito netting which is kept sufficiently elevated so that it will not come in contact with the corn, place in the hot sun, and leave all day. before the dew begins to fall, take it into the house and place in an oven that is slightly warm. leave in the oven overnight and place out in the sun again the next day. repeat this process until absolutely dry. _string beans_ string beans are hung up to dry and kept for winter use. method of work if possible, let each pupil can a jar of vegetables or fruit for her own home. if the class is large, let the pupils work in groups of two or three. begin the lesson with a very brief discussion of how to prepare fruit for canning. let the pupils proceed with the practical work as quickly as possible. demonstrate the method of filling and sealing the jars. assign the care of the jars and the intermittent canning on succeeding days to members of the class, and hold them responsible for the completion of the work. the drying of some vegetables can be undertaken at school, and carefully followed from day to day. it will furnish the pupils with an interesting problem. lesson v: fats--vegetables--continued _preparation of white sauce to serve with vegetables. how to boil, season, and serve such vegetables as lima or butter beans, string beans, onions, cabbage, corn, beets, turnips, or carrots._ subject-matter _fats._--butter belongs to the class of food-stuffs known as fats. it increases the fuel value of those dishes to which it is added. fats supply heat and energy to the body in a concentrated form. for this reason they should be used in a limited quantity. fats undergo several changes during the process of digestion, and the excessive use of them interferes with the digestion of other foods and throws a large amount of work upon the digestive organs. cooked fats are more difficult of digestion than uncooked fats, and other foods cooked with hot fat are rendered more difficult to digest. _vegetables._--vegetables should be used when in season, as they are always best and cheapest then. they are better kept in a cold, dry, and dark place. if the vegetables contain starch or tough cellulose, they will require cooking; as raw starch is indigestible, and the harsh cellulose may be too irritating to the digestive tract. in old or exceedingly large vegetables the cellulose may be very tough; hence a long period of cooking is necessary. they should be cooked only until they are tender. longer cooking may destroy the flavour, render the vegetables difficult of digestion, and cause the colour to change. in very young vegetables the cellulose is delicate and, if young vegetables do not contain much starch, they may be eaten raw. when cooked vegetables are served, they are usually seasoned and dressed with butter (for one cup of vegetables use / teaspoonful of salt, / teaspoonful of pepper, and / tablespoonful of fat), or a sauce is prepared to serve with them. preliminary plan it may be well to have a preliminary lesson devoted to simple experiments with flour, liquid, and fat, in order to determine the best method of combining the ingredients in the white sauce. however, if the lesson period is of sufficient length, a few of these experiments may be performed in connection with it. there should be provided for the lesson some vegetable that is improved by serving with white sauce, and sufficient milk, butter or other fat, flour, and salt for the sauce and the experiments. discuss with the pupils the fat that is used in their homes, in order to know what is available. the recipes should be written on the black-board before the lesson hour. recipes _stewed onions_ qt. onions white pepper tbsp. butter / tsp. salt peel the onions under cold water. cover with boiling water, add salt, and simmer until tender. drain and serve with one cup of white sauce; or omit the sauce and serve seasoned with butter and pepper. serves six. _cabbage_ cut the cabbage into quarters and soak one-half hour in cold salt water to draw out any insects. chop or shred, cover with boiling water, add salt, and simmer until tender. drain, and serve with butter, salt, and pepper, or with a sauce. _carrots_ scrape the carrots and cut them into large dice or slices. add boiling water and boil until tender (from to minutes). drain, and season with butter, salt, and pepper, or serve with white sauce. _string beans_ string the beans, if necessary, and cut into pieces. boil in salted water until tender. season with butter, salt, and pepper, and serve hot. salt pork may be boiled with the beans, to give them an added flavour. experiments in using starch for thickening (any powdered starch may be used) . boil / cup of water in a small sauce-pan. while boiling, stir into it / tsp. of cornstarch and let it boil one minute. observe the result. break open a lump and examine it. . mix tsp. of cornstarch with tsp. of cold water and stir into / cup of boiling water. note the result. . mix tsp. of cornstarch with tsp. of sugar and stir into / cup of boiling water. note the result. . mix tsp. of cornstarch with tsp. of melted fat in a small sauce-pan and stir into it / cup of boiling water. note the result. conclusions based on the foregoing experiments . starch granules must be separated before being used to thicken a liquid: ( ) by adding a double quantity of cold liquid, ( ) by adding a double quantity of sugar, ( ) by adding a double quantity of melted fat. . the liquid which is being thickened must be constantly stirred, to distribute evenly the starch grains until they are cooked. _white sauce_ tbsp. butter or other fat tbsp. flour c. milk / tsp. salt / tsp. pepper (sufficient for pint vegetables) melt the butter, add the flour, and stir over the fire until frothy. add the milk and stir constantly until it thickens. stir in the seasonings. _note._--vegetable water may be substituted for part of the milk. method of work review the facts on boiling vegetables learned in the previous lesson. let the pupils put water on to boil and prepare a vegetable for cooking. if experiments are to be made, they can be performed while the vegetable is cooking. if the experiments have been made previously, they can be reviewed in discussion at this time. prepare a white sauce by demonstration, using the method which seems most practical. have the vegetables drained, dried, and added to the white sauce. when well-heated, serve. questions used to develop the lesson what facts regarding the boiling of vegetables did we learn in the last lesson? does the vegetable that we are to cook to-day differ in any marked way from those we cooked before? should we follow the same rule in cooking it? should we add the flour directly to the cold milk? to the hot milk? how shall we combine the white sauce? with what other vegetables can white sauce be used? _home assignment._--each pupil should prepare some vegetable and serve it with white sauce, before the next lesson. lesson vi: cereals _kinds, composition, care, and general rules for cooking cereals. oatmeal, cracked wheat, corn-meal porridge, rice. fruits to serve with cereals--stewed prunes, stewed apples, or apple sauce._ subject-matter the term "cereals" is applied to the cultivated grasses--rice, wheat, corn, rye, oats, and buckwheat. they are widely grown throughout the temperate zone and are prepared in various forms for use as food. cereals contain a high percentage of starch and a low percentage of water, with varying proportions of mineral matter and fat. in addition to the four food-stuffs already studied, cereals contain a small amount of another food-stuff known as protein--a muscle-building material. for the most part, the cereals contain a large amount of cellulose, which is broken up during the process of preparation for market and requires long cooking before being ready for use by the body. the digestibility of the cereals depends upon the amount of cellulose which they contain and the thoroughness of the cooking. cereals are palatable, and they are valuable, because in cooking they can be blended in various ways with other substances. they are beneficial also to the body, because their cellulose acts mechanically on the digestive organs by stimulating them to action. cereals are made more attractive by serving with fresh or cooked fruit. preliminary plan the cereals should be discussed in a nature study or geography lesson, and two or three kinds that are in common use should be brought from home by the pupils. if cereals are not generally used as breakfast foods, the lesson may be a means of introducing them. some pupils should bring a little milk and sugar, to serve with the cooked cereal. apples or prunes should be brought, to cook and serve with the cereal. recipes _oatmeal_ c. boiling water / c. oatmeal / tsp. salt add the oatmeal slowly to boiling salted water. boil for minutes, stirring constantly, then cook slowly, preferably over water, at least one and one-half hours longer; the flavour is developed by longer cooking. serves six. _cracked wheat_ follow the recipe for oatmeal, using / c. of cracked wheat. _corn-meal porridge_ c. boiling water / c. corn-meal tsp. salt add the corn-meal slowly to boiling salted water. boil for minutes, stirring constantly, then cook slowly for three hours longer, preferably over water. serves six to eight. _boiled rice_ qt. boiling water c. rice tsp. salt pick the rice over carefully and wash thoroughly. add it to the boiling salted water so gradually that it will not stop boiling. partly cover and cook for minutes, or until the grains are soft; turn into a colander, and pour cold water through it, drain, dry, and re-heat in a hot oven with door open. serve hot as a vegetable or as a simple dessert with cream and sugar. serves six to eight. _stewed prunes_ / lb. prunes qt. cold water wash the prunes in two or three waters; then soak them in cold water for several hours. heat them in the water in which they are soaked and simmer until tender (an hour or more). serves six to eight. _stewed apples_ small apples / c. sugar / c. water cook the sugar and water together until it boils. wash, pare, and cut the apples into quarters; core, and slice the quarters lengthwise into / -inch slices; put the apple slices into boiling syrup and cook slowly until tender. remove from the syrup at once and let the syrup boil down to thicken. _apple sauce_ small apples / c. sugar / c. water wipe, quarter, core, and pare sour apples; add the water and cook until the apples begin to soften; add the sugar and flavouring, cook until the apples are very soft, then press through a strainer and beat well. serves eight to ten. method of work as soon as the class meets, discuss the recipes briefly and put the cereals on to cook at once. prepare the fruit. while the long cooking of the cereal is in progress, discuss the composition, food value, and methods of using cereals. then go on with another lesson and call the class together, for serving, later in the day. serve the fruit and the cereals together. lesson vii: classification of foods--reviewed subject-matter those foods which build up and repair the muscular tissues of the body are called protein foods, muscle builders, or flesh formers. meat, fish, eggs, cheese, milk, cereals, legumes, and nuts are classed as protein foods. those foods which serve solely as fuel for the body--providing heat and energy--are classed under two groups: the carbohydrates (sugar and starches), which the body is able to use in relatively large quantities; and the fats, which the body cannot use in such large quantities, but which yield a large amount of heat and energy. protein also serves as fuel, though tissue building is regarded as its special function. sugars and starches are abundant in fruits and vegetables. fats are found in meats, fish, milk, and in some vegetable foods. heat-giving food may be stored in the body as fatty tissue. mineral compounds must be present in our food, to help in the regulation of the body processes and to enter into the composition of the structure and the fluids of the body. mineral compounds are best supplied by fresh green vegetables, fruits, and milk. water is absolutely essential to the body, is present in large quantities in many foods, and is combined with many other foods during the processes of cooking. one or more of the food-stuffs sometimes predominate in a single food. for example, rice is almost entirely carbohydrate, and butter is almost pure fat. occasionally, we find a food that contains all the five groups of food principles. milk is an example of such a food, containing all five food principles in such proportions as to supply all the nourishment which a baby needs during the early months of its life. as the child grows older, foods rich in both carbohydrates must be added to the diet. wheat contains all that the body needs for nourishment except water, which is easily added in cooking. _protein foods_ _carbohydrate foods_ meats sugar fish honey poultry syrup eggs vegetables: cheese potatoes milk parsnips cereals: peas wheat beets oatmeal carrots rye cereal preparations: legumes: meals peas flours, etc. beans fruits lentils prepared foods: peanuts bread nuts crackers macaroni jellies dried fruits candy milk _fat foods_ _mineral foods_ cream fruits butter vegetables: lard spinach suet tomatoes fat meats onions fish turnip tops salad oil cauliflower nuts cereals: chocolate grits and other coarse preparations milk eggs _choice of food._--the diet must be carefully chosen, to give a needed variety and to combine the foods properly so that one may have a right proportion of all the food-stuffs. each meal should contain some protein food, some fats or carbohydrates, some mineral matter, and water. all five forms of food-stuffs should have a place in the day's diet. the greater part of the water which the body needs should be taken between meals. method of work review the foods discussed in the previous lessons and sum up the classification of foods, being sure that the pupils can name common examples of each. discuss simple combinations for the different meals, using dishes already prepared in the course and creating an interest in other recipes to be prepared in succeeding lessons. black-board summary there are five food principles: . _water_--builds and repairs the tissues, regulates the system-- found in all food-stuffs. . _mineral matter_--builds and repairs the tissues, regulates the system-- found in vegetables, fruits, cereal, and so on. . _carbohydrates_--give heat and energy to the body-- found in sugar and starches. . _fats_--give heat and energy to the body-- found in cream, nuts, pork, and so on. . protein--builds and repairs the tissues-- found in meat, eggs, cheese, seeds. always choose a diet carefully: . to give variety. . to combine the foods properly, so that they will contain adequate proportions of each food-stuff at every meal. lesson viii: the planning and serving of meals subject-matter experience has shown that some foods are more acceptable at one time of day than other foods, and that certain combinations are more pleasing than others. the choice of foods will also depend upon the season of the year. for example, breakfast is, as a rule, made up of simple foods that are not highly seasoned nor subjected to elaborate methods of cooking. a fruit, a cereal, and bread, with, possibly, eggs or meat, are served at breakfast. a hot beverage is added by most people to this meal. fundamentally, dinner consists of a hot meat or other protein dish, with one or two vegetables. soup, salad, and a sweet dessert are often served. the soup is served before the meat course, and the salad and dessert follow it. the dessert may be a fruit, a cookie or other pastry, a pudding, or a frozen dish. lunch or supper may be a very simple meal, consisting of a soup with crackers, one protein dish (eggs, milk, or meat) with bread and stewed fruit, or a salad, with a simple dessert. examples of well-chosen menus _breakfast_ no. i apple sauce sausage or bacon oatmeal toast no. ii baked apples eggs in the shell cracked wheat corn muffins no. iii stewed figs or berries poached eggs corn-meal porridge toast note.--eggs should be omitted from the breakfast menu if they are not cheap and easily obtainable. _dinner_ no. i pork chops potatoes fried apples mashed turnips bread rice pudding no. ii beef or mutton stew biscuits spinach or turnip tops cornstarch pudding no. iii baked beans grape sauce cabbage salad bread or biscuits _supper_ no. i stewed apricots or other fruit whole wheat bread buttermilk or sweet milk peanut cookies no. ii omelet creamed potatoes bread fresh fruit no. iii cream of carrot soup biscuits cottage cheese syrup the table should always be neatly set, with individual places arranged for each one who is to partake of the meal. each place should be wide enough for a plate, with a knife and spoon at the right and a fork at the left side. a tumbler should be placed at the point of the knife and a napkin at the left of the fork. everything on the table should be perfectly clean, the napkin should be neatly folded, and all the articles should be uniformly arranged, in order to give a neat appearance to the table. a flower or plant in the centre will add to its attractiveness. salt, pepper, sugar, vinegar, and anything of the kind that may be needed with the meal should be arranged where it can be easily reached. fresh water should be poured into the tumblers just before the meal is served. the bread, butter, and so on, may be put on the table several minutes before the meal is announced, but the hot dishes should be placed immediately before the family is seated. preliminary plan if lesson vi, entitled "setting and clearing the table" as outlined in the course on the care of the home has been given, this lesson may be devoted to what to serve and how to serve it, or it may precede the lesson on "waiting on table". the manner of serving may be demonstrated in the next lesson, in connection with the course on the care of the home. simple equipment for family service will be required, if the form of serving is to be taken up. for class practice, a table for four may be arranged. this will necessitate a table-cover, four dinner plates, four bread-and-butter plates, four tumblers, four cups and saucers, four knives, four forks, four teaspoons, four napkins, a platter, one serving spoon, and one serving fork. method of work discuss meal service from the standpoint both of choice and combination of foods and of the method of service. let the class plan a meal, then go through the form of serving that meal at table. in the absence of a table, the top of a desk may be used. later in the course, the teacher should plan to combine this lesson with one on cooking and have the food served. in each cooking lesson, suggestions for serving the food should be made, and each dish cooked should be carefully served. interest in this lesson may be increased by allowing the pupils to make original menus, and, if they are having some lessons in drawing, simple menu cards may be planned and executed. lesson ix: milk _care, cost, and food value of milk. value and use of sour milk--cottage cheese, curdled milk. rice or cornstarch pudding (plain, caramel, or chocolate)._ subject-matter milk contains all the food-stuffs which the body requires, except starch, and, therefore, is capable of sustaining life for comparatively long periods. it is one of the most important protein foods; but it contains so small a percentage of carbohydrate (milk sugar) that for the adult it must be supplemented with carbohydrate foods. for the baby, milk is a perfect food, and it is a valuable adjunct to the diet of all children. one quart of milk should be allowed for the diet of each child daily, after the twelfth month; and the diet of the adult should be supplemented by the use of milk. the greatest care should be exercised in protecting milk from dust and dirt, for it is easily contaminated and may be the means of carrying disease germs to the body. the changes which milk undergoes when souring do not render it harmful. for many people buttermilk is more easy of digestion than sweet milk, because of the changes produced by souring, as well as the absence of fat. sour milk is of value in cooking, producing a tender bread which can readily be made light by the addition of soda--one teaspoonful of soda to one pint of sour milk that has curdled. in the preparation of cheese, the whey is separated from the curds, thus extracting most of the water, sugar, and mineral matter, and leaving a substance rich in protein and fat. cheese is of value in cooking, for it increases the food value of those foods to which it is added. preliminary plan the teacher should make inquiries a few days in advance, to be sure that one quart of sour milk can be secured, and, when it is brought, she should examine it to see that it is in proper condition to make cottage cheese. she should arrange to have about one quart of sweet milk and such other supplies as are necessary for the pudding, brought by the pupils. an opportunity may be afforded to discuss the use of left-over cereal by the preparation of a rice pudding, if the teacher provides some cold cooked rice for the lesson. in the absence of cold rice, the cornstarch pudding may be prepared. recipes _cottage cheese_ heat sour milk slowly until the whey rises to the top, pour the whey off, put the curd in a bag, and let it drip for six hours without squeezing. put the curd into a bowl and break into fine pieces with a wooden spoon; season with salt and mix into a paste with a little cream or butter. mould into balls, if desired, and keep in a cold place. (it is best when fresh.) _rice pudding_ / c. rice c. milk eggs / c. sugar / tsp. salt / tsp. vanilla scald the milk in a double boiler. add the prepared rice and cook until soft. beat the egg-yolks, sugar, and salt together until well mixed. stir into the rice and cook for minutes. remove from the heat and serve cold. serves eight. _cornstarch pudding_ / c. sugar tbsp. cornstarch, or / c. flour tsp. vanilla, or other flavouring c. milk egg mix the sugar and cornstarch thoroughly. add one cup of cold milk and stir until smooth. heat the remainder of the milk in a double boiler; add the cornstarch mixture slowly, stirring constantly until it begins to thicken. continue cooking for minutes. beat the egg well, add the hot pudding slowly, strain, and cool. serve with milk or cream and sugar. (the egg may be omitted, if desired.) serves eight. for chocolate cornstarch pudding, use / cup of sugar additional and two squares of chocolate. melt the chocolate carefully, add the sugar, and add to the cornstarch mixture. for caramel cornstarch pudding, use cup of brown sugar and / cup of boiling water. heat the sugar until it becomes a light-brown liquid, add the boiling water, and stir until the sugar is all dissolved. let it cool; then add to the cornstarch mixture. method of work as soon as the class meets, demonstrate the method of making cottage cheese. show the separation of curd and whey, by adding vinegar or lemon juice to sweet milk. while the cheese is draining, make assignments of work and have the rice or cornstarch pudding made. in this lesson and in those following emphasize the use of protein foods. discuss also the food value of skimmed milk and sour milk and the purposes for which these may be used in cooking. use the cottage cheese and the pudding for the school lunch. lesson x: soups _cream soups. cream of carrot, potato, or onion soup, green pea soup. toast, croutons, or crisp crackers to serve with soup._ subject-matter _cream soups._--the strained pulp of cooked vegetables or legumes, with an equal portion of thin white sauce, is the basis for cream soups. the liquid for the soup may be all milk, part vegetable water and part milk, or all vegetable water. a binding of flour is used to prevent a separation of the thicker and the thinner parts of the soup. this is combined as for white sauce and is stirred into the hot liquid just before the soup is to be served. the soup should be made in a double boiler and kept in this utensil until it is served. four tablespoons of flour to each quart of soup is a good proportion to use for thickening all vegetable soups that are not of a starchy nature; half that amount will be sufficient for soup prepared from a very starchy vegetable. the value of the vegetable water should be impressed upon the pupils, and it should be pointed out that these soups are an excellent way of using the cooking water and any left-over vegetables. from these, attractive cream soups may be prepared, and a combination of flavours often gives good results. _accompaniments._--crisp crackers, croutons, soup sticks, or bread sticks are served with cream soups, and are valuable because they necessitate thorough mastication, thus inducing the flow of saliva and aiding in the digestion of the starchy ingredients of the soups. preliminary plan as a basis for the soup, the teacher should secure a vegetable that the pupils use in their own homes, and crackers or bread to serve with the soup. if dried peas are used, they should be allowed to soak overnight and be put on to cook early in the morning. it will be well to have the cooking of the carrots begun before the lesson period. if the carrots are cut up in small pieces, they will cook more quickly. recipes _cream of carrot soup_ c. cooked carrots c. vegetable water c. milk tbsp. flour tbsp. butter salt and pepper to taste press the vegetables through a sieve or chop finely; put the vegetable water on to heat. mix the flour smoothly with an equal measure of milk and thin it with a little more of the milk. stir into the steaming liquid, stirring constantly until it thickens. stir in the butter, vegetable pulp, and remaining milk. season to taste and serve hot. serves six. _cream of potato soup_ pt. milk or milk and water tsp. chopped onions potatoes tbsp. butter tbsp. flour tsp. salt / tsp. pepper tsp. chopped parsley put the milk to heat in a double boiler. boil the potatoes and onion together until soft, then rub the liquid and pulp through a strainer into the hot milk. bind with the flour, add the seasonings, and serve hot. serves four. _pea soup_ c. split peas - / qt. water tbsp. chopped onion tbsp. butter tbsp. flour - / tsp. salt / tsp. pepper pt. milk wash the peas and soak them overnight in cold water, drain and rinse thoroughly, add - / quarts of cold water and the onion, cook slowly until soft, rub the liquid and pulp through a strainer, and bind with the flour. add the milk and the seasonings and serve hot. serves six to eight. _toast_ cut stale bread into slices one quarter of an inch thick; put on the toaster or fork, move gently over the heat until dry, then brown by placing near the heat, turning constantly. bread may be dried in the oven before toasting. hot milk may be poured over dry toast. _croutons_ cut stale bread into one-half-inch cubes and brown in the oven. _crisp crackers_ put the crackers into the oven for a few minutes, or split and butter thick crackers, and brown in a hot oven; serve with soup. method of work devote a few minutes to a discussion of cream soups and a review of the cooking of vegetables and white sauce. divide the work among the members of the class, assigning enough to each pupil to keep her busy, arranging the work so that the soup and its accompaniments will be ready for serving at the same time. lesson xi: eggs _food value and general rules for cooking eggs. cooked in shell, poached, scrambled, and omelet._ subject-matter eggs are a very valuable food, because of the large amount of protein and fat they contain. though lacking in carbohydrates, they furnish material for building up the muscles and provide heat and energy to the body. if cooked at a low temperature, eggs are very easily and very completely digested. combined with other foods, they serve as a thickening agent (for sauces and soups) and as a means of making batters light (popovers and sponge cake). they add flavour and colour and increase the nutritive value of other foods. preliminary plan the lesson on eggs furnishes one of the best opportunities to teach the muscle-building foods. if eggs are scarce, it may be well to give this lesson at some other time. each pupil should be asked to bring an egg; one or two should bring a little milk; and sufficient bread should be provided to toast for the poached eggs. the teacher should not undertake to give too many recipes in this lesson, but should try to make the pupils familiar with a sufficient variety of ways of using eggs to make egg cookery interesting. the necessity of having a moderate temperature for the cooking of eggs should be emphasized. recipes _soft-cooked eggs_ put the eggs in boiling water sufficient to cover them, remove from the fire, cover, and allow them to stand from to minutes. _hard-cooked eggs_ put the eggs in cold water, heat, and, when the water boils, reduce the heat, and let them stand for minutes with water just below the boiling-point, then put them into cold water. _poached eggs_ break each egg into a saucer carefully, slip the egg into boiling water, decrease the heat, and cook for minutes, or until the white is firm and a film has formed over the yolk. take up with a skimmer, drain, trim off the rough edges, and serve on slices of toast. season. poached eggs are attractive when covered with white sauce to which chopped parsley has been added. _baked eggs_ line a buttered baking-dish with buttered bread crumbs or with cold mashed potatoes. break the eggs in the dish without separating and add one tablespoon of milk or cream for each egg. season with salt and pepper and sprinkle with grated cheese, if desired. bake in a moderate oven until the eggs are set. _creamed eggs_ hard-boiled eggs slices toast c. medium white sauce prepare a white sauce. add hard-boiled eggs cut in halves, sliced, or chopped and, when hot, serve on toast. or separate the whites and yolks, chop the whites fine, add to the white sauce and, when hot, serve on toast and garnish with yolks run through a sieve or ricer. season with salt and pepper. serves four to six. _creamy omelet_ egg / tsp. salt pepper / tsp. butter tbsp. milk beat the egg slightly, add the milk and seasonings, put the butter in the hot omelet pan and, when melted, turn in the mixture. as it cooks, draw the edges toward the centre until the whole is of a creamy consistency, brown quickly underneath, fold, and turn on a hot platter. serve at once. serves one. _scrambled eggs_ double the quantity of milk given for creamy omelet and stir all the time while cooking. _foamy omelet_[a] egg / tsp. salt tbsp. milk or water / tsp. butter cayenne or white pepper beat the yolk of the egg until creamy, add seasoning and milk. beat the white until stiff, but not dry, cut and fold into the yolk carefully. heat an omelet pan, rub the bottom and sides with the butter, and turn in the omelet, spreading it evenly on the pan. cook gently over the heat until the omelet is set and evenly browned underneath. put it into a hot oven for a few minutes, to dry slightly on top, fold, and serve immediately. serves one. method of work devote one half of the class period to a discussion of the structure of the egg and the effect of heat upon it. use simple experiments or watch the poached egg, to make a study of the changes produced in the egg by the application of heat. if the pupils are sufficiently experienced, let them work together in small groups, first scrambling an egg, then making an omelet. demonstrate the cooking of the omelet before the entire class. serve the egg dishes carefully while hot. [a] the omelet recipes given are for individual portions. to make a large omelet, multiply the quantity of each ingredient by the number of eggs used. the best results will be obtained by making an omelet of not more than four eggs, as larger omelets are difficult to cook thoroughly and to handle well. a two-egg omelet will serve three people. a four-egg omelet will serve six people. lesson xii: simple desserts--custards subject-matter a custard is a combination of eggs and milk, usually sweetened and flavoured, and either steamed, or baked as cup custard, or cooked in a double boiler as soft custard. the whole egg may be used or the yolks alone. the yolks make a smoother, richer custard. the eggs must be thoroughly mixed, but not beaten light, the sugar and salt added, and the milk scalded and stirred in slowly. the custard must be strained through a fine sieve and cooked at a moderate temperature. it is desirable to strain a custard, in order to remove the cords and pieces of the membrane which inclosed the yolk. the cup custard should be strained before cooking, the soft custard may be strained afterwards. a soft custard is cooked over water and is stirred constantly until done. when done, the froth disappears from the surface, the custard is thickened and coats the spoon and sides of the pan, and there is no sign of curdling. if the custard is cooked too long, it becomes curdled. if it becomes curdled, put it into a pan of cold water and beat until smooth. a steamed or baked custard is done when it becomes set and when a silver knife will come out clean after cutting it. preliminary plan this lesson will furnish an opportunity for a review of milk and eggs. the pupils should arrange to bring the necessary materials from their homes. recipes _steamed custards_ qt. milk (heated) eggs or egg yolks / c. sugar / tsp. salt tbsp. caramel or / tsp. nutmeg beat the eggs sufficiently to mix them thoroughly; add the sugar, salt, and hot milk slowly. strain into cups, flavour with caramel, or sprinkle nutmeg on top, and steam until firm over gently boiling water--from to minutes. _baked custards_ prepare as for steamed custards, set in a pan of hot water, and bake in a slow oven until firm--from to minutes. _chocolate custards_ use the recipe for steamed custards, adding ounce of chocolate (melted) to the hot milk. steam or bake as desired. _soft custard_ pt. milk (heated) egg yolks / tsp. salt / tsp. vanilla extract tbsp. sugar beat the egg yolks sufficiently to mix them thoroughly, add the sugar, salt, and hot milk slowly. cook over water that is boiling gently. stir constantly until the custard thickens. strain. flavour when cool. for soft chocolate custard add / ounce chocolate (melted) to the hot milk. serves six. _floating island_ use recipe for soft custard and, when cold, garnish with a meringue made according to the following recipe: _meringue_ egg whites / c. powdered sugar beat the egg whites very light, add powdered sugar, and continue beating. drop in large spoonfuls on the cold custard. serves eight to ten. method of work it may be possible to teach two or three recipes in this lesson. the baked custard may be put into the oven while the soft custard or floating island is being made. serve at the school lunch. lesson xiii: batters and doughs _griddle cakes_ subject-matter _batters._--batters are mixtures of flour or meal and a liquid, with salt or sugar to give flavour, butter to make tender, and steam, air, or gas to make light. one scant measure of liquid is used with one measure of flour for thin, or pour, batter. one measure of liquid is used with two measures of flour for a thick, or drop, batter. one measure of liquid is used with three measures of flour for a soft, or bread, dough. one measure of liquid is used with four measures of flour for a stiff, or pastry, dough. before mixing a batter, the oven or griddle should be at the proper temperature, with the fire well regulated and in good condition. the oven should be tested by putting in a piece of white paper or two tablespoonfuls of flour, which should brown in three minutes. the pans should be prepared by greasing with lard, salt pork, or beef dripping. all the materials should be measured and ready before beginning to combine the ingredients. when the batter has been mixed and beaten until smooth, it should be baked at once. preliminary plan the teacher will be better prepared to give the lesson on batters if she first makes herself familiar with the kinds of breads that are used in the homes of the pupils and the methods followed in their preparation. the simple, general methods of preparing batters should be taught. the teacher should not attempt the preparation of more than one or two batters in this lesson. recipes _sour-milk griddle cakes_ - / c. flour / tsp. salt - / tsp. soda egg c. sour milk mix and sift the flour, salt, and soda; add the sour milk and egg well beaten. drop, by spoonfuls, on a greased hot griddle; cook on one side. when puffed full of bubbles and cooked on the edges, turn, and cook on the other side. serve with butter and maple syrup. _sweet-milk griddle cakes_ c. flour - / tbsp. baking-powder tsp. salt / c. sugar c. milk egg tbsp. melted butter mix and sift the dry ingredients, beat the egg, add the milk, and pour on the first mixture. beat thoroughly and add the butter. cook the same as sour-milk griddle cakes. method of work discuss batters briefly. have all measurements made, the fire regulated, the pans prepared, and so on. demonstrate the mixing and cooking of griddle cakes. serve the cakes daintily after they are cooked. lesson xiv: batters and doughs--continued _muffins--baking-powder biscuits_ subject-matter _methods of making batters light._--batters are made light by beating air into them, by adding eggs into which air has been beaten, or by entangling gas in the batter. gas is secured by using soda and sour milk in a batter (one teaspoon of soda to one pint of sour milk), or soda with molasses (one teaspoon of soda to one cup of molasses), or soda with cream of tartar (one teaspoon of soda with two slightly rounding teaspoons of cream of tartar). the soda should be mixed well with the other dry ingredients, then the sour milk or molasses added, the whole beaten up quickly, and baked at once. baking-powder is a preparation containing soda and cream of tartar, and may be used in place of soda if sweet milk is used. two level teaspoonfuls of baking-powder should be used with one cup of flour. preliminary plan this lesson is a continuation of the lesson on batters. care should be taken not to undertake more than can be done well in the time available. recipes _graham muffins_ c. graham flour c. flour / c. sugar tsp. salt c. milk egg tbsp. melted butter tsp. baking-powder mix and sift the dry ingredients. gradually add the milk, the egg well-beaten, and the melted butter. bake in a hot oven in greased gem pans for minutes. _plain muffins_ / c. butter / c. sugar egg / c. milk c. flour tsp. baking-powder cream the butter, add the sugar and egg well beaten, sift the baking-powder with the flour, and add to the first mixture, alternating with the milk. bake in greased gem pans for minutes. _baking-powder biscuits_ c. flour tsp. baking-powder tsp. salt tbsp. fat / to c. milk or water sift the dry ingredients together, chop the fat into the flour with a knife, slowly add sufficient milk to make a dough not too soft to be handled. toss and roll the dough gently on a slightly-floured board and cut into small biscuits. moisten the tops with a little milk. handle the dough quickly, lightly, and as little as possible. place on a buttered sheet. bake in a hot oven till brown--from to minutes. either white or whole wheat flour may be used for the biscuits. serves six to eight. oven test--the oven should be hot enough to colour a piece of unglazed white paper to a golden brown in one minute. _soda biscuits_ c. flour / tsp. soda (scant) / tsp. salt c. sour milk (scant) tbsp. shortening (lard or other fat) proceed as for baking-powder biscuits. if the sour milk is not thick enough to curdle, it will not contain sufficient acid to neutralize the soda, and the biscuits will be yellow and bitter. to avoid this, cream of tartar may be mixed with the soda ( teaspoonful). if there is no cream of tartar at hand, it will be wise to use the recipe for baking-powder biscuits. method of work have the oven and pans prepared and all the measurements made. demonstrate the mixing of the muffins and, while these are baking, the mixing of the biscuits. have one pupil take charge of the baking of the muffins and another of the baking of the biscuits. when the breads are done, have the class sit down and serve them to one another, or to all the pupils at the school lunch hour. lesson xv: meats _composition and food value. how to make tough cuts of meat palatable. pork chops with fried apples. beef or mutton stew with vegetables and dumplings. rabbit stew. bacon._ subject-matter meats are rich in protein and usually in fats, but are lacking in the carbohydrates. they build up the muscular tissue, furnish heat and energy, are more stimulating and strengthening than any other food, and satisfy hunger for a greater length of time. for the most part, meats are a very expensive food. one cannot perform more labour by the use of a meat diet than on a diet of vegetable foods. those who use large quantities of meat suffer from many disturbances of the system. hence it should form a very small part of the diet. the cuts of meat that come from those portions of the animal's body that are much exercised are tough, owing to the development of the connective tissues, but they contain a high percentage of nutrition. for the same reason, the meat from older animals is apt to be tough. the flesh of chickens, turkeys, and other fowls is very nutritious and is easily digested if not too fat. the flavour of meats is developed by cooking. dry heat develops the best flavour, hence the tender cuts are cooked by the processes known as broiling and roasting. tough cuts of meat require long, slow cooking in moist heat, hence they are prepared in the form of stews and pot roasts or are used in meat soups. preliminary plan after the teacher has found out what meats are used in the homes or what the school can afford to use, she should determine upon a method of cooking that will make the meat palatable, digestible, and attractive. if it can be prepared as a stew, she should use a recipe in which vegetables are also used and, if possible, have dumplings prepared to serve with the meat, as a review of the lesson on batters. recipes _beef or mutton stew_ lb. beef or mutton qt. water salt, pepper, flour to dredge onion, cut in slices / c. turnip cut in dice / c. carrot cut in dice potatoes cut in / -inch slices tsp. salt / tsp. pepper / c. flour / c. cold water remove the fat and cut the meat into -inch pieces. reserve half of the best pieces of meat, put the rest of the meat and the bone into cold water, soak for one hour, then heat until it bubbles. season half the raw meat and roll it in the flour, melt the fat in a frying-pan, remove the scraps, brown the sliced onion and then the floured meat in the hot fat, add both to the stew, and cook for hours at a low temperature. to this add the vegetables and cook / hour; then add the flour and seasonings, which have been mixed with one-half cup of cold water, and cook for / hour longer, until the meat and vegetables are tender. remove the bone from the stew and serve. serves six to eight. _rabbit_ if beef and mutton are not commonly used and are not readily obtainable, but rabbit can be secured, substitute rabbit for beef in the stew. after the rabbit has been thoroughly cleaned, cut up in eight pieces (four leg and four body pieces), season, and dredge with flour, brown in the fat, and proceed as with beef stew. _dumplings_ c. flour tsp. baking-powder / tsp. salt tbsp. fat (lard or butter) / c. milk or water (about) sift the dry ingredients together, cut in the butter, and add the milk gradually, to make a soft dough. roll out on a floured board, cut with a biscuit cutter, lay on top of meat in a stew pan (they should not sink into the liquid), cover the kettle closely, keep the stew boiling, and cook the dumplings for minutes without removing the lid. (do not put the dumplings in to cook until the meat is tender.) _note._--if desired, the rolling may be eliminated and, after mixing, the dough may be dropped by spoonfuls into the stew. _to cook bacon_ place thin slices of bacon from which the rind has been removed in a hot frying-pan, and pour off the fat as fast as it melts. cook until the bacon is crisp and brown, turning frequently. another method of cooking is to lay the bacon on a rack in a baking-pan and bake in a hot oven until crisp and brown. _pork chops_ wipe the chops with a damp cloth, and place in a hot frying-pan. turn frequently at first and cook slowly until well browned on each side. sprinkle with salt and pepper. _fried apples_ wash and core the apples and slice to the centre. roll in flour if very juicy. after the chops have been removed from the pan, lay the apples in and cook till tender. serve around the chops. method of work if the meat is to require two or three hours' cooking, arrange to have the lesson divided and given at two periods through the day. half an hour before opening the morning session or a portion of the morning or noon recess may be sufficient time to put the meat on to cook and to prepare the vegetables. when the second class period is called, the vegetables should be added to the partially cooked meat and the dumplings should be made. it would be well to serve the completed dish at the lunch period. there should be as much discussion regarding the kinds of meat, their food value, and the methods of cooking as time permits; but it may be necessary to complete this discussion at some other class period. should it be possible for the teacher to give additional lessons on meat, it might be well to devote one lesson to the preparation and cooking of poultry, directions for which may be secured from any reliable cook-book. lesson xvi: baked pork and beans--baking-powder biscuits subject-matter peas, beans, and lentils which are dried for market contain a high percentage of protein, carbohydrate, and mineral matter. they form an excellent substitute for meat and are much cheaper in price. the digestion of leguminous foods proceeds slowly, involving a large amount of work: on this account they are not desirable for invalids, but they are satisfactory for those who are well and active. the dried legumes must be soaked overnight in water and then cooked for a long time, in order to soften the cellulose and develop the flavour. preliminary plan it will be necessary to plan this lesson several days in advance, if the beans are to be baked. as they will be prepared and put on to bake before the lesson period, the baking-powder biscuits may be made during the lesson, to serve with them. recipe _boston baked beans_ qt. navy beans tbsp. salt / tbsp. mustard tbsp. sugar tbsp. molasses c. boiling water / lb. fat salt pork boiling water to cover look over the beans and soak them in cold water overnight. in the morning drain, cover with fresh water, and simmer them until the skins will burst, but do not let the beans become broken. scald one-half pound of fat salt pork. scrape the pork. put a slice in the bottom of the bean pot. cut the remaining pork across the top in strips just through the rind, and bury the pork in beans, leaving the rind exposed. add one cup of boiling water to seasonings and pour over the beans. cover with boiling water. bake slowly, adding more water as necessary. bake from to hours, uncover at the last, so that the water will evaporate and the beans brown on top. serves twelve. method of work have the beans washed and put to soak the night before the lesson is to be given. assign to one of the pupils the task of putting them on to simmer early the next morning. call the class together for a few moments when the beans are ready to bake. assign one of the pupils to attend to the fire and the oven. let the beans bake all day. if the lesson is to be given late in the afternoon, the beans may be ready to serve, or the cooking may be continued on the second day and the lesson completed then. it would be well to serve the dish at the lunch period. have the biscuits prepared to serve with the baked beans. lesson xvii: butter cakes--plain yellow cake--cocoa--coffee--tea subject-matter _cakes._--cakes made with fat resemble other batters, except that the fat, sugar, and eggs are usually larger in amount and the texture of the baked batter is finer and more tender. when preparing cake, first get the pans ready. grease them or line them with greased paper. make sure that the oven is at the proper temperature. for a small cake, the oven should be hot enough to brown a piece of unglazed paper or a tablespoonful of flour in three minutes. bake a small cake from twenty to thirty minutes. when done, the cake will shrink from the sides of the pan; the crust will spring back when touched with the finger; the loud ticking sound will cease; a fine knitting-needle will come out clean if the cake is pierced; and the crust will be nicely browned. when the cake is removed from the oven, let it stand in the pan for about three minutes, then loosen, and turn out gently. do not handle while hot. keep in a clean, ventilated tin box in a cool, dry place. _cocoa._--chocolate and cocoa are prepared from the bean of a tropical tree. this bean is rich in protein, fat, carbohydrate, mineral matter, and a stimulant called theobromine. in the preparation of chocolate the seeds are cleaned, milled, and crushed into a paste. in the preparation of cocoa much of the fat is removed, and the cocoa is packed for market in the form of a fine powder. cocoa is more easily digested than chocolate, because it contains less fat. though the amount of cocoa used in a cup of this beverage is not large, when prepared with milk it serves as a nutritious food. it is slightly stimulating as well, because of the theobromine present and because it is served hot. _coffee and tea._--coffee and tea have no food value when prepared as beverages. they contain stimulating properties that are harmful to the body if taken in large quantities and, on this account, they should be used with discretion. they should never be given to children or to those troubled with indigestion. if carelessly prepared, both coffee and tea may be decidedly harmful to the body. coffee should not be boiled for more than eight minutes. tea should never be permitted to boil. fresh, boiling water should be poured on the leaves and left for three minutes. it should then be strained off and kept hot until used. preliminary plan it may be wise to give this lesson on some special occasion, as it is well adapted to serve for the refreshments for a mother's club or a little class party. recipes _plain yellow cake_ / c. butter c. sugar eggs / c. milk tsp. baking-powder - / c. flour tsp. spice or - / tsp. flavouring cream the butter, add the sugar gradually, and mix well. add the well-beaten yolks of eggs, then the flour and baking-powder alternately with the milk. then add the flavouring and cut and fold in the whites of the eggs carefully. turn into buttered pans and bake at once in a moderately hot oven. for chocolate cake, ounces of melted chocolate may be added after the yolks of the eggs. serves sixteen to twenty. _gingerbread_ / c. butter / c. brown sugar egg / c. molasses / c. milk (sour if possible) / tsp. soda - / c. flour tsp. ginger / tsp. cinnamon salt cream the butter, add the sugar gradually, then a well-beaten egg. add the molasses. sift all the dry ingredients together and add alternately with the milk. bake in a buttered tin or in gem pans in a moderate oven for or minutes. serves eight to ten. _cocoa_ / c. cocoa / c. sugar c. water c. milk mix the cocoa and sugar with the water and boil from to minutes. stir into the hot milk and serve at once. if a scum forms, beat with a dover egg-beater. serves eight to ten. _tea_ tsp. green or tsp. black tea c. boiling water (freshly boiling) scald the tea-pot, put the tea in the tea-pot, and pour boiling water over it; steep minutes, strain, and serve. serves four. _coffee_ take two tablespoonfuls of ground coffee for each cup of boiling water that is to be used. put the coffee in the coffee-pot and add enough cold water to moisten the coffee and make it stick together--about one teaspoonful of water to each tablespoonful of coffee. pour the boiling water over the coffee and boil it for minutes. place it where it will keep hot, but not boil, for minutes or more, and then serve. if a small amount of egg white and shell is mixed with the coffee grounds and cold water, it will aid in clarifying and settling the coffee. _note._--the recipes for coffee and tea are given, so that the teacher can discuss their preparation with the pupils and compare their value with that of cocoa. if coffee and tea are both commonly used in the homes, it may be well to have the pupils prepare both in the class, to be sure that they understand how to make them properly. method of work begin the lesson period with a discussion of the methods of preparing cakes, and put the cake in the oven as soon as possible. while it is baking, prepare the cocoa. if the cocoa is not to be served for some time, it can be kept hot or re-heated over hot water. lesson xviii: yeast bread subject-matter yeast bread is made light by the presence of a gas produced by the action of yeast in the sponge or dough. yeast is a microscopic plant which grows in a moist, warm temperature and feeds on starchy materials such as are present in wheat. a portion of the starch is converted into sugar (thus developing new and pleasant flavours), and some is still further changed, giving off the gas upon which the lightness of the bread depends. if the yeast is allowed to work for too long a time or the temperature is very hot, a souring of the dough may result. this souring can be prevented by kneading the dough thoroughly, as soon as it has risen well or doubled in bulk, or by putting it in a very hot oven to bake, when it has reached this stage. the yeast plant thrives in a heat of about the same temperature as our bodies. a little extra heat will only make it more active, but boiling temperature will kill it. cold makes yeast inactive, though it does not kill the plants. yeast develops in a natural state on hops and other plants. it is prepared for market in the form of dry or moist cakes. the latter must be kept very cold. for home use, a liquid yeast is often prepared from the dry cakes. this has the advantage of being more active. when the yeast has been added to a batter, it is spoken of as a sponge. when the batter has had enough flour added, so that it may be handled, it is called a dough. if the bread is to be made in a few hours, the yeast is made up at once into a dough. if it is to stand overnight, a sponge is often made first. more yeast is required for quick rising. in ordinary circumstances, one yeast cake is sufficient for one quart of liquid. thorough kneading and baking are both essential to the success of the bread. preliminary plan arrange to have the class meet the afternoon before, in order to begin the process by making the sponge, and to come early in the morning to care for the dough. begin the study of flour, yeast, and bread in a previous class period, correlating the work with geography, nature study, or some other subject. either white or whole-wheat flour may be used for the breads. recipes _bread_ (prepared with dry yeast) dry yeast cake c. warm water c. flour qt. water or milk (scalded) flour enough to make a soft dough tsp. salt tbsp. sugar tbsp. lard or butter at noon put a dry yeast cake to soak in a cup of warm water. when it is soft, add a cup of flour, cover, and put in a warm place to grow light. this will require several hours. in the evening, when ready to begin the dough, mix the salt, sugar, fat, and hot liquid in a large bowl; when lukewarm, add the cup of light yeast and enough flour to knead (about three quarts). mix thoroughly and knead it into a smooth dough, and continue this process until it is soft and elastic. return the dough to the bowl, moisten, cover, and set in a moderately warm place for the night. be sure that the place is free from draughts. in the morning knead slightly; divide into loaves or shape in rolls; put into pans for baking; cover, and let it rise until double in bulk. bake large loaves from to minutes. rolls will bake in from to minutes, for they require a hotter oven. it is of the utmost importance that all yeast breads be thoroughly cooked. (makes loaves.) (time required for making bread with dry yeast, from to hours.) _bread_ (prepared with compressed yeast) c. milk or water (scalded) tsp. salt tsp. sugar tbsp. lard or butter / cake compressed yeast ( cake if set in morning) / c. water (lukewarm) flour, white or whole wheat put the hot water or milk, salt, sugar, and fat in a bowl; when lukewarm, and the yeast softened in the lukewarm water, then the flour gradually and, when stiff enough to handle, turn the dough out on a floured board and knead until soft and elastic ( minutes). return the dough to the bowl, moisten, cover, and let it rise in a warm place until double in bulk; then knead slightly, divide into loaves or shape into rolls, cover, and let rise in the pan in which they are to be baked until double in bulk, and bake from to minutes. (makes loaves.) (time required for making bread, if one cake of compressed yeast is used, hours.) method of work if the class is large, prepare two or three bowls of sponge, so that all can have some practice in stirring and kneading. do not make too large a quantity of bread to bake in the oven, unless arrangements can be made to do some of the baking at the home of one of the pupils. use the bread for the school lunch or divide it among the class to take home. plan a bread contest, so that each pupil will be interested in making bread at home. lesson xix: serving a simple dinner without meat--baked omelet--macaroni and cheese preliminary plan and method of work at some previous time the teacher should discuss with the pupils the plans for the dinner. it may be well to let them invite the members of the school board or others interested in their work to partake of the dinner. they should decide on the menu, with the help and suggestions of the teacher, and should choose foods that they can bring from their homes. the main course should consist of such a vegetable dish as baked beans, an omelet, or macaroni with white sauce and grated cheese. to accompany this there should be potatoes and a fresh green vegetable, such as spinach or cabbage, and a hot bread. a simple dessert which the pupils know how to make should be chosen. one duty should be assigned to each pupil, and she should be entirely responsible for that portion of the dinner. the teacher should supervise all the work carefully. instructions for making the menu cards may be given in a drawing lesson. recipes _baked omelet_ tbsp. butter tbsp. flour / tsp. salt c. milk, heated eggs tsp. fat pepper melt the butter, add the flour and seasonings, mix thoroughly, then add the hot milk slowly. separate the eggs, beat the yolks, and add the white sauce to them. beat the whites until stiff and cut and fold them carefully into the yolk mixture, so that the lightness is all retained. turn into a greased baking-dish and bake in a moderate oven from to minutes. serve hot. serves six. _macaroni and cheese_ c. macaroni, noodles, or rice tbsp. fat tbsp. flour / tsp. salt pepper - / c. milk c. grated cheese c. buttered bread crumbs (two tbsp. butter or other fat) break the macaroni into -inch pieces and cook it in a large amount of salted boiling water from to minutes. drain it well when tender and pour cold water through it. break up the bread crumbs and add two tablespoonfuls of melted butter to them. grate the cheese and make a white sauce of the fat, flour, seasonings, and milk. mix the cheese with the sauce, add the macaroni, and pour it into a buttered baking-dish. cover with the bread crumbs and bake or minutes, to brown the crumbs. serves eight. lesson xx: sugar _food value and cooking. the use of peanuts in candy. peanut cookies, or peanut, molasses, or fudge candies, to be made for a special entertainment._ subject-matter sugar is valuable to the body as a source of heat and energy. while it is easy of digestion, it is very irritating to the body if taken in large quantities and, on this account, it should be taken in small quantities and preferably at meal time or with other food. two or three pieces of candy taken at the end of the meal will not be hurtful, but when eaten habitually between meals, it is sure to produce harmful effects. sugar is present in many fruits and in most vegetables. milk contains a large percentage of sugar. in preparing foods to which the addition of sugar seems desirable, care should be taken not to add it in large quantities. preliminary plan as it is desirable to have a discussion regarding sugar and its value to the body, the preparation of cookies or candy for some school function or christmas party may be undertaken in conjunction with this lesson, which should be given at a time when it will mean most to the pupils. the work should be so planned that they will learn something of the principles of sugar cookery, as well as the specific recipes they are using. recipes _cookies_ c. fat c. sugar eggs / c. milk c. flour tsp. baking-powder tbsp. cinnamon / c. sugar cream the butter and add the sugar and well-beaten eggs. then add the milk alternately with the sifted dry flour (sifted with baking-powder). mix to the consistency of a soft dough, adding more milk if necessary. roll lightly, cut in shapes, and dip in the one-half cup of sugar and cinnamon that have been sifted together. place on buttered sheets and bake in a hot oven for about minutes. slip from the pan and lay on the cake cooler. to make a softer cookie, use only one-half cup of butter. (three to four dozen.) _peanut cookies_ tbsp. butter / c. sugar egg tsp. baking-powder / tsp. salt / c. flour tsp. milk / c. finely chopped peanuts / tsp. lemon juice doz. whole peanuts shelled cream the butter and add the sugar and the egg well beaten. add the milk and sifted dry ingredients, alternately, to the first mixture, then the peanuts and lemon juice. drop from a teaspoon on a baking sheet an inch apart and place / peanut on top of each. bake from to minutes in a moderate oven. (two and a half to three dozen.) _peanut brittle_ c. sugar c. peanuts in the shell stir the sugar over the heat, constantly, until it becomes a clear liquid. take at once from the heat, add the prepared peanuts, and pour on a warm, buttered tin. mark in squares and cool. serves ten. _molasses candy_ c. molasses / c. sugar tbsp. vinegar / tsp. soda tbsp. butter put the molasses, sugar, and butter into a thick sauce-pan or kettle and stir until the sugar is dissolved. boil until the mixture becomes brittle when tried in cold water. stir constantly at the last to prevent burning. add vinegar and soda just before removing from the fire. pour into a well-greased pan and let it stand until cool enough to handle. then pull until light and porous and cut in small pieces with scissors, arranging on buttered plates. serves sixteen to twenty. _fudge_ c. sugar c. milk tbsp. butter / c. nuts, broken up put the sugar and the milk in a sauce-pan and stir over the heat until the sugar is dissolved. add the butter and boil to the "soft ball" stage. take from the heat and beat until creamy. add the nuts and pour on buttered pans. when cool, cut in squares. serves sixteen to eighteen. method of work devote, if possible, a separate period to the discussion of the food value and cooking of sugar; then assign two recipes for the practical work, allowing the pupils to work in groups. assign only as much work as can be carefully supervised. do not undertake both the cookies and the candy. twenty lessons in sewing suggestions to the teacher the teacher should be familiar with the conditions in which the pupils live, should know how much money they can afford to pay for materials, what materials are available, what previous experience in hand work they have had, whether they can afford to have sewing-machines in their own homes, and to what extent they make their own clothes or buy them ready-made. the lessons should be planned to furnish hand training, to give pupils practical instruction in the care of their own clothes, and to provide an opportunity for preparing the apron for the cooking lessons. the lesson course should tend to develop habits of thrift, industry, and neatness. the pupils should be encouraged to learn to sew, both to improve their own home conditions and to give them suggestions as to a possible means of livelihood. if sewing-machines are available and are in use in the homes, it is well to have lessons given in machine sewing and to have the long seams run by machine. if the pupils cannot have sewing-machines in their own homes, the lessons given should be limited to sewing by hand. in some schools, it may be necessary to simplify the lessons; in others, an increased number of articles may be prepared in the time allotted. should the apron and cap not be needed for the cooking class, an undergarment (corset cover) may well be substituted.[a] [a] should the teacher feel that an apron or corset-cover is too large a piece for her pupils to undertake, and should she desire to have more time spent on the first ten lessons. lessons xi to xviii may be omitted, two periods each devoted to both lessons xix and xx, and three lessons used for the making of a simple needle-book or other small piece. for each lesson the teacher should have in mind a definite plan of procedure. the lesson should be opened with a brief and concrete class discussion of the new work that is to be taken up or the special stage that has been reached in work that is already under way. though individual instruction is necessary, it should not take the place of this general presentation of the subject-matter, which economizes time and develops the real thought content of the work. whenever possible, the teacher should endeavour to correlate this work with the other subjects on the curriculum. new stitches may be demonstrated on large pieces of scrim, with long darning-needles and coarse red or black yarn. the scrim should be pinned to the black-board with thumb tacks, and the stitches made large enough for all to see without difficulty. a variety of completed articles should be kept on hand, in order to show additional application of points brought out in the lesson. each class may be given the privilege of preparing one article to add to this collection, and a spirit of class pride and valuable team work may be thereby developed. during the lesson, posture, neatness, and order should be emphasized. application can be secured by making the problems of interest. care must be taken that none of the work demands unnecessary eye strain. each lesson should be closed in time to have one of the members of the class give a brief summary of the steps that have been covered. since the class period for sewing in the rural school will necessarily be brief, the pupils should be encouraged to continue their work at some other period. however, no work outside of the class period should be permitted until the pupil has mastered the stitch and can be trusted to do the work in the right way. the privilege of sewing may be made the reward for lessons quickly learned, home practice may be assigned, or the class may meet out of school hours. all outside practice must be carefully supervised, the pupil bringing her work to the teacher for frequent inspection. if it is possible to keep on hand a permanent equipment for sewing, the following should be provided for a class of twelve: approximate cost scissors, dozen $ . thimbles, dozen . tape-measures, dozen . emery, dozen . boxes for work, dozen . ------ $ . _note._--shoe or candy boxes may be used, but an effort should be made to have them uniform. the teacher who is to give lessons in sewing should secure a helpful elementary text-book or some bulletin that deals with the teaching of sewing. reference books. _school sewing, based on home problems._ burton, i. r. and m. g. vocational supply co., indianapolis $ . _handbook of elementary sewing._ flagg, e. p. little, brown & co., boston. (mcclelland, goodchild & stewart, toronto) . _constructive sewing, book i._ (paper) industrial book & equipment co., indianapolis . _school needlework._ hapgood, o. c. ginn & co., boston . _clothing and health._ kinne, h., and cooley, a. m. macmillan's, toronto . _handicraft for girls._ mcglauflin, i. manual arts press, peoria. ill. . _home and school sewing._ patton, f. newson & co., new york . _a sewing course._ woolman, m. s. frederick a. fernald, washington . _sewing._ department of education of ontario . lesson i: preparation for sewing _preparation and use of working equipment: needles, pins, thread, tape-measure, thimble, scissors, box for work. talk on cleanliness and neatness (care of hands, etc.). discussion of hemming. hems folded on sheets of paper._ subject-matter a hem is made by twice turning over the edge of a piece of cloth toward the worker, and then sewing it down. it is used to finish a narrow edge. in turning a narrow hem the first fold must not be so deep as the second, in order that the hem may lie smoothly. if the hem is a wide one, the first fold can be much narrower than the second. preliminary plan the teacher should have interested the pupils in the sewing lessons before the first meeting of the class, and each pupil should be asked to bring with her the box in which to keep her materials and such other equipment as is required. if the school is to furnish the equipment, the teacher should be sure that there is an adequate supply on hand. it will probably be necessary to have the towels to be used in the cooking classes hemmed, and the pupils should be interested in doing this work. if some of them wish to hem towels for use in their own homes, it may be desirable to allow them to do so. flour or meal sacks will answer. it may be well to have each pupil hem a towel for home use, as well as for school use, in order to impress upon her the desirability of having hemmed dish-towels for daily use. the towels may be planned during this lesson, and the pupils may arrange to bring the material from home, if they are to provide it; but it will be well for the teacher to have on hand material for one or two towels. plain paper will answer for the practice folding of the hem in the first lesson. method of work the teacher should devote a few minutes to a talk on cleanliness, emphasizing its importance, and the necessity for exercising care in handling the sewing materials. this should be followed by a discussion regarding the care of the hands and the condition in which they should be for the sewing lesson. each pupil should inspect her own hands and show them to the teacher. [illustration: _fig._ .--gauge] when all the pupils have their hands in a proper condition for sewing, the teacher should look over their supplies with them, give them suggestions as to how they are to keep these, and let them arrange their boxes. next, she should tell them what their first work is to be, show them the material for the towels, and discuss with them the best method of finishing the ends. (see lesson ii.) before turning the hem, the pupils should make a gauge from heavy paper, notched to indicate the depth of the hem. a few minutes should be devoted to practice in measuring and turning a hem of the desired depth on a sheet of paper. this should give practice in the double turning necessary--first, the narrow turn to dispose of the cut edge; second, the fold to finish the edge. when the lesson is finished, the boxes should be put away in systematic order, and all scraps should be carefully picked up from the desks and the floor. lesson ii: hemming towels _turning and basting hems. hemming towels of crash, sacking, or other material, for use in washing and drying dishes at home or in school._ [illustration: _fig._ .--even basting] subject-matter basting is used to hold two pieces of material together until a permanent stitch can be put in. it is done by taking long stitches (one-fourth inch) from right to left and parallel to the edges that are to be basted together. in starting, the thread is fastened with a knot; when completed, it is fastened by taking two or three stitches one over the other. preliminary plan the teacher should have the necessary materials on hand or should see that they are supplied by the pupils. the articles needed will include material for the towels, white thread for basting and hemming, and gauges for measuring. the teacher should also have a large square of unbleached cotton or canvas, by inches, and a large darning-needle and coloured worsted thread, to use for demonstration purposes. the canvas should be fastened to the black-board, where the class can see it easily. method of work as soon as the class is called, the supplies are at hand, and the hands are in a proper condition, the teacher should demonstrate the basting-stitch, with a large needle and thread, on the square of canvas that has been fastened on the wall. materials for work should be passed. each pupil should straighten the ends of her towel by drawing a thread. then she should turn and baste a hem three eighths of an inch in depth. at the close of the lesson, the pupils should fold their work carefully and put it neatly in their boxes. lesson iii: hemming towels--continued _the overhanding stitch and the hemming stitch._ subject-matter _overhanding_ (also called overseaming or top sewing).--the edges to be overhanded are held between the first finger and the thumb of the left hand, with the edge parallel to the first finger. the needle is inserted just below and perpendicular to the edge. the needle is pointed straight toward the worker. the stitches proceed from right to left, each stitch being taken a little to the left of the preceding stitch. the stitches should all be straight on the right side, but they will slant a little on the wrong side. they should not be deep. it may be desirable to use this overhanding stitch at the ends of hems, to hold the edges of the material together. the overhanding stitch is also used for seams, for patching, and for sewing on lace. [illustration: _fig._ .--overhanding] the overhanding of narrow hems is not always necessary, but the ends may be made stronger thereby, and the stitch is a valuable one for the pupils to know. [illustration: _fig._ .--hemming] _hemming._--the hemming-stitch is placed on the inside of the hem. the end of the basted hem is laid over the first and under the second finger of the left hand, with the folded edge outside and the material toward the worker. it is held in place with the thumb. the stitch is begun at the end of the hem. the fastening of the thread is concealed by slipping it underneath the hem in the inside fold of the material. the needle is pointed over the left shoulder, a small stitch is taken by inserting the needle through the material just below the hem, then through the folded edge. this is repeated, making the next stitch nearer the worker and moving the goods away from the worker as necessary. uniformity of slant, size, and spacing of the stitches is important. preliminary plan before this lesson is given, all the pupils should report to the teacher, having both ends of their towels basted, so that they will all be ready to proceed at once with the new stitches. method of work the teacher should begin by demonstrating on the large square of canvas with the large needle and heavy thread the stitches to be used. after overhanding the end of the hem, the hemming-stitch should follow with the same thread. the pupils will probably not be able to finish the hemming in this first lesson, so provision should be made for additional time. this can be required as an outside assignment, if the pupils have mastered the method during the class period. the teacher may also be able to give them some supervision while she is looking after other classes. lesson iv: bags _a school bag. bag (made of material obtainable) to hold sewing materials. measuring and straightening the material for the bag. basting the seams._ subject-matter the basting-stitch will be used as a review of work in the second lesson. preliminary plan some time before the lesson, the teacher should discuss with the pupils the kind of material they will be able to provide for their bags and, if the material has to be purchased, she should suggest something that is suitable, washable, and inexpensive. the bag should cost only a few cents. the dimensions of the finished bag should be about by inches. method of work the pupils should get out the materials they have brought and determine upon the size and shape of their bags. it will not be necessary to make them uniform. the teacher should help the pupils to use their material to the best advantage. it should be straightened, pulled in place, and measured carefully. when the bags have been cut out, the sides should be basted. lesson v: bags--continued _sewing up the seams with a running-stitch and a back-stitch._ subject-matter running is done by passing the needle in and out of the material at regular intervals. small, even stitches and spaces should follow consecutively on both sides of the material. the stitches should be much shorter than those used for basting, the length being determined largely by the kind of cloth used. when running is combined with a back-stitch, two or more running-stitches and one back-stitch are taken alternately. the back-stitch is a stitch taken backward on the upper side of the cloth, the needle being put back each time into the end of the last stitch and brought out the same distance beyond the last stitch. preliminary plan the teacher should be sure that all the pupils are ready to report, having the sides of their bags basted ready for stitching. method of work the teacher should first demonstrate the running-stitch with the back-stitch, and the pupils should begin to sew the sides of the bag, using this stitch. they should commence sewing three quarters of an inch from the top of the bag, so that there will be a space left for slits in the hem through which to run the cord.[a] the seams will doubtless have to be finished outside of the class hour, and may be assigned for completion before the next lesson. [illustration: _fig._ .--running-stitch with a back-stitch] [a] the draw-string, or cord, is to be run through the hem from the inside of the bag, and it will be necessary to leave three quarters of an inch of space at the ends of the seams, to provide slits as outlets for the cord. lesson vi: bags--continued _overcasting the seams and turning the hem at the top of the bag._ subject-matter overcasting is done by taking loose stitches over the raw edge of the cloth, to keep it from ravelling or fraying. preliminary plan the teacher should be sure that all the pupils are ready to report, having the sides of their bags neatly sewed with the running-stitch. [illustration: _fig._ .--overcasting] method of work the teacher should demonstrate the method of overcasting and explain its use. she should have the pupils trim the edges of their seams neatly and overcast them carefully. after the seams have been overcast, she should discuss the depth of the hem that the pupils expect to use and the method of turning and basting it. they should then measure, turn, pin, and baste the hems, using the gauge for determining the depth of the hem. if the bags are deep enough to admit of a heading at the top, a deep hem (about - / inches) can be made, and a running-stitch put in one-half inch (or more) above the edge of the hem, to provide a casing, or space, for the cord. if it is necessary to take a narrow hem, the hem itself can be made to answer as space for the cord; in this case the hem should be made about one-half inch deep. lesson vii: bags--continued _hemming the top of the bag and putting in a running-stitch to provide a space for the cord._ subject-matter review of the hemming-stitch and the running-stitch. preliminary plan the pupils, having the hems basted, should report to the teacher. method of work the teacher should review briefly the method of making the hemming-stitch and the running-stitch, asking the pupils to describe these stitches and to demonstrate them on the large square of canvas before the class. the basted hems should then be sewed with the hemming-stitch. after the hem is finished, the pupils should run a basting thread around the bag, to mark the location of the running-stitch, which is to be half an inch above the hem. they should measure for this carefully. if there is not time to do all the hemming in the class period, the hemming-stitch and the running-stitch (which is to provide space for the draw-string) should be assigned for outside work, and each pupil should bring in her finished hem at a designated time before the next class period. lesson viii: bags--continued _preparing a cord or other draw-string for the bag. putting a double draw-string in the bag, so that it can easily be drawn up. use of the bodkin._ [illustration: _fig._ .--bag nearly completed] subject-matter to make a cord, it is necessary to take more than four times as much cotton as the final length of the cord will require, for some of the length will be taken up in the twisting of the cord. it will be easier for two to work together in making a cord. the cord should be doubled, the two lengths twisted together firmly, and the ends brought together again and held in one hand, while the middle is taken in the other hand, and the lengths are allowed to twist firmly together. the ends should be tied, and the cord run into the bag with a bodkin or tape-needle. if one cord is run in from one side and another is run in from the other side, each cord running all the way around, the bag can be drawn up easily. [illustration: _fig._ .--bodkin] in place of the cord, narrow tape may be used. take two pieces of tape, each piece being twice as long as the width of the bag plus two inches. run one tape in from one side and a second from the other side, each tape running all the way around. join the tape ends in the following manner: . turn a narrow fold on one end of the tape to the _wrong_ side, and on the other end of the tape to the _right_ side. . slip one fold under the other and hem down the folded edges. preliminary plan if the pupils are not able to supply cords for their own bags, the teacher should have a sufficient supply of cord on hand. she should be sure the bags are in readiness for the cord before the class period. [illustration: _fig._ .--- completed bag] method of work the teacher should begin the lesson by describing the method of making the cord, estimating the amount necessary, and demonstrating the process with the assistance of one of the pupils. the pupils should be numbered, so that they may work in groups of two. after they have completed the cord and run it into the bag, methods of finishing the ends neatly should be suggested to them. lesson ix: darning stockings _use of a darning-ball or gourd as a substitute for a ball. talk on the care of the feet and the care of the stockings._ [illustration: _fig._ .--darning] subject-matter this lesson will involve running and weaving. darning is used to fill in a hole with thread, so as to supply the part that has been destroyed or to strengthen a place which shows signs of weakness. a darning-ball, a gourd, or a firm piece of cardboard should be placed under the hole. the darn should extend one quarter of an inch beyond the edge of the material, beginning with fine stitches in the material, making rows running close together in one direction, then crossing these threads with rows that run at a right angle to them. care should be taken alternately to pick up and drop the edge of the material around the hole, so that no raw edges will be visible, and to weave evenly in and out of the material and the cross threads. preliminary plan each pupil should provide a pair of stockings with a few small holes and a gourd or ball of some sort that she can use as a darning ball. method of work when the class meets, the teacher should discuss briefly the care of the feet and of the stockings, and demonstrate the method of darning, on a large piece of coarse material, with heavy yarn and a needle. if the pupils finish one darn during the lesson period, more darning should be assigned for practice out of class. lesson x: patching[a] _hemmed patches on cotton garments. talk on the care of the clothes._ subject-matter this lesson will involve measuring, trimming, basting, and hemming. a patch is a piece of cloth sewed on to a garment to restore the worn part. the material used for the patch should be as nearly like the original fabric in colour and quality as possible. in placing the patch, the condition of the material about the hole must be taken into consideration, as well as the size of the hole. the worn parts around the hole should be removed, and the hole cut square or oblong. the patch should be, on all four sides, an inch larger than the trimmed hole. the corners of the hole should be cut back diagonally, so that the edges may be turned under. the patch should be matched and pinned to the wrong side of the garment, leaving the edges to project evenly on all four sides. the edges of the material around the hole should be turned in and basted to the patch. the edges of the patch should be turned in so that they extend, when finished, one-half inch from the edge of the hole. the patch and the cloth should be basted together and hemmed. [a] used when special problem comes up. [illustration: _fig._ .--patching] preliminary plan the lesson on patching should be given at any time in the course when it can be applied to an immediate need. if a pupil tears her dress while playing at school, or if she wears a torn apron, the teacher can announce a patching lesson for the next sewing class, and request each pupil to bring a torn garment and the material for the patch from home. it may be desirable to use two or three periods for this lesson. method of work the teacher should demonstrate the process of patching on a large piece of cotton. the pupils should practise placing a patch on a piece of paper with a hole in it. each step should be assigned in succession--examination of the article to determine its condition, calculation of the size and preparation of the patch, placing the patch, trimming the article around the hole, basting the patch and material together, and hemming the patch. lesson xi: cutting out aprons or undergarments subject-matter when cutting out an apron, the length of the skirt should first be measured, and to this measure inches should be added for the hem and the seams. one length of the material corresponding to this length should be cut. this should be folded lengthwise through the middle. three quarters of an inch should be measured on this fold, and the material cut from the end of the selvage to this point, in order to slope the front of the apron. when the waist measure is taken, inches should be added to it ( for the lap and at each end, for finishing). this makes a strong piece at each end for the button and button-hole. two pieces of this length and - / inches wide should be cut lengthwise of the material for the belt. a measure should be made from the middle of the back of the waist line, over the shoulder, to a point inches to the right to the centre front and on the waist line. two pieces of the length of this measure and - / inches wide should be cut lengthwise of the material for the shoulder straps. a piece by inches should be cut for the bib, the longer distance lengthwise of the material. these measurements allow one quarter of an inch for seams. preliminary plan before the lesson the teacher should see if arrangements can be made to secure the use of one or two sewing-machines, so that the pupils may sew all the long seams by machine. at a previous lesson she should discuss the kinds of material suitable for the aprons. the pupils should consider whether their aprons shall be white or coloured, and whether they shall be of muslin, cambric, or gingham. each pupil will need from - / to yards of material, according to her size. the taller ones will need yards. [illustration: _fig._ .--cutting out skirt of apron] there should be on hand a sufficient number of tape-measures, pins, and scissors, so that the pupils may proceed with the cutting of their aprons without unnecessary delay. the apron to be made is to have a skirt, with a bib and shoulder straps, in order to be a protection to the dress, the skirt, and the waist.[a] [a] if the pupils are very inexperienced and find the sewing difficult, it may be advisable to omit the bib and straps and to make the simple full-skirted apron. if a machine is not at hand to use for the long seams, the limited time may make the simpler apron necessary. this will give more time for the various steps. lessons xiv and xv may then be omitted, lesson xvi made more simple, and less outside work may be required. method of work as soon as the class meets, the pupils should take the measurements for their aprons. one measurement should be assigned at a time, and the reason for each measurement should be given. the pupils should have explicit directions as to the measurements, as they are apt to become confused if the directions are not clear. they should work carefully, so that the material does not become crumpled or soiled and, at the conclusion of the lesson, they should fold it carefully and put it away neatly. all threads and scraps of material should be carefully picked off the floor and the desks, and the room left in order. lesson xii: aprons or undergarments--continued _basting the hem for hemming on the machine or by hand. uneven basting._ subject-matter an uneven basting forms the better guide for stitching. in uneven basting, the spaces are made about three times as long as the stitches. the stitch should be about one eighth of an inch and the space three eighths of an inch. preliminary plan in addition to the apron material which has been cut out in the previous lesson, each pupil should provide her own spool of thread (number sixty white thread will probably answer for all the work), a piece of cardboard inches wide for a gauge, and pins to use in fastening the hem. [illustration: _fig._ .--uneven basting] method of work as soon as the class meets, the pupils should prepare a -inch gauge, to guide them in turning the hems of the skirts of their aprons. they should make a half-inch notch in the measure for the first turn in the material. a half-inch edge should be turned up from the bottom of the skirt, then a -inch hem should be turned, pinned, and basted carefully with uneven basting. the gauge should be used for both measurements. lesson xiii: aprons or undergarments--continued _gathering the skirt and stitching to the belt._ subject-matter in gathering, a stitch much like running is employed. small stitches are taken up on the needle, with spaces twice as great between them. the top of the skirt should be divided into halves, and each half gathered with a long thread, fine stitches one quarter of an inch from the edge being used. the middle of the belt and the middle of the top of the skirt of the apron should be determined upon. the belt should be pinned to the wrong side of the apron at these points, and the fulness drawn up to fit (approximately one half of the waist measure). the skirt and the belt should be pinned, basted, and sewn together. [illustration: _fig._ .--gathering] preliminary plan if the hems have been completed in the skirts, the pupils are ready to gather the skirts and attach them to the belt. it will be well to have a supply of pins on hand, to use in fastening the skirt and belt together. method of work the teacher should first demonstrate the method of gathering and assign that portion of the lesson. when the skirts have all been gathered, she should show the pupils how to measure, pin, and baste the skirt to the belt. [illustration: _fig._ .--sewing on the belt of the apron] lesson xiv: aprons or undergarments--continued _making the bib._ subject-matter a -inch hem should be turned across one short end of the bib. this should be basted and hemmed. the bottom of the bib should be gathered, the method employed for the top of the skirt being used, and sufficient thread being left to adjust the gathers easily. preliminary plan if the pupils have completed the skirts and attached them to the belts, they are ready to make the bibs. they should be provided with a -inch marker, for use in making the hems in the top of the bibs. method of work the teacher should guide the pupils carefully in the making of the bibs, reviewing their knowledge of basting, hemming, and gathering. [illustration: _fig._ .--bib and straps of apron] lesson xv: aprons or undergarments--continued _making the straps._ subject-matter one end of one of the straps should be placed at the bottom of the bib. the edge of the strap should be pinned, basted, and sewed to the right side of the bib with a running-stitch. the other long edge of the strap should then be turned in one quarter of an inch and the side turned in one inch. the strap should then be folded through the middle for its entire length and the free side basted to the wrong side of the bib and hemmed. the remaining edges of the strap should be overhanded together. the other strap should be sewn to the other side of the bib in the same way. preliminary plan the bibs should have been completed before the pupils report for this lesson. method of work as soon as the pupils report for the lesson, the teacher should explain the method of attaching the straps to the bib and tell them how to finish the former. as they proceed with their work, she should supervise them carefully and assign the unfinished portion to be done out of class. lesson xvi: aprons or undergarments--continued _putting the bib and the skirt on the belt._ subject-matter the middle of the bottom of the bib should be determined, and pinned to the middle of the upper edge of the belt, to which the skirt has already been attached. the belt should be fastened to the wrong side of the bib. the gathering string of the bib should be drawn up, leaving inches of fulness on each side of the middle. the bib should be pinned, basted, and sewn to the belt. the remaining long edges of the belt should be turned in one quarter of an inch, and the ends one inch. the edges of the other belt piece should be turned in in the same way, and should be pinned over the belt to which the skirt and the bib have been attached (with all the edges turned in), and basted carefully, to keep the edges even. the skirt and the bib should be hemmed to this upper belt, and all the remaining edges should be overhanded. preliminary plan the bib and the straps of the apron should be completed before the pupils report for this lesson. method of work the teacher should guide the pupils carefully in the various steps necessary in fastening the bib to the belt and in completing the belt. if the hemming and overhanding is not completed during the class hour, they may be assigned as home work. lesson xvii: methods of fastening garments _sewing buttons on the aprons, corset-cover, or other garment._ subject-matter this lesson should teach neatness in dress, through a consideration of the best methods of fastening garments. the position of the button is measured by drawing the right end of the band one inch over the left end. the place for the button should be marked with a pin on the left end of the band. a double thread is fastened on the right side of the band, drawn through one hole of the button, and back through the other, and then taken through the band close to the first stitch. a pin should be inserted on top of the button under the first stitch, left there until the button is firmly fastened in place, and then removed. before the thread is fastened, it should be wrapped two or three times around the threads holding the button, between the button and the cloth, then fastened neatly on the wrong side with a few small stitches one on top of another. [illustration: _fig._ .--sewing on buttons] preliminary plan each pupil should come to the class with her apron as nearly completed as possible, and with three buttons to sew on it, for fastening the belt and straps. method of work the teacher should discuss the best methods of fastening garments and should demonstrate the method of sewing on buttons. the pupils should sew one button on the left end of the apron band in the middle of the width about inch from the end, and another button inches from each end of the band, to hold the shoulder straps. lesson xviii: methods of fastening garments--continued _button-holes on practice piece and on apron._ subject-matter directions for making the button-hole.--measure carefully the position for the button-hole, lengthwise of the band, so that the end will come one quarter of an inch from the edge of the garment. mark the length of the button-hole on the material by putting in two lines of running-stitches at the ends. to cut the button-hole, insert the point of the scissors at the point marked by the running-stitches nearest the edge of the garment, and cut carefully along the thread of the material to the row of stitches marking the length at the other end. [illustration: (_a_) starting the button-hole (_b_) the button-hole stitch (_c_) the finished button-hole _fig._ .--working button-holes] to make the button-hole, use a thread of sufficient length to do both the overcasting and the button-holing. beginning at the lower right corner, overcast the raw edges with stitches one sixteenth of an inch deep. do not overcast around the ends of the hole. as soon as the overcasting is done, proceed with the button-holing without breaking the thread. hold the button-hole horizontally over the first finger of the left hand and work from right to left. insert the point of the needle through the button-hole (at the back end), bringing the point through, toward you, four or five threads below the edge of the button-hole. bring the doubled thread from the eye of the needle from right to left under and around the point of the needle, draw the needle through, and pull the thread firmly, so that the purl is on the edge. at the end of the button-hole, near the end of the band, make a fan, by placing from five to seven stitches. the other end of the button-hole should be finished with a bar made by taking three stitches across the end of the button-hole, then button-hole over the bar, taking in the cloth underneath and pulling the purl toward the slit. the thread should be fastened carefully on the under side of the button-hole. preliminary plan for this lesson it is desirable to have small pieces of cotton on hand, to use as practice pieces for the button-holes. method of work the teacher should demonstrate the making of a button-hole, illustrating each step of the process on a large piece of canvas. the pupils should sew two small strips of cotton together and cut a button-hole one quarter of an inch from the edge, and lengthwise of the material, to work for practice. when the button-hole has been sufficiently perfected on the practice piece, the pupils should make three in the apron--one in the right end of the band and one in the end of each shoulder strap. lesson xix: a padded holder for handling hot dishes--binding subject-matter a holder inches square will be satisfactory for handling hot dishes. it can be made of quilted padding bound with tape, or of two thicknesses of outing flannel covered with percale or denim and bound with tape or braid. if made of the outing flannel and covered, it should be quilted, by stitching from the middle of one side to the middle of the opposite side in both directions, in order to hold the outing flannel and the outside covering together. the tape that is to be used for the binding should be folded through the middle lengthwise; then, a beginning being made at one corner of the padding, the edge should be basted, half on one side and half on the other. right-angled corners should be formed. when basted all around, the tape should be sewn on each side with a hemming-stitch. if the holder is to be suspended from the apron band, a tape of from inches to inches in length should be attached to one corner. the raw edge at one end of the tape should be turned in. the end should be so placed that it overlaps the corner of the holder about half an inch and it should be basted to the holder. the tape should then be secured firmly to the holder, hemmed down on one edge, across the bottom, and up the other edge. the other end of the tape should be finished with a -inch loop. the raw edge should be folded over, the tape turned inches down for the loop, and basted in place. this should be hemmed across the end. one quarter of an inch up from the end, the double thickness of tape should be back-stitched together, and the edges of the tape should be overhanded from there to the hemmed end. preliminary plan each pupil should provide sufficient denim, percale, huckaback, or other washable material to cover the two sides of a holder inches square, and enough outing or canton flannel for a double lining. about - / yards of straight tape one-half inch wide will be needed for the binding and for suspending the holder from the apron. [illustration: _fig._ .--the holder] method of work the pupils should first carefully measure and turn the material for the covering of the holder and then prepare the lining, basting it all together. they should then put in the running-stitch and finish with the binding. if it is not possible to complete the holder in one period, a second lesson period should be provided, or arrangements may be made to have supervised work done outside of the lesson hours. [illustration: _fig._ .--cap] lesson xx: a cap to wear with the cooking apron subject-matter the simplest cap to make will be the circular one. a pattern should be made by drawing with a pencil and string on a piece of wrapping-paper a circle inches in diameter. the material for the cap should be cut carefully around the circle and finished with a narrow hem. a tape to hold the draw-string should be placed - / inches inside the edge of the hem. a small piece of cardboard cut about one-half inch wide should be used for measuring the position of the tape. bias strips three quarters of an inch wide should be prepared for the tape, or a commercial tape three eighths of an inch wide may be purchased. the outer edge of the tape should be basted first and the edges joined; then the inner edges should be basted, the edge being kept smooth. both edges should be neatly sewn with the hemming-stitch by hand or on the machine. an elastic should be inserted in the band, carefully fitted to the head, and the ends fastened neatly. preliminary plan this lesson will give a good opportunity to make a cap that will answer for a dust cap or serve as a part of the cooking uniform. if such a cap does not seem desirable and the former lesson has not been completed, the cap may be omitted and the work on the holder continued. method of work the pupils should first make the pattern for the cap and then cut out their material. the hem should be basted and stitched with the hemming-stitch. the bias strip should be basted on and sewn with a running-stitch. it will probably not be possible for the pupils to complete the cap in one class period; but, if the material has been cut out and the work started, they may be able to complete it at some other time. the stitches are not new, and the work will serve as an excellent test of the skill they have acquired in the course. household science equipment the introduction of household science into rural schools has been hindered by the prevalent impression that the subject requires equipment similar to that in the household science centres of towns and cities, where provision is made for the instruction of twenty-four pupils at one time and for from ten to fifteen different classes each week. owing to the expense and the lack of accommodation, it is not possible to install such equipment in rural schools. for this and other reasons it has been concluded that the subject is beyond the possibilities of the rural school. that this is not the case is shown by the fact that many rural schools in the united states, and some in saskatchewan, as well as a number in our own province, are teaching the subject successfully, with equipment specially designed to meet existing conditions. the accommodations and equipment required may be classified as follows: . working tables . cupboards and cabinets for storing the utensils . stoves . cooking and serving utensils . the provision for working tables is conditioned by the space available, and every effort must be made to economize this space. the equipment may be placed in the basement or in a small ante-room. in one school in the province very successful work is being done in a large corridor. when a new school-house is being erected, provision should be made by building a small work-room off the class-room. the possibilities of a small, portable building, in close proximity to the school, should not be overlooked. [illustration: _fig._ .--working drawing of folding table] where the school is provided with a large table, this may be made of service. when used as a working table it should be covered with a sheet of white oil-cloth. when used as a dining-table a white table-cloth may be substituted for the oil-cloth. if the school does not possess a table, two or three boards may be placed on trestles, if the space at the front or the back of the room permits, and these may be stored away when not required. a table with folding legs, such as is shown in figures and , may also be used. the top of the cabinet containing the utensils or an ordinary kitchen table closed in as a cupboard underneath, may be made to serve. long boards, about eighteen inches wide, placed across the tops of six or eight desks, provide good accommodation. these should be blocked up level and should be provided with cleats at each end, in order to prevent movement. when not in use they may stand flat against the wall and occupy very little space. separate boards, resting on a desk at each end, may also be placed across the aisles. each of these will provide working space for one pupil. tables which drop down flat when not in use may be fixed to the walls of the school-room. as schools vary in many respects, it is not possible to outline a plan which will suit all; but that plan should be chosen which will best meet the requirements of the particular school. [illustration: _fig._ : folding table] [illustration: _fig._ --household science cabinet for rural schools] . the cupboards and cabinets to contain the utensils may take various forms. a kitchen cabinet costing from twenty-five to thirty-five dollars may be obtained from a furniture store, or one may be made by a local carpenter. a large packing-case painted brown outside and white inside (for cleanliness) is satisfactorily used in some schools. if covered with oil-cloth, the top of this may be used as an additional table. a few shelves placed across a corner of the room and covered with a door or curtain may be used, or it may be possible to devote one shelf of the school cupboard to the storing of the utensils. it is desirable to have a combination cupboard and table, which will contain most of the equipment, including the stove. figure is a working drawing of such a cabinet, which may be made by a local carpenter or by the older boys of the school. the directions for making this cabinet are as follows: obtain two boxes and cut or re-make them so that each is inches high when standing on end, - / inches across the front inside, and inches from front to back. these will form the two end sections, a and b. inside the sides of these boxes nail inch Ã� / inch strips, to form the slides for the drawer. the slides come within / of an inch of the front edge. rails may be nailed across the front. guide pieces should be nailed to the slides, in order to keep the drawers straight. divide section a for one drawer and cupboard. the drawers may be made out of raisin boxes cut down to the required size. to the front of each drawer, nail a piece of beaver board or pine a little larger than the drawer front. use any handles that may be conveniently obtained. cut two pieces ' - / " Ã� - / " Ã� / ". space the sections as shown, and nail these pieces firmly to the fronts of the larger boxes, _a_ and _b_, top and bottom. four end pieces " Ã� - / " will be required. fill in section _c_, in this case, ' - / ", with the pieces from the box lids or with ordinary flooring. make a door for the cupboard from similar material. the top is best made from good, clear, white pine. screw battens across, and screw the whole firmly to the box top from the inside. if more table space is required, make a similar bench top, which can rest on top of the cabinet when not in use. when required, it may be placed over the desks. steel or glass shoes or wooden skids or battens should be fixed under the cabinet, so that it can be pulled away from the stove and replaced easily. the dimensions given are for a two-flame-burner oil-stove which is inches high, inches across the front, and inches from front to back. the middle section, _c_, and the total height of the cabinet may be enlarged or reduced to fit other sizes of stoves. [illustration: _fig._ .--cabinet, showing stove in position for use] [illustration: _fig._ .--cabinet, with stove behind centre partition when not in use] the material required for, and the approximate cost of, such a cabinet, labour not included, are as follows: boxes @ $ . raisin boxes @ . handles at c per doz. . cupboard latch . or turn button . about sq. ft. flooring . about sq. ft. pine for top . pieces for battens, etc. . steel shoes . [illustration: _fig._ .--space taken by equipment in class-room] figure shows another type of equipment and the space it occupies in the class-room when not in use. the cupboard and the back of the cabinet contain the equipment necessary for teaching twelve pupils at one time and also for serving one hot dish at the noon lunch to twenty-four pupils. one drawer contains linen, etc., and the other, knives, forks, and spoons. the dimensions of the cupboard and the cabinet are shown in figures and , and the construction of each is such that it can be made easily by any carpenter. [illustration: _fig._ .--working drawings of cupboard] [illustration: _fig._ .--working drawing of cabinet] [illustration: _fig._ .--cupboard with drawers and doors open, showing equipment] figure shows the cupboard and drawers open and the method of storing the equipment. the shelves may be covered with white oil-cloth or brown paper, in order to obviate the necessity for frequent scrubbing. the cupboard may be fixed to the wall with mirror plates or small iron brackets, or it may be screwed through the back. [illustration: _fig._ .--back of cabinet with equipment in place] [illustration: _fig._ .--back of cabinet with stove removed] figure shows the back of the cabinet, with the three-flame-burner stove-oven, the one-flame-burner stove, and other utensils in place. the folding table, previously described, rests on the top of the cabinet. figure shows the back of the cabinet with the stove and oven removed. the method of storing utensils and the construction of the cabinet are clearly shown. [illustration: _fig._ .--three-flame-burner oil-stove, with kettles and one-flame-burner oil-stove on shelf] [illustration: _fig._ .--household science equipment with drop-leaf table] figure shows the three-flame-burner oil-stove with the shelf underneath containing three kettles and the one-flame-burner oil-stove. another type of equipment is shown in figure . each end of the top of this cabinet drops down when the cupboard doors are closed, space being thus economized. the top of the table may be covered with oil-cloth or zinc carefully tacked down on the edges. the directions for making this cabinet are as follows: materials required lumber: pieces / " Ã� " Ã� ' yellow pine ceiling pieces " Ã� " Ã� ' yellow pine flooring piece " Ã� " Ã� ' } piece " Ã� " Ã� ' } no. common white pine piece / " Ã� " Ã� ' } white pine laths hardware: pairs - / " Ã� " butt hinges cupboard catches piece zinc ( " Ã� ") pieces zinc ( " Ã� ") drawer pull lb. d finishing nails lb. d finishing nails / lb. box " brads / lb. box - / " brads box tacks ft. stopper chain stock bill +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ |lumber |cut into |finished dimensions |use | | | the | | | | |following| | | | | pieces: | | | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | " Ã� " Ã� ' | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |top side rails | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |top end rail | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |frame posts | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |bottom side | | | | |rail | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |bottom end | | | | |rails | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |drop door | +------------- -----+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | pieces, " Ã� " Ã� | | |flooring | | ' flooring | | / " Ã� - / " Ã� - / "|(bottom) | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | pieces, " Ã� " Ã� | | |ceiling (ends | | ' yellow pine | | |and side) | |ceiling | | / " Ã� - / " Ã� - / "| | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | " Ã� " Ã� ' | | - " Ã� - / " Ã� | | | | | - / " |shelf | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |shelf | | | | - " Ã� - / " Ã� | | | | | - / |casing | | | | - " Ã� - / " Ã� | | | | | - / " |casing | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |drawer front | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | pieces, " Ã� " Ã� | | |top | | ' flooring | | / " Ã� - / " Ã� " | | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | pieces, " Ã� " Ã� | | |doors | | ' yellow pine | | | | |ceiling | | / " Ã� - / " Ã� - / "| | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | pieces, " Ã� " Ã� | | |swing tops | | ' flooring | | / " Ã� - / " Ã� " | | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | / " Ã� " Ã� ' | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |drawer slides | | | | - " Ã� " Ã� - / " |drawer back | | | | - " Ã� - / " Ã� | | | | | - / " |drawer bottom | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ | / " Ã� " Ã� ' | | - " Ã� - / " Ã� | | | | | - / " |partitions | | | | - " Ã� - / " Ã� " |partitions | +--------------------+---------+-----------------------+---------------+ tools rule lead-pencil saw hammer steel square plane / " chisel and screw-driver directions for making i cutting and squaring stock-- cut the stock only as needed, in the following order, and square up according to the directions previously given. . frame; rip the " Ã� " Ã� ' piece for the frame material . bottom . ends and sides . shelves . top . casing . doors . swing tops . miscellaneous pieces ii assembling-- frame: . check up the dimensions of the pieces squared up for the frame. . lay out and cut the lap joints in the top side rails and frame posts, as shown in the drawing. . nail the frame together. . test the corners of the frame with a steel try-square and brace it by nailing, temporarily, several strips diagonally across the corners. bottom: . cut seven pieces of flooring - / " long for the bottom and plane off the groove of one piece. . turn the frame upside down and nail this piece with the smooth edge projecting / " over the front side of the frame. nail the rest of the flooring so that each piece matches tightly. ends: . for the back, cut eleven pieces of ceiling - / " long. . plane off the groove edge of one piece of ceiling and nail it on the back of the frame even with the end. . nail the rest of the ceiling on the back. be sure that each joint matches tightly. [illustration: _fig._ .--frame of cabinet nailed together] shelves: . make four strips ( / " Ã� / " Ã� - / ") and nail two of them inside, across each end, " and " from the bottom. these strips hold the shelves. . from a " Ã� " piece cut two pieces - / " long; fit and nail them in for the upper shelf. . make the bottom shelf of two pieces, one - / " wide and the other " wide. when these boards are nailed in place, the shelf is narrow enough to allow the doors, with pockets on, to close. . make two strips; one - " Ã� " Ã� - / " and the other - " Ã� - / " Ã� - / ", and nail them to the top shelf for drawer guides. top: . cut eight pieces of flooring " long for the top. . plane off the groove of one piece and nail it on the top of the frame, so that the smooth edge and the ends project " over the front side and ends of the cabinet. . nail the rest of the flooring on for the top, being sure that each joint matches tightly. the last piece must also project " over the back side. casing: . nail the casing, which is - / " wide, on the front of the cabinet. doors: . make each door / " Ã� - / " Ã� - / " from five pieces of ceiling - / " long, held together by cleats at the top and bottom. . fit each door carefully, then hang them with butt hinges. fasten a cupboard catch on each door. drop door: . make the drop door - " Ã� - / " and hinge it with a pair of butt hinges. put on the stopper chain and catch. swing tops: the swing tops are each made from six pieces of flooring " long cleated together. [illustration: _fig_. .--working details] . plane off the groove edge of one piece and match them all together. . make the cleats / " Ã� " Ã� " and nail the top to them. (see the drawing for the position of the cleats.) . rip off the tongue edge and plane it so that the top is exactly " wide. . turn the cabinet upside down on the floor and fit the swing tops. hang them with a pair of butt hinges opposite the ends of the cleats. . make a t-brace with a nailed cross lap joint from two pieces, one being - " Ã� " Ã� ", the other - " Ã� " Ã� - / ". the long edge of the t and the leg must be bevelled - " on one side. fit and hang a t-brace with a pair of butt hinges on each side of the swing tops. . make two brace cleats and fasten them to the ends of the cabinet, so that the swing tops are held level and even with the top of the cabinet. putting zinc on the top: . unscrew the swing tops from the cabinet to put the zinc on. . place the piece of zinc, " Ã� ", on top, extending - / " over the edges all around. . hold the zinc firmly in place and make a square bend along the front edge with a hammer or mallet, bending the edge of the zinc up under the top. . punch a straight row of holes " apart through the zinc and tack it on. . bend the back edge, punch and tack in the same manner as the front edge, but be sure the zinc fits snugly on the top. . bend the ends of the zinc the same as before, but be very careful to fold the corners neatly. . put the zinc on the swing tops in the same manner. . fasten the swing tops again to the top of the cabinet. [illustration: _fig._ .--working details] drawer: the drawer front, - " Ã� " Ã� - / ", with lap / " Ã� / " cut out on the ends. . nail the sides, / " Ã� " Ã� - / ", to the lap of the front and to the ends of the back. . nail the bottom in between the sides / " from the lower edge. this allows the drawer to slide on the edges of the sides. . put the partitions in the drawer as called for by this plan. the racks for covers and pie tins shown in the drawings are made from two pieces, - " Ã� " Ã� ", one piece - " Ã� " Ã� - / " for the bottom, and two pieces of lath " long for the sides. these racks may be placed on the doors as shown, or may be changed to suit the equipment. iii finishing-- . set all the nails and putty the holes. . sandpaper the cabinet carefully. . paint or stain and wax the outside of the cabinet, to harmonize with the surroundings where it is to be used. . paint the inside with two coats of white enamel. [illustration: _fig._ .--cabinet completed] before putting on the enamel, apply a coat of ordinary white-lead paint and allow it to dry thoroughly. if desired, the outside of the cabinet may be finished in white enamel, though this is somewhat more expensive than the paint or stain recommended above. all the household science cabinets shown have a two-fold purpose. in the first place, they furnish storage space for the utensils and working space for the pupils. in the second place, they offer a most interesting manual training project for a boys' club. the members can make any one of them, thus correlating their practical woodwork and the domestic science of the girls and, in this way, exhibiting the co-operative spirit of the home and the school. . in some cases it may be possible to use the school stove for cooking purposes. some schools use natural gas for heating and, where this is the case, provision for cooking may readily be made. other schools situated on a hydro-electric line, may, as has been done in one case, use electricity as a source of heat. at present, however, the majority of schools may find it best to use one of the many oil-stoves now on the market. one-, two-, or three-flame-burner stoves may be obtained for general use. the two-, or three-flame-burner stoves are recommended, as they are less likely to be overturned. the one-flame-burner stove, however, is often useful as an additional provision. a good grade of oil should be used, and the stove should be kept scrupulously clean, constant attention being paid to the condition of the wick. any oil spilt on the stove when it is being filled should be carefully wiped off before lighting. if attention is paid to these details, the stove will burn without any perceptible odour. . the number of the utensils and the amount of equipment depend upon the community and the number of pupils to be considered. by careful planning few utensils are needed. they should be as good as the people of the neighbourhood can afford and, in general, should be of the same character as those used in the homes of the district. all the table-cloths, towels, dish-cloths, etc., required should be hemmed by the pupils. articles for storing supplies may be bought or donated. glass canisters with close lids are best, but as substitutes, fruit jars, jelly glasses, or tin cans will serve the purpose. it is an easy matter to secure an empty lard-bucket or a syrup-can for flour or meal, empty coffee-cans for sugar or starch, etc., and baking-powder or cocoa-tins for spices. each should be plainly labelled. several typical lists of equipment in household science are given here. these may be modified to suit particular circumstances. considerable expense may be saved if the pupils bring their own individual equipment--soup-bowl, cup and saucer, plate, spoon, knife, fork, and paper napkins. this plan is not advised unless it is absolutely necessary, but, if followed, an effort should be made to have the articles as uniform as possible. the following equipment is that contained in the cabinet illustrated on page and is sufficient for giving organized instruction to six pupils. if a noon lunch is provided, additional individual equipment will be required. equipment for rural school household science cabinet--no. perfection blue-flame stove (two-flame) $ . two-burner oven . coal-oil can . dish-pan . tea-kettle . large sauce-pan and cover . medium sauce-pans and covers, c each . small sauce-pans and covers, c each . frying-pans, c ea. . pudding bake-dishes, c ea. . muffin pans ( rings, each c) . soap-dish . small mixing bowls, c ea. . pitchers, c ea. . casseroles, c, c, c . measuring cups, c ea. . custard cups, c doz. . white plates, $ . doz. . supply jars, c doz. . vegetable brushes, c ea. . grater . egg-beaters, c ea. . forks . teaspoons . tablespoons, $ . doz. . vegetable knives, c ea. . case knives, $ . doz. . strainers, c ea. . spatula . bread knife . can-opener . french knife . water pails, $ . ea. . dish-towels, c ea. . dish-cloths, c ea. . rinsing cloths, c ea. . yd. oil-cloth . yards cheesecloth . equipment for rural school household science cabinet--no. ii the equipment included in the cabinet and cupboard shown in figure , page , is as follows: for six pupils cupboard $ . cabinet table . three-burner oil-stove . portable oven . storage tin . dish-pans . draining pans . scrub basins . soap-dishes . pail . pails . dippers . tea-kettles . kneading boards . rolling-pins . oil-can . stove mitt . dust-pan . whisk . scrub-brushes . vegetable brushes . stew pans . sauce-pans . frying-pans . strainers . pie plates . measuring cups (tin) . measuring cup (glass) . double boiler . baking-dishes . cake tins . toasters . tea-pot . coffee-pot . pitcher ( quarts) . " ( pint) . bowls . custard cups . butter crock . covered pail ( pint) . trays . grater . potato masher . can-opener . french knife . bread " . egg-beaters . dover egg-beater . wooden spoons . paring knives . for eight pupils cupboard $ . cabinet table . collapsible table . three-burner oil-stove . one-burner oil-stove . portable oven . storage tin . dish-pans . draining pans . scrub basins . soap-dishes . pail . pails . dippers . tea-kettles . kneading boards . rolling-pins . oil-can . stove mitt . dust-pan . whisk . scrub brushes . vegetable brushes . stew-pans . sauce-pans . frying-pans . strainers . pie plates . measuring cups (tin) . measuring cup (glass) . double boiler . baking-dishes . cake tins . toasters . tea-pot . coffee-pot . pitchers ( quarts) . pitcher ( quart) . bowls . custard cups . butter crock . covered pail ( pint) . trays . grater . potato masher . can-opener . french knife . bread " . egg-beaters . dover egg-beater . wooden spoons . paring knives . for twelve pupils cupboard $ . cabinet table . collapsible table . three-burner oil-stoves . portable oven . storage tin . dish-pans . draining-pans . scrub basins . soap-dishes . pail . pails . dippers . tea-kettles . kneading boards . rolling-pins . oil-can . stove mitts . dust-pan . whisk . scrub brushes . vegetable brushes . stew pans . sauce-pans . frying-pans . strainers . pie plates . measuring cups (tin) . measuring cup (glass) . double boiler . baking-dishes . cake tins . toasters . tea-pot . coffee-pot . pitchers ( qt.) . " ( qt.) . bowls . custard cups . butter crock . covered pail ( pt.) . trays . grater . potato masher . can-opener . french knife . bread " . egg-beaters . dover egg-beaters . wooden spoons . paring knives . in the equipment for twelve pupils, three one-burner oil-stoves at $ . each might be used in place of the second large stove. in this case extra provision must be made for storing the stoves when not in use, as the cabinet shown does not provide space for more than one large stove. care should be taken in using the one-burner stove to avoid upsetting it while it is in use. the equipment given above is generous, and reductions may be made if necessary. in any case it is not advisable that the whole equipment should be purchased at once; only sufficient to make a beginning should be secured, and further utensils may be added as the necessity for their use arises. if a hot dish is served at the noon lunch, as is most desirable, the following will be needed in addition, in order to serve twenty-four pupils: knives $ . forks . teaspoons . tablespoons . salt and pepper shakers . glasses . plates . plates (large) . cups and saucers . fruit and vegetable dishes . hectograph the hectograph is a device for making copies of written work. teachers whose schools have limited black-board space will find it of great service. recipes and other rules for work may be copied and distributed to the pupils, and thus kept in a permanent form. many other uses in connection with the general work of the school will suggest themselves. the following are the directions for making: soak - / ounces of white glue in three ounces of water until it is well softened. cook in a double boiler until the whole mass is smooth. remove from the fire and add six ounces of glycerine. mix well, re-heat, skim, and pour into a shallow pan or on a slate. prick the bubbles as soon as they show. allow the mixture to stand for twenty-four hours, and it is then ready for use. write the material to be copied, in hectograph ink, on a sheet of the same size as that on which the copy is to be made. write clearly and space carefully. wipe the hectograph with a damp cloth. lay a sheet of unglazed paper on the hectograph, rub it carefully, and take off at once. this removes any drops of water, but leaves the surface moist. lay the written side of the sheet on the hectograph and rub it carefully over its whole surface with a soft cloth, so that every particle of the writing comes in contact with the surface of the hectograph. leave it there for four or five minutes. lift one corner and peel off carefully. lay a plain sheet on the hectograph and rub as before. take off as before. if the copy is not clear, leave the next sheet on a little longer. when sufficient copies have been made, wash the hectograph with a wet cloth before putting it away. keep in a cool, dry place. the rural school lunch the best method of approach to household science in the rural school is through the medium of the hot noon-day lunch or the preparation of one or two hot dishes to supplement the lunch brought from home. owing to the fact that many pupils live far from the school, it is impossible for them to go home for the mid-day meal, and they are thus dependent upon lunches which they bring with them. very frequently the pupils are allowed to eat their lunches where and how they please, and the method chosen is conducive neither to comfort nor to health. in fine weather they do not wish to lose any time from their games, and so they eat their food while playing, or they bolt it, in order that they may get to their play more quickly. in severe weather they crowd round the steps or the stove and do not hesitate to scatter crumbs and crusts. in one case even a teacher has been seen holding a sandwich in one hand and writing on the black-board with the other. in many cases the lunch does not attract the pupil. it is often carried, without proper wrapping, in a tin pail, and it then absorbs the taste of the tin; again, it is often wrapped in a newspaper and is flavoured with printer's ink; occasionally, it is wrapped in cloth not too clean. conditions such as these are not fair to the pupils. they come a long way to school, often over poor roads; and it is necessary, for both their physical and their mental development, that they should receive adequate nourishment served as attractively as possible. many of the defects found among school children can be traced, to a greater or less extent, to lack of nutrition. the united states military draft shows that the number of those physically defective is from seven to twenty per cent. higher in rural districts than in towns and cities, and this difference is not peculiar to that country. may we not reasonably suppose that many of these defects are caused by mal-nutrition, and that this mal-nutrition is in part due to the poor noon-day lunch? as these defects hinder mental as well as physical development, the question of proper nutrition through the medium of the school lunch becomes an educational one. the box lunch with proper care in the selection of food, the packing of the lunch box, and rational methods of consumption, there is no reason why the box lunch should not be nourishing, attractive, and possess an educational value. it may be laid down as an axiom that every school lunch should be supervised by the teacher and hap-hazard methods of eating the lunch should be prohibited. those schools that are fortunate enough to possess a large table can approximate somewhat to the best home conditions, and have the table set in the proper manner, as shown in lesson vi, page . the pupils should sit round the table, at the head of which is the teacher, and the lunch may be made to partake of the nature of a family party. if rightly managed, the meal, even under the unusual difficulties presented in the rural school, may offer the most favourable opportunities to inculcate habits of cleanliness and neatness and to cultivate good manners. the pupils will learn something about the proper selection of food and the importance of thorough mastication. clean hands and faces and tidy hair should be insisted upon, and individual drinking cups should be encouraged. as a manual training exercise, each pupil may be taught to make his own drinking cup from heavy waxed paper. grace may be said by the older pupils in turn. the table should be made to look as attractive as possible. the pupils, in turn, might undertake to have the table-cloth washed at home or, in place of a linen cloth, a covering of white oil-cloth may be used. in some cases the school garden will be able to supply flowers or a growing plant for a centrepiece. three or four of the larger pupils, either boys or girls, may set the table in ten minutes, while the others are washing their hands and faces and tidying their hair. some such plan as this will add palatability and cheer to the monotony of the everyday cold and often unattractive lunch and will create a spirit of true and healthy sociability among the pupils. in schools that do not possess tables large enough to be used as suggested above, each pupil should be required to set one place at his own desk, as shown in the illustration on page . a paper napkin may be used for a table-cloth, if a small piece of white oil-cloth is not procurable. each pupil retains his place until all have finished; he should then dispose of the crumbs and leave his desk tidy. from twenty minutes to half an hour is generally found sufficient for the meal. there should be cheerful conversation and restrained laughter throughout the meal, and acts of courtesy and generosity should be encouraged. at seasons when there are no flies, and on days when the weather is favourable, it is a pleasant change to serve lunch out-of-doors. the lunch is provided by the home, but the teacher may give some useful lessons in household science by talks on the contents of the lunch box and the proper methods of packing the same, so that the food will keep in good condition until the time for its consumption arrives. it is the duty of the school authorities to provide a suitable storage place for the lunch boxes. these boxes should be kept free from dust or flies and in a place where the food will not freeze in winter. open shelves, so often seen, are not suitable and a properly ventilated cupboard in the school-room should be provided. contents of the lunch box the whole question of the box lunch presents a serious problem, when we consider the large number of children who must depend upon it for their noon-day meal. this meal should be so constituted as to make it a real meal and not a makeshift. the same principles which govern the preparation of the meal should govern the preparation of the lunch box. it is said that the school lunch should consist of "something starchy and something meaty, something fat and something fibrous, something sweet and something savoury". with so many varieties of breads, meats, cheese, jams, etc., innumerable kinds of sandwiches may be made. for example, there are brown, graham, rye, raisin, nut, and date breads, and equally many kinds of meat. such variety makes it quite unnecessary to have an egg sandwich or hard-boiled eggs in the lunch box each day. while eggs are very valuable in the diet, a lunch with hard-boiled eggs five times each week becomes monotonous, and the appetite of the consumer flags. with skill and thought one can make little scraps of meat or other "left-overs" into attractive sandwiches. ends of meat, ground and mixed with salad dressing or cream, make delicious sandwich fillings. sandwich making the bread should be cut evenly. the thickness of the slice should vary with the appetite of the consumer. the crust should not be removed. the butter should be creamed for spreading. both slices should be buttered, in order to prevent the absorption of the filling. the filling should be carefully placed between the slices. the sandwiches should be wrapped in waxed paper, to prevent drying. suggestions for sandwich filling . egg and ham: three eggs hard boiled and chopped fine or ground an equal amount of chopped or boiled ham salad dressing mix and spread. . raisin filling: one cup of raisins ground or chopped one half-cup of water one half-cup of sugar one tablespoonful of flour into the same quantity of vinegar juice and grated rind of one lemon cook in a double boiler until thick. . fig filling: remove the stems and chop the figs fine. add a small quantity of water. cook in a double boiler until a paste is formed. add a few drops of lemon juice. chopped peanuts may be added. . egg: chop a hard-cooked egg. mix with salad dressing or melted butter, to a spreading consistency. . equal parts of finely-cut nuts and grated cheese, with salad dressing . equal parts of grated cheese and chopped olives . sardines with lemon juice or a little dressing . chopped dates with a little cream. nuts may be added. . thinly sliced tomatoes (seasonal) . sliced cucumbers . marmalade. chopped nuts may be added. suggestions for planning in selecting the food the following suggestions may prove helpful: _protein_--sandwiches of fish, meat, egg, cheese, nuts, dish of cottage cheese for the older pupils, baked beans _carbohydrates_--bread, cake, cookies, jam, honey, dates, figs, raisins, prunes, candy _fats_--butter, cream, peanut-butter _mineral matter_--celery, lettuce, radish, tomatoes; fresh fruits _note._--when possible, a bottle of clean sweet milk should form part of every lunch. suggestions for desserts cup custards of various flavours cookies with nuts and fruits cakes--not too rich pies well made and with good filling candy--plain home-made preserves canned fruits fresh fruits as often as possible, a surprise should be included, generally in the form of a dessert of which the pupil is fond. a surprise adds to the pupil's pleasure in eating and, indirectly, aids digestion. packing the lunch box much of the attractiveness of a lunch depends upon the manner of packing. we must consider the fact that the foods must be packed together closely and must remain so packed for several hours. this makes careful packing a necessity. rules for packing . be sure that the box is absolutely clean. . line it with fresh paper every time it is used. . wrap each article of food in wax paper. . place in the box neatly, the food that is to be used last in the bottom of the box, unless it is easily crushed. . lay a neatly folded napkin on the top. equipment for packing lunch box waxed paper paper napkin cup or container with screw top drinking cup knife, fork, and spoon thermos bottle or jar for milk or other liquid the box itself should be of odourless material, permanent, and light in weight, admitting of safe means of ventilation. paper bags should never be used for food containers, as it is impossible to pack the lunch in them firmly and well and there is danger of their being torn or of insects or flies creeping into them. boxes of fibre, tin, basket weave, or other material, may be used. the box will require scrubbing, and should be frequently dried and aired well. many types of lunch boxes have compartments provided for the various kinds of food. waxed paper and paper napkins, or the somewhat heavier paper towels of much the same size, are very useful for packing lunches, and may be obtained at a low price, particularly if bought in large quantities. an extra napkin, either of paper or cloth, should be put in the basket, to be spread over the school desk when the lunch is eaten. napkins can be made out of cotton crepe at a cost of a very few cents each. the crepe may be bought by the yard and should be cut into squares and fringed. such napkins have the advantage of not needing to be ironed. paper cups, jelly tumblers with covers which can now be bought in several sizes, and bottles with screw tops, such as those in which candy and other foods are sold, may all be used for packing jellies, jams, honey, etc. the thermos bottle may be used for carrying milk, or, if this is too expensive, a glass jar with a tight cover may be substituted. if the thermos bottle is used, hot drinks may also be carried. serving a hot dish the serving of a hot lunch or of one hot dish need be neither an elaborate nor an expensive matter. many rural schools in the united states, some of them working under conditions worse than any of ours, are serving at least one hot dish to supplement the lunch brought from home. the advantages of this plan are: . it enables the pupils to do better work in the afternoon. . it adds interest to the school work and makes the pupils more ready to go to school in bad weather. . it gives some practical training and paves the way toward definite instruction in household science. . it gives a better balance to meals, and as compared with a cold lunch it aids digestion. . it teaches neatness. . it gives opportunity to teach table manners. . it strengthens the relationship between the home and the school. the method the teacher should have a meeting of the school trustees and of the mothers of the pupils and outline the method of procedure. it is only in this way that the co-operation of all can be secured, and without this co-operation there can be no success. this meeting should be addressed by the public school inspector; and after the consent of the parents and the trustees has been secured, the scheme may be put into operation. some thought will have to be given to the organization, in order that the plan may work smoothly. if properly organized, there need be little or no interruption to the ordinary routine of the school. the pupils, both boys and girls, should be arranged in groups, each group taking the work in turn. even the smallest pupils should be allowed to take part, as there are many duties which they can perform successfully. if each group is composed of five or six pupils, the work may be arranged as follows: two will prepare the dish, two will get the table or the desks ready (or each pupil may prepare his own desk), and the others will wash the dishes. the furnishing of supplies is a problem which each teacher will have to solve for herself, according to the conditions which exist in the community. supplies which can be stored are best purchased by the school trustees; while the mothers of the pupils should furnish the perishable articles, such as milk and butter. as often as possible, the pupils may be asked to bring various articles, such as a potato, an apple, a carrot, an egg, etc. these may be combined and prepared in quantities. the school garden should be relied upon to supply many vegetables in season, thus adding interest and life to both the garden work and the lunch. in some districts the neighbourhood is canvassed for subscriptions in order to provide funds to purchase supplies for the term lunches. some schools give a concert or entertainment in order to raise funds for this purpose, and in others all the supplies have been purchased by the school trustees. the pupils who are to prepare the hot dish may make the necessary preparations before school or at recess, and they must so time the cooking that the dish will be ready when required. they should be allowed to leave their desks during school hours to give it attention if necessary. in schools where this method is adopted, it has been found that the privilege has never been abused, nor have the other pupils been less attentive on account of it. however, most of the recipes suggested later require little or no attention while cooking. at twelve o'clock the assigned pupils get the dish ready for serving and set the table. the others wash their hands, tidy their hair, and get their lunch boxes. all pass to their places. the pupils who have prepared the dish may serve it, using trays to carry each pupil's supply, or the pupils may pass in line before the serving table and to their places, time being thus saved. when the meal is finished, the pupils rise and bring their dishes to the serving table and stack them with the other dishes. two remain behind to clear up and wash the dishes, while the others go to play. if the desks are used, each pupil is responsible for leaving his own desk clean. the pupils may be required to keep an account of the cost of the food and to calculate the cost per head per day or per week. a schedule of the market prices of food should be posted in a conspicuous place, and the pupils may take turns in keeping these prices up to date. a separate black-board may be used for this purpose. the dish chosen should be as simple as possible--a vegetable or cream soup, cocoa, baked potatoes, baked apples, white sauce with potatoes or other vegetables, apple sauce, rice pudding, etc. it may be well, in some cases, to have plans made on friday for the following week. as a rule, each day a little before or after four o'clock, the recipe for the following day should be discussed, the quantities worked out to suit the number of pupils, and the supplies arranged for. the element of surprise should be made use of occasionally, the pupils not being allowed to know the dish until they take their places. suggested menus the following are some suggested menus in which the food brought from home is supplemented by one hot dish. (the name of the hot dish is printed in italics.) . _potato soup_, meat sandwiches, orange, sponge cake . _cream of tomato soup_, bread and butter sandwiches, stuffed egg, pear, oatmeal cookies . _apple cooked with bacon_, bread and butter sandwiches, gingerbread, milk . _cocoa_, date sandwiches, celery, graham crackers, apple . _stewed apples_, egg sandwiches, plain cake, prunes stuffed with cottage cheese . _custard_, brown bread sandwiches, apple, raisins, sauce, molasses cookies . _baked beans_, bread and butter sandwiches, fruit, sauce, molasses cookies suggestions for hot dishes for four weeks _first week_ _second week_ monday potato soup rice and milk tuesday cocoa tomato soup wednesday coddled eggs egg broth thursday creamed potatoes chocolate custard friday soft custard rice and tomato _third week_ _fourth week_ monday macaroni and cheese rice soup tuesday creamed eggs cocoa wednesday cheese soup boiled rice and milk thursday apple sauce soft-cooked eggs friday cheese wheat pudding _first week_ _second week_ monday rice soup macaroni and cheese tuesday cocoa apple sauce wednesday baked apples shirred eggs thursday custard cheese soup friday baked eggs apple custard _third week_ _fourth week_ monday potato soup rice and tomato tuesday tapioca cream apple custard wednesday cocoa tomato soup thursday creamed potatoes cracker pudding friday soft custard cocoa recipes suitable for the rural school lunch all the recipes given have been used with success in preparing rural school lunches. the number that the recipe will serve is generally stated and, where this number does not coincide with the number of pupils in any particular school, the quantities required may be obtained by division or multiplication. the recipes given in the lessons on cooking may also be used in preparing the school lunch, as each recipe states the number it will serve. _white sauce_ c. milk tbsp. flour / tbsp. butter / tsp. salt / tsp. white pepper reserve one quarter of the milk and scald the remainder in a double boiler. mix the flour to a smooth paste with an equal quantity of the cold milk and thin it with the remainder. stir this gradually into the hot milk and keep stirring until it thickens. add the butter, salt, and pepper, and cover closely until required, stirring occasionally. this recipe makes a sauce of medium consistency. to make a thick white sauce, use or tablespoonfuls of flour to one cup of milk. _cocoa_ tbsp. ( tsp.) cocoa tbsp. ( tsp.) sugar c. milk c. boiling water / tsp. salt scald the milk in a double boiler. mix the cocoa, sugar, and salt, then stir in the boiling water and boil for minutes. add this mixture to the scalded milk. if a scum forms, beat with a dover egg-beater for one minute. the preparation should begin at half-past eleven, to have the cocoa ready at twelve o'clock. (will serve eighteen.) _potato soup_ qt. peeled potatoes cut in thin slices qt. milk tsp. salt tsp. butter tbsp. flour / tsp. black pepper small onion / tsp. celery seed or a stock of celery before the opening of school, the potatoes should be pared and put into cold water; and the butter, flour, salt, and pepper should be thoroughly mixed. at eleven o'clock, the potatoes, onion, and celery should be put on to boil gently and the milk put into a double boiler to heat. when the vegetables are tender, they should be strained with the cooking liquid into the hot milk and the mixture bound with the flour. the soup should be closely covered until required. (will serve ten.) _cream of pea soup_ can peas or qt. fresh peas pt. milk tbsp. butter tbsp. flour tsp. salt / tsp. pepper heat the peas in their own water, or cook them in boiling salted water until tender. put the milk to heat in a double boiler. when the peas are tender, rub them, with the cooking liquid, through a strainer into the scalded milk. add the butter and flour rubbed to a smooth paste and stir until thickened. season and cover until required. (will serve six pupils generously.) _cream of tomato soup_ pt. or can tomatoes tbsp. butter tbsp. flour tsp. sugar qt. milk sprig of parsley / tsp. white pepper / tsp. soda tsp. salt cook the tomatoes slowly with the seasonings for ten minutes and rub through a strainer. scald the milk, thicken with the flour and butter rubbed to a paste, re-heat the tomatoes, and add the soda, mix with the milk, and serve at once. (will serve six pupils generously.) _cream of corn soup_ pt. cans corn pt. cold water slices onion qt. of thin white sauce seasonings the process is that used in making cream of pea soup. when making the thin white sauce, place the onion in the milk and leave it until the milk is scalded. then remove the onion to the other mixture and make the sauce. this gives sufficient onion flavour. (will serve eighteen.) _lima-bean soup_ c. lima beans qt. water whole cloves bay leaf tsp. salt tbsp. butter tbsp. flour tbsp. minced onion tbsp. " carrot tbsp. " celery / tsp. pepper soak the beans overnight in soft water or in hard water which has been boiled and cooled. if cold, hard water is used, add / tsp. baking-soda to qt. of water. in the morning, drain and put on to cook in qt. of water. simmer until tender. it takes hours. cook the minced vegetables in the butter for minutes, being careful not to brown them. drain out the vegetables and put them into the soup. put the flour and butter into a pan and stir until smooth. add this mixture to the soup. add the cloves, bay leaf, and seasonings, and simmer for hour. rub through a sieve. one cup of milk may be added. bring to the simmering point and serve. (will serve eighteen.) _note._--if desired, the vegetables may be used without browning and the cloves and bay leaf omitted. _milk and cheese soup_ c. milk tbsp. flour - / c. grated cheese salt and pepper to taste thicken the milk with flour, cooking thoroughly. this is best done in a double boiler, stirring occasionally. when ready to serve, add cheese and seasoning. (will serve six.) _cream of rice soup_ tbsp. rice c. milk tbsp. butter / small onion stalks celery / bay leaf salt and pepper to taste scald the milk, add the well-washed rice, and cook for minutes in a closely covered double boiler. melt the butter and cook the sliced onion and celery in it until tender, but not brown. add these, with the bay leaf, to the contents of the double boiler, cover, and let it stand on the back of the stove for minutes. strain, season with salt and pepper, re-heat, and serve. note that the bay leaf is added and allowed to stand, to increase the flavour, and may be omitted if desired. (will serve six.) _rice pudding_ c. rice c. water c. milk c. sugar eggs tsp. salt c. fruit (chopped raisins) if desired wash the rice in a strainer placed over a bowl of cold water, by rubbing the rice between the fingers. lift the strainer from the bowl and change the water. repeat until the water is clear. put the water in the upper part of a double boiler directly over the fire, and when it boils rapidly, gradually add the rice to it. boil rapidly for minutes, then add the milk, to which has been added the sugar, salt, and eggs slightly beaten. cover, place in the lower part of the double boiler, and cook until kernels are tender--from minutes to hour. if raisins are used, add them before putting the rice in the double boiler. serve with milk and sugar as desired. (will serve eighteen.) _rice pudding_ c. rice c. raisins tsp. salt qt. milk c. sugar tsp. cinnamon prepare the rice and raisins and put them, with the other ingredients, in a buttered pan. bake all forenoon, stirring occasionally during the first hour. serve with milk or cream. (will serve ten.) _cream of wheat_ - / c. cream of wheat c. boiling water - / tsp. salt - / c. dates (chopped) put the boiling water and salt in the upper part of the double boiler directly over the heat. when boiling, add the cereal slowly. stir constantly until the mixture thickens. add the dates and cook for minutes. place in the lower part of the double boiler and cook at least hour. serve with milk and sugar. (will serve eighteen.) _scrambled eggs_ eggs c. milk tbsp. butter tsp. salt pepper beat the eggs until the yolks and whites are well mixed. add the seasonings and milk. heat the frying-pan, melt the butter in it, and turn in the egg mixture. cook slowly, scraping the mixture from the bottom of the pan as it cooks. as soon as a jelly-like consistency is formed, remove at once to a hot dish or serve on toast. (will serve nine.) _creamed eggs_ hard-cooked eggs tbsp. butter c. milk tbsp. flour salt and pepper melt the butter, add the flour, and stir in the milk gradually. cook well and season with salt and pepper. cut hard-cooked eggs in small pieces and add them to the white sauce. it may be served on toast. (will serve six.) _egg broth_ eggs tbsp. sugar c. hot milk few grains salt vanilla or nutmeg beat the eggs and add the sugar and salt. stir in the hot milk gradually, so that the eggs will cook smoothly. flavour as desired. (will serve six.) _soft-cooked eggs_ wash the eggs and put in a sauce-pan, cover with boiling water, remove to the back of the stove or where the water will keep hot, but not boil. let them stand, covered, from to minutes, according to the consistency desired. _baked shirred eggs_ butter small earthen cups. break an egg in each and sprinkle with a few grains of salt and pepper and bits of butter. bake in a moderate oven until the white is set. for shirred eggs proceed as above, but to cook, place in a pan of hot water on the back of the stove, until the white is set. _creamed potatoes_ white sauce (medium consistency) tbsp. flour tbsp. butter - / c. milk salt and pepper make a white sauce of the butter, flour, milk, and seasonings. cut cold potatoes (about eight) into cubes or slices and heat in the sauce. serve hot. (will serve nine.) _mashed potatoes_ boil the potatoes, drain, and mash in the kettle in which they were boiled. when free from lumps, add to each cup of mashed potatoes: tsp. butter or more tbsp. hot milk / tsp. salt beat all together until light and creamy. re-heat, and pile lightly, without smoothing, in a hot dish. _baked potatoes_ use potatoes of medium size. scrub thoroughly in water with a brush. place in a pan in a hot oven. bake from to minutes. when done, roll in a clean napkin and twist until the skin is broken. serve immediately. (if no oven is available, place a wire rack on the top of the stove. put the potatoes on this rack and cover them with a large pan. when half cooked, turn.) _macaroni and cheese_ c. macaroni ( pieces) tsp. salt qt. boiling water c. white sauce (medium) cook the macaroni in boiling salted water until tender. drain, pour cold water over it, and drain it once more. put the macaroni into a baking dish, sprinkling a layer of grated cheese upon each layer of macaroni. pour in the sauce and sprinkle the top with cheese. cook until the sauce bubbles up through the cheese and the top is brown. to give variety, finely-minced ham, boiled codfish, or any cold meat may be used instead of the cheese. (will serve ten.) _cornstarch pudding_ qt. milk / c. cornstarch / tsp. salt / c. sugar vanilla scald the milk in a double boiler. mix the sugar, cornstarch, and salt together. gradually add to the hot milk and stir constantly until it thickens. cover, cook for minutes, add vanilla, and pour into cold, wet moulds. when set, turn out, and serve with milk and sugar. (will serve nine.) _apple sauce_ tart apples / c. water whole cloves (if desired) / c. sugar piece of lemon rind (if desired) wipe, pare, quarter, and core the apples. put the water, apples, lemon rind, and cloves into a sauce-pan. cook covered until the apples are tender, but not broken. remove the lemon peel and cloves. add the sugar a few minutes before taking from the fire. the apples may be mashed or put through a strainer. (will serve nine.) _note._--the lemon and the cloves may be used when the apples have lost their flavour. _stewed prunes or other dried fruit--apricots, apples, pears_ / lb. fruit (about) - / pt. of water / c. sugar or slices lemon or a few cloves and a piece of cinnamon stick wash the fruit thoroughly and soak overnight. cook in the water in which it was soaked. cover, and simmer until tender. when nearly cooked, add sugar and lemon juice. the cloves and cinnamon should cook with the fruit. all flavourings may be omitted, if desired. (will serve nine.) _soft custard_ c. milk tbsp. sugar eggs / tsp. vanilla a few grains of salt scald the milk in a double boiler. add the sugar and salt to the eggs and beat until well mixed. stir the hot milk slowly into the egg mixture and return to the double boiler. cook, stirring constantly, until the spoon, when lifted from the mixture, is coated. remove immediately from the heat, add vanilla, and pour into a cold bowl. to avoid too rapid cooking, lift the upper from the lower portion of the boiler occasionally. (will serve six.) _tapioca custard pudding_ c. scalded milk eggs slightly beaten tbsp. butter tbsp. pearl, or minute, tapioca tbsp. sugar a few grains of salt minute tapioca requires no soaking. soak the pearl tapioca one hour in enough cold water to cover it. drain, add to the milk, and cook in a double boiler for minutes. add to remaining ingredients, pour into buttered baking-dish, and bake for about minutes in a slow oven. (will serve eight.) _rice and tomato_ c. cooked rice tbsp. butter tbsp. flour c. unstrained or c. strained tomato slice of onion minced salt and pepper cook the onion with the tomato until soft. melt the butter, and add the flour, salt, and pepper. strain the tomato, stir the liquid into the butter and flour mixture, and cook until thick and smooth. add the rice, heat, and serve. (will serve six.) _cracker pudding_ soda crackers c. milk eggs tbsp. sugar / tsp. salt roll the crackers and soak them in milk. beat the yolks and sugar well together and add to the first mixture, with some salt. make a meringue with white of eggs, pile lightly on top, and put in the oven till it is a golden brown. serve hot. (will serve six.) _note._--dried bread crumbs may be used in place of the crackers. _candied fruit peel_ the candied peel of oranges, lemons, grapefruit, and other fruits makes a good sweet which is economical, because it utilizes materials which might otherwise be thrown away. its preparation makes an interesting school exercise. the skins can be kept in good condition for a long time in salt water, which makes it possible to wait until a large supply is on hand before candying them. they should be washed in clear water, after removing from the salt water, boiled until tender, cut into small pieces, and then boiled in a thick sugar syrup until they are transparent. they should then be lifted from the syrup and allowed to cool in such a way that the superfluous syrup will run off. finally, they should be rolled in pulverized or granulated sugar. a large number of recipes have been given, in order that a selection may be made according to season, community conditions, and market prices, and so that sufficient variety may be secured from day to day. attention given to this matter will be well repaid by the improved health of the pupils, the greater interest taken in the school by the parents, and the better afternoon work accomplished. it has been well said: "the school lunch is not a departure from the principle of the obligation assumed by educational authorities toward the child, but an intensive application of the measures adopted for the physical nurture of the child, to the end of securing in adult years the highest efficiency of the citizen". useful bulletins _the rural school luncheon_: department of education, saskatchewan _the box luncheon_: new york state college of agriculture, cornell university _hints to housewives_: issued by mayor mitchell's food supply committee, new york city _home economics in village and rural schools_: kansas state agricultural college _home-made fireless cookers and their use_: farmers' bulletin, united states department of agriculture _hot lunches for rural schools_: parts i and ii, iowa state college of agriculture and mechanic arts _rural school lunches_: university of idaho, agricultural extension department _the rural school lunch_: university of illinois college of agriculture _the school luncheon_: oregon agricultural college household science without school equipment there is no school so unhappily situated or so poorly equipped that it is unable to teach effectively the lessons previously outlined in the "care of the home" and "sewing". now that a grant in aid is provided by the department of education any rural school may procure one of the sets of equipment for cooking suggested or some modification thereof. as a stepping-stone to the provision of that equipment and as a means of educating the people of the district in regard to the advantages of teaching this branch of household science, it may be advisable or even necessary, in some cases, to attempt practical work, even where no equipment is installed by the school authorities. it should be remembered that the present position of manual training and household science in urban schools is entirely owing to private initiative and demonstration, by which the people were shown how and why these subjects should be included in the curriculum of the schools. it is reasonable to suppose that the same results will follow if somewhat the same methods are tried in the case of the rural schools, which form such a large part of our educational system. two methods of giving instruction of this character have, in the united states, been followed by successful results. first method in the first of these, the teacher spends the last thirty or forty minutes, generally on friday afternoons, in the description and discussion of some practical cooking problem which may be performed in the homes of the pupils. before this plan is adopted, it should be discussed with the pupils who are to take the work. they should be required to promise that they will practise at home; and the consent and co-operation of the parents should be secured, as the success of this home work depends, in the first place, on the willingness of the pupil to accept responsibility, and, in the second place, on the honest and hearty co-operation of the parents. a meeting of the mothers should be called, in order that the plan may be laid before them and their suggestions received. at this meeting afternoon tea might be served. the teacher should plan the lessons, but occasionally, particularly at festive seasons, the pupils themselves should be allowed to decide what shall be made. when it is possible, the food prepared at home should be brought by the pupil to the school, in order that it may be compared with that made by other pupils and be judged by the teacher. in other cases, the mother might be asked to fill up a previously prepared form, certifying to the amount and character of the work done at home by the pupil each week. the instructions placed on the black-board should be clear and concise and give adequate information concerning materials, quantities, and methods. they should be arranged in such a way as to appeal to the eye and thus assist the memory. connected composition should not be attempted, but the matter should be arranged in a series of numbered steps, somewhat as follows: _recipe: boiled carrots_ carrots boiling water salt and pepper butter . scrub, scrape, and rinse the carrots. . cut them into pieces by dicing them. . place the pieces in a sauce-pan. . set over the fire and cover with boiling water. . cook until the pieces are soft at the centre when pierced with a fork. . serve in a hot vegetable dish. after being thoroughly explained, these directions are placed in a note-book, for the guidance of the pupil in her home practice. in some cases, the directions are placed on properly punched cards, so that at the end of the year every pupil will have a collection of useful recipes and plans, each one of which she understands and has worked out. in many lessons of this type demonstrations may be given by the teacher and, if the food cannot be cooked on the school stove, it may be taken home to be cooked by one of the pupils. lessons given according to this method, by which the theory is given in school and the practice acquired at home, need not be restricted to cookery. any of the lessons prescribed in the curriculum for form iii, junior, may be treated in the same way. lessons on the daily care of a bed-room, weekly sweeping, care and cleaning of metals, washing dishes, washing clothes, ironing a blouse and, in fact, on all subjects pertaining to the general care and management of the home, may be given in this way. each lesson should conclude with a carefully prepared black-board summary, which should be neatly copied into the note-books, to be periodically examined by the teacher. the black-board work of many teachers leaves much to be desired, and time spent in improving this will be well repaid. examples of summaries of the kind referred to are to be found in the ontario teachers' manual on _household management_. these instructions may be type-written or hectographed by the teacher and given to the pupils, thus saving the time spent in note-taking. second method the second of the plans referred to is a modification of what is known as the "crete" plan of household science, so called from the name of the place in nebraska, u.s.a., where it was first put into operation. by this plan, definite instruction is given in the home kitchens of certain women in the district, under the supervision of the educational authorities. it was adopted, at first, in connection with the high schools of the small towns in that state but, with certain modifications, it is suitable to our rural school conditions. in every community there are women who are known to be skilful in certain lines of cookery, and the plan makes use of such women for giving the required instruction. they become actually a part of the staff of the school, giving instruction in household science, and using the resources of their households as an integral part of the school equipment. in order to put this plan into operation, a meeting of women interested in the school should be called and if, after the plan has been laid before them and fully discussed, enough women are willing to open their homes and act as instructors, then it is safe to proceed. the subjects should be divided, and a scheme somewhat as follows may be arranged: mrs. a. bread and biscuits mrs. b. pies and cakes mrs. c. canning and preserving mrs. d. gems and corn bread mrs. e. desserts and salads mrs. f. cookies and doughnuts mrs. g. vegetables. six has been found a convenient number for a class, though ten is better, if the homes can accommodate that number. half-past three is a good time for the classes to meet, as they then may be concluded by five o'clock, thus leaving the housewife free to prepare her evening meal. the day of the week should be chosen to suit the convenience of the instructor. the classes may meet once a week. arriving at the home of the instructor at half-past three, the pupils are seated in the most convenient room, and the lesson is given. during this talk the pupils are given not only the recipe, but details as to materials, the preparation thereof, the degree of heat required, the common causes of failure and, in fact, everything that in the mind of a practical cook would be helpful to the class. notes are taken, and afterwards properly written out and examined by the teacher of the school. the instructors prepare the food for cooking, and sometimes, as in the case of rolls and so on, they cook the food in the presence of the pupils. when white bread is to be baked, the pupils are asked to call, a few minutes after school, at the home of the instructor, to watch the first step--setting the sponge--and again the next morning before school to see the next step--mixing the bread--and again, about half-past eleven or twelve, to see the bread ready for the oven and, finally, on the way back to school, to see the result--a fine loaf of well-cooked bread. the pupils try the recipe carefully in their own homes, not varying its terms until they are able to make the dish successfully. when they can do this, they are free to experiment with modifications, and there should be no objection to receiving help from any source; in fact, it is a good thing for the daughter to get her mother to criticize her and offer suggestions in the many little details familiar to every housekeeper, but which cannot always be given by an instructor in one lesson. by this method the pupils learn in their own homes and handle real cooking utensils on a real stove heated by the usual fire of that home. if it is a good thing--and no one doubts it--to learn household science in a school where everything that invention and skill can provide for the pupils is readily at hand, is it not worth while to enter the field of actual life and, with cruder implements, win a fair degree of success? at the end of five or six months, after the pupils have had an opportunity to become skilful in making some of the dishes which have been taught, it may be well to have an exhibition of their work. each pupil may, on saturday afternoon, bring one or more of the dishes she has learned to prepare to the school-house, where they may be arranged on tables for the inspection of the judges. the dishes exhibited should be certified to as being the work of the pupil with no help or suggestion from anybody. of course, work of this kind cannot be undertaken by the "suit case" teacher. the teacher who packs her bag on friday at noon, carries it to school with her, and rushes to catch a train or car at four o'clock, not returning to the district until monday morning, has no time for this kind of service. occasionally the entire class may meet with their instructors in the school-room. an oil-stove and the necessary equipment may be obtained, and a demonstration may be given by one of the instructors. by this means much valuable instruction will be given that is not included in the regular course. at this time also many things may be discussed that pertain to the growth of the movement and the general well-being of the pupils. the plan is flexible and may be modified easily to suit different localities. it calls for no outlay on the part of the school trustees; nor are the instructors necessarily put to any expense, as the articles prepared in giving the lessons may be used in their own homes. by the adoption of one of the plans outlined, or such modifications of them as the peculiar requirements of the district may demand, every rural school may do something, not only toward giving a real knowledge of some phases of household science, but also toward developing the community spirit and arousing an interest in the school, which will benefit all concerned. the fireless cooker at the present time there is urgent need for thrift and economy in all that pertains to the management of the household--particularly in food and fuel. in the average home much fuel could be saved by the proper use of what is known as the fireless cooker. the scientific principle applied has long been known and is, briefly, as follows: if a hot body is protected by a suitable covering, the heat in it will be retained for a long time, instead of being lost by radiation or conduction. this is why a cosy is placed over a tea-pot. in using a fireless cooker, the food is first heated on the stove until the cooking has begun, and then it is placed in the fireless cooker--a tight receptacle in which the food is completely surrounded by some insulating substance to prevent the rapid escape of the heat, which in this way is retained in the food in sufficient quantity to complete the cooking. sometimes, when a higher cooking temperature is desired, an additional source of heat, in the form of a hot soapstone or brick or an iron plate such as a stove lid, is put into the cooker with the food. the same principle is also employed in cookery in other ways. for example, in camp life beans are often baked by burying the pots overnight in hot stones and ashes, the whole being covered with earth; and in the "clam bakes" on the atlantic coast, the damp seaweed spread over the embers on the clams prevents the escape of the heat during cooking. the peasants in some parts of europe are said to begin the cooking of their dinners and then to put them into hay boxes or between feather beds, so that the cooking may be completed while the family is absent in the fields. the chief advantages in the use of the fireless cooker are these: . it saves fuel, especially where gas, oil, or electric stoves are used. where coal or wood is the fuel, the fire in the range is often kept up most of the day, and the saving of fuel is not so great. in summer, or when the kitchen fire is not needed for heating purposes, the dinner can be started in the stove early in the morning, and then placed in the fireless cooker, the fire in the range being allowed to go out. during the hot weather, the use of a kerosene or other liquid-fuel stove and a fireless cooker is a great convenience, since it not only accomplishes a saving in fuel, but helps to keep the kitchen cooler. the saving in fuel resulting from the use of a fireless cooker is greatest in the preparation of foods such as stews, which require long and slow cooking. . it saves time. foods cooked in this way do not require watching, and may be left, without danger from fires or of over-cooking, while other duties are being performed or the family is away from home. . it conserves the flavour of the food and makes it easier to utilize the cheaper cuts of meat which, although not having so fine a texture or flavour, are fully as nutritious, pound for pound, as the more expensive cuts. long cooking at a relatively low temperature, such as is given to foods in the fireless cooker, improves the flavour and texture of these tougher cuts of meat. most people do not cook cereals long enough. by this method, the cereal may be prepared at night, cooked on the stove for about fifteen minutes, and then put in the fireless cooker. in the morning it will be cooked and ready to be served. the fireless cooker may be used to advantage in preparing the following: soups; pot roasts; beef stew; irish stew; lamb stew; corned beef and cabbage; boiled ham; baked beans; chicken fricassee; vegetables, such as turnips, carrots, parsnips, beets; dried vegetables, such as peas and beans; and dried fruits, such as peaches, apples, apricots, and prunes; cereals; and puddings. the fireless cookers described in the following pages are not experiments. they have all been tested and found to be most practical. directions for fireless cooker--no. i while there are many good fireless cookers on the market which cost from five to twenty-two dollars, according to size and make, it is possible to construct a home-made cooker which will give very satisfactory results and will be considerably cheaper than one which is purchased in the shops. materials required: a box or some other outside container; some good insulating or packing material; an inside container for the kettle, or a lining for the nest in which the kettle is placed; a kettle for holding the food; and a cushion, or pad, of insulating material, to cover the top of the kettle. the outside container for the outside container a tightly built wooden box, such as that shown in figure , is satisfactory. the walls should be thick and of some non-conducting material. an old trunk, a small barrel, or a large butter or lard firkin or tin will serve the purpose. another possibility is a galvanized iron bucket with a closely fitting cover (this has the advantage of being fire-proof). a shoe box by by inches is convenient in size, since it may be divided into two compartments. it should have a hinged cover and, at the front, a hook and staple, or some other device to hold down the cover tightly; an ordinary clamp window fastener answers this purpose very well. the size of the container, which depends upon the size of the kettle used, should be large enough to allow for at least four inches of packing material all round the nest in which the kettle is placed. [illustration: _fig._ .--completed fireless cooker] the insulating material for packing or insulating material a variety of substances may be used. asbestos and mineral wool are the best, and have the additional advantage that they cannot burn. ground cork (used in packing malaga grapes), hay, excelsior, spanish moss, wool, and crumpled paper may also be used satisfactorily. of these materials crumpled paper is probably the best, as it is clean and odourless and, if properly packed, will hold the heat better than the others. it is wise to line the box with one thickness of heavy paper or with several thicknesses of newspaper, to make it as air-tight as possible. asbestos sheeting may be used instead. to pack the container with paper, crush single sheets of newspaper between the hands and pack a layer at least four inches deep over the bottom of the outside container, pounding it in with a heavy stick of wood. place the inside container for the cooking kettle or the lining for the inside of the nest in the centre of this layer, and pack more crushed paper about it as solidly as possible. the method of packing with paper is shown in figure . if other material is used it should be packed in a similar way. where an extra source of heat is to be used, it is much safer to use some non-inflammable material such as asbestos or mineral wool. a cheap substitute and one which is easily obtained are the small cinders sifted from coal ashes, preferably those from soft coal. however, the cinders from hard coal burned in the kitchen range will do. if a fire-proof packing material is not used, a heavy pad of asbestos should be placed at the bottom of the metal lining, and a sheet or two of this paper should be placed between the lining of the nest and the packing material. whatever is used should come to the top of the inside container, and the box should be filled to within about four inches of the top. [illustration: _fig._ .--fireless cooker, showing method of packing with paper] the inside container the inside container for the cooking kettle or the lining for the nest in which it is to be placed should be cylindrical in shape, should be deep enough to hold the cooking kettle and stone, if one is used, and should fit as snugly as possible to the cooking kettle, but at the same time should allow the latter to be moved in and out freely. for this purpose a galvanized iron or other metal bucket may be used, or, better still, a tinsmith may make a lining of galvanized iron or zinc which can be provided with a rim to cover the packing material, as shown in figure . in case no hot stone or plate is to be used, the lining may be made of strong cardboard. [illustration: _fig._ .--metal lining with rim] the kettle the kettle to be used for cooking should be durable and free from seams or crevices which are hard to clean. it should have perpendicular sides, and the cover should be as flat as possible and be provided with a deep lid fitting well down into the kettle, in order to retain the steam. a kettle holding about six quarts is a convenient size for general use. tinned iron kettles should not be used in a fireless cooker, for, although cheap, they are very apt to rust from the confined moisture. enamelware kettles are satisfactory. extra source of heat fireless cookers are adapted to a much wider range of cooking if they are provided with an extra source of heat in the form of a soapstone, brick, or an iron plate which is heated and placed underneath the cooking kettle. this introduces a possible danger from fire, in case the hot stove plate should come into direct contact with inflammable packing material such as excelsior or paper. to avoid this danger, a metal lining must be provided for the nest in which the cooking vessels and stone are to be placed. [illustration: _fig._ .--tightly fitting lid] covering pad a cushion, or pad, must be provided, to fill completely the space between the top of the packing material and the cover of the box after the kettle is in place. this should be made of some heavy goods, such as denim, and stuffed with cotton, crumpled paper, or excelsior. hay may be used, but it will be found more or less odorous. figure shows the vertical cross-section of a home-made fireless cooker. [illustration: _fig._ .--vertical cross-section of fireless cooker. a. outside container; b. packing or insulating material; c. metal lining of nest; d. cooking kettle; e. soapstone plate, or other source of heat; f. pad of excelsior for covering top; g. hinged cover of outside container.] directions for fireless cooker--no. ii (single cooker) materials required: galvanized iron can, no. , with a cover; some sawdust; a covered agate pail (to be used as a cooking pail); and two yards of denim; any old linen, cotton, or woollen material may be used instead of denim. method of making place loose sawdust in the bottom of the can to a depth of about three inches. measure the depth of the cooking pail. turn a fold two inches greater than this depth the entire length of the denim or other material and make a long bag. lay the bag flat on the table and fill it with an even layer of sawdust, so that when completed it will still be half an inch wider than the depth of the pail. roll the bag around the cooking pail, so that a smooth, firm nest is formed when the bag is placed upright in the can on the top of the sawdust. from the remaining denim or other material make a round, flat bag (the material will have to be pieced for this). fill this bag with sawdust and use it on top of the cooking pail. the bags must be made and fitted into the can in such a way that there will be no open spaces whatever between the sides of the cooking pail and the can, or between the top of the cooking pail and the cover of the can, through which the heat might escape. directions for fireless cooker--no. iii (double cooker) materials required: one long box and two square boxes; the long box must be large enough to hold the other two and still leave two inches of space all around them; five and one-quarter yards of sheet asbestos one yard wide; two covered agate pails to be used as cooking pails; and about one yard of denim or other material. method of making line the bottoms and sides of all three boxes with sheet asbestos. in the bottom of the long box lay newspapers flat to a depth of about half an inch. put two inches of sawdust on top of this layer of newspapers. place the two square boxes inside the long one, leaving at least two inches of space between them. fill all the spaces between the boxes with sawdust. tack strips of denim or other material so that they will cover all the spaces that are filled with sawdust. the outside box must have a hinged lid, which must be fastened down with a clasp. line the lid with the sheet asbestos to within half an inch of the edge. put a layer of sawdust one inch deep on top of the asbestos. tack a piece of denim or other material over the sawdust, still leaving the edge free and clear so that the cover may fit tightly; or the lid may be lined with asbestos and a denim pillow filled with sawdust made to fit tightly into the top of the box. use of the fireless cooker in the preparation of lunches the fireless cooker should prove very useful in the lunch equipment of rural schools, as its use should mean economy of fuel, utensils, time, and effort. it might be made by the pupils and would afford an excellent manual training exercise. many of the dishes in the recipes given may be cooked in this way, but more time must be allowed for cooking, as there is a fall of temperature in placing the food in the cooker. when the vessel is being transferred from the stove to the cooker, the latter should be in a convenient position, and the transfer should be made, and the cushion placed in position, very quickly, so that the food will continue boiling. if the quantity of food is small, it should be placed in a smaller tightly covered pail, set on an inverted pan in the larger pail, and surrounded with boiling water. when there is an air space above the food in the cooking dish, there is greater loss of heat, as air gives off heat more readily than water. the following are examples of the foods that may be cooked in a fireless cooker: apple sauce--bring to boiling temperature and place in the cooker, leave two hours. apple compote--cut the apples in halves or quarters so that they need not be turned. leave them in the cooker about three hours. dried fruits--soak overnight, bring to the boiling-point, and leave in the cooker at least three hours. cream of wheat--boil until thick, place in the cooker, leave overnight and, if necessary, re-heat in double boiler before using. rolled oats--boil five minutes, then place in the cooker. leave at least three hours and longer if possible. macaroni--boil, then place in the cooker for two hours. rice--boil, then place in the cooker for one hour. all vegetables may be cooked in the cooker. they must be given time according to their age. a safe rule for all green vegetables is to allow two and a half times as long as if boiled on the stove. in the home, where the cooking is much greater in amount than it can be in the school, the saving in fuel, by the judicious use of the properly made fireless cooker, is correspondingly much larger. for example: in soups, from - / to - / hours use of fuel is made unnecessary; pot roast - / hours; beef stew - / hours; lamb stew - / hours; corn beef and cabbage - / hours; baked beans - / to - / hours; chicken fricassee hours; dried peas, beans, and lentils hours; dried fruits hours; rice pudding - / hours. special grants for rural and village schools (from the revised regulations of the department of education, ) ( ) the board of a rural or a village school which is unable to comply with the provisions of the general regulations, but which maintains classes in manual training as applied to the work of the farm or in household science suitable to the requirements of the rural districts, which employs a teacher qualified as below, and which provides accommodations and equipment and a course of study approved by the minister before the classes are established, will be paid by the minister the sums provided in the scheme below, out of the grants appropriated therefor: said grants to be expended on the accommodations, equipment, and supplies for manual training and household science. in no year, however, will the departmental grants exceed the total expenditure of the board for these classes. ( ) on the report of the inspector of manual training and household science that the organization and the teaching of the classes in manual training or household science maintained as provided above are satisfactory, an annual grant will be paid by the minister out of the grant appropriated according to the following scheme: (_a_) (i) when the teacher holds a second class certificate but is not specially certificated in manual training or household science-- initial grant to board, $ ; to teacher, $ . subsequent grant: to board, $ ; to teacher, $ . (ii) when the teacher holds a second class certificate and has satisfactorily completed the work of one summer course in manual training or household science, provided by the department, and undertakes to complete part ii the following year, or receives permission from the minister to postpone said part-- initial grant: to board, $ : to teacher, $ . subsequent grant: to board, $ : to teacher, $ . (_b_) (i) when the teacher holds a second class certificate and in addition the elementary certificate in manual training or household science-- initial grant: to board, $ ; to teacher, $ . subsequent grant: to board, $ ; to teacher, $ . (ii) when the teacher holds a second class certificate and in addition the ordinary certificate in manual training or household science-- initial grant: to board, $ ; to teacher, $ . subsequent grant: to board, $ ; to teacher, $ . (_c_) when a school taking up household science provides at least one hot dish for the pupils staying to lunch from november st to march st, the above grants to the teacher of household science will be increased $ . http://www.archive.org/details/osieontarioreadersfourth miniuoft the ontario readers fourth book authorized by the minister of education entered, according to act of the parliament of canada, in the year , in the office of the minister of agriculture by the minister of education for ontario toronto: the t. eaton co limited ' - acknowledgments the minister of education is indebted to goldwin smith, rudyard kipling, henry newbolt, the earl of dunraven, sir w. f. butler, frank t. bullen, charles g. d. roberts, w. wilfred campbell, frederick george scott, agnes maule machar, agnes c. laut, marjorie l. c. pickthall, and s. t. wood, for special permission to reproduce, in this reader, selections from their writings. he is indebted to lord tennyson for special permission to reproduce the poems from the works of alfred, lord tennyson; to lloyd osbourne for permission to reproduce the extract from robert louis stevenson's "kidnapped"; and to c. egerton ryerson for permission to reproduce the extract from egerton ryerson's "the loyalists of america and their times." he is also indebted to macmillan & co., limited, for special permission to reproduce selected poems from the works of alfred, lord tennyson, rudyard kipling, sir f. h. doyle, cecil frances alexander; to longmans, green & co., for the selections from froude's "short studies on great subjects" and from his "history of england"; to smith, elder & co., for the extract from f. t. bullen's "the cruise of the cachalot"; to elkin mathews for henry newbolt's poem from "the island race"; to thomas nelson & sons for the extract from w. f. collier's "history of the british empire"; to the copp clark co., limited, for selected poems from the works of charles g. d. roberts, and of agnes maule machar; to the hunter-rose company for the extract from canniff haight's "country life in canada"; to morang & company for selected poems from the works of archibald lampman, and for the extract from roberts' "history of canada"; and to houghton mifflin company for the article from "_the atlantic monthly_" on "british colonial and naval power." the minister is grateful to these authors and publishers and to others, not mentioned here, through whose courtesy he has been able to include in this reader so many copyright selections. toronto, may, . contents _the children's song_ _rudyard kipling_ _our country_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ tom tulliver at school _george eliot_ _ingratitude_ _william shakespeare_ _the giant_ _charles mackay_ the discovery of america _william robertson_ _the first spring day_ _christina g. rossetti_ the battle of the pipes _robert louis stevenson_ _bega_ _marjorie l. c. pickthall_ _a musical instrument_ _elizabeth barrett browning_ wolfe and montcalm _francis parkman_ _canada_ _charles g. d. roberts_ scrooge's christmas _charles dickens_ _hands all round_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ judah's supplication to joseph _bible_ _miriam's song_ _thomas moore_ _the destruction of sennacherib_ _george gordon, lord byron_ the lark at the diggings _charles reade_ _the ancient mariner_ _samuel taylor coleridge_ at the close of the french period in canada _charles g. d. roberts_ _a hymn of empire_ _frederick george scott_ story of absalom _bible_ _the burial of moses_ _cecil frances alexander_ the crusader and the saracen _sir walter scott_ _mercy_ _william shakespeare_ _from "an august reverie"_ _william wilfred campbell_ work and wages _john ruskin_ _untrodden ways_ _agnes maule machar_ _the first ploughing_ _charles g. d. roberts_ the archery contest _sir walter scott_ _in november_ _archibald lampman_ _autumn woods_ _william cullen bryant_ in a canoe _lord dunraven_ _afton water_ _robert burns_ david copperfield's first journey alone _charles dickens_ _the barefoot boy_ _john g. whittier_ country life in canada in the "thirties" _canniff haight_ _heat_ _archibald lampman_ the two paths _bible_ _bernardo del carpio_ _felicia hemans_ moses' bargains _oliver goldsmith_ _the maple_ _charles g. d. roberts_ _the greenwood tree_ _william shakespeare_ lake superior _major w. f. butler_ the red river plain _major w. f. butler_ _the unnamed lake_ _frederick george scott_ life in norman england _william f. collier_ _ye mariners of england_ _thomas campbell_ instruction _bible_ _home thoughts from abroad_ _robert browning_ _the bells of shandon_ _francis mahony_ the vision of mirzah _joseph addison_ _forbearance_ _ralph waldo emerson_ _mercy to animals_ _william cowper_ the united empire loyalists _egerton ryerson_ _oft, in the stilly night_ _thomas moore_ _the harp that once through tara's halls_ _thomas moore_ hudson strait _agnes c. laut_ _scots, wha hae_ _robert burns_ st. ambrose crew win their first race _thomas hughes_ _hunting song_ _sir walter scott_ _border ballad_ _sir walter scott_ the great northern diver _samuel t. wood_ _to the cuckoo_ _william wordsworth_ _on the grasshopper and cricket_ _john keats_ the great northwest _major w. f. butler_ _rule, britannia_ _james thomson_ the commandment and the reward _bible_ _the spacious firmament_ _joseph addison_ _june_ _james russell lowell_ the fifth voyage of sinbad the sailor "_the arabian nights entertainments_" _ocean_ _george gordon, lord byron_ pontiac's attempt to capture fort detroit _major richardson_ _my native land_ _sir walter scott_ _morning on the lièvre_ _archibald lampman_ _evening_ _archibald lampman_ an elizabethan seaman _james anthony froude_ _the sea-king's burial_ _charles mackay_ my castles in spain _george william curtis_ _aladdin_ _james russell lowell_ drake's voyage round the world _james anthony froude_ _the solitary reaper_ _william wordsworth_ clouds, rains, and rivers _john tyndall_ _fitz-james and roderick dhu_ _sir walter scott_ the indignation of nicholas nickleby _charles dickens_ _dickens in camp_ _bret harte_ _dost thou look back on what hath been_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ the passing of arthur _sir thomas malory_ _the armada_ _thomas babington, lord macaulay_ departure and death of nelson _robert southey_ _waterloo_ _george gordon, lord byron_ _ode written in _ _william collins_ balaklava _william howard russell_ _funeral of wellington_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ in a cave with a whale _frank t. bullen_ _the glove and the lions_ _leigh hunt_ three scenes in the tyrol _richter_ _marston moor_ _william mackworth praed_ london _goldwin smith_ _how they brought the good news from ghent to aix_ _robert browning_ _an incident of the french camp_ _robert browning_ british colonial and naval power "_atlantic monthly_" _england, my england_ _william ernest henley_ _a good time going_ _oliver wendell holmes_ god is our refuge _bible_ _indian summer_ _susanna moodie_ _the skylark_ _james hogg_ what is war _john bright_ _the homes of england_ _felicia hemans_ _to a water-fowl_ _william cullen bryant_ the fascination of light _samuel t. wood_ _daffodils_ _william wordsworth_ _to the dandelion_ _james russell lowell_ true greatness _george eliot_ _the private of the buffs_ _sir francis hastings doyle_ honourable toil _thomas carlyle_ _on his blindness_ _john milton_ _mysterious night_ _joseph blanco white_ _vitaï lampada_ _henry newbolt_ the irreparable past _frederick w. robertson_ _a christmas hymn, _ _alfred domett_ _the quarrel_ _william shakespeare_ _recessional_ _rudyard kipling_ the good land for the lord thy god bringeth thee into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths, springing forth in valleys and hills; a land of wheat and barley, and vines and fig trees and pomegranates; a land of oil olives and honey; a land wherein thou shalt eat bread without scarceness, thou shalt not lack anything in it; a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest dig brass. and thou shalt eat and be full, and thou shalt bless the lord thy god for the good land which he hath given thee. deuteronomy. viii. fourth reader the children's song land of our birth, we pledge to thee our love and toil in the years to be, when we are grown and take our place, as men and women with our race. father in heaven who lovest all, oh help thy children when they call; that they may build from age to age, an undefilèd heritage. teach us to bear the yoke in youth with steadfastness and careful truth; that, in our time, thy grace may give the truth whereby the nations live. teach us to rule ourselves alway, controlled and cleanly night and day, that we may bring, if need arise, no maimed or worthless sacrifice. teach us to look in all our ends, on thee for judge, and not our friends; that we, with thee, may walk uncowed by fear or favour of the crowd. teach us the strength that cannot seek, by deed or thought, to hurt the weak; that, under thee, we may possess man's strength to comfort man's distress. teach us delight in simple things, and mirth that has no bitter springs, forgiveness free of evil done, and love to all men 'neath the sun! land of our birth, our faith, our pride, for whose dear sake our fathers died, oh motherland, we pledge to thee, head, heart, and hand through years to be! kipling our country love thou thy land, with love far-brought from out the storied past, and used within the present, but transfused thro' future time by power of thought. tennyson tom tulliver at school it was mr. tulliver's first visit to see tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. "well, my lad," he said to tom, when mr. stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and maggie had begun to kiss tom freely, "you look rarely. school agrees with you." tom wished he had looked rather ill. "i don't think i _am_ well, father," said tom; "i wish you'd ask mr. stelling not to let me do euclid--it brings on the toothache, i think." (the toothache was the only malady to which tom had ever been subject.) "euclid, my lad; why, what's that?" said mr. tulliver. "oh, i don't know. it's definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. it's a book i've got to learn in; there's no sense in it." "go, go!" said mr. tulliver, reprovingly, "you mustn't say so. you must learn what your master tells you. he knows what it's right for you to learn." "_i'll_ help you now, tom," said maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. "i'm come to stay ever so long, if mrs. stelling asks me. i've brought my box and my pinafores, haven't i, father?" "_you_ help me, you silly little thing!" said tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding maggie by showing her a page of euclid. "i should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! why, i learn latin too! girls never learn such things. they're too silly." "i know what latin is very well," said maggie, confidently. "latin's a language. there are latin words in the dictionary. there's 'bonus, a gift.'" "now, you're just wrong there, miss maggie!" said tom, secretly astonished. "you think you're very wise. but 'bonus' means 'good,' as it happens--'bonus, bona, bonum.'" "well, that's no reason why it shouldn't mean 'gift,'" said maggie, stoutly. "it may mean several things--almost every word does. there's 'lawn'--it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket-handkerchiefs are made of." "well done, little 'un," said mr. tulliver, laughing, while tom felt rather disgusted with maggie's knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. mrs. stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for maggie's stay; but mr. stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. maggie thought mr. stelling was a charming man, and mr. tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. so it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. "now, then, come with me into the study, maggie," said tom, as their father drove away. "what do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly?" he continued; for, though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. "it makes you look as if you were crazy." "oh, i can't help it," said maggie, impatiently. "don't tease me, tom. oh, what books!" she exclaimed, as she saw the book-cases in the study. "how i should like to have as many books as that!" "why, you couldn't read one of 'em," said tom, triumphantly. "they're all latin." "no, they aren't," said maggie. "i can read the back of this ... 'history of the decline and fall of the roman empire.'" "well, what does that mean? _you_ don't know," said tom, wagging his head. "but i could soon find out," said maggie, scornfully. "why, how?" "i should look inside, and see what it was about." "you'd better not, miss maggie," said tom, seeing her hand on the volume. "mr. stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and i shall catch it if you take it out." "oh, very well! let me see all _your_ books, then," said maggie, turning to throw her arms round tom's neck, and rub his cheek with her small, round nose. tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. away they jumped with more and more vigour, till maggie's hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. but the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching mr. stelling's reading-stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of mr. or mrs. stelling. "oh, i say, maggie," said tom at last, lifting up the stand, "we must keep quiet here, you know. if we break anything, mrs. stelling'll make us cry peccavi." "what's that?" said maggie. "oh, it's the latin for a good scolding," said tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. "is she a cross woman?" said maggie. "i believe you!" said tom, with an emphatic nod. "i think all women are crosser than men," said maggie. "aunt glegg's a great deal crosser than uncle glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does." "well, _you'll_ be a woman some day," said tom, "so _you_ needn't talk." "but i shall be a _clever_ woman," said maggie, with a toss. "oh, i daresay, and a nasty, conceited thing. everybody'll hate you." "but you oughtn't to hate me, tom. it'll be very wicked of you, for i shall be your sister." "yes, but if you're a nasty, disagreeable thing, i _shall_ hate you." "oh but, tom, you won't! i shan't be disagreeable. i shall be very good to you, and i shall be good to everybody. you won't hate me really, will you, tom?" "oh, bother, never mind! come, it's time for me to learn my lessons. see here, what i've got to do," said tom, drawing maggie towards him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in euclid. she began to read with full confidence in her own powers; but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. it was unavoidable: she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. "it's nonsense!" she said, "and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out." "ah, there now, miss maggie!" said tom, drawing the book away and wagging his head at her; "you see you're not so clever as you thought you were." "oh," said maggie, pouting, "i daresay i could make it out if i'd learned what goes before, as you have." "but that's what you just couldn't, miss wisdom," said tom. "for it's all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you've got to say what definition is, and what axiom v is. but get along with you now; i must go on with this. here's the latin grammar. see what you can make of that." maggie found the latin grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification, for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an english key at the end, which would make her very wise about latin, at slight expense. it was really very interesting--the latin grammar that tom had said no girls could learn, and she was proud because she found it interesting. "now, then, magsie, give us the grammar!" "oh, tom, it's such a pretty book!" she said, as she jumped out of the large arm-chair to give it him; "it's much prettier than the dictionary. i could learn latin very soon. i don't think it's at all hard." "oh, i know what you've been doing," said tom; "you've been reading the english at the end. any donkey can do that." tom seized the book and opened it with a determined and business-like air, as much as to say that he had a lesson to learn which no donkeys would find themselves equal to. maggie, rather piqued, turned to the book-cases to amuse herself with puzzling out the titles. george eliot: "the mill on the floss." ingratitude blow, blow, thou winter wind, thou art not so unkind as man's ingratitude; thy tooth is not so keen because thou art not seen, although thy breath be rude. freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, thou dost not bite so nigh as benefits forgot; though thou the waters warp, thy sting is not so sharp as friend remembered not. shakespeare [illustration: h. m. king edward vii.] the giant there came a giant to my door, a giant fierce and strong; his step was heavy on the floor, his arms were ten yards long. he scowled and frowned; he shook the ground; i trembled through and through; at length i looked him in the face and cried, "who cares for you?" the mighty giant, as i spoke, grew pale, and thin, and small, and through his body, as 'twere smoke, i saw the sunshine fall. his blood-red eyes turned blue as skies:-- "is this," i cried, with growing pride, "is this the mighty foe?" he sank before my earnest face, he vanished quite away, and left no shadow in his place between me and the day. such giants come to strike us dumb, but, weak in every part, they melt before the strong man's eyes, and fly the true of heart. charles mackay the discovery of america next morning, being friday the third day of august, in the year , columbus set sail, a little before sunrise, in presence of a vast crowd of spectators, who sent up their supplications to heaven for the prosperous issue of the voyage, which they wished rather than expected. columbus steered directly for the canary islands, and arrived there without any occurrence that would have deserved notice on any other occasion. but, in a voyage of such expectation and importance, every circumstance was the object of attention. as they proceeded, the indications of approaching land seemed to be more certain, and excited hope in proportion. the birds began to appear in flocks, making towards the south-west. columbus, in imitation of the portuguese navigators, who had been guided in several of their discoveries by the motion of birds, altered his course from due west towards that quarter whither they pointed their flight. but, after holding on for several days in this new direction, without any better success than formerly, having seen no object during thirty days but the sea and the sky, the hopes of his companions subsided faster than they had risen; their fears revived with additional force; impatience, rage, and despair appeared in every countenance. all sense of subordination was lost. the officers, who had hitherto concurred with columbus in opinion, and supported his authority, now took part with the private men; they assembled tumultuously on the deck, expostulated with their commander, mingled threats with their expostulations, and required him instantly to tack about and return to europe. columbus perceived that it would be of no avail to have recourse to any of his former arts, which, having been tried so often, had lost their effect; and that it was impossible to rekindle any zeal for the success of the expedition among men in whose breasts fear had extinguished every generous sentiment. he saw that it was no less vain to think of employing either gentle or severe measures to quell a mutiny so general and so violent. it was necessary, on all these accounts, to soothe passions which he could no longer command, and to give way to a torrent too impetuous to be checked. he promised solemnly to his men that he would comply with their request, provided they would accompany him and obey his command for three days longer, and if, during that time, land were not discovered, he would then abandon the enterprise, and direct his course towards spain. enraged as the sailors were, and impatient to turn their faces again towards their native country, this proposition did not appear to them unreasonable; nor did columbus hazard much in confining himself to a term so short. the presages of discovering land were now so numerous and promising that he deemed them infallible. for some days the sounding-line reached the bottom, and the soil which it brought up indicated land to be at no great distance. the flocks of birds increased, and were composed not only of sea-fowl, but of such land-birds as could not be supposed to fly far from the shore. the crew of the pinta observed a cane floating, which seemed to have been newly cut, and likewise a piece of timber artificially carved. the sailors aboard the nigna took up the branch of a tree with red berries perfectly fresh. the clouds around the setting sun assumed a new appearance; the air was more mild and warm, and during night the wind became unequal and variable. from all these symptoms, columbus was so confident of being near land, that on the evening of the eleventh of october, after public prayers for success, he ordered the sails to be furled, and the ships to lie to, keeping strict watch lest they should be driven ashore in the night. during this interval of suspense and expectation, no man shut his eyes, all kept upon deck, gazing towards that quarter where they expected to discover the land, which had so long been the object of their wishes. about two hours before midnight, columbus, standing on the forecastle, observed a light in the distance, and privately pointed it out to pedro guttierez, a page of the queen's wardrobe. guttierez perceived it, and calling to salcedo, comptroller of the fleet, all three saw it in motion, as if it were carried from place to place. a little after midnight, the joyful sound of "land! land!" was heard from the pinta, which kept always ahead of the other ships. but, having been so often deceived by fallacious appearances, every man was now become slow of belief, and waited in all the anguish of uncertainty and impatience for the return of day. as soon as morning dawned, all doubts and fears were dispelled. from every ship an island was seen about two leagues to the north, whose flat and verdant fields, well stored with wood, and watered with many rivulets, presented the aspect of a delightful country. the crew of the pinta instantly began the _te deum_, as a hymn of thanksgiving to god, and were joined by those of the other ships with tears of joy and transports of congratulation. this office of gratitude to heaven was followed by an act of justice to their commander. they threw themselves at the feet of columbus, with feelings of self-condemnation, mingled with reverence. they implored him to pardon their ignorance, incredulity, and insolence, which had created him so much unnecessary disquiet, and had so often obstructed the prosecution of his well-concerted plan; and passing, in the warmth of their admiration, from one extreme to the other, they now pronounced the man whom they had so lately reviled and threatened, to be a person inspired by heaven with sagacity and fortitude more than human, in order to accomplish a design so far beyond the ideas and conceptions of all former ages. william robertson: "the history of america." the first spring day i wonder if the sap is stirring yet, if wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, if frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun, and crocus fires are kindled one by one: sing, robin, sing! i still am sore in doubt concerning spring. i wonder if the spring-tide of this year will bring another spring both lost and dear; if heart and spirit will find out their spring, or if the world alone will bud and sing: sing, hope, to me! sweet notes, my hope, sweet notes for memory. the sap will surely quicken soon or late, the tardiest bird will twitter to a mate; so spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom, or in this world, or in the world to come: sing, voice of spring! till i, too, blossom and rejoice and sing. christina rossetti be that which you would make others. amiel the battle of the pipes a thing happened worth narrating at the close of a visit paid me by robin oig, one of the sons of the notorious rob roy. as he was leaving, just in the door, he met alan coming in; and the two drew back and looked at each other like strange dogs. they were neither of them big men, but they seemed fairly to swell out with pride. each wore a sword, and by a movement of his haunch, thrust clear the hilt of it, so that it might be the more readily grasped and the blade drawn. "mr. stewart, i am thinking," says robin. "troth, mr. macgregor, it's not a name to be ashamed of," answered alan. "i did not know ye were in my country, sir," says robin. "it sticks in my mind that i am in the country of my friends, the maclarens," says alan. "that's a kittle point," returned the other. "there may be two words to say to that. but i think i will have heard that you are a man of your sword?" "unless ye were born deaf, mr. macgregor, ye will have heard a good deal more than that," says alan. "i am not the only man who can draw steel in appin; and when my kinsman and captain, ardshiel, had a talk with a gentleman of your name, not so many years back, i could never hear that the macgregor had the best of it." "do you mean my father, sir?" says robin. "well, i wouldnae wonder," says alan. "the gentleman i have in my mind had the ill-taste to clap campbell to his name." "my father was an old man," returned robin. "the match was unequal. you and me would make a better pair, sir." "i was thinking that," said alan. i was half out of bed, and duncan had been hanging at the elbow of these fighting cocks, ready to intervene upon the least occasion. but when that word was uttered, it was a case of now or never; and duncan, with something of a white face to be sure, thrust himself between. "gentlemen," said he, "i will have been thinking of a very different matter. here are my pipes, and here are you two gentlemen who are baith acclaimed pipers. it's an auld dispute which one of ye's the best. here will be a braw chance to settle it." "why, sir," said alan, still addressing robin, from whom indeed he had not so much as shifted his eyes, nor yet robin from him, "why, sir," says alan, "i think i will have heard some sough of the sort. have ye music, as folk say? are ye a bit of a piper?" "i can pipe like a maccrimmon!" cries robin. "and that is a very bold word," quoth alan. "i have made bolder words good before now," returned robin, "and that against better adversaries." "it is easy to try that," says alan. duncan dhu made haste to bring out the pair of pipes that was his principal possession, and to set before his guests a muttonham and a bottle of that drink which they call athole brose. the two enemies were still on the very breach of a quarrel; but down they sat, one upon each side of the peat fire, with a mighty show of politeness. maclaren pressed them to taste his muttonham and "the wife's brose," reminding them the wife was out of athole and had a name far and wide for her skill in that confection. but robin put aside these hospitalities as bad for the breath. "i would have ye to remark, sir," said alan, "that i havenae broken bread for near upon ten hours, which will be worse for the breath than any brose in scotland." "i will take no advantages, mr. stewart," replied robin. "eat and drink; i'll follow." each ate a small portion of the ham and drank a glass of the brose to mrs. maclaren; and then, after a great number of civilities, robin took the pipes and played a little spring in a very ranting manner. "ay, ye can blow," said alan; and, taking the instrument from his rival, he first played the same spring in a manner identical with robin's; and then wandered into variations, which, as he went on, he decorated with a perfect flight of grace-notes, such as pipers love, and call the "warblers." i had been pleased with robin's playing, alan's ravished me. "that's no very bad, mr. stewart," said the rival, "but ye show a poor device in your warbler." "me!" cried alan, the blood starting to his face. "i give ye the lie." "do ye own yourself beaten at the pipes, then," said robin, "that ye seek to change them for the sword?" "and that's very well said, mr. macgregor," returned alan; "and in the meantime" (laying a strong accent on the word) "i take back the lie. i appeal to duncan." "indeed, ye need appeal to naebody," said robin. "ye're a far better judge than any maclaren in balwhidder: for it's a god's truth that you're a very creditable piper for a stewart. hand me the pipes." alan did as he asked; and robin proceeded to imitate and correct some part of alan's variations, which it seemed that he remembered perfectly. "ay, ye have music," said alan, gloomily. "and now be the judge yourself, mr. stewart," said robin; and taking up the variations from the beginning, he worked them throughout to so new a purpose, with such ingenuity and sentiment, and with so odd a fancy and so quick a knack in the grace-notes, that i was amazed to hear him. as for alan his face grew dark and hot, and he sat and gnawed his fingers, like a man under some deep affront. "enough!" he cried. "ye can blow the pipes--make the most of that." and he made as if to rise. but robin only held out his hand as if to ask for silence, and struck into the slow music of a pibroch. it was a fine piece of music in itself, and nobly played; but, it seems besides, it was a piece peculiar to the appin stewarts and a chief favourite with alan. the first notes were scarce out, before there came a change in his face; when the time quickened, he seemed to grow restless in his seat; and long before that piece was at an end, the last signs of his anger died from him, and he had no thought but for the music. "robin oig," he said, when it was done, "ye are a great piper. i am not fit to blow in the same kingdom with ye. body of me! ye have more music in your sporran than i have in my head! and, though it still sticks in my mind that i could show ye another of it with the cold steel, i warn ye beforehand--it'll no be fair! it would go against my heart to haggle a man that can blow the pipes as you can!" thereupon the quarrel was made up. all night long the pipes were changing hands, and the day had come pretty bright before robin as much as thought upon the road. robert louis stevenson: "kidnapped." bega from the clouded belfry calling hear my soft ascending swells, hear my notes like swallows falling: i am bega, least of bells. when great turkeful rolls and rings all the storm-touched turret swings, echoing battle, loud and long. when great tatwin wakening roars to the far-off shining shores, all the seamen know his song. i am bega, least of bells; in my throat my message swells. i, with all the winds athrill, murmuring softly, murmuring still, "god around me, god above me, god to guard me, god to love me." i am bega, least of bells; weaving wonder, wind-born spells. high above the morning mist, wreathed in rose and amethyst, still the dreams of music float silver from my silver throat, whispering beauty, whispering peace. when great tatwin's golden voice bids the listening land rejoice, when great turkeful rings and rolls thunder down to trembling souls, then my notes, like curlews flying, sinking, falling, lifting, sighing, softly answer, softly cease. i, with all the airs at play, murmuring softly, murmuring say, "god around me, god above me, god to guard me, god to love me." marjorie l. c. pickthall love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous: not rendering evil for evil or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing. for he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile: let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace and ensue it. for the eyes of the lord are over the righteous, and his ears are open unto their prayers: but the face of the lord is against them that do evil. and who is he that will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is good? i. peter, iii. a musical instrument what was he doing, the great god pan, down in the reeds by the river? spreading ruin and scattering ban, splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, and breaking the golden lilies afloat with the dragon-fly on the river. he tore out a reed, the great god pan from the deep, cool bed of the river: the limpid water turbidly ran, and the broken lilies a-dying lay, and the dragon-fly had fled away, ere he brought it out of the river. high on the shore sat the great god pan, while turbidly flow'd the river; and hack'd and hew'd as a great god can, with his hard, bleak steel at the patient reed, till there was not a sign of a leaf, indeed, to prove it fresh from the river. he cut it short, did the great god pan, (how tall it stood in the river!) then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, steadily from the outside ring, and notch'd the poor, dry, empty thing in holes, as he sat by the river. "this is the way," laugh'd the great god pan, (laugh'd while he sat by the river) "the only way, since gods began to make sweet music, they could succeed." then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, he blew in power by the river. sweet, sweet, sweet, o pan! piercing sweet by the river! blinding sweet, o great god pan! the sun on the hill forgot to die, and the lilies reviv'd, and the dragon-fly came back to dream on the river. yet, half a beast is the great god pan, to laugh as he sits by the river, making a poet out of a man: the true gods sigh for the cost and pain,-- for the reed which grows nevermore again as a reed with the reeds in the river. elizabeth barrett browning if little labour, little are our gains; man's fortunes are according to his pains. herrick wolfe and montcalm the eventful night of the twelfth was clear and calm, with no light but that of the stars. within two hours before daybreak thirty boats, crowded with sixteen hundred soldiers, cast off from the vessels and floated downward in perfect order with the current of the ebb-tide. to the boundless joy of the army, wolfe's malady had abated, and he was able to command in person. his ruined health, the gloomy prospect of the siege, and the disaster at montmorenci, had oppressed him with the deepest melancholy, but never impaired for a moment the promptness of his decisions, or the impetuous energy of his action. he sat in the stern of one of the boats, pale and weak, but borne up to a calm height of resolution. every order had been given, every arrangement made, and it only remained to face the issue. the ebbing tide sufficed to bear the boats along, and nothing broke the silence of the night but the gurgling of the river, and the low voice of wolfe, as he repeated to the officers about him the stanzas of gray's "elegy in a country churchyard," which had recently appeared, and which he had just received from england. perhaps as he uttered those strangely appropriate words:-- "the paths of glory lead but to the grave," the shadows of his own approaching fate stole with mournful prophecy across his mind. "gentlemen," he said, as he closed his recital, "i would rather have written those lines than take quebec to-morrow." as they approached the landing-place, the boats edged closer in towards the northern shore, and the woody precipices rose high on their left like a wall of undistinguished blackness. "_qui vive?_" shouted a french sentinel from out the impervious gloom. "_la france!_" answered a captain of fraser's highlanders from the foremost boat. as boats were frequently passing down the river with supplies for the garrison, and as a convoy from bougainville was expected that very night, the sentinel was deceived and allowed the english to proceed. a few moments later, they were challenged again, and this time they could discern the soldier running close down to the water's edge, as if all his suspicions were aroused; but the skilful replies of the highlander once more saved the party from discovery. they reached the landing-place in safety,--an indentation in the shore about a league above the city and now bearing the name of wolfe's cove. here a narrow path led up the face of the heights, and a french guard was posted at the top to defend the pass. by the force of the current the foremost boats, including that which carried wolfe himself, were borne a little below the spot. the general was one of the first on shore. he looked upward at the rugged heights which towered above him in the gloom. "you can try it," he coolly observed to an officer near him; "but i don't think you'll get up." at the point where the highlanders landed, one of their captains, donald macdonald, apparently the same whose presence of mind had just saved the enterprise from ruin, was climbing in advance of his men, when he was challenged by a sentinel. he replied in french, by declaring that he had been sent to relieve the guard, and ordering the soldier to withdraw. before the latter was undeceived, a crowd of highlanders were close at hand, while the steeps below were thronged with eager climbers, dragging themselves up by trees, roots, and bushes. the guard turned out and made a brief though brave resistance. in a moment they were cut to pieces, dispersed, or made prisoners, while men after men came swarming up the height and quickly formed upon the plains above. meanwhile the vessels had dropped downward with the current and anchored opposite the landing-place. the remaining troops disembarked, and with the dawn of day, the whole were brought in safety to the shore. the sun rose, and from the ramparts of quebec the astonished people saw the plains of abraham glittering with arms, and the dark-red lines of the english forming in array of battle. breathless messengers had borne the evil tidings to montcalm, and far and near his wide-extended camp resounded with the rolling of alarm-drums and the din of startled preparation. he, too, had had his struggles and his sorrows. the civil power had thwarted him; famine, discontent, and disaffection were rife among his soldiers; and no small portion of the canadian militia had dispersed from sheer starvation. in spite of all, he had trusted to hold out till the winter frosts should drive the invaders from before the town, when on that disastrous morning the news of their successful temerity fell like a cannon-shot upon his ear. still he assumed a tone of confidence. "they have got to the weak side of us at last," he is reported to have said, "and we must crush them with our numbers." with headlong haste his troops were pouring over the bridge of st. charles, and gathering in heavy masses under the western ramparts of the town. could numbers give assurance of success, their triumph would have been secure, for five french battalions and the armed colonial peasantry amounted in all to more than seven thousand five hundred men. full in sight before stretched the long, thin lines of the british forces--the highlanders, the steady soldiery of england, and the hardy levies of the provinces--less than five thousand in number, but all inured to battle, and strong in the full assurance of success. it was nine o'clock, and the adverse armies stood motionless, each gazing on the other. the clouds hung low, and at intervals warm light showers descended besprinkling both alike. the coppice and corn-fields in front of the british troops were filled with french sharp-shooters, who kept up a distant spattering fire. here and there a soldier fell in the ranks, and the gap was filled in silence. at a little before ten the british could see that montcalm was preparing to advance, and in a few moments all his troops appeared in rapid motion. they came on in three divisions, shouting after the manner of their nation, and firing heavily as soon as they came within range. in the british ranks not a trigger was pulled, not a soldier stirred, and their ominous composure seemed to damp the spirits of the assailants. it was not till the french were within forty yards that the fatal word was given, and the british muskets blazed forth at once in one crashing explosion. like a ship at full career arrested with sudden ruin on a sunken rock, the ranks of montcalm staggered, shivered, and broke before that wasting storm of lead. the smoke rolling along the field for a moment shut out the view, but, when the white wreaths were scattered on the wind, a wretched spectacle was disclosed: men and officers tumbled in heaps, battalions resolved into a mob, order and obedience gone; and, when the british muskets were levelled for a second volley, the masses of the militia were seen to cower and shrink with uncontrollable panic. for a few minutes the french regulars stood their ground, returning a sharp and not ineffectual fire. but now, echoing cheer on cheer, redoubling volley on volley, trampling the dying and the dead, and driving the fugitives in crowds, the british troops advanced and swept the field before them. the ardour of the men burst all restraint. they broke into a run and with unsparing slaughter chased the flying multitude to the gates of quebec. foremost of all, the light-footed highlanders dashed along in furious pursuit, hewing down the frenchmen with their broadswords and slaying many in the very ditch of the fortifications. never was victory more quick or more decisive. in the short action and pursuit the french lost fifteen hundred men, killed, wounded, and taken. of the remainder some escaped within the city, and others fled across the st. charles to rejoin their comrades who had been left to guard the camp. the pursuers were recalled by sound of trumpet, the broken ranks were formed afresh, and the english troops withdrawn beyond reach of the cannon of quebec. townshend and murray, the only general officers who remained unhurt, passed to the head of every regiment in turn and thanked the soldiers for the bravery they had shown; yet the triumph of the victors was mingled with sadness as tidings went from rank to rank that wolfe had fallen. in the heat of the action, as he advanced at the head of the grenadiers of louisburg, a bullet shattered his wrist, but he wrapped his handkerchief about the wound, and showed no sign of pain. a moment more and a ball pierced his side. still he pressed forward waving his sword and cheering his soldiers to the attack, when a third shot lodged deep within his breast. he paused, reeled, and staggering to one side, fell to earth. brown, a lieutenant of the grenadiers, henderson, a volunteer, an officer of artillery, and a private soldier, raised him together in their arms, and bearing him to the rear laid him softly on the grass. they asked if he would have a surgeon, but he shook his head and answered that all was over with him. his eyes closed with the torpor of approaching death, and those around sustained his fainting form. yet they could not withhold their gaze from the wild turmoil before them, and the charging ranks of their companions rushing through fire and smoke. "see how they run," one of the officers exclaimed, as the french fell in confusion before the levelled bayonets. "who run?" demanded wolfe, opening his eyes like a man aroused from sleep. "the enemy, sir," was the reply; "they give way everywhere." "then," said the dying general, "tell colonel burton to march webb's regiment down to charles river, to cut off their retreat from the bridge. now, god be praised, i shall die in peace," he murmured; and turning on his side he calmly breathed his last. almost at the same moment fell his great adversary, montcalm, as he strove with vain bravery to rally his shattered ranks. struck down with a mortal wound, he was placed upon a litter and borne to the general hospital on the banks of the st. charles. the surgeons told him that he could not recover. "i am glad of it," was his calm reply. he then asked how long he might survive, and was told that he had not many hours remaining. "so much the better," he said; "i am happy that i shall not live to see the surrender of quebec." officers from the garrison came to his bedside to ask his orders and instructions. "i will give no more orders," replied the defeated soldier; "i have much business that must be attended to, of greater moment than your ruined garrison and this wretched country. my time is very short, therefore, pray leave me." the victorious army encamped before quebec and pushed their preparations for the siege with zealous energy, but, before a single gun was brought to bear, the white flag was hung out, and the garrison surrendered. on the eighteenth of september, , the rock-built citadel of canada passed for ever from the hands of its ancient masters. parkman: "the conspiracy of pontiac." canada montcalm and wolfe! wolfe and montcalm! quebec, thy storied citadel attests in burning song and psalm how here thy heroes fell! o thou that bor'st the battle's brunt at queenston and at lundy's lane,-- on whose scant ranks, but iron front the battle broke in vain!-- whose was the danger, whose the day, from whose triumphant throats the cheers, at chrysler's farm, at chateauguay, storming like clarion-bursts our ears? on soft pacific slopes,--beside strange floods that northward rave and fall,-- where chafes acadia's chainless tide-- thy sons await thy call. they wait; but some in exile, some with strangers housed, in stranger lands,-- and some canadian lips are dumb beneath egyptian sands. o mystic nile! thy secret yields before us; thy most ancient dreams are mixed with far canadian fields and murmur of canadian streams. but thou, my country, dream not thou! wake, and behold how night is done,-- how on thy breast, and o'er thy brow, bursts the uprising sun! charles g. d. roberts love your country, believe in her, honour her, work for her, live for her, die for her. never has any people been endowed with a nobler birthright or blessed with prospects of a fairer future. lord dufferin scrooge's christmas (on christmas eve, scrooge, "a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner," is visited by three ghosts in succession--the ghost of christmas past, the ghost of christmas present, and the ghost of christmas yet to come. the first recalled the experiences of scrooge's youth, the second showed him christmas as it might be spent and incidentally, too, what some people thought of him. the third showed him the "shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us." he saw himself dead, uncared for, unwept, unwatched, his effects plundered by the charwoman, laundress, and undertaker's man and realized the end to which he must come unless he led an altered life. holding up his hands he prayed to have his fate reversed and saw the ghost shrink and dwindle down into a bedpost.) yes! and the bedpost was his own. the bed was his own, the room was his own. best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own to make amends in. "i will live in the past, the present, and the future!" scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "the spirits of all three shall strive within me. o jacob marley! heaven and the christmas time be praised for this! i say it on my knees, old jacob; on my knees!" he was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice could scarcely answer to his call. he had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the spirit, and his face was wet with tears. "they are not torn down," cried scrooge, folding one of his bed curtains in his arms,--"they are not torn down, rings and all. they are here,--i am here,--the shadows of the things that would have been may be dispelled. they will be. i know they will!" his hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance. "i don't know what to do!" cried scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect laocoon of himself with his stockings. "i am as light as a feather, i am as happy as an angel, i am as merry as a school-boy. i am as giddy as a drunken man. a merry christmas to everybody! a happy new year to all the world! hallo here! whoop! hallo!" he had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there, perfectly winded. "there's the sauce-pan that the gruel was in!" cried scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace. "there's the door by which the ghost of jacob marley entered! there's the corner where the ghost of christmas present sat! there's the window where i saw the wandering spirits! it's all right, it's all true, it all happened. ha, ha, ha!" really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. the father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs! "i don't know what day of the month it is," said scrooge. "i don't know how long i have been amongst the spirits. i don't know anything. i'm quite a baby. never mind. i don't care. i'd rather be a baby. hallo! whoop! hallo here!" he was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. clang, clash, hammer; ding, dong, bell. bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! o, glorious, glorious! running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. no fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; golden sunlight; heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. o, glorious, glorious! "what's to-day?" cried scrooge, calling downward to a boy in sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. "eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder. "what's to-day, my fine fellow?" said scrooge. "to-day!" replied the boy. "why, christmas day." "it's christmas day!" said scrooge to himself. "i haven't missed it. the spirits have done it all in one night. they can do anything they like. of course they can. of course they can. hallo, my fine fellow?" "hallo!" returned the boy. "do you know the poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner?" scrooge inquired. "i should hope i did," replied the lad. "an intelligent boy!" said scrooge. "a remarkable boy! do you know whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there?--not the little prize turkey, the big one?" "what, the one as big as me?" said the boy. "what a delightful boy!" said scrooge. "it's a pleasure to talk to him. yes, my buck!" "it's hanging there now," replied the boy. "is it?" said scrooge. "go and buy it." "walk-er!" exclaimed the boy. "no, no," said scrooge, "i am in earnest. go and buy it and tell 'em to bring it here, that i may give them the direction where to take it. come back with the man, and i'll give you a shilling. come back with him in less than five minutes, and i'll give you half-a-crown!" the boy was off like a shot. he must have had a steady hand at the trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast. "i'll send it to bob cratchit's," whispered scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. "he shan't know who sends it. it's twice the size of tiny tim. joe miller never made such a joke as sending it to bob's will be!" the hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. as he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye. "i shall love it as long as i live!" cried scrooge, patting it with his hand. "i scarcely ever looked at it before. what an honest expression it has in its face! it's a wonderful knocker!--here's the turkey. hallo! whoop! how are you? merry christmas!" it _was_ a turkey! he could never have stood upon his legs, that bird. he would have snapped 'em off short in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax. "why, it's impossible to carry that to camden town," said scrooge. "you must have a cab." the chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathlessly in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried. shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while you are at it. but, if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied. he dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the streets. the people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the ghost of christmas present; and, walking with his hands behind him, scrooge regarded everyone with a delighted smile. he looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said: "good-morning, sir! a merry christmas to you!" and scrooge said often afterwards, that, of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.... he went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses and up to the windows, and found that every thing could yield him pleasure. he had never dreamed that any walk--that anything--could give him so much happiness. in the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephew's house. he passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage to go up and knock. but he made a dash and did it. "is your master at home, my dear?" said scrooge to the girl. "nice girl! very." "yes, sir." "where is he, my love?" said scrooge. "he's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. i'll show you upstairs, if you please." "thank'ee. he knows me," said scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. "i'll go in here, my dear." he turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. they were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right. "fred!" said scrooge. dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started!... "why, bless my soul!" cried fred, "who's that?" "it's i. your uncle scrooge. i have come to dinner. will you let me in, fred?" let him in! it is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. he was at home in five minutes. nothing could be heartier. his niece looked just the same. so did topper when _he_ came. so did the plump sister when _she_ came. so did everybody when _they_ came. wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness! but he was early at the office next morning. oh, he was early there. if he could only be there first, and catch bob cratchit coming late! that was the first thing he had set his heart upon. and he did it; yes, he did! the clock struck nine. no bob. a quarter past. no bob. he was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the tank. his hat was off, before he opened the door, his comforter, too. he was on his stool in a jiffy, driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock. "hallo!" growled scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. "what do you mean by coming here at this time of day?" "i am very sorry, sir," said bob. "i _am_ behind my time." "you are!" repeated scrooge. "yes, i think you are. step this way, sir, if you please." "it's only once a year, sir," pleaded bob, appearing from the tank. "it shall not be repeated. i was making rather merry yesterday, sir." "now, i'll tell you what, my friend," said scrooge, "i am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. and therefore," he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving bob such a dig in his waistcoat that he staggered back into the tank again,--"and, therefore, i am about to raise your salary!" bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. he had a momentary idea of knocking scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat. "a merry christmas, bob!" said scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "a merrier christmas, bob, my good fellow, than i have given you for many a year! i'll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we'll discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a christmas bowl of smoking bishop. bob! make up the fires, and buy another scuttle of coal before you dot another i, bob cratchit!" scrooge was better than his word. he did it all, and infinitely more; and to tiny tim, who did not die, he was second father. he became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind any way, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. his own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him. he had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived upon the total abstinence principle ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. may that be truly said of us, and all of us! and so, as tiny tim observed, god bless us every one! dickens: "a christmas carol." hands all round first pledge our queen this solemn night, then drink to england, every guest; that man's the best cosmopolite who loves his native country best. may freedom's oak for ever live with stronger life from day to day; that man's the true conservative who lops the moulder'd branch away. hands all round! god the traitor's hope confound! to this great cause of freedom drink, my friends, and the great name of england, round and round. to all the loyal hearts who long to keep our english empire whole! to all our noble sons, the strong new england of the southern pole! to england under indian skies, to those dark millions of her realm! to canada whom we love and prize, whatever statesman hold the helm. hands all round! god the traitor's hope confound! to this great name of england drink, my friends, and all her glorious empire, round and round. to all our statesmen so they be true leaders of the land's desire! to both our houses, may they see beyond the borough and the shire! we sail'd wherever ship could sail, we founded many a mighty state; pray god our greatness may not fail through craven fears of being great. hands all round! god the traitor's hope confound! to this great cause of freedom drink, my friends, and the great name of england, round and round. tennyson judah's supplication to joseph and judah and his brethren came to joseph's house; and he was yet there: and they fell before him on the ground. and joseph said unto them, what deed is this that ye have done? know ye not that such a man as i can indeed divine? and judah said, what shall we say unto my lord? what shall we speak? or how shall we clear ourselves? god hath found out the iniquity of thy servants: behold, we are my lord's bondmen, both we, and he also in whose hand the cup is found. and he said, god forbid that i should do so: the man in whose hand the cup is found, he shall be my bondman; but as for you, get you up in peace unto your father. then judah came near unto him, and said, oh my lord, let thy servant, i pray thee, speak a word in my lord's ears, and let not thine anger burn against thy servant: for thou art even as pharaoh. my lord asked his servants, saying, have ye a father, or a brother? and we said unto my lord, we have a father, an old man, and a child of his old age, a little one; and his brother is dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and his father loveth him. and thou saidst unto thy servants, bring him down unto me, that i may set mine eyes upon him. and we said unto my lord, the lad cannot leave his father: for if he should leave his father, his father would die. and thou saidst unto thy servants, except your youngest brother come down with you, ye shall see my face no more. and it came to pass when we came up unto thy servant my father, we told him the words of my lord. and our father said, go again, buy us a little food. and we said, we cannot go down: if our youngest brother be with us, then will we go down: for we may not see the man's face, except our youngest brother be with us. and thy servant my father said unto us, ye know that my wife bare me two sons: and the one went out from me, and i said, surely he is torn in pieces; and i have not seen him since: and if ye take this one also from me, and mischief befall him, ye shall bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. now, therefore, when i come to thy servant my father, and the lad be not with us; seeing that his life is bound up in the lad's life; it shall come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that he will die: and thy servants shall bring down the gray hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow to the grave. for thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father, saying, if i bring him not unto thee, then shall i bear the blame to my father for ever. now therefore, let thy servant, i pray thee, abide instead of the lad a bondman to my lord; and let the lad go up with his brethren. for how shall i go up to my father, and the lad be not with me? lest i see the evil that shall come on my father. then joseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood by him; and he cried, cause every man to go out from me. and there stood no man with him, while joseph made himself known unto his brethren. and he wept aloud: and the egyptians heard, and the house of pharaoh heard. and joseph said unto his brethren, i am joseph; doth my father yet live? and his brethren could not answer him; for they were troubled at his presence. and joseph said unto his brethren, come near to me, i pray you. and they came near. and he said, i am joseph your brother whom ye sold into egypt. and now be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither: for god did send me before you to preserve life. for these two years hath the famine been in the land; and there are yet five years in the which there shall be neither ploughing nor harvest. and god sent me before you to preserve you a remnant in the earth, and to save you alive by a great deliverance. so now it was not you that sent me hither, but god: and he hath made me a father to pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and ruler over all the land of egypt. haste ye, and go up to my father, and say unto him, thus saith thy son joseph, god hath made me lord of all egypt: come down unto me, tarry not: and thou shalt dwell in the land of goshen, and thou shalt be near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy children's children, and thy flocks, and thy herds, and all that thou hast: and there will i nourish thee; for there are yet five years of famine; lest thou come to poverty, thou, and thy household, and all that thou hast. and, behold, your eyes see, and the eyes of my brother benjamin, that it is my mouth that speaketh unto you. and ye shall tell my father of all my glory in egypt, and of all that ye have seen; and ye shall haste and bring down my father hither. and he fell upon his brother benjamin's neck, and wept; and benjamin wept upon his neck. and he kissed all his brethren, and wept upon them; and after that his brethren talked with him. genesis, xliv-v. miriam's song (read exodus, xv.) sound the loud timbrel o'er egypt's dark sea! jehovah hath triumphed--his people are free. sing--for the pride of the tyrant is broken, his chariots and 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 hath triumphed--his people are free. praise to the conqueror, praise to the lord! his word was the arrow, his breath was our sword! who shall return to tell egypt the story of those she sent forth in the power of her pride? for the lord hath 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 hath triumphed--his people are free. thomas moore the destruction of sennacherib (read ii. kings, xix. ) the assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, and his cohorts were gleaming in 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 for ever 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 ashur 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! byron the house of the wicked shall be overthrown: but the tent of the upright shall flourish. in the fear of the lord is strong confidence: and his children shall have a place of refuge. proverbs the lark at the diggings the friends strode briskly on, and a little after eleven o'clock they came upon a small squatter's house and premises. "here we are," cried george, and his eyes glittered with innocent delight. 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 with amazing resolution and consistency, 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. "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?" "o, 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 awhile he seemed to revive his memories, and call his ancient cadences back to him one by one, and string them _sotto voce_. 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 his little throat and gushed from him with thrilling force and purity, 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. _dulce domum!_ 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 lusts 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 song-shine: they came back, bright as the immortal notes that 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. charles reade: "it is never too late to mend." the ancient mariner it is an ancient mariner, and he stoppeth one of three. "by thy long gray beard and glittering eye, now wherefore stopp'st thou me? the bridegroom's doors are opened wide, and i am next of kin; the guests are met, the feast is set: may'st hear the merry din." he holds him with his skinny hand, "there was a ship," quoth he. "hold off! unhand me, grey-beard, loon!" eftsoons his hand dropt he. he holds him with his glittering eye-- the wedding-guest stood still, and listens like a three years' child: the mariner hath his will. the wedding-guest sat on a stone: he cannot choose but hear; and thus spake on that ancient man, the bright-eyed mariner: "the ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, merrily did we drop below the kirk, below the hill, below the lighthouse top. the sun came up upon the left, out of the sea came he! and he shone bright, and on the right went down into the sea. higher and higher every day, till over the mast at noon--" the wedding-guest here beat his breast, for he heard the loud bassoon. the bride hath paced into the hall, red as a rose is she; nodding their heads before her goes the merry minstrelsy. the wedding-guest he beat his breast, yet he cannot choose but hear; and thus spake on that ancient man, the bright-eyed mariner: "and now the storm-blast came, and he was tyrannous and strong: he struck with his o'ertaking wings, and chased us south along. with sloping masts and dipping prow, as who pursued with yell and blow still treads the shadow of his foe, and forward bends his head, the ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, and southward aye we fled. and now there came both mist and snow, and it grew wondrous cold: and ice, mast-high, came floating by, as green as emerald. and through the drifts the snowy clifts did send a dismal sheen: nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- the ice was all between. the ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around: it cracked and growled, and roared and howled, like noises in a swound. at length did cross an albatross,-- thorough the fog it came; as if it had been a christian soul, we hailed it in god's name. it ate the food it ne'er had eat, and round and round it flew. the ice did split with a thunder-fit; the helmsman steered us through! and a good south wind sprung up behind; the albatross did follow, and every day, for food or play, came to the mariners' hollo! in mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, it perched for vespers nine; whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, glimmered the white moon-shine." "god save thee, ancient mariner, from the fiends, that plague thee thus!-- why look'st thou so?"--"with my cross-bow i shot the albatross." coleridge at the close of the french period in canada when the flag of france departed from canada, it left a people destined to find under the new rule a fuller freedom, an ampler political development, a far more abundant prosperity. it left a people destined to honour their new allegiance by loyalty and heroic service in the hour of trial. this people, which thus became british by a campaign and a treaty, was destined to form the solid core around which should grow the vast confederation of canada. but for them there would now, in all likelihood, be no canada. by their rejection of the proposals of the revolted colonies, the northern half of this continent was preserved to great britain. the debt which the empire owes to the french canadians is immeasurably greater than we at present realize. let us examine the characteristics of the small and isolated people which was to exercise such a deep influence on the future of this continent. the whole population of canada when she came under the british flag was about sixty thousand. this hardy handful was gathered chiefly at quebec, three rivers, and montreal. the rest trailed thinly along the shores of the st. lawrence and the richelieu. the lands about the great lakes, and the western country, were held only by a few scattered forts, buried here and there in the green wilderness. at detroit had sprung up a scanty settlement of perhaps one thousand souls. in these remote posts the all-important question was still that of the fur-trade with the indians. the traders and the soldiers, cut off from civilization, frequently took wives from the indian tribes about them, and settled down to a life half barbarous. these men soon grew as lawless as their adopted kinsfolk. they were a weakness and a discredit to the country in time of peace, but in war their skill and daring were the frontier's best defence. quebec had seven thousand inhabitants. most of them dwelt between the water's edge and the foot of the great cliff whose top was crowned by the citadel. where the shoulder of the promontory swept around toward the st. charles, the slope became more gentle, and there the houses and streets began to clamber toward the summit. streets that found themselves growing too precipitous had a way, then as now, of changing suddenly into flights of stairs. the city walls, grimly bastioned, ran in bold zigzags across the face of the steep in a way to daunt assailants. down the hillside, past the cathedral and the college, through the heart of the city, clattered a noisy brook, which in time of freshet flooded the neighbouring streets. part of the city was within walls, part without. most of the houses were low, one-story buildings, with large expanse of steep roof, and high dormer windows. along the incline leading down to the st. charles stretched populous suburbs. on the high plateau where now lies the stately new town, there was then but a bleak pasture-land whose grasses waved against the city gates. montreal, after its childhood of awful trial, had greatly prospered. its population had risen to about nine thousand. the fur-trade of the mysterious northwest, developed by a succession of daring and tireless wood-rangers, had poured its wealth into the lap of the city of maisonneuve. the houses, some of which were built of the light gray stone which now gives dignity to the city, were usually of but one story. they were arranged in three or four long lines parallel to the river. the towers of the seminary of st. sulpicius and the spires of three churches, standing out against the green of the stately mountain, were conspicuous from afar to voyagers coming up the river from quebec. the city was inclosed by a stone wall and a shallow ditch, once useful as a defence against the indians, but no protection in the face of serious assault. at the lower end of the city, covering the landing-place, rose a high earthwork crowned with cannon. the houses of the _habitants_, tillers of the soil, were small cabins, humble but warm, with wide, overhanging eaves, and consisting at most of two rooms. the partition, when there was one, was of boards. lath and plaster were unknown. the walls within, to the height of a man's shoulders, were worn smooth by the backs that leaned against them. solid wooden boxes and benches usually took the place of chairs. a clumsy loom, on which the women wove their coarse homespuns of wool or flax, occupied one corner of the main room; and a deep, box-like cradle, always rocking, stood beside the ample fireplace. over the fire stood the long, black arms of a crane, on which was done most of the cooking; though the "bake-kettle" sometimes relieved its labours, and the brick oven was a standby in houses of the rich _habitants_, as well as of the gentry. for the roasting of meats the spit was much in use; and there was a gridiron with legs, to stand on the hearth, with a heap of hot coals raked under it. the houses even of the upper classes were seldom two stories in height. but they were generally furnished with a good deal of luxury; and in the cities they were sometimes built of stone. a typical country mansion, the dwelling of a seigneur on his own domain, was usually of the following fashion. the main building, one story in height but perhaps a hundred feet long, was surmounted by lofty gables and a very steep roof, built thus to shed the snow and to give a roomy attic for bed-chambers. the attic was lighted by numerous, high-peaked dormer windows, piercing the expanse of the roof. this main building was flanked by one or more wings. around it clustered the wash-house (adjoining the kitchen), coach house, barns, stable, and woodsheds. this homelike cluster of walls and roofs was sheltered from the winter storm by groves of evergreen, and girdled cheerily by orchard and kitchen-garden. on one side, and not far off, was usually a village with a church-spire gleaming over it; on the other a circular stone mill, resembling a little fortress rather than a peaceful aid to industry. this structure, where all the tenants of the seigneur were obliged to grind their grain, had indeed been built in the first place to serve not only as a mill, but as a place of refuge from the iroquois. it was furnished with loopholes, and was impregnable to the attacks of an enemy lacking cannon. the dress of the upper classes was like that prevailing among the same classes in france, though much less extravagant. the long, wide-frocked coats were of gay-coloured and costly material, with lace at neck and wristbands. the waistcoat might be richly embroidered with gold or silver. knee-breeches took the place of our unsightly trousers, and were fastened with bright buckles at the knee. stockings were of white or coloured silk, and shoes were set off by broad buckles at the instep. these, of course, were the dresses of ceremony, the dresses seen at balls and grand receptions. out-of-doors, and in the winter especially, the costumes of the nobility were more distinctly canadian. overcoats of native cloth were worn, with large, pointed hoods. their pattern is preserved to the present day in the blanket coats of our snow-shoers. young men might be seen going about in colours that brightened the desolate winter landscape. gay belts of green, blue, red, or yellow enriched the waists of their thick overcoats. their scarlet leggings were laced up with green ribbons. their moccasins were gorgeously embroidered with dyed porcupine quills. their caps of beaver or martin were sometimes tied down over their ears with vivid handkerchiefs of silk. the _habitants_ were rougher and more sombre in their dress. a black homespun coat, gray leggings, gray woollen cap, heavy moccasins of cowhide,--this grave costume was usually brightened by a belt or sash of the liveliest colours. the country-women had to content themselves with the same coarse homespuns, which they wore in short, full skirts. but they got the gay colours which they loved in kerchiefs for their necks and shoulders. in war the regulars were sharply distinguished from those of the british army by their uniforms. the white of the house of bourbon was the colour that marked their regiments, as scarlet marked those of the british. the militia and wood-rangers fought in their ordinary dress,--or, occasionally, with the object of terrifying their enemies, put on the war-paint and eagle-quills of the indians. the muskets of the day were the heavy weapons known as flint-locks. when the trigger was pulled the flint came down sharply on a piece of steel, and the spark, falling into a shallow "pan" of powder called the "priming," ignited the charge. the regulars carried bayonets on the ends of their muskets, but the militia and rangers had little use for these weapons. they depended on their marksmanship, which was deadly. the regulars fired breast high in the direction of their enemy, trusting to the steadiness and closeness of their fire; but the colonials did not waste their precious bullets and powder in this way. they had learned from the indians, whom they could beat at their own game, to fight from behind trees, rocks, or hillocks, to load and fire lying down, and to surprise their enemies by stealing noiselessly through the underbrush. at close quarters they fought, like the indians, with knife and hatchet, both of which were carried in their belts. from the ranger's belt, too, when on the march, hung the leathern bag of bullets, and the inevitable tobacco-pouch; while from his neck swung a powder-horn, often richly carved, together with his cherished pipe inclosed in its case of skin. very often, however, the ranger spared himself the trouble of a pipe by scooping a bowl in the back of his tomahawk and fitting it with a hollow handle. thus the same implement became both the comfort of his leisure and the torment of his enemies. in winter, when the canadians, expert in the use of the snow-shoe and fearless of the cold, did much of their fighting, they wore thick peaked hoods over their heads, and looked like a procession of friars wending through the silent forest on some errand of piety or mercy. their hands were covered by thick mittens of woollen yarn, and they dragged their provisions and blankets on sleds or toboggans. at night they would use their snow-shoes to shovel a wide, circular pit in the snow, clearing it away to the bare earth. in the centre of the pit, they would build their camp fire, and sleep around it on piles of spruce boughs, secure from the winter wind. the leaders, usually members of the nobility, fared on these expeditions as rudely as their men, and outdid them in courage and endurance. some of the most noted chiefs of the wood-rangers were scions of the noblest families; and though living most of the year the life of savages, were able to shine by their graces and refinement in the courtliest society of the day. charles g. d. roberts: "history of canada." a hymn of empire lord, by whose might the heavens stand, the source from whom they came, who holdest nations in thy hand, and call'st the stars by name, thine ageless forces do not cease to mould us as of yore-- the chiselling of the arts of peace, the anvil-strikes of war. then bind our realm in brotherhood, firm laws and equal rights, let each uphold the empire's good in freedom that unites; and make that speech whose thunders roll down the broad stream of time the harbinger from pole to pole of love and peace sublime. lord, turn the hearts of cowards who prate, afraid to dare or spend, the doctrine of a narrower state more easy to defend; not this the watchword of our sires, who breathed with ocean's breath, not this our spirit's ancient fires, which naught could quench but death. strong are we? make us stronger yet; great? make us greater far; our feet antarctic oceans fret, our crown the polar star: round earth's wild coasts our batteries speak, our highway is the main, we stand as guardian of the weak, we burst the oppressor's chain. great god, uphold us in our task, keep pure and clean our rule, silence the honeyed words which mask the wisdom of the fool; the pillars of the world are thine, pour down thy bounteous grace, and make illustrious and divine the sceptre of our race. f. g. scott story of absalom so the people went out into the field against israel: and the battle was in the wood of ephraim; where the people of israel were slain before the servants of david, and there was there a great slaughter that day of twenty thousand men. for the battle was there scattered over the face of all the country: and the wood devoured more people that day than the sword devoured. and absalom met the servants of david. and absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the thick boughs of a great oak, and his head caught hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth; and the mule that was under him went away. and a certain man saw it, and told joab, and said, behold, i saw absalom hanged in an oak. and joab said unto the man that told him, and, behold, thou sawest him, and why didst thou not smite him there to the ground? and i would have given thee ten shekels of silver, and a girdle. and the man said unto joab, though i should receive a thousand shekels of silver in mine hand, yet would i not put forth mine hand against the king's son: for in our hearing the king charged thee and abishai and ittai, saying, beware that none touch the young man absalom. otherwise i should have wrought falsehood against mine own life: for there is no matter hid from the king, and thou thyself wouldest have set thyself against me. then said joab, i may not tarry thus with thee. and he took three darts in his hand, and thrust them through the heart of absalom, while he was yet alive in the midst of the oak. and ten young men that bare joab's armour compassed about and smote absalom, and slew him. and joab blew the trumpet, and the people returned from pursuing after israel: for joab held back the people. and they took absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones upon him: and all israel fled every one to his tent. * * * * * and david sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold a man running alone. and the watchman cried, and told the king. and the king said, if he be alone, there is tidings in his mouth. and he came apace, and drew near. and the watchman saw another man running: and the watchman called unto the porter, and said, behold another man running alone. and the king said, he also bringeth tidings. and the watchman said, me thinketh the running of the foremost is like the running of ahimaaz, the son of zadok. and the king said, he is a good man, and cometh with good tidings. and ahimaaz called, and said unto the king, all is well. and he fell down to the earth upon his face before the king, and said, blessed be the lord thy god, which hath delivered up the men that lifted up their hand against my lord the king. and the king said, is the young man absalom safe? and ahimaaz answered, when joab sent the king's servant, and me thy servant, i saw a great tumult, but i knew not what it was. and the king said unto him, turn aside, and stand here. and he turned aside, and stood still. and, behold, cushi came; and cushi said, tidings, my lord the king: for the lord hath avenged thee this day of all them that rose up against thee. and the king said unto cushi, is the young man absalom safe? and cushi answered, the enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is. and the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, o my son absalom, my son, my son absalom! would god i had died for thee, o absalom, my son, my son! * * * * * and the victory that day was turned into mourning unto all the people: for the people heard say that day how the king was grieved for his son. and the people gat them by stealth that day into the city, as people being ashamed steal away when they flee in battle. but the king covered his face, and the king cried with a loud voice, o my son absalom, o absalom, my son, my son! ii. samuel, xviii-xix. i slept, and dreamed that life was beauty; i woke, and found that life was duty. was my dream, then, a shadowy lie? toil on, brave heart, unceasingly, and thou shalt find thy dream to be a noonday light and truth to thee. hooper the burial of moses (read deuteronomy, xxxii. - ) 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 upturned the sod, and laid the dead man there. that was the grandest funeral that ever passed on earth; but no man heard the trampling, or saw the train go forth: noiselessly as the daylight comes when the 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 eyry looked on the wondrous sight; perchance the lion stalking still shuns that hallowed 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 drums, 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 honoured place, with costly marble dressed, in the great minster transept where lights like glories fall, and the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings along the emblazoned wall. this was the bravest 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 honour,-- the hillside for his 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 uncoffined clay shall break again--o wondrous thought!-- before the judgment-day, and stand, with glory wrapped 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 crusader and the saracen as the knight of the couchant leopard continued to fix his eyes attentively on the yet distant cluster of palm trees, it seemed to him as if some object was moving among them. the distant form separated itself from the trees, which partly hid its motions, and advanced towards the knight with a speed which soon showed a mounted horseman, whom his turban, long spear, and green caftan floating in the wind, on his nearer approach, showed to be a saracen cavalier. "in the desert," saith an eastern proverb, "no man meets a friend." the crusader was totally indifferent whether the infidel, who now approached on his gallant barb, as if borne on the wings of an eagle, came as friend or foe; perhaps, as a vowed champion of the cross, he might rather have preferred the latter. he disengaged his lance from his saddle, seized it with the right hand, placed it in rest with its point half-elevated, gathered up the reins in the left, waked his horse's mettle with the spur, and prepared to encounter the stranger with the calm self-confidence belonging to the victor in many contests. the saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an arab horseman, managing his steed more by his limbs and the inflection of his body than by any use of the reins, which hung loose in his left hand; so that he was enabled to wield the light round buckler of the skin of the rhinoceros, ornamented with silver loops, which he wore on his arm, swinging it as if he meant to oppose its slender circle to the formidable thrust of the western lance. his own long spear was not couched or levelled like that of his antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and brandished at arm's length above his head. as the cavalier approached his enemy at full career, he seemed to expect that the knight of the leopard should put his horse to the gallop to encounter him. but the christian knight, well acquainted with the customs of eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good horse by any unnecessary exertion; and, on the contrary, made a dead halt, confident that, if the enemy advanced to the actual shock, his own weight, and that of his powerful charger, would give him sufficient advantage, without the additional momentum of rapid motion. equally sensible and apprehensive of such a probable result, the saracen cavalier, when he had approached towards the christian within twice the length of his lance, wheeled his steed to the left with inimitable dexterity, and rode twice around his antagonist, who, turning without quitting his ground, and presenting his front constantly to his enemy, frustrated his attempts to attack him on an unguarded point; so that the saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to retreat to the distance of a hundred yards. a second time, like a hawk attacking a heron, the heathen renewed the charge, and a second time was fain to retreat without coming to a close struggle. a third time he approached in the same manner, when the christian knight, desirous to terminate this illusory warfare, in which he might at length have been worn out by the activity of his foeman, suddenly seized the mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and, with a strong hand and unerring aim, hurled it against the head of the emir, for such and not less his enemy appeared. the saracen was just aware of the formidable missile in time to interpose his light buckler betwixt the mace and his head; but the violence of the blow forced the buckler down on his turban, and though that defence also contributed to deaden its violence, the saracen was beaten from his horse. ere the christian could avail himself of this mishap, his nimble foeman sprang from the ground, and, calling on his steed, which instantly returned to his side, he leaped into his seat without touching the stirrup, and regained all the advantage of which the knight of the leopard hoped to deprive him. but the latter had in the meanwhile recovered his mace, and the eastern cavalier, who remembered the strength and dexterity with which his antagonist had aimed it, seemed to keep cautiously out of the reach of that weapon, of which he had so lately felt the force, while he showed his purpose of waging a distant warfare with missile weapons of his own. planting his long spear in the sand at a distance from the scene of combat, he strung, with great address, a short bow, which he carried at his back, and, putting his horse to the gallop, once more described two or three circles of a wider extent than formerly, in the course of which he discharged six arrows at the christian with such unerring skill that the goodness of his harness alone saved him from being wounded in as many places. the seventh shaft apparently found a less perfect part of the armour, and the christian dropped heavily from his horse. but what was the surprise of the saracen, when, dismounting to examine the condition of his prostrate enemy, he found himself suddenly within the grasp of the european, who had had recourse to this artifice to bring his enemy within his reach! even in this deadly grapple the saracen was saved by his agility and presence of mind. he unloosed the sword-belt, in which the knight of the leopard had fixed his hold, and, thus eluding his fatal grasp, mounted his horse, which seemed to watch his motions with the intelligence of a human being, and again rode off. but in the last encounter the saracen had lost his sword and his quiver of arrows, both of which were attached to the girdle, which he was obliged to abandon. he had also lost his turban in the struggle. these disadvantages seemed to incline the moslem to a truce: he approached the christian with his right hand extended, but no longer in a menacing attitude. "there is truce betwixt our nations," he said, in the _lingua franca_ commonly used for the purpose of communication with the crusaders; "wherefore should there be war betwixt thee and me? let there be peace betwixt us." "i am well contented," answered he of the couchant leopard; "but what security dost thou offer that thou wilt observe the truce?" "the word of a follower of the prophet was never broken," answered the emir. "it is thou, brave nazarene, from whom i should demand security, did i not know that treason seldom dwells with courage." the crusader felt that the confidence of the moslem made him ashamed of his own doubts. "by the cross of my sword," he said, laying his hand on the weapon as he spoke, "i will be true companion to thee, saracen, while our fortune wills that we remain in company together." "by mohammed, prophet of god, and by allah, god of the prophet," replied his late foeman, "there is not treachery in my heart towards thee. and now wend we to yonder fountain, for the hour of rest is at hand, and the stream had hardly touched my lip when i was called to battle by thy approach." the knight of the couchant leopard yielded a ready and courteous assent; and the late foes, without an angry look or gesture of doubt, rode side by side to the little cluster of palm trees. scott: "the talisman." the quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes the thronèd monarch better than his crown; his sceptre shows the force of temporal power,-- the attribute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings,-- but mercy is above this sceptred sway; it is enthronèd in the hearts of kings, it is an attribute to god himself; and earthly power doth then shew likest god's when mercy seasons justice. shakespeare _from_ "an august reverie" the ragged daisy starring all the fields, the buttercup abrim with pallid gold, the thistle and burr-flowers hedged with prickly shields, all common weeds the draggled pastures hold, with shrivelled pods and leaves, are kin to me, like-heirs of earth and her maturity. they speak a silent speech that is their own, these wise and gentle teachers of the grass; and when their brief and common days are flown, a certain beauty from the year doth pass:-- a beauty of whose light no eye can tell, save that it went; and my heart knew it well. i may not know each plant as some men know them, as children gather beasts and birds to tame; but i went 'mid them as the winds that blow them, from childhood's hour, and loved without a name. there is more beauty in a field of weeds than in all blooms the hothouse garden breeds. for they are nature's children; in their faces i see that sweet obedience to the sky that marks these dwellers of the wilding places, who with the season's being live and die; knowing no love but of the wind and sun, who still are nature's when their life is done. they are a part of all the haze-filled hours, the happy, happy world all drenched with light, the far-off, chiming click-clack of the mowers, and yon blue hills whose mists elude my sight; and they to me will ever bring in dreams far mist-clad heights and brimming rain-fed streams. w. wilfred campbell work and wages there will always be a number of men who would fain set themselves to the accumulation of wealth as the sole object of their lives. necessarily, that class of men is an uneducated class, inferior in intellect, and, more or less, cowardly. it is physically impossible for a well-educated, intellectual, or brave man to make money the chief object of his thoughts; just as it is for him to make his dinner the principal object of them. all healthy people like their dinners, but their dinner is not the main object of their lives. so all healthily-minded people like making money--ought to like it, and to enjoy the sensation of winning it: but the main object of their life is not money; it is something better than money. a good soldier, for instance, mainly wishes to do his fighting well. he is glad of his pay--very properly so, and justly grumbles when you keep him ten years without it--still, his main notion of life is to win battles, not to be paid for winning them. so of clergymen. they like pew-rents, and baptismal fees, of course; but yet, if they are brave and well-educated, the pew-rent is not the sole object of their lives, and the baptismal fee is not the sole purpose of the baptism; the clergyman's object is essentially to baptize and preach, not to be paid for preaching. so of doctors. they like fees no doubt,--ought to like them; yet if they are brave and well-educated, the entire object of their lives is not fees. they, on the whole, desire to cure the sick; and,--if they are good doctors, and the choice were fairly put to them--would rather cure their patient, and lose their fee, than kill him, and get it. and so with all other brave and rightly-trained men; their work is first, their fee second--very important always, but still _second_. but in every nation, as i said, there are a vast class who are ill-educated, cowardly, and more or less stupid. and with these people, just as certainly the fee is first, and the work second, as with brave people the work is first, and the fee second. and this is no small distinction. it is the whole distinction in a man; distinction between life and death _in_ him, between heaven and hell _for_ him. you cannot serve two masters:--you _must_ serve one or other. if your work is first with you, and your fee second, work is your master, and the lord of work, who is god. but, if your fee is first with you, and your work second, fee is your master, and the lord of fee, who is the devil; and not only the devil but the lowest of devils--the 'least erected fiend that fell.' so there you have it in brief terms; work first--you are god's servants; fee first--you are the fiend's. and it makes a difference, now and ever, believe me, whether you serve him who has on his vesture and thigh written, 'king of kings,' and whose service is perfect freedom; or him on whose vesture and thigh the name is written, 'slave of slaves,' and whose service is perfect slavery. ruskin untrodden ways where close the curving mountains drew to clasp the stream in their embrace, with every outline, curve, and hue, reflected in its placid face, the ploughman stopped his team, to watch the train, as swift it thundered by; some distant glimpse of life to catch, he strains his eager, wistful eye. his glossy horses mildly stand with wonder in their patient eyes, as through the tranquil mountain land the snorting monster onward flies. the morning freshness is on him, just wakened from his balmy dreams; the wayfarers, all soiled and dim, think longingly of mountain streams:-- o for the joyous mountain air! the long, delightful autumn day among the hills!--the ploughman there must have perpetual holiday! and he, as all day long he guides his steady plough with patient hand, thinks of the flying train that glides into some fair, enchanted land; where day by day no plodding round wearies the frame and dulls the mind; where life thrills keen to sight and sound, with plough and furrows left behind! even so to each the untrod ways of life are touched by fancy's glow, that ever sheds its brightest rays upon _the page we do not know_! agnes maule machar the first ploughing calls the crow from the pine-tree top when the april air is still. he calls to the farmer hitching his team in the farmyard under the hill. "come up," he cries, "come out and come up, for the high field's ripe to till. don't wait for word from the dandelion or leave from the daffodil." cheeps the flycatcher--"here old earth warms up in the april sun; and the first ephemera, wings yet wet, from the mould creep one by one. under the fence where the flies frequent is the earliest gossamer spun. come up from the damp of the valley lands, for here the winter's done." whistles the high-hole out of the grove his summoning loud and clear: "chilly it may be down your way but the high south field has cheer. on the sunward side of the chestnut stump the woodgrubs wake and appear. come out to your ploughing, come up to your ploughing, the time for ploughing is here." then dips the coulter and drives the share, and the furrows faintly steam. the crow drifts furtively down from the pine to follow the clanking team. the flycatcher tumbles, the high-hole darts in the young noon's yellow gleam; and wholesome sweet the smell of the sod upturned from its winter's dream. charles g. d. roberts the archery contest "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." one by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. of the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the inner ring were shot by hubert, a forester in the service of malvoisin, who was accordingly pronounced victorious. "now, locksley," said prince john with a bitter smile, "wilt thou try conclusions with hubert?" "sith 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 will fill the bugle with silver pennies for thee." "a man can but do his best," answered hubert; "but my grandsire drew a good long bow at hastings, and i trust not to dishonour his memory." the former target was now removed, and a fresh one of the same size placed in its room. hubert took his aim with great deliberation, long measuring the distance with his eye, while he held in his hand his bended bow, with the arrow placed on the string. 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 his bow-string 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 same instant that the shaft left the bow-string, 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!" "an your highness were to hang me," said hubert, "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 making the necessary allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just arisen, shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre of the target. "thou canst not mend that shot, locksley," said the prince with an insulting smile. "i will 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. "and now," said locksley, "i will 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." 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 next willow-bush." 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, observing that to ask a good woodman to shoot at a target so broad as had hitherto been used, was to put shame upon his skill. "for my own part," he said, "and in the land where i was bred, men would as soon take for their mark king arthur's round table, which held sixty knights around it. a child of seven years old," he said, "might hit yonder target with a headless shaft; but," added he, walking deliberately to the other end of the lists, and sticking the willow wand upright in the ground, "he that hits that rod at five-score yards, i call him an archer fit to bear bow and quiver before a king." "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 will i. if this yeoman can cleave that rod, i give him the bucklers--or rather, i yield to the devil that is in his jerkin, and not to any human skill; a man can but do his best, and i will not shoot where i am sure to miss. i might as well shoot 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 will 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 will do my best, as hubert says," answered 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 will make them fifty, if thou wilt take livery and service with us as a yeoman of our body-guard, 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 should 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 his modesty 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. scott: "ivanhoe." in november the hills and leafless forests slowly yield to the thick-driving snow. a little while and night shall darken down. in shouting file the woodmen's carts go by me homeward-wheeled, past the thin fading stubbles, half-concealed, now golden-gray, sowed softly through with snow, where the last ploughman follows still his row, turning black furrows through the whitening field. archibald lampman autumn woods ere, in the northern gale, the summer tresses of the trees are gone, the woods of autumn, all around our vale, have put their glory on. the mountains that infold, in their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, that guard the enchanted ground. i roam the woods that crown the upland, where the mingled splendours glow, where the gay company of trees look down on the green fields below. my steps are not alone in these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown along the winding way. and far in heaven, the while, the sun, that sends that gale to wander here, pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,-- the sweetest of the year. where now the solemn shade, verdure and gloom where many branches meet: so grateful, when the noon of summer made the valleys sick with heat? let in through all the trees come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright, their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze, twinkles, like beams of light. the rivulet, late unseen, where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, shines with the image of its golden screen and glimmerings of the sun. oh, autumn! why so soon depart the hues that make thy forests glad, thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon, and leave thee wild and sad! ah! 'twere a lot too blest forever in thy coloured shades to stray; amid the kisses of the soft south-west to rove and dream for aye; and leave the vain low strife that makes men mad--the tug for wealth and power, the passions and the cares that wither life, and waste its little hour. bryant in a canoe among all the modes of progression hitherto invented by restless man, there is not one that can compare in respect of comfort and luxury with travelling in a birch-bark canoe. it is the poetry of progression. along the bottom of the boat are laid blankets and bedding; a sort of wicker-work screen is sloped against the middle thwart, affording a delicious support to the back; and indolently, in your shirt sleeves if the day be warm, or well covered with a blanket if it is chilly, you sit or lie on this most luxurious of couches, and are propelled at a rapid rate over the smooth surface of a lake or down the swift current of some stream. if you want exercise, you can take a paddle yourself. if you prefer to be inactive, you can lie still and placidly survey the scenery, rising occasionally to have a shot at a wild duck; at intervals reading, smoking, and sleeping. sleep, indeed, you will enjoy most luxuriously, for the rapid bounding motion of the canoe as it leaps forward at every impulse of the crew, the sharp quick beat of the paddles on the water, and the roll of their shafts against the gunwale, with the continuous hiss and ripple of the stream cleft by the curving prow, combine to make a most soothing soporific. dreamily you lie side by side--you and your friend--lazily gazing at the pine-covered shores and wooded islands of some unknown lake, the open book unheeded on your knee; the half-smoked pipe drops into your lap; your head sinks gently back; and you wander into dreamland, to awake presently and find yourself sweeping round the curve of some majestic river, whose shores are blazing with the rich crimson, brown, and gold of the maple and other hardwood trees in their autumn dress. presently the current quickens. the best man shifts his place from the stern to the bow, and stands ready with his long-handled paddle to twist the frail boat out of reach of hidden rocks. the men's faces glow with excitement. quicker and quicker flows the stream, breaking into little rapids, foaming round rocks, and rising in tumbling waves over the shallows. at a word from the bowman the crew redouble their efforts, the paddle shafts crash against the gunwale, the spray flies beneath the bending blades. the canoe shakes and quivers through all its fibres, leaping bodily at every stroke. before you is a seething mass of foam, its whiteness broken by horrid black rocks, one touch against whose jagged sides would rip the canoe into tatters and hurl you into eternity. your ears are full of the roar of waters; waves leap up in all directions, as the river, maddened at obstruction, hurls itself through some narrow gorge. the bowman stands erect to take one look in silence, noting in that critical instant the line of deepest water; then bending to his work, with sharp, short words of command to the steersman, he directs the boat. the canoe seems to pitch headlong into space. whack! comes a great wave over the bow; crash! comes another over the side. the bowman, his figure stooped, and his knees planted firmly against the sides, stands, with paddle poised in both hands, screaming to the crew to paddle hard; and the crew cheer and shout with excitement in return. you, too, get wild, and feel inclined to yell defiance to the roaring, hissing flood that madly dashes you from side to side. after the first plunge you are in a bewildering whirl of waters. the shore seems to fly past you. crash! you are right on that rock, and (i don't care who you are) you will feel your heart jump into your mouth, and you will catch the side with a grip that leaves a mark on your fingers afterwards. no! with a shriek of command to the steersman, and a plunge of his paddle, the bowman wrenches the canoe out of its course. another stroke or two, another plunge forward, and with a loud exulting yell from the bowman, who flourishes his paddle round his head, you pitch headlong down the final leap, and with a grunt of relief from the straining crew glide rapidly into still water. lord dunraven: "the great divide." [illustration: parliament buildings. toronto] "with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." it fortifies my soul to know that, though i perish, truth is so: that, howsoe'er i stray and range, whate'er i do, thou dost not change, i steadier step when i recall that, if i slip thou dost not fall. clough afton water flow gently, sweet afton, among thy green braes, flow gently, i'll sing thee a song in thy praise: my mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, flow gently, sweet afton, disturb not her dream. thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, i charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. how lofty, sweet afton, thy neighbouring hills, far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills, there daily i wander as noon rises high, my flocks and my mary's sweet cot in my eye. how pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow: there, oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea, the sweet-scented birk shades my mary and me. thy crystal stream, afton, how lovely it glides, and winds by the cot where my mary resides; how wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, as gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave. flow gently, sweet afton, among thy green braes, flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays, my mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, flow gently, sweet afton, disturb not her dream. burns david copperfield's first journey alone i slept soundly until we got to yarmouth and drove to the inn yard. a lady looked out of a bow-window where some fowls and joints of meat were hanging up, and said: "is that the little gentleman from blunder-stone?" "yes, ma'am," i said. the lady then rang a bell and called out: "william! show the coffee-room!" upon which a waiter came running out of a kitchen on the opposite side of the yard to show it, and seemed a good deal surprised when he found he was only to show it to me. it was a large, long room with some large maps in it. i doubt if i could have felt much stranger if the maps had been real foreign countries, and i cast away in the middle of them. i felt it was taking a liberty to sit down, with my cap in my hand, on the corner of the chair nearest the door; and when the waiter laid a cloth on purpose for me, and put a set of casters on it, i think i must have turned red all over with modesty. he brought me some chops, and vegetables, and took the covers off in such a bouncing manner that i was afraid i must have given him some offence. but he greatly relieved my mind by putting a chair for me at the table, and saying, very affably: "now, six-foot! come on!" i thanked him, and took my seat at the board; but found it extremely difficult to handle my knife and fork with anything like dexterity, or to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, while he was standing opposite, staring so hard, and making me blush in the most dreadful manner every time i caught his eye. after watching me into the second chop, he said: "there's half a pint of ale for you. will you have it now?" i thanked him and said "yes." upon which he poured it out of a jug into a large tumbler, and held it up against the light, and made it look beautiful. "my eye!" he said. "it seems a good deal, don't it?" "it does seem a good deal," i answered with a smile. for it was quite delightful to me to find him so pleasant. he was a twinkling-eyed, pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; and as he stood with one arm a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the light with the other hand, he looked quite friendly. "there was a gentleman here, yesterday," he said--"a stout gentleman, by the name of topsawyer--perhaps you know him." "no," i said, "i don't think--" "in breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, gray coat, speckled choker," said the waiter. "no," i said, bashfully, "i haven't the pleasure--" "he came in here," said the waiter, looking at the light through the tumbler, "ordered a glass of this ale--_would_ order it--i told him not--drank it, and fell dead. it was too old for him. it oughtn't to be drawn; that's the fact." i was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said i thought i had better have some water. "why, you see," said the waiter, still looking at the light through the tumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, "our people don't like things being ordered and left. it offends 'em. but _i'll_ drink it, if you like. i'm used to it, and use is everything. i don't think it'll hurt me, if i throw my head back, and take it off quick. shall i?" i replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if he thought he could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. when he did throw his head back and take it off quick, i had a horrible fear, i confess, of seeing him meet the fate of the lamented mr. topsawyer, and fall lifeless on the carpet. but it didn't hurt him. on the contrary, i thought he seemed the fresher for it. "what have we got here?" he said, putting a fork into my dish. "not chops?" "chops," i said. "bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "i didn't know they were chops. why, a chop's the very thing to take off the bad effects of that beer! ain't it lucky?" so he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other, and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction. he afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that another chop, and another potato. when he had done, he brought me a pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become absent in his mind for some moments. "how's the pie?" he said, rousing himself. "it's a pudding," i made answer. "pudding!" he exclaimed. "why, bless me, so it is! what!" looking at it nearer. "you don't mean to say it's a batter-pudding?" "yes, it is indeed." "why, a batter-pudding," he said, taking up a table-spoon, "it's my favourite pudding! ain't that lucky? come on, little 'un, and let's see who'll get most." the waiter certainly got most. he entreated me more than once to come in and win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his despatch to my despatch, and his appetite to my appetite, i was left far behind at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him. i never saw any one enjoy a pudding so much, i think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as if his enjoyment of it lasted still. finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was then that i asked for the pen and ink and paper, to write to peggoty. he not only brought it immediately, but was good enough to look over me while i wrote the letter. when i had finished it, he asked me where i was going to school. i said: "near london," which was all i knew. "oh! my eye!" he said, looking very low-spirited, "i am sorry for that." "why?" i asked him. "oh!" he said, shaking his head, "that's the school where they broke the boy's ribs--two ribs--a little boy he was. i should say he was--let me see--how old are you, about?" i told him between eight and nine. "that's just his age," he said. "he was eight years and six months old when they broke his first rib; eight years and eight months old when they broke his second, and did for him." i could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that this was an uncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it was done. his answer was not cheering to my spirits, for it consisted of two dismal words, "with whopping." the blowing of the coach-horn in the yard was a seasonable diversion, which made me get up and hesitatingly inquire, in the mingled pride and diffidence of having a purse (which i took out of my pocket), if there were anything to pay. "there's a sheet of letter-paper," he returned. "did you ever buy a sheet of letter-paper?" i could not remember that i ever had. "it's dear," he said, "on account of the duty. threepence. that's the way we're taxed in this country. there's nothing else, except the waiter. never mind the ink! _i_ lose by that." "what should you--what should i--how much ought i to--what would it be right to pay the waiter, if you please?" i stammered, blushing. "if i hadn't a family, and that family hadn't the cowpock," said the waiter, "i wouldn't take a sixpence. if i didn't support a aged pairint, and a lovely sister,"--here the waiter was greatly agitated--"i wouldn't take a farthing. if i had a good place, and was treated well here, i should beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it. but i live on broken wittles--and i sleep on the coals"--here the waiter burst into tears. i was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and felt that any recognition short of ninepence would be mere brutality and hardness of heart, therefore i gave him one of my three bright shillings, which he received with much humility and veneration, and spun up with his thumb, directly afterwards, to try the goodness of. it was a little disconcerting to me, to find, when i was being helped up behind the coach, that i was supposed to have eaten all the dinner without any assistance. i discovered this, from overhearing the lady in the bow-window say to the guard: "take care of that child, george, or he'll burst!" and from observing that the women-servants who were about the place came out to look and giggle at me as a young phenomenon. my unfortunate friend, the waiter, who had quite recovered his spirits, did not appear to be disturbed by this, but joined in the general admiration without being at all confused. if i had any doubt of him, i suppose this half-awakened it; but i am inclined to believe that, with the simple confidence and natural reliance of a child upon superior years (qualities i am very sorry any children should prematurely change for worldly wisdom), i had no serious mistrust of him on the whole, even then. dickens: "david copperfield." the barefoot boy blessings on thee, little man, barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! with thy turned-up pantaloons, and thy merry whistled tunes; with thy red lip, redder still kissed by strawberries on the hill; with the sunshine on thy face, through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; from my heart i give thee joy,-- i was once a barefoot boy! prince thou art,--the grown-up man only is republican. let the million-dollared ride! barefoot, trudging at his side, thou hast more than he can buy in the reach of ear and eye,-- outward sunshine, inward joy; blessings on thee, barefoot boy! oh for boyhood's painless play, sleep that wakes in laughing day, health that mocks the doctor's rules, knowledge never learned of schools, of the wild bee's morning chase, of the wild-flower's time and place, flight of fowl and habitude of the tenants of the wood; how the tortoise bears his shell, how the woodchuck digs his cell, and the ground-mole sinks his well; how the robin feeds her young, how the oriole's nest is hung; where the whitest lilies blow, where the freshest berries grow, where the ground-nut trails its vine, where the wood-grape's clusters shine; of the black wasp's cunning way, mason of his walls of clay, and the architectural plans of gray hornet artisans!-- for, eschewing books and tasks, nature answers all he asks; hand in hand with her he walks, face to face with her he talks, part and parcel of her joy,-- blessings on the barefoot boy! oh for boyhood's time of june, crowding years in one brief moon, when all things i heard or saw, me, their master, waited for. i was rich in flowers and trees, humming-birds and honey-bees; for my sport the squirrel played, plied the snouted mole his spade; for my taste the blackberry cone purpled over hedge and stone; laughed the brook for my delight through the day and through the night, whispering at the garden wall, talked with me from fall to fall, mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, mine the walnut slopes beyond, mine, on bending orchard trees, apples of hesperides! still, as my horizon grew, larger grew my riches, too; all the world i saw or knew seemed a complex chinese toy, fashioned for a barefoot boy! oh for festal dainties spread, like my bowl of milk and bread;-- pewter spoon and bowl of wood, on the door-stone, gray and rude! o'er me, like a regal tent, cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, purple-curtained, fringed with gold, looped in many a wind-swung fold; while for music came the play of the pied frogs' orchestra; and, to light the noisy choir, lit the fly his lamp of fire. i was monarch: pomp and joy waited on the barefoot boy! cheerily, then, my little man, live and laugh, as boyhood can! though the flinty slopes be hard, stubble-speared the new-mown sward, every morn shall lead thee through fresh baptisms of the dew; every evening from thy feet shall the cool wind kiss the heat; all too soon these feet must hide in the prison cells of pride, lose the freedom of the sod, like a colt's for work be shod, made to tread the mills of toil, up and down in ceaseless moil; happy if their track be found never on forbidden ground; happy if they sink not in quick and treacherous sands of sin. ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, ere it passes, barefoot boy! whittier [illustration: parliament buildings. ottawa] country life in canada in the "thirties" country life in western canada in the "thirties" was very simple and uneventful. there were no lines of social division such as now exist. all alike had to toil to win and maintain a home; and if, as was natural, some were more successful in the rough battle of pioneer life than others, they did not feel, on that account, disposed to treat their neighbours as their inferiors. neighbours, they well knew, were too few and too desirable to be coldly and haughtily treated. had not all the members of each community hewn their way side by side into the fastnesses of the canadian bush? and what could a little additional wealth do for them, when the remoteness of the centres which might supply luxuries, enforced simplicity and made superfluities almost impossible? the furnishings of their houses were plain, and the chief articles of dress, if substantial and comfortable, were of coarse homespun--the product of their own labour. the sources of amusement were limited. the day of the harmonium or piano had not come. music, except in its simplest vocal form, was not cultivated; only the occasional presence of some fiddler afforded rare seasons of merriment to the delight both of old and young. the motto of "early to bed and early to rise" was, even in winter, the strict rule of family life. in the morning all were up, and breakfast was over usually before seven. as soon as the gray light of dawn appeared, men and boys were off to the barns, not merely to feed the cattle but to engage in the needful and tedious labour of threshing by hand. in the evenings, the family gathered together for lighter tasks and pleasant talk around a glowing fire. in firewood, at least, there was, in those days, no need for economy. we scarcely realize how largely little things may contribute to convenience and comfort. there were no lucifer matches at that date. it was needful to cover up carefully the live coals on the hearth before going to bed, so that there might be the means of starting the fire in the morning. this precaution was rarely unsuccessful; but sometimes a member of the family had to set out for a supply of fire from a neighbour's, in order that breakfast might be prepared. i remember well having to crawl out of my warm nest and run through the keen frosty air for half a mile or more, to fetch live coals from a neighbour's. it was, however, my father's practice to keep bundles of finely split pine sticks tipped with brimstone. with the aid of these, the merest spark served to start the fire. in the spring, tasks of various kinds crowded rapidly upon us. the hams and beef that had been salted down in casks during the preceding autumn were taken out of the brine, washed off, and hung in the smoke-house. on the earthen floor beech or maple was burned; the oily smoke, given off by the combustion of these woods in a confined space, not only acted as a preservative but also lent a special flavour to the meat. then ploughing, fencing, sowing, and planting followed in quick succession. no hands could be spared. the children must drive the cows to and from pasture. they must also take a hand at churning. it was a weary task, i well remember, to stand, perhaps for an hour, and drive the dasher up and down through the thick cream. how often did we examine the handle for evidence that the butter was forming, and what was the relief when the monotonous task was at an end. as soon as my legs were long enough, i had to follow a team; indeed, i drove the horses, mounted on the back of one of them, when my nether limbs were scarcely sufficiently grown to give me a grip. the instruments for the agricultural operations were few and rough. iron ploughs with cast-iron mould-boards and shares were commonly employed. compared with our modern ploughs, they were clumsy things, but a vast improvement on the earlier wooden ploughs which, even at that date, had not wholly gone out of use. for drags, tree-tops were frequently used. in june came sheep-washing. the sheep were driven to the bay shore and secured in a pen. one by one they were taken out, and the fleeces carefully washed. within a day or two, shearing followed in the barn. the wool was sorted; some was reserved to be carded by hand; the remainder was sent to the mills to be turned into rolls. then, day after day, for weeks, the noise of the spinning-wheel was heard, accompanied by the steady beat of the girls' feet, as they walked forward and backward drawing out and twisting the thread and running it on the spindle. this was work that required some skill, for on the fineness and evenness of the thread the character of the fabric largely depended. finally, the yarn was carried to the weavers to be converted into cloth. the women of the family found their hands very full in the "thirties." besides the daily round of housewifely cares, every season brought its special duties. there were wild strawberries and raspberries to be picked and prepared for daily consumption, or to be preserved for winter use. besides milking, there was the making both of butter and cheese. there was no nurse to take care of the children, no cook to prepare the dinner. to be sure, in households when the work was beyond the powers of the family, the daughter of some neighbour might come as a helper. though hired, she was treated in all respects as one of the family, and in return was likely to take the same sort of interest in the work, as if the tie that bound her to the family was closer than wages. in truth, such help was regarded as a favour, and not as in any way affecting the girl's social position. the girls in those days were more at home in a kitchen than a drawing-room. they did better execution at a tub than at a spinet, and could handle a rolling-pin more satisfactorily than a sketch-book. at a pinch, they could even use a rake or fork to good purpose in field or barn. their finishing education was received at the country school along with their brothers. of fashion books and milliners, few of them had any experiences. country life in canada was plodding in the "thirties" and there was no varied outlook. the girls' training for future life was mainly at the hands of their mothers; the boys followed in the footsteps of their fathers. neither sex felt that life was cramped or burdensome on that account. they were content to live as their parents had done. and though we can see that, as compared with later conditions, there may be something wanting in such an existence, this at least we know, that, in such a school and by such masters, the foundations of canadian character and prosperity were laid. canniff haight: "country life in canada in the 'thirties'." (adapted) he who knows most grieves most for wasted time. dante heat from plains that reel to southward, dim, the road runs by me white and bare; up the steep hill it seems to swim beyond, and melt into the glare. upward half-way, or it may be nearer the summit, slowly steals a hay-cart, moving dustily with idly clacking wheels. by his cart's side the wagoner is slouching slowly at his ease, half-hidden in the windless blur of white dust puffing to his knees. this wagon on the height above, from sky to sky on either hand, is the sole thing that seems to move in all the heat-held land. beyond me in the fields the sun soaks in the grass and hath his will; i count the marguerites one by one; even the buttercups are still. on the brook yonder not a breath disturbs the spider or the midge. the water-bugs draw close beneath the cool gloom of the bridge. where the far elm-tree shadows flood dark patches in the burning grass, the cows, each with her peaceful cud, lie waiting for the heat to pass. from somewhere on the slope near by into the pale depths of the noon a wandering thrush slides leisurely his thin revolving tune. in intervals of dreams i hear the cricket from the droughty ground; the grasshoppers spin into mine ear a small innumerable sound. i lift mine eyes sometimes to gaze: the burning sky-line blinds my sight: the woods far off are blue with haze: the hills are drenched in light. and yet to me not this or that is always sharp or always sweet; in the sloped shadow of my hat i lean at rest, and drain the heat; nay more, i think some blessèd power hath brought me wandering idly here: in the full furnace of this hour my thoughts grow keen and clear. archibald lampman the two paths hear, o my son, and receive my sayings; and the years of thy life shall be many. i have taught thee in the way of wisdom; i have led thee in paths of uprightness. when thou goest, thy steps shall not be straitened; and if thou runnest, thou shalt not stumble. take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she is thy life. enter not into the path of the wicked, and walk not in the way of evil men. avoid it, pass not by it; turn from it, and pass on. for they sleep not, except they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall. for they eat the bread of wickedness, and drink the wine of violence. but the path of the righteous is as the light of dawn, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day. the way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble. proverbs, iv. bernardo del carpio (the spanish champion, bernardo del carpio, having made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the count saldana, who had been imprisoned by king alfonso, at last took up arms. the war proved so destructive that the people demanded of the king, saldana's liberty. alfonso offered bernardo possession of his father's person in exchange for his castle. bernardo accepted the offer, gave up his castle, and rode forth with the king to meet his father.) the warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, and sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire: "i bring thee here my fortress keys, i bring my captive train, i pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!--oh, break my father's chain!" "rise, rise! even now thy father comes a ransomed man this day: mount thy good horse, and thou and i will meet him on his way." then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, and urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. and lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, with one that midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; "now haste, bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, the father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see." his dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's blood came and went, he reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent: a lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took,-- what was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? that hand was cold--a frozen thing--it dropped from his like lead: he looked up to the face above--the face was of the dead! a plume waved o'er the noble brow--the brow was fixed and white; he met at last his father's eyes--but in them was no sight! up from the ground he sprang, and gazed, but who could paint that gaze? they hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze; they might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood, for the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. "father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood, then-- talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!-- he thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown,-- he flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. then, covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, "no more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now. my king is false, my hope betrayed, my father--oh! the worth, the glory and the loveliness, are passed away from earth! "i thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet-- i would that _there_ our kindred blood on spain's free soil had met! thou wouldst have known my spirit then--for thee my fields were won,-- and thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!" then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; and with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, and sternly set them face to face--the king before the dead!-- "came i not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?-- be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this! the voice, the glance, the heart i sought--give answer, where are they?-- if thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay! "into these glassy eyes put light--be still! keep down thine ire,-- bid these white lips a blessing speak--this earth is _not_ my sire! give me back him for whom i strove, for whom my blood was shed,-- thou canst not--and a king! his dust be mountains on thy head!" he loosed the steed; his slack hand fell--upon the silent face he cast one long, deep, troubled look--then turned from that sad place: his hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain,-- his banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of spain. felicia hemans --to thine own self be true; and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. shakespeare moses' bargains "my second boy, moses, whom i designed for business," says the vicar, "received a sort of miscellaneous education at home." as we were now to hold up our heads a little higher in the world, it would be proper to sell the colt, which was grown old, at a neighbouring 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 antagonists gained strength, till at last it was resolved to part with him. 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 mighty 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. as night came on, 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 of 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 pedlar. "welcome, welcome, moses; well, my boy, what have you brought us from the fair?" "i have brought you myself," cried moses, with a sly look, and resting the box on the dresser. "ah, moses," cried my wife, "that we know, but where is the horse?" "i have sold him," cried 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 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," cried i, "about selling the rims; for they are not worth sixpence, for i perceive they are only copper varnished over." "what," cried my wife, "not silver, the rims not silver!" "no," cried i, "no more silver than your sauce-pan." "and so," returned she, "we have parted with the colt, and have only got 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." "marry, hang the idiot," returned she, "to bring me such stuff; if i had them, i would throw them into the fire." "there again you are wrong, my dear," cried i; "for though they be copper, we will 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, who pretended to be my friend, whispered me to buy them, and cautioned me not to let so good an offer pass. i sent for 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." goldsmith: "the vicar of wakefield." the maple oh, tenderly deepen the woodland glooms, and merrily sway the beeches; breathe delicately the willow blooms, and the pines rehearse new speeches; the elms toss high till they reach the sky, pale catkins the yellow birch launches, but the tree i love all the greenwood above is the maple of sunny branches. let who will sing of the hawthorn in spring, or the late-leaved linden in summer; there's a word may be for the locust tree, that delicate, strange new-comer; but the maple it glows with the tint of the rose when pale are the spring-time regions, and its towers of flame from afar proclaim the advance of winter's legions. and a greener shade there never was made than its summer canopy sifted, and many a day, as beneath it i lay, has my memory backward drifted to a pleasant lane i may walk not again, leading over a fresh, green hill, where a maple stood just clear of the wood-- and oh! to be near it still! charles g. d. roberts the greenwood tree under the greenwood tree who loves to lie with me, and tune 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 live i' 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. shakespeare believe me, thrift of time will repay you in after life with a usury of profit beyond your most sanguine dreams, and the waste of it will make you dwindle, alike in intellectual and moral stature, beyond your darkest reckonings. gladstone lake superior before turning our steps westward from this inland ocean, lake superior, it will be well to pause a moment on its shore and look out over its bosom. it is worth looking at, for the world possesses not its equal. four hundred english miles in length, one hundred and fifty miles in breadth, six hundred feet above atlantic level, nine hundred feet in depth; one vast spring of purest crystal water, so cold that during summer months its waters are like ice itself, and so clear that hundreds of feet below the surface the rocks stand out as distinctly as though seen through plate-glass. follow in fancy the outpourings of this wonderful basin; seek its future course in huron, erie, and ontario--in that wild leap from the rocky ledge which makes niagara famous through the world. seek it farther still--in the quiet loveliness of the thousand isles, in the whirl and sweep of the cedar rapids, in the silent rush of the great current under the rocks at the foot of quebec. ay, and even farther away still--down where the lone laurentian hills come forth to look again upon that water whose earliest beginnings they cradled along the shores of lake superior. there, close to the sounding billows of the atlantic, two thousand miles from superior, these hills--the only ones that ever last--guard the great gate by which the st. lawrence seeks the sea. there are rivers whose currents, running red with the silt and mud of their soft alluvial shores, carry far into the ocean the record of their muddy progress; but this glorious river system, through its many lakes and various names, is ever the same crystal current, flowing pure from the fountain-head of lake superior. great cities stud its shores; but they are powerless to dim the transparency of its waters. steam-ships cover the broad bosom of its lakes and estuaries; but they change not the beauty of the water, no more than the fleets of the world mark the waves of the ocean. any person looking at a map of the region bounding the great lakes of north america will be struck by the absence of rivers flowing into lakes superior, michigan, or huron, from the south--in fact, the drainage of the states bordering these lakes on the south is altogether carried off by the valley of the mississippi. it follows that this valley of the mississippi is at a much lower level than the surface of the lakes. these lakes, containing an area of some seventy-three thousand square miles, are therefore an immense reservoir held high over the level of the great mississippi valley, from which they are separated by a barrier of slight elevation and extent. major w. f. butler: "the great lone land." the red river plain the plain through which red river flows is fertile beyond description. at a little distance it seems one vast level plain, through which the windings of the river are marked by a dark line of woods fringing the whole length of the stream. each tributary has also its line of forest,--a line visible many miles away over the great sea of grass. as one travels on, there first rise above the prairie the tops of the trees; these gradually grow larger, until finally, after many hours, the river is reached. nothing else breaks the uniform level. standing upon the ground, the eye ranges over many miles of grass; standing on a wagon, one doubles the area of vision; and to look over the plains from an elevation of twelve feet above the earth, is to survey at a glance a space so vast that distance alone seems to bound its limits. the effect of sunset over these oceans of verdure is very beautiful. a thousand hues spread themselves upon the grassy plains, a thousand tints of gold are cast along the heavens, and the two oceans of the sky and of the earth intermingle in one great blaze of glory at the very gates of the setting sun. but to speak of sunsets now is only to anticipate. here, at the red river, we are only at the threshold of the sunset; its true home lies yet many days' journey to the west--there, where the long shadows of the vast herds of bison (used to) trail slowly over the immense plains, huge and dark against the golden west--there, where the red man still sees, in the glory of the setting sun, the realization of his dream of heaven. major w. f. butler: "the great lone land." as every action is capable of a peculiar dignity in the manner of it, so also it is capable of dignity still higher in the motive of it. there is no action so slight, nor so mean, but it may be done to a great purpose, and ennobled therefore; nor is any purpose so great but that slight actions may help it, and may be so done as to help it much, most especially that chief of all purposes, the pleasing of god. ruskin 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 for evermore 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. f. g. scott we are not sent into this world to do anything into which we cannot put our hearts. we have certain work to do for our bread, and that is to be done strenuously; other work to do for our delight, and that is to be done heartily; neither is to be done by halves or shifts, but with a will. ruskin life in norman england the tall, frowning keep and solid walls of the great stone castles, in which the norman barons lived, betokened an age of violence and suspicion. beauty gave way to the needs of safety. girdled with a green and slimy ditch, round the inner side of which ran a parapeted wall pierced along the top with shot-holes, stood the buildings, spreading often over many acres. if an enemy managed to cross the moat and force the gateway, in spite of a portcullis crashing from above, and melted lead pouring in burning streams from the perforated top of the rounded arch, but little of his work was yet done; for the keep lifted its huge angular block of masonry within the inner bailey or courtyard, and from the narrow chinks in its ten-foot wall rained a sharp incessant shower of arrows, sweeping all approaches to the high and narrow stair, by which alone access could be had to its interior. these loopholes were the only windows, except in the topmost story, where the chieftain, like a vulture in his rocky nest, watched all the surrounding country. the day of splendid oriels had not yet come in castle architecture. thus a baron in his keep could defy, and often did defy, the king upon his throne. under his roof, eating daily at his board, lived a throng of armed retainers; and around his castle lay farms tilled by martial franklins, who at his call laid aside their implements of husbandry, took up the sword and spear, which they could wield with equal skill, and marched beneath his banner to the war. the furniture of a norman keep was not unlike that of an english house. there was richer ornament--more elaborate carving. a _faldestol_, the original of our arm-chair, spread its drapery and cushions for the chieftain in his lounging moods. his bed now boasted curtains and a roof, although, like the english lord, he still lay only upon straw. chimneys tunnelled the thick walls, and the cupboards glittered with glass and silver. horn lanterns and the old spiked candle-sticks lit up his evening hours, when the chess-board arrayed its clumsy men, carved out of walrus-tusk, then commonly called whale's-bone. but the baron had an unpleasant trick of breaking the chess-board on his opponent's head, when he found himself checkmated; which somewhat marred that player's enjoyment of the game. dice of horn and bone emptied many a purse in norman england. draughts were also sometimes played. dance and music whiled away the long winter nights; and on summer evenings the castle courtyards resounded with the noise of football, wrestling, boxing, leaping, and the fierce joys of the bull-bait. but out of doors, when no fighting was on hand, the hound, the hawk, and the lance attracted the best energies and skill of the norman gentleman. the normans probably dined at nine in the morning. when they rose they took a light meal; and ate something also after their day's work, immediately before going to bed. goose and garlic formed a favourite dish. their cookery was more elaborate, and, in comparison, more delicate, than the preparations for an english feast; but the character for temperance, which they brought with them from the continent, soon vanished. the poorer classes hardly ever ate flesh, living principally on bread, butter, and cheese; a fact in social life which seems to underlie that usage of our tongue by which the living animals in field or stall bore english names--ox, sheep, calf, pig, deer; while their flesh, promoted to norman dishes, rejoiced in names of french origin--beef, mutton, veal, pork, venison. round cakes, piously marked with a cross, piled the tables, on which pastry of various kinds also appeared. in good houses cups of glass held the wine, which was borne from the cellar below in jugs. squatted around the door or on the stairs leading to the norman dining-hall, which was often on an upper floor, was a crowd of beggars or gluttons, who grew so insolent in the days of rufus, that ushers, armed with rods, were posted outside to beat back the noisy throng, who thought little of snatching the dishes as the cooks carried them to table! the juggler, who under the normans filled the place of the english gleeman, tumbled, sang, and balanced knives in the hall; or, out in the bailey of an afternoon, displayed the acquirements of his trained monkey or bear. the fool, too, clad in coloured patchwork, cracked his ribald jests and shook his cap and bells at the elbow of roaring barons, when the board was spread and the circling of the wine began. monasteries served many useful purposes at this time. besides their manifest value as centres of study and literary work, they gave alms to the poor, a supper and a bed to travellers; their tenants were better off and better treated than the tenants of the nobles; the monks could store grain, grow apples, and cultivate their flower-beds with little risk of injury from war, because they had spiritual penalties at their call, which usually awed even the most reckless of the soldiery into a respect for sacred property. as schools, too, the monasteries did no trifling service to society in the middle ages. in addition to their influence as great centres of learning, english law had enjoined every mass-priest to keep a school in his parish church where all the young committed to his care might be instructed. the youth of the middle classes, destined for the cloister or the merchant's stall, chiefly thronged these schools. the aristocracy cared little for book-learning. very few indeed of the barons could read or write. but all could ride, fence, tilt, play at cards, and carve extremely well; for to these accomplishments many years of pagehood and squirehood were given. w. f. collier, (adapted) self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, these three alone lead life to sovereign power. tennyson 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 it is the land that freemen till; that sober-suited freedom chose, the land, where girt with friends or foes a man may speak the thing he will; a land of settled government, a land of old and just renown, where freedom broadens slowly down from precedent to precedent. tennyson instruction hear, ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding. get wisdom, get understanding: forget it not; neither decline from the words of my mouth. forsake her not, and she shall preserve thee: love her, and she shall keep thee. wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding. exalt her, and she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her. she shall give to thine head an ornament of grace: a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee. my son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart. for they are life unto those that find them and health to all their flesh. keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life. put away from thee a froward mouth, and perverse lips put far from thee. let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee. ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established. turn not to the right hand nor to the left: remove thy foot from evil. proverbs, iv. home thoughts from abroad oh, to be in england now that april's there, and whoever wakes in england sees, some morning, unaware, that the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf, while the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough in england--now! and after april, when may follows, and the white-throat builds, and all the swallows! hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge leans to the field and scatters on the clover blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- that's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture! and though the fields look rough with hoary dew, all will be gay when noontide wakes anew the buttercups, the little children's dower, --far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! browning the bells of shandon with deep affection and recollection i often think of those shandon bells, whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood, fling round my cradle their magic spells. on this i ponder where'er i wander, and thus grow fonder, sweet cork, of thee; with thy bells of shandon that sound so grand on the pleasant waters of the river lee. i've heard bells chiming full many a clime in, tolling sublime in cathedral shrine; while at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate;-- but all their music spoke naught like thine. for memory dwelling on each proud swelling of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free, made the bells of shandon sound far more grand on the pleasant waters of the river lee. i've heard bells tolling old adrian's mole in, their thunder rolling from the vatican; and cymbals glorious swinging uproarious in the gorgeous turrets of notre dame. but thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of peter flings o'er the tiber, pealing solemnly; o, the bells of shandon sound far more grand on the pleasant waters of the river lee. there's a bell in moscow; while on tower and kiosk o! in saint sophia the turkman gets, and loud in air calls men to prayer from the tapering summits of tall minarets. such empty phantom i freely grant them; but there's an anthem more dear to me; 'tis the bells of shandon that sound so grand on the pleasant waters of the river lee. francis mahony the man whom i call worthy of the name, is one whose thoughts and exertions are for others rather than for himself; whose high purpose is adopted on just principles, and is never abandoned while heaven or earth affords means of accomplishing it. he is one who will neither seek an indirect advantage by a specious road, nor take an evil path to secure a really good purpose. scott the vision of mirzah when i was at grand cairo, i picked up several oriental manuscripts, which i have still by me. among others, i met with one entitled, "_the visions of mirzah_," which i have read over with great pleasure. i intend to give it to the public when i have no other entertainment for them; and shall begin with the first vision, which i have translated word for word, as follows:-- "on the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, i always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered up my morning devotions, i ascended the high hills of bagdat, 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. they put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. my heart melted away in secret raptures. "i had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius; and that several had been entertained with 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, thereupon he beckoned to me and, by the waving of his hand, directed me to approach 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 and affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which i approached him. he lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, 'mirzah,' 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 about an hundred. as i was counting the arches, the genius told me that this bridge had consisted at first 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 that 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 the 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 numbers were 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 very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that glittered in their eyes and danced before them; but often, when they thought themselves within reach of them, their footing failed and down they sunk. "in this confusion of objects, i observed some with scymetars in their hands, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on 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 on this melancholy prospect, told me that i had dwelt long enough upon it: 'take thine eyes off the bridge,' said he, 'and tell me if thou yet seest anything thou dost not comprehend.' upon looking up, 'what mean,' said i, 'those great flights 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 (whether or no the good genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) i saw the valley opening at the farther end and spreading forth 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 ran 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 upon 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, which 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 sands 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 mirzah, 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, i said: '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 found that he had left me; i then turned again to the vision which 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 bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it." addison: "the spectator, no. ." forbearance hast thou named all the birds without a gun? loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? at rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? and loved so well a high behaviour, in man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, nobility more nobly to repay? o, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! emerson mercy to animals 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. the creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, and charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes a visitor unwelcome into scenes sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, the chamber, or refectory, may die. a necessary act incurs no blame. the sum is this: if man's convenience, health, or safety interfere, his rights and claims are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. else they are all--the meanest things that are-- as free to live, and to enjoy that life, as god was free to form them at the first, who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too. cowper the united empire loyalists the americans inaugurated their declaration of independence by enacting that all the united empire loyalists--that is the adherents to connection with the mother country--were rebels and traitors; they followed the recognition of independence by england with an order exiling such adherents from their territories. but while this policy depleted the united states of some of their best blood, it laid the foundation of the settlement and the institutions of the country which has since become the great, free, and prosperous dominion of canada. upper canada was then unknown, or known only as a region of dense wilderness and swamps; of venomous reptiles and beasts of prey; of numerous and fierce indian tribes; of intense cold in winter; and with no redeeming feature except abundance of game and fish. after the war of independence, many loyalists went to nova scotia and new brunswick and settled there. the british commander of new york, having found out that upper canada was capable of supporting a numerous population along the great river and the lakes, undertook to send colonies of loyalists there. five vessels were procured and furnished to convey the first colony from new york. they sailed round the coasts of nova scotia and new brunswick, and up the st. lawrence to sorel, where they arrived in october, . here they wintered, having built themselves huts, or shanties, and in may, , they continued their voyage in boats, and reached their destination, cataraqui, afterwards kingston, in the month of july. other bands of loyalists came by land over the military highway to lower canada, as far as plattsburg, and then northward to cornwall and up the st. lawrence, along the north side of which many of them settled. but the most common route was by way of the hudson and the mohawk rivers, through oneida lake and down the oswego river to lake ontario. flat-bottomed boats, specially built or purchased for the purpose by the loyalists, were used in this journey. the portages, over which the boats had to be hauled and all their contents carried, are said to have been thirty miles long. on reaching oswego, some of the loyalists coasted along the eastern shore of lake ontario to kingston, and thence up the bay of quinte; others went westward along the south shore of the lake to niagara and queenston. some conveyed their boats over the portage of ten or twelve miles to chippewa, thence up the river and into lake erie, settling chiefly in what was called "long point country," now the county of norfolk. this journey of hardship, privation, and exposure occupied from two to three months. the obstacles encountered may readily be imagined in a country where the primeval forest covered the earth, and where the only path was the river or the lake. the parents and family of the writer of this history were from the middle of may to the middle of july making the journey in an open boat. generally two or more families would unite in one company, and thus assist each other in carrying their boats and goods over the portages. "these excellent men," wrote sir richard bonnycastle, "were willing to sacrifice life and fortune rather than forego the enviable distinction of being british subjects." the stern adherence of the pilgrim fathers to their principles was quite equalled by the stern adherence of the loyalists to their principles; but the privations and hardships experienced by many of the loyalist patriots for years after the first settlement in canada were much more severe than anything experienced by the puritans during the first years of their settlement in massachusetts. canada has, indeed, a noble parentage, the remembrance of which its inhabitants may well cherish with respect, affection, and pride. egerton ryerson: "the loyalists of america and their times." (adapted) [illustration: egerton ryerson] oft, in the stilly night oft, in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain has bound me, fond memory brings the light of other days around me; the smiles, the tears, of boyhood's years, the words of love then spoken; the eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone, the cheerful hearts now broken! thus, in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain has bound me, sad memory brings the light of other days around me. when i remember all the friends, so linked together, i've seen around me fall, like leaves in wintry weather; i feel like one, who treads alone some banquet-hall deserted, whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, and all but he departed! thus, in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain has bound me, sad memory brings the light of other days around me. moore 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 show that still she lives. moore hudson strait hudson strait opens from the atlantic between resolution island on the north and the button islands on the south. from point to point, this end of the strait is forty-five miles wide. at the other end, the west side, between digges' island and nottingham island, is a distance of thirty-five miles. from east to west, the straits are four hundred and fifty miles long--wider at the east where the south side is known as ungava bay, contracting at the west, to the upper narrows. the south side of the strait is labrador; the north, baffin's land. both sides are lofty, rocky, cavernous shores lashed by a tide that rises in places as high as thirty-five feet and runs in calm weather ten miles an hour. pink granite islands dot the north shore in groups that afford harbourage, but all shores present an adamant front, edges sharp as a knife or else rounded hard to have withstood and cut the tremendous ice jam of a floating world suddenly contracted to forty miles, which davis strait pours down at the east end and fox channel at the west. seven hundred feet is considered a good-sized hill; one thousand feet, a mountain. both the north and the south sides of the straits rise two thousand feet in places. through these rock walls ice has poured and torn and ripped a way since the ice age preceding history, cutting a great channel to the atlantic. here, the iron walls suddenly break to secluded silent valleys, moss-padded, snow-edged, lonely as the day earth first saw light. down these valleys pour the clear streams of the eternal snows, burnished as silver against the green, setting the silence echoing with the tinkle of cataracts over some rock wall, or filling the air with the voice of many waters at noontide thaw. one old navigator--coates--describes the beat of the angry tide at the rock base and the silver voice of the mountain brooks, like the treble and bass of some great cathedral organ sounding its diapason to the glory of god in this peopleless wilderness. perhaps the kyacks of some solitary eskimo, lashed abreast twos and threes to prevent capsizing, may shoot out from some of these bog-covered valleys like sea-birds; but it is only when the eskimos happen to be hunting here, or the ships of the whalers and fur traders are passing up and down--that there is any sign of human habitation on the straits. walrus wallow on the pink granite islands in huge herds. polar bears flounder from icepan to icepan. the arctic hare, white as snow but for the great bulging black eye, bounds over the boulders. snow buntings, whistling swans, snow geese, ducks in myriads--flacker and clacker and hold solemn conclave on the adjoining rocks, as though this were their realm from the beginning and for all time. of a tremendous depth are the waters of the straits. not for nothing has the ice world been grinding through this narrow channel for billions of years. no fear of shoals to the mariner. fear is of another sort. when the ice is running in a whirlpool and the incoming tide meets the ice jam and the waters mount thirty-five feet high and a wind roars between the high shores like a bellows--then it is that the straits roll and pitch and funnel their waters into black troughs where the ships go down. "undertow," the old hudson's bay captains called the suck of the tide against the ice wall; and that black hole, where the lumpy billows seemed to part like a passage between wall of ice and wall of water, was what the mariners feared. the other great danger was just a plain crush, getting nipped between two icepans rearing and plunging like fighting stallions, with the ice blocks going off like pistol shots or smashed glass. no child's play is such navigating either for the old sailing vessels of the fur traders or the modern ice-breakers propelled by steam! yet, the old sailing vessels and the whaling fleets have navigated these straits for two hundred years. agnes c. laut: "the conquest of the great northwest." good name in man and woman, is the immediate jewel of their souls: who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; but he that filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed. shakespeare scots wha hae 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 follow 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! burns st. ambrose crew win their first race (the chief characters in this sketch are miller, the tyrannical little cockswain of the crew; old jervis, the captain; tom brown, number two, who is rowing his first race; hardy, a friend of tom's and one of the best oarsmen in the college--also jack, the college dog. though there are several crews in the race the real struggle is between the boats from st. ambrose and exeter colleges. if st. ambrose can drive the nose of its boat against the exeter boat--"bump it"--it wins.) hark!--the first gun. the report sent tom's heart into his mouth again. several of the boats pushed off at once into the stream; and the crowds of men on the bank began to be agitated, as it were, by the shadow of the coming excitement. the st. ambrose fingered their oars, put a last dash of grease on their rowlocks, and settled their feet against the stretchers. "shall we push her off?" asked bow. "no; i can give you another minute," said miller, who was sitting, watch in hand, in the stern; "only be smart when i give the word." the captain turned on his seat, and looked up the boat. his face was quiet, but full of confidence, which seemed to pass from him into the crew. tom felt calmer and stronger, as he met his eye. "now mind, boys, don't quicken," he said, cheerily; "four short strokes to get way on her, and then, steady. here, pass up the lemon." and he took a sliced lemon out of his pocket, put a small piece in his own mouth, and then handed it to blake, who followed his example, and passed it on. each man took a piece; and just as bow had secured the end, miller called out,-- "now, jackets off, and get her head out steadily." the jackets were thrown on shore, and gathered up by the boatman in attendance. the crew poised their oars, number two pushing out her head, and the captain doing the same for the stern. miller took the starting-rope in his hand. "how the wind catches her stern," he said; "here, pay out the rope one of you. no, not you--some fellow with a strong hand. yes, you'll do," he went on, as hardy stepped down the bank and took hold of the rope; "let me have it foot by foot as i want it. not too quick; make the most of it--that'll do. two and three, just dip your oars in to give her way." the rope paid out steadily, and the boat settled to her place. but now the wind rose again, and the stern drifted in towards the bank. "you _must_ back her a bit, miller, and keep her a little further out or our oars on stroke side will catch the bank." "so i see; curse the wind. back her, one stroke all. back her, i say!" shouted miller. it is no easy matter to get a crew to back her an inch just now, particularly as there are in her two men who have never rowed a race before, except in the torpids, and one who has never rowed a race in his life. however, back she comes; the starting-rope slackens in miller's left hand, and the stroke, unshipping his oar, pushes the stern gently out again. there goes the second gun! one short minute more, and we are off. short minute, indeed! you wouldn't say so if you were in the boat, with your heart in your mouth and trembling all over like a man with the palsy. those sixty seconds before the starting-gun in your first race--why, they are a little lifetime. "by jove, we are drifting in again," said miller, in horror. the captain looked grim but said nothing; it was too late now for him to be unshipping again. "here, catch hold of the long boat-hook and fend her off." hardy, to whom this was addressed, seized the boat-hook, and, standing with one foot in the water, pressed the end of the boat-hook against the gunwale, at the full stretch of his arm, and so, by main force, kept the stern out. there was just room for stroke oars to dip, and that was all. the starting-rope was as taut as a harp-string; will miller's left hand hold out? it is an awful moment. but the coxswain, though almost dragged backwards off his seat, is equal to the occasion. he holds his watch in his right hand with the tiller rope. "eight seconds more only. look out for the flash. remember, all eyes in the boat." there it comes, at last--the flash of the starting-gun. long before the sound of the report can roll up the river, the whole pent-up life and energy which has been held in leash, as it were, for the last six minutes, is loose, and breaks away with a bound and a dash which he who has felt it will remember for his life, but the like of which, will he ever feel again? the starting-ropes drop from the coxswains' hands, the oars flash into the water and gleam on the feather, the spray flies from them, and the boats leap forward. the crowds on the bank scatter and rush along, each keeping as near as may be to its own boat. some of the men on the towing-path, some on the very edge of, often in, the water; some slightly in advance, as if they could help to drag their boat forward; some behind, where they can see the pulling better; but all at full speed, in wild excitement, and shouting at the top of their voices to those on whom the honour of the college is laid. "well pulled, all!" "pick her up there, five!" "you're gaining every stroke!" "time in the bows!" "bravo, st. ambrose!" on they rushed by the side of the boats, jostling one another, stumbling, struggling, and panting along. for a quarter of a mile along the bank the glorious, maddening hurly-burly extends, and rolls up the side of the stream. for the first ten strokes tom was in too great fear of making a mistake to feel or hear or see. his whole soul was glued to the back of the man before him, his one thought to keep time and get his strength into the stroke. but, as the crew settled down into the well-known long sweep, what we may call consciousness returned; and, while every muscle in his body was straining, and his chest heaved, and his heart leaped, every nerve seemed to be gathering new life, and his senses to wake into unwonted acuteness. he caught the scent of wild thyme in the air, and found room in his brain to wonder how it could have got there, as he had never seen the plant near the river, or smelt it before. though his eye never wandered from the back of diogenes, he seemed to see all things at once. the boat behind, which seemed to be gaining;--it was all he could do to prevent himself from quickening on the stroke as he fancied that;--the eager face of miller, with his compressed lips, and eyes fixed so earnestly ahead that tom could almost feel the glance passing over his right shoulder; the flying banks and the shouting crowd; see them with his bodily eyes he could not, but he knew, nevertheless, that grey had been upset and nearly rolled down the bank into the water in the first hundred yards, that jack was bounding and scrambling and barking along by the very edge of the stream; above all, he was just as well aware as if he had been looking at it, of a stalwart form in cap and gown, bounding along, brandishing the long boat-hook, and always keeping just opposite the boat; and amid all the babel of voices, and the dash and pulse of the stroke, and the labouring of his own breathing, he heard hardy's voice coming to him again and again, and clear as if there had been no other sound in the air, "steady, two! steady! well pulled! steady, steady." the voice seemed to give him strength and keep him to his work. and what work it was! he had had many a hard pull in the last six weeks, but never aught like this. but it can't last forever; men's muscles are not steel, or their lungs bulls' hide, and hearts can't go on pumping a hundred miles an hour long, without bursting. the st. ambrose boat is well away from the boat behind, there is a great gap between the accompanying crowds; and now, as they near the gut, she hangs for a moment or two in hand, though the roar from the bank grows louder and louder, and tom is already aware that the st. ambrose crowd is melting into the one ahead of them. "we must be close to exeter!" the thought flashes into him, and, it would seem, into the rest of the crew at the same moment; for, all at once, the strain seems taken off their arms again; there is no more drag; she springs to the stroke as she did at the start; and miller's face, which had darkened for a few seconds, lightens up again. miller's face and attitude are a study. coiled up into the smallest possible space, his chin almost resting on his knees, his hands close to his sides, firmly but lightly feeling the rudder, as a good horseman handles the mouth of a free-going hunter; if a coxswain could make a bump by his own exertions, surely he will do it. no sudden jerks of the st. ambrose rudder will you see, watch as you will from the bank; the boat never hangs through fault of his, but easily and gracefully rounds every point. "you're gaining! you're gaining!" he now and then mutters to the captain, who responds with a wink, keeping his breath for other matters. isn't he grand, the captain, as he comes forward like lightning, stroke after stroke, his back flat, his teeth set, his whole frame working from the hips with the regularity of a machine? as the space still narrows, the eyes of the fiery little coxswain flash with excitement, but he is far too good a judge to hurry the final effort before the victory is safe in his grasp. the two crowds are mingled now, and no mistake; and the shouts come all in a heap over the water. "now, st. ambrose, six strokes more." "now, exeter, you're gaining; pick her up." "mind the gut, exeter." "bravo, st. ambrose!" the water rushes by, still eddying from the strokes of the boat ahead. tom fancies now he can hear their oars and the workings of their rudder, and the voice of their coxswain. in another moment both boats are in the gut, and a perfect storm of shouts reaches them from the crowd, as it rushes madly off to the left to the footbridge, amidst which "oh, well steered, well steered, st. ambrose!" is the prevailing cry. then miller, motionless as a statue till now, lifts his right hand and whirls the tassel round his head. "give it her now, boys; six strokes and we're into them." old jervis lays down that great broad back and lashes his oar through the water with the might of a giant, the crew catch him up in another stroke, the tight new boat answers to the spurt, and tom feels a little shock behind him, and then a grating sound, as miller shouts, "unship oars, bow and three!" and the nose of the st. ambrose boat glides quietly up the side of the exeter till it touches their stroke oar. "take care where you're coming to." it is the coxswain of the bumped boat who speaks. tom finds himself within a foot or two of him when he looks round; and, being utterly unable to contain his joy, and yet unwilling to exhibit it before the eyes of a gallant rival, turns away towards the shore, and begins telegraphing to hardy. "now, then, what are you at there in the bows? cast her off, quick. come, look alive! push across at once out of the way of the other boats." "i congratulate you, jervis," says the exeter stroke, as the st. ambrose boat shoots past him. "do it again next race and i shan't care." thomas hughes: "tom brown at oxford." 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 greenwood 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 baulk, staunch as hound and fleet as hawk; think of this, and rise with day, gentle lords and ladies gay! scott it is not what he has, nor even what he does, which directly expresses the worth of a man, but what he is. amiel border ballad march, march, ettrick and teviotdale, why, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order! march, march, eskdale and liddesdale, all the blue bonnets are bound for the border. many a banner spread flutters above your head, many a crest that is famous in story; mount and make ready then, sons of the mountain glen, fight for the queen and our old scottish glory! come from the hills where your hirsels[ ] are grazing, come from the glen of the buck and the roe; come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow; trumpets are sounding, war-steeds are bounding, stand to your arms, and march in good order; england shall many a day tell of the bloody fray when the blue bonnets came over the border. scott footnotes: [ ] cattle the great northern diver the weird, long call, or the shrill, demoniacal laugh coming out of the night tells of the sleepless activity of the loon. the whip-poor-will in the adjacent shrubbery seems companionable, and there is a friendly spirit in the short, shrill tremolo of the night-hawk from the invisible sky. even the plaint of the screech-owl has a tone of human sympathy. but the dreary cadence of the loon is the voice of the inhospitable night, repelling every thought of human association. it does not entreat, it does not warn; yet there is a fascination in its expressionless strength. over the black water, under the lowering sky, or through the bright still moonlight, the same unfeeling tone fills the ear of night. and sometimes, when the lingering moon sheds a broad trail of light along the still waters of the lake, the graceful swimmer will glide across and disappear in the darkness, breaking the bright reflection into a multitude of chasing, quivering, trailing threads of silver. throughout the day, where the cedars come down to meet their shadows in the dark water, he swims ceaselessly about, sitting low, with black, glossy neck gracefully curved and displaying its delicate white markings. sometimes he stretches himself wearily, flapping his wings, and displaying his white breast and the handsome, showy markings of his sides. though wary and aloof, and without a trace of animation in his loud, penetrating cries, he shows his kinship by the scrupulous care with which he preens his handsome feathers--even lying on his back in the water to comb out and smooth his glossy, white breast. a hurried cry from overhead may unexpectedly reveal the presence of a pair of loons in another element, and it is always fascinating to watch their steady, strained, energetic flight above the tops of the pines, generally to curve down to some more attractive expanse in the cedar-girt lake. for the water is the loon's natural element. there is an amusing deliberateness in his graceful, silent dive. he does not make the hurried dip of his smaller cousin, the grebe, but more calmly curves both neck and body, disappearing under the surface in a graceful arch. settling down and swimming with only head and neck exposed is an evidence of suspicion, and is generally followed by a long dive, with a belated reappearance in some remote part of the lake. when the mother loon takes her two offspring out for a swim, it is a big event in the domestic circle. the outing is announced by prolonged and unusual repetitions of the laughing call. for half an hour the echoes of the lake are kept alive with sounds portentous of new departures in the loon world. then a peculiar object is seen to emerge from the marshy bay and cross under the shadowy cedars toward the open water. a field-glass shows it to be the mother loon and her two offspring, the three huddled so closely together that they are almost indistinguishable. the mother is unceasing in her care and attention. she strokes the backs of the young birds with her bill, playing and fussing around and close to them, as if they could not exist without her constant attention. now and then she leans over and lifts a broad, black, webbed foot out of the water, holding it up distended, as if to endorse the modern theory that the parent loon teaches her young to swim. they cling to each other and cling to her, as if afraid of being lost in the great expanse of water to which they have been so recently introduced. a short distance away the father swims about in lordly indifference, diving occasionally and regaling himself on the unsuspecting fish. a boat comes out from the shore, rowed by an industrious guide, with an angler, picturesquely protected by mosquito net, sitting in the stern. the mother loon pushes and urges her indolent pair in the direction of safety. how slow they must seem as she hurries and encourages them! the trio moves at a snail's pace compared with her ordinary speed, but the young ones show no inclination to dive out of harm's way. their clinging, crowding tendency serves but to incommode and obstruct her. and where is the male protector? alas for the romance of chivalry! when the boat comes near, he deliberately dives, and, after the usual protracted wait, reappears in another part of the lake, away from the danger that alarms and threatens the defenceless trio. but the mother remains and urges the encumbering young things to speed. they do make some headway, though slowly, toward the marshy bay from which they recently emerged with so much loud, wild laughter. the indifference of the fisherman and the guide does not reassure them, and they never cease their entangled struggle till lost to sight in the winding lagoon. s. t. wood to the cuckoo o blithe new-comer! i have heard, i hear thee and rejoice. o cuckoo! shall i call thee bird, or but a wandering voice? while i am lying on the grass thy twofold shout i hear; from hill to hill it seems to pass, at once far off, and near. though babbling only to the vale, of sunshine and of flowers, thou bringest unto me a tale of visionary hours. thrice welcome, darling of the spring! even yet thou art to me no bird, but an invisible thing, a voice, a mystery; the same whom in my school-boy days i listened to; that cry which made me look a thousand ways in bush, and tree, and sky. to seek thee did i often rove through woods and on the green; and thou wert still a hope, a love; still longed for, never seen. and i can listen to thee yet; can lie upon the plain and listen, till i do beget that golden time again. o blessèd bird! the earth we pace again appears to be an unsubstantial faery place, that is fit home for thee! wordsworth on the grasshopper and cricket the poetry of earth is never dead: when all the birds are faint with the hot sun, and hide in cooling trees, a voice will run from hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; that is the grasshopper's--he takes the lead in summer luxury--he has never done with his delights; for when tired out with fun he rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. the poetry of earth is ceasing never: on a lone winter evening, when the frost has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills the cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, and seems to one in drowsiness half-lost, the grasshopper's among some grassy hills. keats the great northwest and now let us turn our glance to this great northwest, whither my wandering steps are about to lead me. fully nine hundred miles as bird would fly, and one thousand two hundred as horse can travel, west of red river, an immense range of mountains eternally capped with snow rises in rugged masses from a vast stream-scarred plain. they who first beheld these grand guardians of the central prairies named them the montagnes des rochers (rocky mountains),--a fitting title for such vast accumulations of rugged magnificence. from the glaciers and ice-valleys of this great range of mountains, innumerable streams descend into the plains. for a time they wander, as if heedless of direction, through groves and glades and green-spreading declivities; then, assuming greater fixity of purpose, they gather up many a wandering rill and start eastward upon a long journey. at length the many detached streams resolve themselves into two great water systems. through hundreds of miles these two rivers pursue their parallel courses, now approaching, now opening out from each other. suddenly the southern river bends towards the north, and, at a point some six hundred miles from the mountains, pours its volume of water into the northern channel. then the united river rolls, in vast, majestic curves, steadily towards the north-east, turns once more towards the south, opens out into a great reed-covered marsh, sweeps on into a large cedar-lined lake, and finally, rolling over a rocky ledge, casts its waters into the northern end of the great lake winnipeg, fully one thousand three hundred miles from the glacier cradle where it took its birth. this river, which has along it every diversity of hill and vale, meadow-land and forest, treeless plain and fertile hillside, is called by the wild tribes who dwell along its glorious shores, the saskatchewan or "rapid-flowing river." but this saskatchewan is not the only river which drains the great central region between red river and the rocky mountains. the assiniboine or "stony river" drains the rolling prairie-lands five hundred miles west from red river; and many a smaller stream, and rushing, bubbling brook, carries into its devious channel the waters of that vast country which lies between the american boundary line and the pine woods of the lower saskatchewan. so much for the rivers; and now for the land through which they flow. how shall we picture it? how shall we tell the story of that great, boundless, solitary waste of verdure? the old, old maps, which the navigators of the sixteenth century formed from the discoveries of cabot and cartier, of verrazanno and hudson, played strange pranks with the geography of the new world. the coast-line, with the estuaries of large rivers, was tolerably accurate; but the centre of america was represented as a vast inland sea, whose shores stretched far into the polar north--a sea through which lay the much-coveted passage to the long-sought treasures of the old realms of cathay. well, the geographers of that period erred only in the description of ocean which they placed in the centre of the continent; for an ocean there is--an ocean through which men seek the treasures of cathay even in our own times. but the ocean is one of grass, and the shores are the crests of mountain ranges and the dark pine forests of sub-arctic regions. the great ocean itself does not present such infinite variety as does this prairie-ocean of which we speak:--in winter, a dazzling surface of purest snow; in early summer, a vast expanse of grass and pale pink roses; in autumn, too often a wild sea of raging fire! no ocean of water in the world can vie with its gorgeous sunsets; no solitude can equal the loneliness of a night-shadowed prairie: one feels the stillness, and hears the silence: the wail of the prowling wolf makes the voice of solitude audible; the stars look down through infinite silence upon a silence almost as intense. this ocean has no past;--time has been nought to it, and men have come and gone, leaving behind them no track, no vestige of their presence. some french writer, speaking of these prairies, has said that the sense of this utter negation of life, this complete absence of history, has struck him with a loneliness, oppressive and sometimes terrible in its intensity. perhaps so, but, for my part, the prairies had nothing terrible in their aspect, nothing oppressive in their loneliness. one saw here the world, as it had taken shape and form from the hands of the creator. nor did the scene look less beautiful because nature alone tilled the earth, and the unaided sun brought forth the flowers. october had reached its latest week; the wild geese and swans had taken their long flight to the south, and their wailing cry no more descended through the darkness; ice had settled upon the quiet pools and was settling upon the quick-running streams; the horizon glowed at night with the red light of moving prairie fires. it was the close of the indian summer, and winter was coming quickly down, from his far northern home. major w. f. butler: "the great lone land." [illustration: pioneers] rule, britannia when britain first, at heaven's command, arose from out the azure main, this was the charter of the land, and guardian angels sung this strain: rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! the nations, not so blest as thee, must in their turns to tyrants fall, while thou shalt flourish great and free-- the dread and envy of them all. still more majestic shalt thou rise, more dreadful from each foreign stroke; as the loud blast that tears the skies serves but to root thy native oak. thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; all their attempts to bend thee down will but arouse thy generous flame, but work their woe and thy renown. to thee belongs the rural reign; thy cities shall with commerce shine; all thine shall be the subject main, and every shore it circles thine. the muses, still with freedom found, shall to thy happy coast repair; blest isle, with matchless beauty crowned, and manly hearts to guard the fair:-- rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! james thomson the commandment and the reward my son, forget not my law; but let thine heart keep my commandments: for length of days, and years of life, and peace, shall they add to thee. let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: so shalt thou find favour, and good repute in the sight of god and man. trust in the lord with all thine heart, and lean not upon thine own understanding: in all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. be not wise in thine own eyes; fear the lord, and depart from evil: honour the lord with thy substance, and with the first-fruits of all thine increase: so shall thy barns be filled with plenty, and thy vats shall overflow with new wine. proverbs, iii. the spacious firmament the spacious firmament on high, with all the blue ethereal sky, and spangled heavens, a shining frame, their great original proclaim. th' unwearied sun from day to day does his creator's power display; and publishes to every land the work of an almighty hand. soon as the evening shades prevail, the moon takes up the wondrous tale; and nightly to the listening earth repeats the story of her birth: whilst all the stars that round her burn, and all the planets in their turn, confirm the tidings as they roll, and spread the truth from pole to pole. what though in solemn silence all move round the dark terrestrial ball; what though no real voice nor sound amid their radiant orbs be found? in reason's ear they all rejoice, and utter forth a glorious voice; forever singing as they shine, "the hand that made us is divine." addison june --what is so rare as a day in june? then, if ever, come perfect days; then heaven tries earth if it be in tune, and over it softly her warm ear lays: whether we look, or whether we listen, we hear life murmur, or see it glisten; every clod feels a stir of might, an instinct within it that reaches and towers, and groping blindly above it for light, climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; the flush of life may well be seen thrilling back over hills and valleys; the cowslip startles in meadows green, the buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, and there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean to be some happy creature's palace; the little bird sits at his door in the sun, atilt like a blossom among the leaves, and lets his illumined being o'errun with the deluge of summer it receives; his mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, and the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; he sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,-- in the nice ear of nature which song is the best? now is the high-tide of the year, and whatever of life hath ebbed away comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, into every bare inlet and creek and bay; now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, we are happy now because god wills it; no matter how barren the past may have been, 'tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; we sit in the warm shade and feel right well how the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; we may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing that skies are clear and grass is growing; the breeze comes whispering in our ear, that dandelions are blossoming near, that maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, that the river is bluer than the sky, that the robin is plastering his house hard by; and if the breeze kept the good news back, for other couriers we should not lack; we could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing.-- and hark! how clear bold chanticleer, warmed with the new wine of the year, tells all in his lusty crowing! lowell the fifth voyage of sinbad the sailor all the troubles and calamities i had undergone could not cure me of my inclination to make new voyages. i therefore bought goods, departed with them for the best seaport, and there, that i might not be obliged to depend upon a captain, but have a ship at my own command, i remained till one was built on purpose at my own charge. when the ship was ready, i went on board with my goods: but not having enough to load her, i agreed to take with me several merchants of different nations, with their merchandise. we sailed with the first fair wind, and after a long navigation the first place we touched at was a desert island, where we found an egg of a roc, equal in size to that i saw on a former voyage, fifty paces round, and shining as a great white dome when seen even from afar. there was a young roc in it, just ready to be hatched, and its bill had begun to appear. the merchants whom i had taken on board, and who landed with me, broke the egg with hatchets, and having made a hole in it, pulled out the young roc piecemeal and roasted it. i had earnestly entreated them not to meddle with the egg, but they would not listen to me. scarcely had they finished their repast, when there appeared in the air, at a considerable distance from us, two great clouds. the captain whom i had hired to navigate my ship, knowing by experience what they meant, said they were the male and female roc that belonged to the young one, and pressed us to re-embark with all speed, to prevent the misfortune which he saw would otherwise befall us. we hastened on board and set sail with all possible expedition. in the meantime, the two rocs approached with a frightful noise, which they redoubled when they saw the egg broken and their young one gone. they flew back in the direction they had come, and disappeared for some time, while we made all the sail we could to endeavour to prevent that which unhappily befell us. they soon returned, and we observed that each of them carried between its talons, stones, or rather rocks, of a monstrous size. when they came directly over my ship they hovered, and one of them let fall a stone, but by the dexterity of the steersman it missed us, and, falling into the sea, divided the water so that we could almost see the bottom. the other roc, to our misfortune, threw his massy burden so exactly into the middle of the ship as to split it into a thousand pieces. the mariners and passengers were all crushed to death, or sunk. i myself was of the number of the latter, but, as i came up again, i fortunately caught hold of a piece of the wreck, and swimming, sometimes with one hand and sometimes with the other, but always holding fast my board, the wind and tide favouring me, i came to an island whose shore was very steep. i overcame that difficulty, however, and got ashore. i sat down upon the grass to recover myself from my fatigue, after which i went into the island to explore it. it seemed to be a delicious garden. i found trees everywhere, some of them bearing green, and others ripe fruits; and there were streams of fresh, pure water running in pleasant meanders. i ate of the fruits, which i found excellent; and drank of the water, which was very light and good. when i was a little advanced into the island i saw an old man, who appeared very weak and infirm. he was sitting on the bank of a stream, and at first i took him to be one who had been shipwrecked like myself. i went towards him and saluted him, but he only slightly bowed his head. i asked him why he sat so still; but instead of answering me, he made a sign for me to take him upon my back and carry him over the brook, signifying that it was to gather fruit. i believed him really to stand in need of my assistance, took him upon my back, and having carried him over, bade him get down, and for that end stooped, that he might get off with ease; but instead of doing so (which i laugh at every time i think of it), the old man who appeared to me quite decrepit, threw his legs nimbly about my neck. he sat astride upon my shoulders, and held my throat so tight that i thought he would have strangled me, the apprehension of which made me swoon and fall down. notwithstanding my fainting, the ill-natured old fellow kept fast about my neck. when i had recovered my breath, he thrust one of his feet against my stomach, and struck me so rudely on the side with the other, that he forced me to rise up against my will. having arisen, he made me carry him under the trees, and forced me now and then to stop, to gather and eat fruit such as we found. he never left me all day, and when i lay down to rest at night, he laid himself down with me, holding always fast about my neck. every morning he pushed me to make me awake, and afterwards obliged me to get up and walk, and pressed me with his feet. you may judge then, what trouble i was in to be loaded with such a burden of which i could not get rid. one day i found in my way several dry calabashes that had fallen from a tree. i took a large one, and after cleaning it, pressed into it some juice of grapes, which abounded in the island. having filled the calabash, i put it by in a convenient place; and going thither again some days after, i tasted it and found the wine so good that it soon made me forget my sorrow, gave me new vigour, and so exhilarated my spirits, that i began to sing and dance as i walked along. the old man, perceiving the effect which this liquor had upon me, and that i carried him with more ease than before, made me a sign to give him some of it. i handed him the calabash, and the liquor pleasing his palate, he drank it all off. there being a considerable quantity of it, and the fumes getting into his head, he began to sing and dance upon my shoulders, and to loosen his legs from about me by degrees. finding that he did not press me as before, i threw him upon the ground, where he lay without motion; then i took up a great stone and crushed his head. i was extremely glad to be thus freed for ever from this troublesome fellow. i now walked towards the beach, where i met the crew of a ship that had cast anchor, to take water. they were surprised to see me, but more so at the particulars of my adventures. "you fell," said they, "into the hands of the old man of the sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling by his malicious tricks. he never quitted those he had once made himself master of till he had destroyed them, and he has made this island notorious by the number of men he has slain." after having informed me of these things, they carried me with them to the ship; the captain received me with great kindness when they told him what had befallen me. he put out again to sea, and after some days' sail, we arrived at the harbour of a great city, the houses of which were built with hewn stone. one of the merchants who had taken me into his friendship invited me to go along with him and carried me to a place appointed for the accommodation of foreign merchants. he gave me a large bag, and having recommended me to some people of the town, who used to gather cocoa-nuts, desired them to take me with them. "go," said he, "follow them, and act as you see them do; but do not part from them, otherwise you may endanger your life." having thus spoken, he gave me provisions for the journey, and i went with them. we came to a thick forest of cocoa trees, very lofty, with trunks so smooth that it was not possible to climb to the branches that bore the fruit. when we entered the forest, we saw a great number of apes of several sizes, who fled as soon as they perceived us and climbed up to the tops of the trees with surprising swiftness. the merchants gathered stones and threw them at the apes in the trees. i did the same, and the apes, out of revenge, threw cocoa-nuts at us so fast, and with such gestures, as sufficiently testified their anger and resentment. we gathered up the cocoa-nuts, and from time to time threw stones to provoke the apes; so that by this stratagem we filled our bags with cocoa-nuts, which it had been impossible otherwise to have done. i thus gradually collected as many cocoa-nuts as produced me a considerable sum. we sailed towards the islands, where pepper grows in great plenty. from thence we went to the isle of comari, where the best species of wood of aloes grows. i exchanged my cocoa in those islands for pepper and wood of aloes, and went with other merchants a-pearl-fishing. i hired divers, who brought me up some that were very large and pure. i embarked in a vessel that happily arrived at bussorah; from thence i returned to bagdat, where i made vast sums of my pepper, wood of aloes, and pearls. i gave the tenth of my gains in alms, as i had done upon my return from my other voyages, and endeavoured to dissipate my fatigues by amusements of different kinds. "the arabian nights entertainments." all are needed by each one; nothing is fair or good alone. i thought the sparrow's note from heaven, singing at dawn on the alder bough; i brought him home, in his nest, at even; he sings the song, but it cheers not now, for i did not bring home the river and sky;-- he sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye. emerson ocean roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean--roll! ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; man marks the earth with ruin,--his control stops with the shore; upon the watery plain the wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain a shadow of man's ravage, save his own, when for a moment, like a drop of rain, he sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan-- without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. his steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields, are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise and shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields for earth's destruction, thou dost all despise, spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, and send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray, and howling to his gods, where haply lies his petty hope in some near port or bay, and dashest him again to earth; there let him lay. the armaments which thunderstrike the walls of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, and monarchs tremble in their capitals; the oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make their clay creator the vain title take of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: these are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, they melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar alike the armada's pride or spoils of trafalgar. thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee-- assyria, greece, rome, carthage, what are they? thy waters washed them power while they were free, and many a tyrant since; their shores obey the stranger, slave, or savage; their decay has dried up realms to deserts: not so, thou; unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play. time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow; such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. thou glorious mirror, where the almighty's form glasses itself in tempests; in all time, calm or convulsed--in breeze or gale or storm, icing the pole, or in the torrid clime, dark-heaving, boundless, endless and sublime-- the image of eternity--the throne of the invisible; even from out thy slime the monsters of the deep are made; each zone obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. and i have loved thee, ocean! and my joy of youthful sports was on thy breast to be borne, like thy bubbles onward: from a boy i wantoned with thy breakers; they to me were a delight; and, if the freshening sea made them a terror--'twas a pleasing fear; for i was as it were a child of thee and trusted to thy billows far and near, and laid my hand upon thy mane--as i do here. byron: "childe harold's pilgrimage." britain's myriad voices call "sons be welded each and all, into one imperial whole, one with britain, heart and soul! one life, one flag, one fleet, one throne!" britons, hold your own! tennyson [illustration: homeward bound] pontiac's attempt to capture fort detroit in the year , a celebrated chief of the ottawas, called pontiac, succeeded in forming a confederacy of the ottawas, hurons, chippewas, and some other tribes, with the avowed object of expelling the british from the lake regions of the country. with the craftiness peculiar to the indian race, an ingenious stratagem was devised, by means of which it was hoped that the allies would easily gain possession of the forts. for this purpose a grand lacrosse match was organized at each post, and the officers of the garrison invited to become participators in the game. pontiac and his attendant chiefs had, while the warriors and braves were engaged in the game of lacrosse on the common, sought an audience of the governor of the fort. he received them in the mess-room, apparently not suspecting any artifice on their part. "the pale warrior, the friend of the ottawa chief, is not here," said the governor, as he glanced his eye along the semi-circle of indians. "how is this? is his voice still sick, that he cannot come? or has the great chief of the ottawas forgotten to tell him?" "the voice of the pale warrior is still sick, and he cannot speak," replied the indian. "the ottawa chief is very sorry; for the tongue of his friend, the pale-face, is full of wisdom." scarcely had the last words escaped his lips when a wild, shrill cry from without the fort rang on the ears of the assembled council, and caused a momentary commotion among the officers. it arose from a single voice, and that voice could not be mistaken by any who had heard it once before. a second or two, during which the officers and chiefs kept their eyes intently fixed on one another, passed anxiously away; and then nearer to the gate, apparently on the very drawbridge itself, was pealed forth the wild and deafening yell of a legion of fiendish voices. at that sound, the ottawa and the other chiefs sprang to their feet, and their own fierce cry responded to that yet vibrating on the ears of all. already were their gleaming tomahawks brandished wildly over their heads, and pontiac had even bounded a pace forward to reach the governor with the deadly weapon, when, at the sudden stamping of the foot of the latter upon the floor, the scarlet cloth in the rear was thrown aside, and twenty soldiers, their eyes glancing along the barrels of their levelled muskets, met the startled gaze of the astonished indians. an instant was enough to satisfy the keen chief of the true state of the case. the calm, composed mien of the officers, not one of whom had even attempted to quit his seat amid the din by which his ears were so alarmingly assailed,--the triumphant, yet dignified, and even severe expression of the governor's countenance; and, above all, the unexpected presence of the prepared soldiery,--all these at once assured him of the discovery of his treachery, and the danger that awaited him. the necessity for an immediate attempt to join his warriors without was now obvious to the ottawa; and scarcely had he conceived the idea before he sought to execute it. in a single spring he gained the door of the mess-room, and, followed eagerly and tumultuously by the other chiefs, to whose departure no opposition was offered, in the next moment stood on the steps of the piazza that ran along the front of the building whence he had issued. the surprise of the indians on reaching this point was now too powerful to be dissembled; and incapable either of advancing or receding, they remained gazing on the scene before them with an air of mingled stupefaction, rage, and alarm. scarcely ten minutes had elapsed since they had proudly strode through the naked area of the fort, and yet even in that short space of time its appearance had been entirely changed. not a part was there now of the surrounding buildings that was not replete with human life and hostile preparation. through every window of the officers' low rooms was to be seen the dark and frowning muzzle of a field-piece bearing upon the gateway, and behind these were artillerymen holding their lighted matches, supported again by files of bayonets that glittered in their rear. in the block-houses the same formidable array of field-pieces and muskets was visible; while from the four angles of the square as many heavy guns, that had been artfully masked at the entrance of the chiefs, seemed ready to sweep away everything that should come before them. the guard-room near the gate presented the same hostile front. the doors of this, as well as of the other buildings, had been firmly secured within; and from every window affording cover to the troops gleamed a line of bayonets, rising above the threatening field-pieces, pointed, at a distance of little more than twelve feet, directly upon the gateway. in addition to his musket, each man of the guard held a hand grenade, provided with a short fuse that could be ignited in a moment from the matches of the gunners, with immediate effect. the soldiers in the block-houses were similarly provided. almost magical as was the change thus suddenly effected in the appearance of the garrison, it was not the most interesting feature in the exciting scene. choking up the gateway, in which they were completely wedged, and crowding the drawbridge, a dense mass of "husky" indians were to be seen casting their fierce glances around, yet paralyzed in their movements by the unlooked-for display of resisting force, threatening instant annihilation to those who should attempt either to advance or recede. never, perhaps, were astonishment and disappointment more forcibly depicted on the human countenance, than they were now exhibited by these men, who had already in imagination secured to themselves an easy conquest. they were the warriors who had so recently been engaged in the manly yet innocent exercise of the ball; but, instead of the harmless hurdle, each now carried a short gun in one hand and a gleaming tomahawk in the other. after the first general yelling heard in the council-room, not a sound was uttered. their burst of rage and triumph had evidently been checked by the unexpected manner of their reception; and they now stood on the spot on which the further advance of each had been arrested, so silent and motionless, that, but for the rolling of their dark eyes, as they keenly measured the insurmountable barriers that were opposed to their progress, they might almost have been taken for a wild group of statuary. conspicuous at the head of these was he who wore the blanket; a tall warrior on whom rested the startled eye of every officer and soldier who was so situated as to behold him. his face was painted black as death; and as he stood under the arch of the gateway, with his white turbaned head towering far above those of his companions, this formidable and mysterious enemy might have been likened to the spirit of darkness presiding over his terrible legions. in order to account for the extraordinary appearance of the indians, armed in every way for death, at a moment when neither gun nor tomahawk was apparently within miles of their reach, it was necessary to revert to the first entrance of the chiefs into the fort. the fall of pontiac had been the effect of design; and the yell pealed forth by him, on recovering his feet, as if in taunting reply to the laugh of his comrades, was in reality a signal intended for the guidance of the indians without. these now following up their game with increasing spirit, at once changed the direction of their line, bringing the ball nearer to the fort. in their eagerness to effect this object, they had overlooked the gradual secession of the unarmed troops, spectators of their sport from the ramparts, until scarcely more than twenty stragglers were left. as they neared the gate, the squaws broke up their several groups, and, forming a line on either hand of the road leading to the drawbridge, appeared to separate solely with a view not to impede the players. for an instant a dense group collected around the ball, which had been drawn to within a hundred yards of the gate, and fifty hurdles were crossed in their endeavour to secure it, when the warrior, who formed the solitary exception to the multitude, in his blanket covering, and who had been lingering in the extreme rear of the party, came rapidly up to the spot where the well-affected struggle was maintained. at his approach the hurdles of the other players were withdrawn, when, at a single blow from his powerful arm, the ball was seen flying in an oblique direction and was for a moment lost altogether to the view. when it again met the eye, it was descending into the very centre of the fort. with the fleetness of thought now commenced a race which had ostensibly for its object the recovery of the lost ball, and in which he who had driven it with resistless force outstripped them all. their course lay between the two lines of squaws; and scarcely had the head of the bounding indians reached the opposite extremity of those lines, when the women suddenly threw back their blankets, and disclosed each a short gun and tomahawk. to throw away their hurdles and seize upon these, was the work of an instant. already, in imagination, was the fort their own; and, such, was the peculiar exaltation of the black and turbaned warrior when he felt the planks of the drawbridge bending beneath his feet, all the ferocious joy of his soul was pealed forth in the terrible cry which, rapidly succeeded by that of the other indians, had resounded so fearfully through the council-room. what their disappointment was, when, on gaining the interior, they found the garrison prepared for their reception, has already been shown. major richardson my native land breathes there the 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 burned, as home his footsteps he hath turned, from wandering 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, unhonoured, and unsung. scott: "the lay of the last minstrel." morning on the lievre far above us where a jay screams his matins to the day, capped with gold and amethyst, like a vapour from the forge of a giant somewhere hid, out of hearing of the clang of his hammer, skirts of mist slowly up the woody gorge lift and hang. softly as a cloud we go, sky above and sky below, down the river; and the dip of the paddles scarcely breaks, with the little silvery drip of the water as it shakes from the blades, the crystal deep of the silence of the morn, of the forest yet asleep; and the river reaches borne in a mirror, purple gray, sheer away to the misty line of light, where the forest and the stream in the shadow meet and plight, like a dream. from amid a stretch of reeds, where the lazy river sucks all the water as it bleeds from a little curling creek, and the muskrats peer and sneak in around the sunken wrecks of a tree that swept the skies long ago, on a sudden seven ducks with a splashy rustle rise, stretching out their seven necks, one before, and two behind, and the others all arow, and as steady as the wind with a swivelling whistle go, through the purple shadow led, till we only hear their whir in behind a rocky spur, just ahead. archibald lampman i call, therefore, a complete and generous education, that which fits a man to perform justly, skilfully, and magnanimously, all the offices, both private and public, of peace and war. milton: "on education." evening from upland slopes i see the cows file by, lowing, great-chested, down the homeward trail, by dusking fields and meadows shining pale with moon-tipped dandelions. flickering high, a peevish night-hawk in the western sky beats up into the lucent solitudes, or drops with griding wing. the stilly woods grow dark and deep and gloom mysteriously. cool night winds creep, and whisper in mine ear, the homely cricket gossips at my feet, from far-off pools and wastes of reeds i hear, clear and soft-piped, the chanting frogs break sweet in full pandean chorus. one by one shine out the stars, and the great night comes on. archibald lampman for manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal nature and of noble mind. tennyson an elizabethan seaman some two miles above the port of dartmouth, once among the most important harbours in england, on a projecting angle of land which runs out into the river at the head of one of its most beautiful reaches, there has stood for some centuries the manor house of greenaway. the water runs deep all the way to it from the sea, and the largest vessels may ride with safety within a stone's throw of the windows. in the latter half of the sixteenth century there must have met, in the hall of this mansion, a party as remarkable as could have been found anywhere in england. humfrey and adrian gilbert, with their half-brother, walter raleigh, here, when little boys, played at sailors in the reaches of long stream, in the summer evenings doubtless rowing down with the tide to the port, and wondering at the quaint figure-heads and carved prows of the ships which thronged it; or climbing on board, and listening, with hearts beating, to the mariners' tales of the new earth beyond the sunset. and here in later life, matured men, whose boyish dreams had become heroic action, they used again to meet in the intervals of quiet, and the rock is shown underneath the house where raleigh smoked the first tobacco. another remarkable man could not fail to have made a fourth at these meetings. a sailor-boy of sandwich, the adjoining parish, john davis, showed early a genius which could not have escaped the eye of such neighbours, and in the atmosphere of greenaway he learned to be as noble as the gilberts, and as tender and delicate as raleigh. in john davis left dartmouth on his first voyage into the polar seas; and twice subsequently he went again, venturing in small, ill-equipped vessels of thirty or forty tons into the most dangerous seas. these voyages were as remarkable for their success as for the daring with which they were accomplished, and davis' epitaph is written on the map of the world, where his name still remains to commemorate his discoveries. brave as he was, he is distinguished by a peculiar and exquisite sweetness of nature, which, from many little facts of his life, seems to have affected every one with whom he came in contact in a remarkable degree. we find men, for the love of master davis, leaving their firesides to sail with him, without other hope or motion; we find silver bullets cast to shoot him in a mutiny; the hard, rude natures of the mutineers being awed by something in his carriage which was not like that of a common man. he has written the account of one of his northern voyages himself; and there is an imaginative beauty in it, and a rich delicacy of expression, which is called out in him by the first sight of strange lands and things and people. we have only space to tell something of the conclusion of his voyage north. in latitude sixty-three degrees, he fell in with a barrier of ice, which he coasted for thirteen days without finding an opening. the very sight of an iceberg was new to all his crew; and the ropes and shrouds, though it was midsummer, becoming compassed with ice,-- "the people began to fall sick and faint-hearted--whereupon, very orderly, and with good discretion, they entreated me to regard the safety of mine own life, as well as the preservation of theirs; and that i should not, through over-boldness, leave their widows and fatherless children to give me bitter curses. "whereupon, seeking counsel of god, it pleased his divine majesty to move my heart to prosecute that which i hope shall be to his glory and to the contentation of every christian mind." he had two vessels--one of some burden, the other a pinnace of thirty tons. the result of the counsel which he had sought was, that he made over his own large vessel to such as wished to return, and himself, "thinking it better to die with honour than to return with infamy," went on with such volunteers as would follow him, in a poor leaky cutter, up the sea now in commemoration of that adventure called davis' strait. he ascended four degrees north of the furthest known point, among storms and icebergs, when the long days and twilight nights alone saved him from being destroyed, and, coasting back along the american shore, he discovered hudson strait, supposed then to be the long desired entrance into the pacific. this exploit drew the attention of walsingham, and by him davis was presented to burleigh, "who was also pleased to show him great encouragement." if either these statesmen or elizabeth had been twenty years younger, his name would have filled a larger space in history than a small corner of the map of the world; but, if he was employed at all in the last years of the century, no _vates sacer_ has been found to celebrate his work, and no clew is left to guide us. he disappears; a cloud falls over him. he is known to have commanded trading vessels in the eastern seas, and to have returned five times from india. but the details are all lost, and accident has only parted the clouds for a moment to show us the mournful setting with which he, too, went down upon the sea. in taking out sir edward michellthorne to india, in , he fell in with a crew of japanese, whose ship had been burnt, drifting at sea, without provisions, in a leaky junk. he supposed them to be pirates, but he did not choose to leave them to so wretched a death, and took them on board; and in a few hours, watching their opportunity, they murdered him. as the fool dieth, so dieth the wise, and there is no difference; it was the chance of the sea, and the ill reward of a humane action--a melancholy end for such a man--like the end of a warrior, not dying epaminondas-like on the field of victory, but cut off in some poor brawl or ambuscade. but so it was with all these men. they were cut off in the flower of their days, and few of them laid their bones in the sepulchres of their fathers. they knew the service which they had chosen, and they did not ask the wages for which they had not laboured. life with them was no summer holiday, but a holy sacrifice offered up to duty, and what their master sent was welcome. beautiful is old age--beautiful is the slow-dropping mellow autumn of a rich, glorious summer. in the old man, nature has fulfilled her work; she loads him with her blessings; she fills him with the fruits of a well-spent life; and, surrounded by his children and his children's children, she rocks him softly away to a grave, to which he is followed with blessings. god forbid we should not call it beautiful. it is beautiful, but not the most beautiful. there is another life, hard, rough, and thorny, trodden with bleeding feet and aching brow; the life of which the cross is the symbol; a battle which no peace follows, this side the grave; which the grave gapes to finish, before the victory is won; and--strange that it should be so--this is the highest life of man. look back along the great names of history; there is none whose life has been other than this. they to whom it has been given to do the really highest work in this earth--whoever they are, jew or gentile, pagan or christian, warriors, legislators, philosophers, priests, poets, kings, slaves--one and all, their fate has been the same--the same bitter cup has been given them to drink. and so it was with the servants of england in the sixteenth century. their life was a long battle, either with the elements or with men; and it was enough for them to fulfil their work, and to pass away in the hour when god had nothing more to bid them do. froude: "short studies on great subjects." the sea-king's burial "my strength is failing fast," said the sea-king to his men; "i shall never sail the seas as a conqueror again. but while yet a drop remains of the life-blood in my veins, raise, o raise me from the bed; put the crown upon my head; put my good sword in my hand, and so lead me to the strand, where my ship at anchor rides steadily; if i cannot end my life in the crimsoned battle-strife, let me die as i have lived, on the sea." they have raised king balder up, put his crown upon his head; they have sheathed his limbs in mail, and the purple o'er him spread; and amid the greeting rude of a gathering multitude, borne him slowly to the shore-- all the energy of yore from his dim eyes flashing forth-- old sea-lion of the north-- as he looked upon his ship riding free, and on his forehead pale felt the cold, refreshing gale, and heard the welcome sound of the sea. they have borne him to the ship with a slow and solemn tread; they have placed him on the deck with his crown upon his head, where he sat as on a throne; and have left him there alone, with his anchor ready weighed and his snowy sails displayed to the favouring wind, once more blowing freshly from the shore; and have bidden him farewell tenderly, saying, "_king of mighty men, we shall meet thee yet again, in valhalla, with the monarchs of the sea_." underneath him in the hold they have placed the lighted brand; and the fire was burning slow as the vessel from the land, like a stag-hound from the slips, darted forth from out the ships. there was music in her sail as it swelled before the gale, and a dashing at her prow as it cleft the waves below, and the good ship sped along, scudding free; as on many a battle morn in her time she had been borne, to struggle and to conquer on the sea. and the king, with sudden strength, started up and paced the deck, with his good sword for his staff and his robe around his neck: once alone, he raised his hand to the people on the land; and with shout and joyous cry once again they made reply, till the loud, exulting cheer sounded faintly on his ear; for the gale was o'er him blowing fresh and free; and ere yet an hour had passed, he was driven before the blast, and a storm was on his path on the sea. "so blow, ye tempests, blow, and my spirit shall not quail: i have fought with many a foe, i have weathered many a gale; and in this hour of death, ere i yield my fleeting breath-- ere the fire now burning slow shall come rushing from below, and this worn and wasted frame be devoted to the flame-- i will raise my voice in triumph, singing free;-- to the great all-father's home i am driving through the foam, i am sailing to valhalla, o'er the sea. "so blow, ye stormy winds-- and, ye flames, ascend on high;-- in the easy, idle bed let the slave and coward die! but give me the driving keel, clang of shields and flashing steel; happy, happy, thus i'd yield, on the deck or in the field, my last breath, shouting: 'on to victory.' but since this has been denied, they shall say that i have died without flinching, like a monarch of the sea." and balder spoke no more, and no sound escaped his lip;-- neither recked he of the roar, the destruction of his ship, nor the fleet sparks mounting high, nor the glare upon the sky; scarcely heard the billows dash, nor the burning timber crash: scarcely felt the scorching heat that was gathering at his feet, nor the fierce flames mounting o'er him greedily. but the life was in him yet, and the courage to forget all his pain, in his triumph on the sea. once alone a cry arose, half of anguish, half of pride, as he sprang upon his feet with the flames on every side. "i am coming!" said the king, "where the swords and bucklers ring-- where the warrior lives again with the souls of mighty men-- i am coming, great all-father, unto thee! unto odin, unto thor, and the strong, true hearts of yore-- i am coming to valhalla, o'er the sea." charles mackay reading enables us to see with the keenest eyes, to hear with the finest ears, and listen to the sweetest voices of all time. lowell my castles in spain i am the owner of great estates. many of them lie in the west, but the greater part in spain. you may see my western possessions any evening at sunset when their spires and battlements flash against the horizon. but my finest castles are in spain. it is a country famously romantic, and my castles are all of perfect proportions and appropriately set in the most picturesque situations. i have never been in spain myself, but i have naturally conversed much with travellers to that country; although, i must allow, without deriving from them much substantial information about my property there. the wisest of them told me that there were more holders of real estate in spain than in any other region he had ever heard of, and they are all great proprietors. every one of them possesses a multitude of the stateliest castles. it is remarkable that none of the proprietors have ever been to spain to take possession and report to the rest of us the state of our property there, and it is not easy for me to say how i know so much about my castles in spain. the sun always shines upon them. they stand lofty and fair in a luminous, golden atmosphere, a little hazy and dreamy, perhaps, like the indian summer, but in which no gales blow and there are no tempests. all the sublime mountains and beautiful valleys and soft landscapes that i have not yet seen are to be found in the grounds. i have often wondered how i should reach my castles. i have inquired very particularly, but nobody seemed to know the way. it occurred to me that bourne, the millionaire, must have ascertained the safest and most expeditious route to spain; so i stole a few minutes one afternoon and went into his office. he was sitting at his desk, writing rapidly, and surrounded by files of papers and patterns, specimens, boxes,--everything that covers the tables of a great merchant. "a moment, please, mr. bourne." he looked up hastily, and wished me good-morning, which courtesy i attributed to spanish sympathy. "what is it, sir?" he asked blandly, but with wrinkled brow. "mr. bourne, have you any castles in spain?" said i, without preface. he looked at me for a few moments, without speaking and without seeming to see me. his brow gradually smoothed, and his eyes apparently looking into the street were really, i have no doubt, feasting upon the spanish landscape. "too many, too many," said he, at length, musingly, shaking his head and without addressing me. he feared, i thought, that he had too much impracticable property elsewhere to own so much in spain: so i asked:-- "will you tell me what you consider the shortest and safest route thither, mr. bourne? for, of course, a man who drives such an immense trade with all parts of the world will know all that i have come to inquire." "my dear sir," answered he, wearily, "i have been trying all my life to discover it; but none of my ships have ever been there--none of my captains have any report to make. "they bring me, as they brought my father, gold-dust from guinea, ivory, pearls, and precious stones from every part of the earth; but not a fruit, not a solitary flower, from one of my castles in spain. "i have sent clerks, agents, and travellers of all kinds, philosophers, pleasure hunters, and invalids, in all sorts of ships, to all sorts of places, but none of them ever saw or heard of my castles, except a young poet, and he died in a madhouse." "mr. bourne, will you take five thousand at ninety-seven?" hastily demanded a man whom, as he entered, i recognized as a broker. "we'll make a splendid thing of it." bourne nodded assent, and the broker disappeared. "happy man!" muttered the merchant, as the broker went out; "he has no castles in spain." "i am sorry to have troubled you, mr. bourne," said i, retiring. "i'm glad you came," returned he; "but, i assure you, had i known the route you hoped to ascertain from me i should have sailed years and years ago. people sail for the northwest passage, which is nothing when you have found it. why don't the english admiralty fit out expeditions to discover all our castles in spain?" yet i dream my dreams and attend to my castles in spain. i have so much property there that i could not in conscience neglect it. all the years of my youth and hopes of my manhood are stored away, like precious stones, in the vaults; and i know that i shall find everything elegant, beautiful, and convenient when i come into possession. as the years go by, i am not conscious that my interest diminishes. shall i tell a secret? shall i confess that sometimes when i have been sitting reading to my prue "cymbeline," perhaps, or a "canterbury tale," i have seemed to see clearly before me the broad highway to my castles in spain, and, as she looked up from her work and smiled in sympathy, i have even fancied that i was already there? george william curtis: "prue and i." (adapted) aladdin when i was a beggarly boy and lived in a cellar damp, i had not a friend or a toy, but i had aladdin's lamp; when i could not sleep for cold, i had fire enough in my brain, and builded with roofs of gold my beautiful castles in spain! since then i have toiled day and night, i have money and power good store, but i'd give all my lamps of silver bright for the one that is mine no more; take, fortune, whatever you choose, you gave, and may snatch again; i have nothing 'twould pain me to lose, for i own no more castles in spain! lowell drake's voyage round the world francis drake was born near tavistock in the year . he served his time as an apprentice in a channel coaster, and his master, who had been struck with his character, left the vessel to him in his will when he died. he was then twenty-one. his kinsman, john hawkins, was fitting out his third expedition to the spanish main, and young drake, with a party of his kentish friends, went to plymouth and joined him. in "he made himself whole with the spaniards" by seizing a convoy of bullion at panama, and on that occasion, having seen the south pacific from the mountains, "he fell on his knees and prayed god that he might one day navigate those waters," which no english keel as yet had furrowed. the time and the opportunity had come. he was now in the prime of his strength, thirty-two years old, of middle height, with crisp brown hair, a broad high forehead; gray, steady eyes, unusually long; small ears tight to the head; the mouth and chin slightly concealed by the moustache and beard, but hard, inflexible, and fierce. his dress, as he appears in his portrait, is a loose, dark, seaman's shirt, belted at the waist. about his neck is a plaited cord with a ring attached to it, in which, as if the attitude was familiar, one of his fingers is slung, displaying a small, delicate, but long and sinewy hand. when at sea he wore a scarlet cap with a gold band, and was exacting in the respect with which he required to be treated by his crew. such was francis drake when he stood on the deck of the pelican in plymouth harbour, in november, . the squadron, with which he was preparing to sail into a chartless ocean and invade the dominions of the king of spain, consisted of his own ship, of a hundred and twenty tons, the size of the smallest class of our modern channel schooners, two barques of fifty and thirty tons each, a second ship as it was called, the elizabeth, of eighty tons, not larger than a common revenue cutter, and a pinnace, hardly more than a boat, intended to be burnt if it could not bear the seas. these vessels, with a hundred and sixty-four men, composed the force. the object of the expedition was kept as far as possible secret. on the fifteenth of november the expedition sailed from plymouth sound. the vessels struck across the atlantic and made the coast of south america on the fifth of april in latitude thirty-three degrees south. the perils of the voyage were now about to commence. no englishman had as yet passed magellan's strait. cape horn was unknown. tierra del fuego was supposed to be part of a solid continent which stretched unbroken to the antarctic pole. a single narrow channel was the only access to the pacific then believed to exist. there were no charts, no records of past experiences. it was known that magellan had gone through, but that was all. it was the wildest and coldest season of the year, and the vessels in which the attempt was to be made were mere cockle-shells. they were taken on shore, overhauled and scoured, the rigging looked to, and the sails new bent. on the seventeenth of august, answering to the february of the northern hemisphere, all was once more in order. drake sailed from port st. julian, and on the twentieth entered the strait and felt his way between the walls of mountain "in extreme cold with frost and cold continually." to relieve the crews, who were tried by continual boat work and heaving the lead in front of the ships, they were allowed occasional halts at the islands, where they amused and provisioned themselves with killing infinite seals and penguins. everything which they saw, birds, beasts, trees, climate, country, were strange, wild, and wonderful. after three weeks' toil and anxiety, they had accomplished the passage and found themselves in the open pacific. but they found also that it was no peaceful ocean into which they had entered, but the stormiest they had ever encountered. their vessels were now reduced to three; the pinnace had been left behind at port st. julian, and there remained only the pelican, the elizabeth, and the thirty-ton cutter. instantly that they emerged out of the strait, they were caught in a gale which swept them six hundred miles to the south-west. for six weeks they were battered to and fro, in bitter cold and winds which seemed as if they blew in these latitudes for ever. the cutter went down in the fearful seas, carrying her crew with her. the elizabeth and the pelican were separated. the bravest sailor might well have been daunted at such a commencement, and winter, recovering the opening again and, believing drake to be lost, called a council in his cabin and proposed to return to england. they had agreed to meet, if they were parted, on the coast in the latitude of valparaiso. the men, with better heart than their commander, desired to keep the appointment. but those terrible weeks had sickened winter. he overruled the opinions of the rest, re-entered the strait, and reached england in the following june. drake, meanwhile, had found shelter among the islands of tierra del fuego. at length spring brought fair winds and smooth seas, and running up the coast and looking about for her consort, the pelican or golden hind--for she had both names--fell in with an indian fisherman, who informed drake that in the harbour of valparaiso, already a small spanish settlement, there lay a great galleon which had come from peru. galleons were the fruit that he was in search of. he sailed in, and the spanish seamen, who had never yet seen a stranger in those waters, ran up their flags, beat their drums, and prepared a banquet for their supposed countrymen. the pelican shot up alongside. the english sailors leaped on board, and one "thomas moore," a lad from plymouth, began the play with knocking down the first man that he met, saluting him in spanish as he fell, and crying out "down, dog." the spaniards, overwhelmed with surprise, began to cross and bless themselves. one sprang overboard and swam ashore; the rest were bound and stowed away under the hatches while the ship was rifled. the beginning was not a bad one. wedges of gold were found weighing four hundred pounds, besides miscellaneous plunder. the settlement, which was visited next, was less productive, for the inhabitants had fled, taking their valuables with them. at arica, the port of potosi, fifty-seven blocks of precious metal were added to the store; and from thence they made haste to lima, where the largest booty was looked for. they found that they had just missed it. twelve ships lay at anchor in the port without arms, without crews, and with their sails on shore. in all of these they discovered but a few chests of reals and some bales of silk and linen. a thirteenth, called by the seamen the cacafuego, but christened in her baptism "our lady of the conception," had sailed for the isthmus a few days before, taking with her all the bullion which the mines had yielded for the season. she had been literally ballasted with silver, and carried also several precious boxes of gold and jewels. not a moment was lost. the cables of the ships at lima were cut, and they were left to drive on shore to prevent pursuit; and then away sped the pelican due north, with every stitch of her canvas spread. a gold chain was promised to the first man who caught sight of the cacafuego. a sail was seen the second day of the chase: it was not the vessel which they were in pursuit of, but the prize was worth the having. they took eighty pounds' weight of gold in wedges, the purest which they yet had seen. for eight hundred miles the pelican flew on. at length, one degree to the north of the line, off quito, and close to the shore, a look-out on the mast-head cried out that he saw the chase and claimed the promised chain; she was recognized by the peculiarities in her sails, of which they had received exact information at lima. there lay the cacafuego; if they could take her their work would be done, and they might go home in triumph. she was several miles ahead of them; if she guessed their character, she would run in under the land, and they might lose her. it was afternoon: several hours remained of daylight, and drake did not wish to come up with her till dark. the pelican sailed two feet to the cacafuego's one, and dreading that her speed might rouse suspicion, he filled his empty wine casks with water and trailed them astern. the chase meanwhile unsuspecting, and glad of company on a lonely voyage, slackened sail and waited for her slow pursuer. the sun sank low, and at last set into the ocean, and then, when both ships had become invisible from the land, the casks were hoisted in, the pelican was restored to her speed, and shooting up within a cable's length of the cacafuego, hailed to her to run into the wind. the spanish commander, not understanding the meaning of such an order, paid no attention to it. the next moment the corsair opened her ports, fired a broadside, and brought his main-mast about his ears. his decks were cleared by a shower of arrows, with one of which he was himself wounded. in a few minutes more he was a prisoner, and his ship and all that it contained was in the hands of the english. the wreck was cut away, the ship cleared, and her head turned to the sea; by daybreak even the line of the andes had become invisible, and at leisure, in the open ocean, the work of rifling began. the full value of the plunder taken in this ship was never actually confessed. it remained a secret between drake and the queen. in a schedule afterwards published, he acknowledged to have found in the cacafuego alone twenty-six tons of silver bullion, thirteen chests of coined silver, and almost a hundredweight of gold. but this was only so much as the spaniards could prove to have been on board. drake imagined, like most other english seamen, that there was a passage to the north corresponding to magellan's strait, of which frobisher conceived that he had found the eastern entrance. he went on therefore at his leisure towards the coast of mexico, intending to follow the shore till he found it. another ship coming from china crossed him on his way loaded with silks and porcelain. he took the best of the freight with a golden falcon and a superb emerald. then needing fresh water he touched at the spanish settlement of guatulco. the work of plunder was nearly over. again sailing north, the pelican fell in with a spanish nobleman who was going out as governor to the philippines. he was detained a few hours and relieved of his finery, and then, says one of the party: "our general, thinking himself both in respect of his private injuries received from the spaniards, as also their contempt and indignities offered to our country and prince in general, sufficiently satisfied and revenged, and supposing her majesty would rest contented with this service, began to consider the best way for his country." the first necessity was a complete repair of the pelican's hull. before the days of copper sheathing, the ships' bottoms grew foul with weed; the great barnacles formed in clusters and stopped their speed, and the sea-worms bored holes into the planking. twenty thousand miles of unknown water lay between drake and plymouth sound, and he was not a man to run idle risks. running on till he had left the furthest spanish station far to the south, he put into the bay of canoa in lower california. there he laid his ship on shore, set up forge and workshop, and refitted her with a month's labour from stem to stern. by the sixteenth of april, , the pelican was once more in order, and started on her northern course in search of the expected passage. she held on up the coast for eight hundred miles into latitude forty-three degrees north, but no signs appeared of an opening. though it was summer the air grew colder, and the crew having been long in the tropics suffered from the change. not caring to run risks in exploring with so precious a cargo, and finding by observation that the passage, if it existed, must be of enormous length, drake resolved to go no further, and expecting, as proved to be the case, that the spaniards would be on the look-out for him at magellan's strait, he determined on the alternative route by the cape of good hope. the portuguese had long traded with china. in the ship going to the philippines he had found a portuguese chart of the indian archipelago, and with the help of this and his own skill he trusted to find his way. at the little island of ternate, south of the celebes, the ship was again docked and scraped. the crew were allowed another month's rest, when they feasted their eyes on the marvels of tropical life, then first revealed to them in their luxuriance--vampires "as large as hens," crayfish a foot round, and fireflies lighting the midnight forest. starting once more, they had now to feel their way among the rocks and shoals of the most dangerous waters in the world. they crept round celebes among coral reefs and low islands scarcely visible above the water-line. the malacca straits formed the only route marked in the portuguese chart, and between drake and his apparent passage lay the java sea and the channel between borneo and sumatra. but it was not impossible that there might be some other opening, and the pelican crawled in search of it along the java coast. here, if nowhere else, her small size and manageableness were in her favour. in spite of all the care that was taken, she was almost lost. one evening as the black tropical night was closing, a grating sound was heard under her keel: another moment she was hard and fast upon an invisible reef. the breeze was light and the water calm, or the world would have heard no more of francis drake and the pelican. she lay immovable till morning; "we were out of all hope to escape danger," but with the daylight the position was seen not to be utterly desperate. "our general, then as always, showed himself most courageous, and of good confidence in the mercy and protection of god; and as he would not seem to perish wilfully, so he and we did our best endeavour to save ourselves, and in the end cleared ourselves of that danger." the pelican had no more adventures; and sweeping in clear fine weather close to the cape of good hope, and touching for water at sierra leone, she sailed in triumph into plymouth harbour in the beginning of october, having marked a furrow with her keel round the globe. froude: "history of england." (adapted) who, if he rise to station of command, rises by open means; and there will stand on honourable terms, or else retire, and in himself possess his own desire; who comprehends his trust, and to the same keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; and therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait for wealth, or honours, or for worldly state: whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, like showers of manna, if they come at all. wordsworth: "the happy warrior." the solitary reaper behold her, single in the field, yon solitary highland lass! reaping and singing by herself; stop here, or gently pass! alone she cuts and binds the grain, and sings a melancholy strain; o listen! for the vale profound is overflowing with the sound. no nightingale did ever chaunt more welcome notes to weary bands of travellers in some shady haunt among arabian sands: a voice so thrilling ne'er was heard in spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, breaking the silence of the seas among the farthest hebrides. will no one tell me what she sings?-- perhaps the plaintive numbers flow for old, unhappy, far-off things, and battles long ago: or is it some more humble lay, familiar matter of to-day? some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, that has been, and may be again? whate'er the theme, the maiden sang as if her song could have no ending; i saw her singing at her work, and o'er the sickle bending;-- i listened, motionless and still; and, as i mounted up the hill, the music in my heart i bore long after it was heard no more. wordsworth clouds, rains, and rivers every occurrence in nature is preceded by other occurrences which are its causes, and succeeded by others which are its effects. the human mind is not satisfied with observing and studying any natural occurrence alone, but takes pleasure in connecting every natural fact with what has gone before it, and with what is to come after it. thus, when we enter upon the study of rivers, our interest will be greatly increased by taking into account, not only their actual appearances but also their causes and effects. let us trace a river to its source. beginning where it empties itself into the sea, and following it backwards, we find it from time to time joined by tributaries which swell its waters. the river, of course, becomes smaller as these tributaries are passed. it shrinks first to a brook, then to a stream; this again divides itself into a number of smaller streamlets, ending in mere threads of water. these constitute the source of the river, and are usually found among hills. thus, the severn has its source in the welsh mountains; the thames in the cotswold hills; the rhine and the rhone in the alps; the missouri in the rocky mountains; and the amazon in the andes of peru. but it is quite plain, that we have not yet reached the real beginning of the rivers. whence do the earliest streams derive their water? a brief residence among the mountains would prove to you that they are fed by rains. in dry weather you would find the streams feeble, sometimes indeed quite dried up. in wet weather you would see them foaming torrents. in general these streams lose themselves as little threads of water upon the hillsides; but sometimes you may trace a river to a definite spring. you may, however, very soon assure yourself that such springs are also fed by rain, which has percolated through the rocks or soil, and which, through some orifice that it has found or formed, comes to the light of day. but we cannot end here. whence comes the rain which forms the mountain streams? observation enables you to answer the question. rain does not come from a clear sky. it comes from clouds. but what are clouds? is there nothing you are acquainted with, which they resemble? you discover at once a likeness between them and the condensed steam of a locomotive. at every puff of the engine, a cloud is projected into the air. watch the cloud sharply: you notice that it first forms at a little distance from the top of the funnel. give close attention, and you will sometimes see a perfectly clear space between the funnel and the cloud. through that clear space the thing which makes the cloud must pass. what, then, is this thing which at one moment is transparent and invisible, and at the next moment visible as a dense opaque cloud? it is the _steam_ or _vapour of water_ from the boiler. within the boiler this steam is transparent and invisible; but to keep it in this invisible state a heat would be required as great as that within the boiler. when the vapour mingles with the cold air above the hot funnel, it ceases to be vapour. every bit of steam shrinks, when chilled, to a much more minute particle of water. the liquid particles thus produced form a kind of _water-dust_ of exceeding fineness, which floats in the air, and is called a _cloud_. watch the cloud-banner from the funnel of a running locomotive; you see it growing gradually less dense. it finally melts away altogether; and if you continue your observations, you will not fail to notice that the speed of its disappearance depends upon the character of the day. in humid weather the cloud hangs long and lazily in the air; in dry weather it is rapidly licked up. what has become of it? it has been reconverted into true invisible vapour. the _drier_ the air, and the _hotter_ the air, the greater is the amount of cloud which can be thus dissolved in it. when the cloud first forms, its quantity is far greater than the air is able to maintain in an invisible state. but, as the cloud mixes gradually with a larger mass of air, it is more and more dissolved, and finally passes altogether from the condition of a finely-divided liquid into that of transparent vapour or gas. make the lid of a kettle air-tight, and permit the steam to issue from the spout; a cloud is formed in all respects similar to that issuing from the funnel of the locomotive. to produce the cloud, in the case of the locomotive and the kettle, _heat_ is necessary. by heating the water we first convert it into steam, and then by chilling the steam we convert it into cloud. is there any fire in nature which produces the clouds of our atmosphere? there is: the fire of the sun. when the sunbeams fall upon the earth, they heat it, and also the water which lies on its surface, whether it be in large bodies, such as seas or rivers, or in the form of moisture. the water being thus warmed, a part of it is given off in the form of aqueous vapour, just as invisible vapour passes off from a boiler when the water in it is heated by fire. this vapour mingles with the air in contact with the earth. the vapour-charged air, being heated by the warm earth, expands, becomes lighter, and rises. it expands also, as it rises, because the pressure of the air above it becomes less and less with the height it attains. but an expanding body always becomes colder as the result of its expansion. thus the vapour-laden air is chilled by its expansion. it is also chilled by coming in contact with the colder, higher air. the consequence is that the invisible vapour which it contains is chilled, and forms into tiny water-drops, like the steam from a kettle or the funnel of the locomotive. and so, as the air rises and becomes colder, the vapour gathers into visible masses, which we call clouds. this ascending moist air might become chilled, too, by meeting with a current of cold, dry air, and then clouds would be formed; and should this chilling process continue in either case until the water-drops become heavier than the surrounding air, they would fall to the earth as raindrops. rain is, therefore, but a further stage in the condensation of aqueous vapour caused by the chilling of the air. mountains also assist in the formation of clouds. when a wind laden with moisture strikes against a mountain, it is tilted and flows up its side. the air expands as it rises, the vapour is chilled and becomes visible in the form of clouds, and if sufficiently chilled, it comes down to the earth in the form of rain, hail, or snow. thus, by tracing a river backwards, from its end to its real beginning, we come at length to the sun; for it is the sun that produces aqueous vapour, from which, as we have seen, clouds are formed, and it is from clouds that water falls to the earth to become the sources of rivers. there are, however, rivers which have sources somewhat different from those just mentioned. they do not begin by driblets on a hillside, nor can they be traced to a spring. go, for example, to the mouth of the river rhone, and trace it backwards. you come at length to the lake of geneva, from which the river rushes, and which you might be disposed to regard as the source of the rhone. but go to the head of the lake, and you find that the rhone there enters it; that the lake is, in fact, an expansion of the river. follow this upwards; you find it joined by smaller rivers from the mountains right and left. pass these, and push your journey higher still. you come at length to a huge mass of ice--the end of a glacier--which fills the rhone valley, and from the bottom of the glacier the river rushes. in the glacier of the rhone you thus find the source of the river rhone. but whence come the glaciers? wherever lofty mountains, like the alps, rise into the high parts of the atmosphere where the temperature is below the freezing-point, the vapour condensed from the air falls upon them, not as rain, but as snow. in such high mountainous regions, the heat of the summer melts the snow from the lower hills, but the higher parts remain covered, for the heat cannot melt all the snow which falls there in a year. when a considerable depth of snow has accumulated, the pressure upon the lower layers squeezes them into a firm mass, and after a time the snow begins to slide down the slope of the mountain. it passes downward from one slope to another, joined continually by other sliding masses from neighbouring slopes, until they all unite into one long tongue, which creeps slowly down some valley to a point where it melts. this tongue from the snow-fields is called a glacier. without solar fire, therefore, we could have no atmospheric vapour, without vapour no clouds, without clouds no snow, and without snow no glaciers. curious then as the conclusion may be, the cold ice of the alps has its origin in this heat of the sun. tyndall: "the forms of water." (adapted) for what are men better than sheep or goats that nourish a blind life within the brain, if, knowing god, they lift not hands of prayer both for themselves and those who call them friend? tennyson fitz-james and roderick dhu the chief in silence strode before, and reached that torrent's sounding shore, which, daughter of three mighty lakes, from vennachar in silver breaks, sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines on bochastle the mouldering lines, where rome, the empress of the world, of yore her eagle wings unfurled. and here his course the chieftain staid, threw down his target and his plaid, and to the lowland warrior said-- "bold saxon! to his promise just, vich alpine has discharged his trust. this murderous chief, this ruthless man, this head of a rebellious clan, hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, far past clan-alpine's outmost guard. now, man to man, and steel to steel, a chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. see here, all vantageless i stand, armed, like thyself, with single brand: for this is coilantogle ford, and thou must keep thee with thy sword." the saxon paused:--"i ne'er delayed, when foeman bade me draw my blade; nay, more, brave chief, i vowed thy death: yet sure thy fair and generous faith, and my deep debt for life preserved, a better meed have well deserved: can nought but blood our feud atone? are there no means?"--"no, stranger, none; and hear,--to fire thy flagging zeal,-- the saxon cause rests on thy steel; for thus spoke fate, by prophet bred between the living and the dead: 'who spills the foremost foeman's life, his party conquers in the strife.'"-- "then, by my word," the saxon said, "the riddle is already read. seek yonder brake beneath the cliff,-- there lies red murdoch, stark and stiff. thus fate has solved her prophecy, then yield to fate, and not to me. to james, at stirling, let us go, when, if thou wilt be still his foe, or if the king shall not agree to grant thee grace and favour free, i plight mine honour, oath, and word, that, to thy native strengths restored, with each advantage shalt thou stand, that aids thee now to guard thy land." dark lightning flashed from roderick's eye-- "soars thy presumption, then, so high, because a wretched kern ye slew, homage to name to roderick dhu? he yields not, he, to man nor fate! thou add'st but fuel to my hate:-- my clansman's blood demands revenge. not yet prepared?--by heaven, i change my thought, and hold thy valour light as that of some vain carpet knight, who ill deserved my courteous care, and whose best boast is but to wear a braid of his fair lady's hair."-- "i thank thee, roderick, for the word! it nerves my heart, it steels my sword; for i have sworn this braid to stain in the best blood that warms thy vein. now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begone!-- yet think not that by thee alone, proud chief! can courtesy be shown; though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, start at my whistle clansmen stern, of this small horn one feeble blast would fearful odds against thee cast. but fear not--doubt not--which thou wilt-- we try this quarrel hilt to hilt."-- then each at once his falchion drew, each on the ground his scabbard threw, each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, as what they ne'er might see again; then foot, and point, and eye opposed, in dubious strife they darkly closed. ill fared it then with roderick dhu, that on the field his targe he threw, whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide had death so often dashed aside; for, trained abroad his arms to wield, fitz-james's blade was sword and shield. he practised every pass and ward, to thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; while less expert, though stronger far, the gael maintained unequal war. three times in closing strife they stood, and thrice the saxon blade drank blood; no stinted draught, no scanty tide, the gushing flood the tartans dyed. fierce roderick felt the fatal drain, and showered his blows like wintry rain; and, as firm rock, or castle-roof, against the winter shower is proof, the foe, invulnerable still, foiled his wild rage by steady skill; till, at advantage ta'en, his brand forced roderick's weapon from his hand, and backward borne upon the lea, brought the proud chieftain to his knee. "now, yield thee, or by him who made the world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"-- "thy threats, thy mercy, i defy! let recreant yield, who fears to die." --like adder darting from his coil, like wolf that dashes through the toil, like mountain-cat who guards her young, full at fitz-james's throat he sprung; received, but recked not of a wound, and locked his arms his foeman round.-- now, gallant saxon, hold thine own! no maiden's hand is round thee thrown! that desperate grasp thy frame might feel, through bars of brass and triple steel!-- they tug, they strain! down, down they go, the gael above, fitz-james below. the chieftain's gripe his throat compressed, his knee was planted on his breast; his clotted locks he backward threw, across his brow his hand he drew, from blood and mist to clear his sight, then gleamed aloft his dagger bright!-- --but hate and fury ill supplied the stream of life's exhausted tide, and all too late the advantage came, to turn the odds of deadly game; for, while the dagger gleamed on high, reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye, down came the blow! but in the heath the erring blade found bloodless sheath. the struggling foe may now unclasp the fainting chief's relaxing grasp; unwounded from the dreadful close, but breathless all, fitz-james arose. scott: "the lady of the lake." the indignation of nicholas nickleby ("nicholas nickleby" deals with the gross mismanagement of schools in yorkshire, england. squeers, a vulgar, crafty despot, is head of dotheboys hall. nicholas is an usher or undermaster in the school; smike, a little, friendless, starved pupil who has run away to escape from drudgery and harshness.) "he is off," said mrs. squeers. "the cow-house and stable are locked up, so he can't be there; and he's not down-stairs anywhere, for the girl has looked. he must have gone york way, and by a public road, too." "why must he?" inquired squeers. "stupid!" said mrs. squeers, angrily. "he hadn't any money, had he?" "never had a penny of his own in his whole life, that i know of," replied squeers. "to be sure," rejoined mrs. squeers, "and he didn't take anything to eat with him; that i'll answer for. ha! ha! ha!" "ha! ha! ha!" laughed squeers. "then, of course," said mrs. s., "he must beg his way, and he could do that nowhere but on the public road." "that's true," exclaimed squeers, clapping his hands. "true! yes; but you would never have thought of it for all that, if i hadn't said so," replied his wife. "now, if you take the chaise and go one road, and i borrow swallow's chaise and go the other, what with keeping our eyes open, and asking questions, one or other of us is pretty sure to lay hold of him." the worthy lady's plan was adopted and put in execution without a moment's delay. after a hasty breakfast, and the prosecution of some inquiries in the village, the result of which seemed to show that he was on the right track, squeers started forth in the pony-chaise, intent upon discovery and vengeance. shortly afterwards, mrs. squeers, arrayed in the white topcoat and tied up in various shawls and handkerchiefs, issued forth in another chaise in another direction, taking with her a good-sized bludgeon, several odd pieces of strong cord, and a stout labouring man; all provided and carried upon the expedition with the sole object of assisting in the capture, and (once caught) insuring the safe custody of the unfortunate smike. nicholas remained behind, in a tumult of feeling, sensible that whatever might be the upshot of the boy's flight, nothing but painful and deplorable consequences were likely to ensue from it. death, from want and exposure to the weather, was the best that could be expected from the protracted wanderings of so poor and helpless a creature, alone and unfriended, through a country of which he was wholly ignorant. there was little, perhaps, to choose between this fate and a return to the tender mercies of the yorkshire school: but the unhappy being had established a hold upon his sympathy and compassion, which made his heart ache at the prospect of the suffering he was destined to undergo. he lingered on in restless anxiety, picturing a thousand possibilities, until the evening of the next day when squeers returned alone and unsuccessful. "no news of the scamp!" said the schoolmaster, who had evidently been stretching his legs, on the old principle, not a few times during the journey. "i'll have consolation for this out of somebody, nickleby, if mrs. squeers don't hunt him down. so i give you fair warning." "it is not in my power to console you, sir," said nicholas. "it is nothing to me." "isn't it?" said squeers, in a threatening manner. "we shall see!" "we shall," rejoined nicholas. "here's the pony run right off his legs, and me obliged to come home with a hack cob, that'll cost fifteen shillings besides other expenses," said squeers; "who's to pay for that, do you hear?" nicholas shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. "i'll have it out of somebody, i tell you," said squeers, his usual harsh, crafty manner changed to open bullying. "none of your whining vapourings here, mr. puppy: but be off to your kennel, for it's past your bed-time! come, get out!" nicholas bit his lip and knit his hands involuntarily, for his finger ends tingled to avenge the insult; but remembering that the man was drunk, and that it could come to little but a noisy brawl, he contented himself with darting a contemptuous look at the tyrant and walked, as majestically as he could, upstairs, and sternly resolved that the outstanding account between himself and mr. squeers should be settled rather more speedily than the latter anticipated. another day came, and nicholas was scarcely awake when he heard the wheels of a chaise approaching the house. it stopped. the voice of mrs. squeers was heard, and in exultation, ordering a glass of spirits for somebody, which was in itself a sufficient sign that something extraordinary had happened. nicholas hardly dared to look out of the window; but he did so, and the very first object that met his eyes was the wretched smike; so bedabbled with mud and rain, so haggard and worn, and wild, that, but for his garments being such as no scarecrow was ever seen to wear, he might have been doubtful, even then, of his identity. "lift him out," said squeers, after he had literally feasted his eyes in silence upon the culprit. "bring him in; bring him in!" "take care," cried mrs. squeers, as her husband proffered his assistance. "we tied his legs under the apron and made 'em fast to the chaise, to prevent him giving us the slip again." with hands trembling with delight, squeers unloosed the cord; and smike, to all appearances more dead than alive, was brought into the house and securely locked up in a cellar, until such time as mr. squeers should deem it expedient to operate upon him, in the presence of the assembled school. the news that smike had been caught and brought back in triumph ran like wild fire through the hungry community, and expectation was on tiptoe all morning. on tiptoe it was destined to remain, however, until afternoon; when squeers, having refreshed himself with his dinner and further strengthened himself by an extra libation or so, made his appearance (accompanied by his amiable partner) with a countenance of portentous import, and a fearful instrument of flagellation, strong, supple, wax-ended, and new--in short, purchased that morning expressly for the occasion. "is every boy here?" asked squeers, in a tremendous voice. every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak; so squeers glared along the lines to assure himself; and every eye dropped, and every head cowered down, as he did so. "each boy keep his place," said squeers, administering his favourite blow to the desk and regarding with gloomy satisfaction the universal start it never failed to occasion. "nickleby! to your desk, sir." it was remarked by more than one small observer that there was a very curious and unusual expression in the usher's face; but he took his seat without opening his lips in reply. squeers, casting a triumphant glance at his assistant and a look of most comprehensive despotism on the boys, left the room, and shortly afterward returned, dragging smike by the collar--or rather by that fragment of his jacket which was nearest to the place where his collar would have been, had he boasted such a decoration. in any other place, the appearance of the wretched, jaded, spiritless object would have occasioned a murmur of compassion and remonstrance. it had some effect even there; for the lookers-on moved uneasily in their seats; and a few of the boldest ventured to steal looks at each other, expressive of indignation and pity. they were lost on squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on the luckless smike, as he inquired, according to custom in such cases, whether he had anything to say for himself. "nothing, i suppose?" said squeers, with a diabolical grin. smike glanced round, and his eyes rested for an instant on nicholas, as if he had expected him to intercede; but his look was riveted on his desk. "have you anything to say?" demanded squeers again, giving his right arm two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. "stand a little out of the way, mrs. squeers, my dear; i've hardly got enough room." "spare me, sir!" cried smike. "oh! that's all, is it?" said squeers. "yes, i'll flog you within an inch of your life, and spare you that." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed mrs. squeers, "that's a good un!" "i was driven to it," said smike, faintly; and casting another imploring look about him. "driven to it, were you?" said squeers. "oh! it wasn't your fault; it was mine, i suppose--eh?" "a nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneaking dog," exclaimed mrs. squeers, taking smike's head under her arm and administering a cuff at every epithet; "what does he mean by that?" "stand aside, my dear," replied squeers. "we'll try and find out." mrs. squeers being out of breath with her exertions, complied. squeers caught the boy firmly in his grip; one desperate cut had fallen on his body--he was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream of pain--it was raised again, and again about to fall--when nicholas nickleby, suddenly starting up, cried "stop!" in a voice that made the rafters ring. "who cried stop?" asked squeers, turning savagely round. "i," said nicholas, stepping forward. "this must not go on." "must not go on!" cried squeers, almost in a shriek. "no!" thundered nicholas. aghast and stupefied at the boldness of the interference, squeers released his hold of smike, and, falling back a pace, gazed upon nicholas with looks that were positively frightful. "i say must not," repeated nicholas, nothing daunted; "shall not, i will prevent it." squeers continued to gaze upon him with his eyes starting out of his head; but astonishment had actually for the moment bereft him of speech. "you have disregarded all my quiet interference in this miserable lad's behalf," said nicholas; "you have returned no answer to the letter in which i begged forgiveness for him and offered to be responsible that he would remain quietly here. don't blame me for this public interference. you have brought it upon yourself; not i." "sit down, beggar!" screamed squeers, almost beside himself with rage, and seizing smike as he spoke. "wretch," rejoined nicholas, fiercely, "touch him at your peril! i will not stand by and see it done. my blood is up, and i have the strength of ten such men as you. look to yourself, for by heaven i will not spare you, if you drive me on!" "stand back!" cried squeers, brandishing his weapon. "i have a long series of insults to avenge," said nicholas, flushed with passion; "and my indignation is aggravated by the dastardly cruelties practised on helpless infancy in this foul den. have a care; for if you do raise the devil within me, the consequences shall fall heavily upon your own head!" he had scarcely spoken, when squeers in a violent outbreak of wrath, and with a cry like the howl of a wild beast, spat upon him and struck him a blow across the face with his instrument of torture, which raised a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted. smarting with the agony of the blow, and concentrating into that one moment all his feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation, nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the weapon from his hand, and pinning him by the throat beat the ruffian till he roared for mercy. the boys--with the exception of master squeers, who, coming to his father's assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear--moved not hand or foot; but mrs. squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her partner's coat and endeavoured to drag him from his infuriated adversary; while miss squeers, who had been peeping through the keyhole in the expectation of a very different scene, darted in at the very beginning of the attack, and after launching a shower of inkstands at the usher's head, beat nicholas to her heart's content; animating herself, at every blow, with the recollection of his having refused her proffered love, and thus imparting additional strength to an arm which (as she took after her mother in this respect) was, at no time, of the weakest. nicholas, in the full strength of his violence, felt the blows no more than if they had been dealt with feathers; but, becoming tired of the noise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weaker besides, he threw all his remaining strength into half a dozen finishing cuts, and flung squeers from him, with all the force he could muster. the violence of his fall precipitated mrs. squeers completely over an adjacent form; squeers, striking his head against it in his descent, lay at his full length on the ground, stunned and motionless. having brought affairs to this happy termination, and ascertained, to his thorough satisfaction, that squeers was only stunned, and not dead (upon which point he had some unpleasant doubts at first), nicholas left his family to restore him, and retired to consider what course he had better adopt. he looked anxiously round for smike, as he left the room, but he was nowhere to be seen. after a brief consideration, he packed up a few clothes in a small valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose his progress, marched boldly out by the front door, and, shortly afterward, struck into the road which led to the greta bridge. dickens: "nicholas nickleby." dickens in the camp 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 humour, 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 dropped 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 hopvines' 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! bret harte dost thou look back on what hath been dost thou look back on what hath been, as some divinely gifted man, whose life in low estate began and on a simple village green; who breaks his birth's invidious bar, and grasps the skirts of happy chance, and breasts the blows of circumstance, and grapples with his evil star; who makes by force his merit known, and lives to clutch the golden keys, to mould a mighty state's decrees, and shape the whisper of the throne; and moving up from high to higher, becomes on fortune's crowning slope the pillar of a people's hope, the centre of a world's desire; yet feels, as in a pensive dream, when all his active powers are still, a distant dearness in the hill, a secret sweetness in the stream, the limit of his narrower fate, while yet beside its vocal springs he played at counsellors and kings, with one that was his earliest mate; who ploughs with pain his native lea, and reaps the labour of his hands, or in the furrow musing stands; "does my old friend remember me?" tennyson: "in memoriam, lxiv." the passing of arthur and so both hosts dressed them together. and king arthur took his horse, and said, alas this unhappy day, and so rode to his party: and sir mordred in like wise. and never was there seen a more dolefuller battle in any christian land. for there was but rushing and riding, foining and striking, and many a grim word was there spoken either to other, and many a deadly stroke. but ever king arthur rode throughout the battle of sir mordred many times, and did full nobly as a noble king should; and at all times he fainted never. and sir mordred that day put him in great peril. and thus they fought all the long day, and never stinted, till the noble knights were laid to the cold ground, and ever they fought still, till it was near night, and by that time was there an hundred thousand laid dead upon the down. then was arthur wroth out of measure, when he saw his people so slain from him. then the king looked about him, and then was he ware of all his host, and of all his good knights, were left no more alive but two knights, that was sir lucan de butlere, and his brother sir bedivere: and they full were sore wounded. jesu mercy, said the king, where are all my noble knights becomen. alas that ever i should see this doleful day. for now, said arthur, i am come to mine end. but would to god that i wist where were that traitor sir mordred, that hath caused all this mischief. then was king arthur ware where sir mordred leaned upon his sword among a great heap of dead men. now give me my spear, said arthur unto sir lucan, for yonder i have espied the traitor that all this woe hath wrought. then the king gat his spear in both his hands, and ran toward sir mordred, crying, traitor, now is thy death day come. and when sir mordred heard sir arthur, he ran until him with his sword drawn in his hand. and then king arthur smote sir mordred under the shield, with a foin of his spear throughout the body more than a fathom. and when sir mordred felt that he had his death's wound, he thrust himself, with the might that he had, up to the bur of king arthur's spear. and right so he smote arthur with his sword holden in both his hands, on the side of the head, that the sword pierced the helmet and the brain-pan, and therewithal sir mordred fell stark dead to the earth. and the noble arthur fell in a swoon to the earth, and there he swooned oft-times. and sir lucan de butlere and sir bedivere oft-times heaved him up, and so weakly they led him betwixt them both to a little chapel not far from the sea side. then sir lucan took up the king the one part, and sir bedivere the other part, and in the lifting, the king swooned, and sir lucan fell in a swoon with the lift and therewith the noble knight's heart burst. and when king arthur came to himself again, he beheld sir lucan how he lay foaming at the mouth. alas, said the king, this is unto me a full heavy sight to see this noble duke so die for my sake, for he would have holpen me that had more need of help than i. alas, he would not complain him, his heart was so set to help me. now jesu have mercy upon his soul. then sir bedivere wept for the death of his brother. leave this mourning and weeping, said the king, for all this will not avail me: for, wit thou well, and i might live myself the death of sir lucan would grieve me evermore; but my time hieth fast, said the king. therefore, said arthur, take thou excalibur, my good sword, and go with it to yonder water side, and when thou comest there, i charge thee throw my sword in that water, and come again, and tell me what thou there seest. my lord, said bedivere, your commandment shall be done, and lightly bring you word again. so sir bedivere departed, and by the way he beheld that noble sword, that the pommel and haft were all of precious stones, and then he said to himself, if i throw this rich sword in the water, thereof shall never come good, but harm and loss. and then sir bedivere hid excalibur under a tree. and as soon as he might he came again unto the king, and said he had been at the water, and had thrown the sword into the water. what sawest thou there? said the king. sir, he said, i saw nothing but waves and winds. that is untruly said of thee, said the king; therefore go thou lightly again, and do my command as thou art to me lief and dear, spare not, but throw it in. then sir bedivere returned again, and took the sword in his hand; and then him thought sin and shame to throw away that noble sword; and so eft he hid the sword, and returned again, and told to the king that he had been at the water, and done his commandment. what sawest thou there? said the king. sir, he said, i saw nothing but the waters wap and the waves wan. ah traitor, untrue, said king arthur, now hast thou betrayed me twice. who would have wend that thou that hast been to me so lief and dear, and thou art named a noble knight, and would betray me for the riches of the sword. but now go again lightly, for thy long tarrying putteth me in great jeopardy of my life, for i have taken cold. and unless if thou do now as i bid thee, if ever i may see thee, i shall slay thee with mine own hands, for thou wouldest for my rich sword see me dead. then sir bedivere departed, and went to the sword, and lightly took it up, and went to the water side, and there he bound the girdle about the hilts, and then he threw the sword as far into the water as he might, and there came an arm and an hand above the water, and met it, and caught it, and so shook it thrice and brandished, and then vanished away the hand with the sword in the water. so sir bedivere came again to the king, and told him what he saw. alas, said the king, help me hence, for i dread me i have tarried over long. then sir bedivere took the king upon his back, and so went with him to that water side. and when they were at the water side, even fast by the bank hoved a little barge, with many fair ladies in it, and among them all was a queen, and all they had black hoods, and all they wept and shrieked when they saw king arthur. now put me into the barge, said the king: and so he did softly. and there received him three queens with great mourning, and so they set him down, and in one of their laps king arthur laid his head, and then that queen said, ah, dear brother, why have ye tarried so long from me? alas, this wound on your head hath caught over much cold. and so then they rowed from the land; and sir bedivere beheld all those ladies go from him. then sir bedivere cried, ah, my lord arthur, what shall become of me now ye go from me, and leave me here alone among mine enemies. comfort thyself, said the king, and do as well as thou mayest, for in me is no trust for to trust in. for i will into the vale of avilion, to heal me of my grievous wound. and if thou hear never more of me, pray for my soul. but ever the queens and the ladies wept and shrieked, that it was pity to hear. and as soon as sir bedivere had lost the sight of the barge, he wept and wailed, and so took the forest. sir thomas malory read: tennyson's morte d'arthur. the armada attend, all ye who list to hear our noble england's praise; i tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, when that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain the richest spoils of mexico, the stoutest hearts of spain. it was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, there came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to plymouth bay; her crew hath seen castile's black fleet, beyond aurigny's isle,[ ] at earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. at sunrise she escaped their van, by god's especial grace; and the tall pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; the beacon blazed upon the roof of edgecumbe's lofty hall; many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast, and with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post. with his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes; behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums; his yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear an ample space; for there behoves him to set up the standard of her grace. and haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, as slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, and underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down. so stalked he when he turned to flight on that famed picard field,[ ] bohemia's plume, and genoa's bow, and caesar's eagle shield: so glared he when at agincourt in wrath he turned to bay, and crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay. ho! strike the flag-staff deep, sir knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair maids: ho! gunners fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades: thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes waft her wide; our glorious semper eadem, the banner of our pride. the freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold; the parting gleam of sunshine kissed the haughty scroll of gold; night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea, such night in england ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be. from eddystone to berwick bounds, from lynn to milford bay, that time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; for swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread; high on st. michael's mount it shone: it shone on beachy head. far on the deep the spaniard saw, along each southern shire, cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. the fisher left his skiff to rock on tamar's glittering waves: the rugged miners poured to war from mendip's sunless caves: o'er longleat's towers, o'er cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew: he roused the shepherds of stonehenge, the rangers of beaulieu. right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from bristol town, and ere the day three hundred horse had met on clifton down; the sentinel on whitehall gate looked forth into the night, and saw o'erhanging richmond hill the streak of blood-red light. then bugle's note and cannon's roar the deathlike silence broke, and with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. at once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires; at once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; from all the batteries of the tower pealed loud the voice of fear; and all the thousand masts of thames sent back a louder cheer; and from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, and the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street; and broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, as fast from every village round the horse came spurring in: and eastward straight from wild blackheath the warlike errand went, and roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of kent. southward from surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; high on bleak hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north; and on, and on, without a pause, untired the bounded still: all night from tower to tower they sprang--they sprang from hill to hill: till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er darwin's rocky dales, till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of wales, till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on malvern's lonely height, till streamed in crimson on the wind the wrekin's crest of light, till broad and fierce the star came forth on ely's stately fane, and tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain; till belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to lincoln sent, and lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of trent; till skiddaw saw the fire that burned on gaunt's embattled pile, and the red glare of skiddaw roused the burghers of carlisle. macaulay footnotes: [ ] alderney. [ ] cressy. departure and death of nelson nelson, having despatched his business at portsmouth, endeavoured to elude the populace by taking a by-way to the beach, but a crowd collected in his train, pressing forward to obtain a sight of his face: many were in tears, and many knelt down before him and blessed him as he passed. england has had many heroes, but never one who so entirely possessed the love of his fellow-countrymen as nelson. all men knew that his heart was as humane as it was fearless; that there was not in his nature the slightest alloy of selfishness or cupidity; but that, with perfect and entire devotion, he served his country with all his heart, and with all his soul, and with all his strength; and therefore, they loved him as truly and as fervently as he loved england. they pressed upon the parapet to gaze after him when his barge pushed off, and he returned their cheers by waving his hat. the sentinels, who endeavoured to prevent them from trespassing upon this ground, were wedged among the crowd; and an officer who, not very prudently upon such an occasion, ordered them to drive the people down with their bayonets, was compelled speedily to retreat; for the people would not be debarred from gazing till the last moment upon the hero--the darling hero of england! 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 mizzen-top, 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 honour from the enemy, england, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle 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. 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. he 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 each 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." 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. 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, it was so great that he wished he was dead. "yet," he added 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," said nelson; "but i bargained for twenty." and then, in a stronger voice, he said, "anchor, hardy, anchor." hardy, thereupon, hinted that admiral collingwood would take upon himself the direction of affairs. "not while i live, hardy," said the dying nelson, ineffectually endeavouring to raise himself from the bed: "do you anchor." his previous orders for preparing to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the necessity for 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 beside his parents, unless it should please the king to order otherwise. then reverting to private feelings,--"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 for ever. 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. 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. what the country had lost in its great naval hero--the greatest of our own and of all former times--was scarcely taken into the account of grief. so perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after the battle of trafalgar, was considered at an end. the fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated--they were destroyed: new navies must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, before the possibility of their invading our shores could again be contemplated. it was not, therefore, from any selfish reflection upon the magnitude of our loss that we mourned for him; the general sorrow was of a higher character. the people of england grieved that the funeral ceremonies, and public monuments, and posthumous rewards, were all that they could now bestow upon him whom the king, the legislature and the nation would have alike delighted to honour; whom every tongue would have blessed; whose presence in every village through which he might have passed would have awakened the church bells, have given school-boys a holiday, have drawn children from their sports to gaze upon him, and "old men from the chimney-corner" to look upon nelson ere they died. 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. the destruction of this mighty fleet, by which all the maritime schemes of france were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add to our security and 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, from the appearances upon opening his body, that in the course of nature he 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 honours, and at the height of human fame. the most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory; and if the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for nelson's translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory. he has left us, not indeed a 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 strength. thus it is that spirits of the great and the wise continue to live and to act after them. southey england expects that every man will do his duty. nelson waterloo there was a sound of revelry by night, and belgium's capital had gathered then her beauty and her chivalry, and bright the lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; a thousand hearts beat happily; and when music arose with its voluptuous swell, soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, and all went merry as a marriage bell; but hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! did ye not hear it?--no; 'twas but the wind, or the car rattling o'er the stony street; on with the dance! let joy be unconfined; no sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet to chase the glowing hours with flying feet. but hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more, as if the clouds its echo would repeat; and nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar! within a windowed niche of that high hall sate brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear that sound, the first amidst the festival, and caught its tone with death's prophetic ear; and when they smiled because he deemed it near, his heart more truly knew that peal too well which stretched his father on a bloody bier, and roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: he rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, and gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, and cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; and there were sudden partings, such as press the life from out young hearts, and choking sighs which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess if ever more should meet those mutual eyes, since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! and there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, the mustering squadron, and the clattering car, went pouring forward with impetuous speed, and swiftly forming in the ranks of war; and the deep thunder peal on peal afar; and near, the beat of the alarming drum roused up the soldier ere the morning star; while thronged the citizens with terror dumb, or whispering, with white lips--"the foe! they come! they come!" and wild and high the "cameron's gathering" rose, the war-note of lochiel, which albyn's hills have heard, and heard, too, have her saxon foes:-- how in the noon of night that pibroch thrills savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers with the fierce native daring which instils the stirring memory of a thousand years, and evan's, donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! and ardennes waves above them her green leaves, dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, over the unreturning brave,--alas! ere evening to be trodden like the grass which now beneath them, but above shall grow in its next verdure, when this fiery mass of living valour, rolling on the foe, and burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. last noon beheld them full of lusty life, last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay, the midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, the morn the marshalling in arms,--the day battle's magnificently stern array! the thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent the earth is covered thick with other clay, which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, rider and horse,--friend, foe,--in one red burial blent! byron: "childe harold's pilgrimage." show me the man you honour; i know by that symptom better than by any other, what kind of a man you are yourself; for you show me what your ideal of manhood is, what kind of a man you long to be. carlyle [illustration: watering the horses] ode written in 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 honour 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 to catch dame fortune's golden smile, assiduous wait upon her; and gather gear by ev'ry wile that's justified by honour; not for to hide it in a hedge, nor for a train attendant, but for the glorious privilege of being independent. burns balaklava the cavalry who have 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 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. the turks fire a volley at eight hundred yards and run. as the russians come within six hundred yards, down goes that line of steel in front, and out rings a rolling volley of minié 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 everyone 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 they 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, evidently _corps d'élite_, 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 the 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 the enniskilleners went right at the centre of the russian cavalry. the space between them was only a few hundred yards; it was scarcely 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 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. with unabated fire, the noble hearts dashed at their enemy. 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--was 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 second line of the heavy brigade rushed at the remnants of the first line of the enemy, went through it as though it were made of paste-board 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. * * * * * and now occurred the melancholy catastrophe which fills us all with sorrow. it appears that the quartermaster-general, brigadier airey, thinking that the light cavalry had not gone far enough in front when the enemy's horse had fled, gave an order in writing to captain nolan to take to lord lucan, directing his lordship "to advance" his cavalry nearer the enemy. lord lucan, with reluctance, gave the order to lord cardigan to advance upon the guns, conceiving that his orders compelled him to do so. it is a maxim of war that "cavalry never act without a support," that "infantry should be close at hand when cavalry carry guns as the effect is only instantaneous," and that it is necessary to have on the flank of a line of cavalry some squadrons in column--the attack on the flank being most dangerous. the only support our light cavalry had was the reserve of heavy cavalry at a great distance behind them, the infantry and guns being far in the rear. there were no squadrons in column at all and there was a plain to charge over before the enemy's guns could be reached, of a mile and a half in length! at ten minutes past eleven our light cavalry brigade advanced. the whole brigade scarcely made one effective regiment according to the numbers of continental armies, and yet it was more than we could spare. as they rushed towards the front the russians opened on them from the guns in the redoubt on the right with volleys of musketry and rifles. they swept proudly past, glittering in the morning sun in all the pride and splendour of war. we could scarcely believe the evidence of our senses. surely that handful of men are not going to charge an army in position? alas! it was but too true. their desperate valour knew no bounds, and far indeed was it removed from its so-called better part--discretion. they advanced in two lines, quickening their pace as they closed upon the enemy. a more fearful spectacle was never witnessed than by those who beheld these heroes rushing to the arms of death. at the distance of twelve hundred yards, the whole line of the enemy belched forth from thirty iron mouths a flood of smoke and flame, through which hissed the deadly balls. their flight was marked by instant gaps in our ranks, by dead men and horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across the plain. the first line is broken--it is joined by the second--they never halt or check their speed an instant. with diminished ranks thinned by those thirty guns which the russians had laid with the most deadly accuracy, with a halo of flashing steel above their heads, and with a cheer which was many a noble fellow's death-cry, they flew into the smoke of the batteries, but ere they were lost from view the plain was strewn with their bodies and with the carcasses of horses. they were exposed to an oblique fire from the batteries on the hills on both sides, as well as to a direct fire of musketry. through the clouds of smoke we could see their sabres flashing as they rode up to the guns and dashed into their midst, cutting down the gunners where they stood. we saw them riding through the guns, as i have said: to our delight we saw them returning after breaking through a column of russian infantry and scattering it like chaff, when the flank fire of the battery on the hill swept them down scattered and broken as they were. wounded men and riderless horses flying towards us told the sad tale. demi-gods could not have done what they had failed to do. at the very moment when they were about to retreat an enormous mass of lancers was hurled on their flank. colonel shewell saw the danger and rode his few men straight to them, cutting his way through with fearful loss. the other regiments turned and engaged in a desperate encounter. with courage too great almost for credence, they were breaking their way through the columns which enveloped them, when there took place an act of atrocity without parallel in the modern warfare of civilized nations. the russian gunners, when the storm of cavalry passed, returned to their guns. they saw their own cavalry mingled with the troopers who had just ridden over them, and, to the eternal disgrace of the russian name, the miscreants poured a murderous volley of grape and canister on the mass of struggling men and horses, mingling friend and foe in one common ruin! it was as much as our heavy cavalry could do to cover the retreat of the miserable remnants of the band of heroes as they returned to the place they had so lately quitted. at thirty-five minutes past eleven not a british soldier, except the dead and the dying, was left in front of those guns. william howard russell funeral of wellington who is he that cometh, like an honour'd guest, with banner and with music, with soldier and with priest, with a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest? mighty seaman, this is he was great by land as thou by sea. thine island loves thee well, thou famous man, the greatest sailor since our world began. now, to the roll of muffled drums, to thee the greatest soldier comes; for this is he was great by land as thou by sea; his foes were thine; he kept us free; o give him welcome, this is he worthy of our gorgeous rites, and worthy to be laid by thee; for this is england's greatest son, he that gain'd a hundred fights, nor ever lost an english gun; * * * * * remember him who led your hosts; he bad you guard the sacred coasts. your cannons moulder on the seaward wall; his voice is silent in your council-hall for ever; and whatever tempests lour for ever silent; even if they broke in thunder, silent; yet remember all he spoke among you, and the man who spoke; who never sold the truth to serve the hour, nor palter'd with eternal god for power; who let the turbid streams of rumour flow thro' either babbling world of high and low; whose life was work, whose language rife with rugged maxims hewn from life; who never spoke against a foe: whose eighty winters freeze with one rebuke all great self-seekers trampling on the right: truth-teller was our england's alfred named; truth-lover was our english duke; whatever record leap to life, he never shall be shamed. tennyson in a cave with a whale just when the delightful days were beginning to pall upon us, a real adventure befell us, which, had we been attending strictly to business, we should not have encountered. for a week previous we had been cruising constantly without ever seeing a spout, except those belonging to whales out at sea, whither we knew it was folly to follow them. at last, one afternoon as we were listlessly lolling (half-asleep, except the look-out man) across the thwarts, we suddenly came upon a gorge between two cliffs that we must have passed before several times unnoticed. at a certain angle it opened, disclosing a wide sheet of water extending a long distance ahead. i put the helm up, and we ran through the passage, finding it about a boat's length in width and several fathoms deep, though overhead the cliffs nearly came together in places. the place was new to us, and our languor was temporarily dispelled, and we paddled along, taking in every feature of the shores with keen eyes that let nothing escape. after we had gone on in this placid manner for maybe an hour, we suddenly came to a stupendous cliff--that is, for those parts--rising almost sheer from the water for about a thousand feet. of itself it would not have arrested our attention, but at its base was a semicircular opening, like the mouth of a small tunnel. this looked alluring, so i headed the boat for it, passing through a deep channel between two reefs which led straight to the opening. there was ample room for us to enter, as we had lowered the mast; but just as we were passing through, a heave of the unnoticed swell lifted us unpleasantly near the crown of this natural arch. beneath us, at a great depth, the bottom could be dimly discerned, the water being of the richest blue conceivable, which the sun, striking down through, resolved into some most marvellous colour-schemes in the path of its rays. a delicious sense of coolness, after the fierce heat outside, saluted us as we entered a vast hall, whose roof rose to a minimum height of forty feet, but in places could not be seen at all. a sort of diffused light, weak, but sufficient to reveal the general contour of the place, existed, let in, i supposed, through some unseen crevices in the roof or walls. at first, of course, to our eyes, fresh from the fierce glare outside, the place seemed wrapped in impenetrable gloom, and we dared not stir lest we should run into some hidden danger. before many minutes, however, the gloom lightened as our pupils enlarged, so that, although the light was faint, we could find our way about with ease. we spoke in low tones, for the echoes were so numerous and resonant that even a whisper gave back from those massy walls in a series of recurring hisses, as if a colony of snakes had been disturbed. we paddled on into the interior of this vast cave, finding everywhere the walls rising sheer from the silent, dark waters, not a ledge or a crevice where one might gain foothold. indeed, in some places there was a considerable overhang from above, as if a great dome whose top was invisible sprang from some level below the water. we pushed ahead until the tiny semi-circle of light through which we had entered was only faintly visible; and then, finding there was nothing to be seen except what we were already witnessing, unless we cared to go on into the thick darkness, which extended apparently into the bowels of the mountain, we turned and started to go back. do what we would, we could not venture to break the solemn hush that surrounded us, as if we were shut within the dome of some vast cathedral in the twilight. so we paddled noiselessly along for the exit, till suddenly an awful, inexplicable roar set all our hearts thumping fit to break our bosoms. really, the sensation was most painful, especially as we had not the faintest idea whence the noise came or what had produced it. again it filled that immense cave with its thunderous reverberations; but this time all the sting was taken out of it, as we caught sight of its author. a goodly bull-humpback had found his way in after us, and the sound of his spout, exaggerated a thousand times in the confinement of that mighty cavern, had frightened us all so that we nearly lost our breath. so far so good; but, unlike the old negro though we were "doin' blame well," we did not "let blame well alone." the next spout that intruder gave, he was right alongside of us. this was too much for the semi-savage instincts of my gallant harpooner, and before i had time to shout a caution he had plunged his weapon deep into old blowhard's broad back. i should like to describe what followed, but, in the first place, i hardly know; and, in the next, even had i been cool and collected, my recollections would sound like the ravings of a fevered dream. for of all the hideous uproars conceivable, that was, i should think, about the worst. the big mammal seemed to have gone frantic with the pain of his wound, the surprise of the attack, and the hampering confinement in which he found himself. his tremendous struggles caused such a commotion that our position could only be compared to that of men shooting niagara in a cylinder at night. how we kept afloat, i do not know. some one had the gumption to cut the line, so that by the radiation of the disturbance we presently found ourselves close to the wall, and trying to hold the boat in to it with our finger tips. would he never be quiet? we thought, as the thrashing, banging, and splashing still went on with unfailing vigour. at last, in, i suppose, one supreme effort to escape, he leaped clear of the water like a salmon. there was a perceptible hush, during which we shrank together like unfledged chickens on a frosty night; then, in a never-to-be-forgotten crash that ought to have brought down the massy roof, that mountainous carcass fell. the consequent violent upheaval of the water should have smashed the boat against the rocky walls, but that final catastrophe was mercifully spared us. i suppose the rebound was sufficient to keep us a safe distance off. a perfect silence succeeded, during which we sat speechless, awaiting a resumption of the clamour. at last abner broke the heavy silence by saying: "i doan' see the do'way any mo' at all, sir." he was right. the tide had risen, and that half-moon of light had disappeared, so that we were now prisoners for many hours, it not being at all probable that we should be able to find our way out during the night ebb. well, we were not exactly children, to be afraid of the dark, although there is considerable difference between the velvety darkness of a dungeon and the clear, fresh night of the open air. still, as long as that beggar of a whale would only keep quiet or leave the premises, we should be fairly comfortable. we waited and waited until an hour had passed, and then came to the conclusion that our friend was either dead or had gone out, as he gave no sign of his presence. that being settled, we anchored the boat, and lit pipes, preparatory to passing as comfortable a night as might be under the circumstances, the only thing troubling me being the anxiety of the skipper on our behalf. presently the blackness beneath was lit up by a wide band of phosphoric light, shed in the wake of no ordinary-sized fish, probably an immense shark. another and another followed in rapid succession, until the depths beneath were all ablaze with brilliant foot-wide ribbons of green glare, dazzling to the eye and bewildering to the brain. occasionally a gentle splash or ripple alongside, or a smart tap on the bottom of the boat, warned us how thick the concourse was that had gathered below. until that weariness which no terror is proof against set in, sleep was impossible, nor could we keep our anxious gaze from that glowing inferno beneath, where one would have thought all the population of tartarus were holding high revel. mercifully, at last we sank into a fitful slumber, though fully aware of the great danger of our position. one upward rush of any of those ravening monsters, happening to strike the frail shell of our boat, and a few fleeting seconds would have sufficed for our obliteration as if we had never been. but the terrible night passed away, and once more we saw the tender, iridescent light stream into that abode of dread. as the day strengthened, we were able to see what was going on below, and a grim vision it presented. the water was literally alive with sharks of enormous size, tearing with never-ceasing energy at the huge carcass of the whale lying on the bottom, who had met his fate in a singular but not unheard-of way. at that last titanic effort of his he had rushed downward with such terrific force that, striking his head on the bottom, he had broken his neck. i felt very grieved that we had lost the chance of securing him; but it was perfectly certain that before we could get help to raise him, all that would be left on his skeleton would be quite valueless to us. so with such patience as we could command, we waited near the entrance until the receding ebb made it possible for us to emerge once more into the blessed light of day. frank t. bullen: "the cruise of the cachalot." [illustration: in georgian bay] from toil he wins his spirits light, from busy day the peaceful night, rich, from the very want of wealth, in heaven's best treasures, peace and health. gray the glove and the lions king francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, and one day, as his lions strove, sat looking on the court; the nobles filled the benches round, the ladies by their side, and 'mongst them count de lorge, with one he hoped to make his bride; and truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; they bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws. with wallowing might and stifled roar, they rolled one on another, till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thunderous smother; the bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air; said francis, then, "good gentlemen, we're better here than there!" de lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame, with smiling lips, and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same: she thought, "the count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be; he surely would do desperate things to show his love of me! king, ladies, lover, all look on; the chance is wond'rous fine; i'll drop my glove to prove his love; great glory will be mine!" she dropped her glove to prove his love: then looked on him and smiled; he bowed and in a moment leaped among the lions wild: the leap was quick; return was quick; he soon regained his place; then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face! "in truth!" cried francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat: "no love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!" leigh hunt three scenes in the tyrol you are standing on a narrow, thread-like road, which has barely room to draw itself along between the rocky bank of the river inn, and the base of a frowning buttress of the solstein, which towers many hundred feet perpendicularly above you. you throw your head far back and look up; and there you have a vision of a plumed hunter, lofty and chivalrous in his bearing, who is bounding heedlessly on after a chamois to the very verge of a precipice. mark!--he loses his footing--he rolls helplessly from rock to rock! there is a pause in his headlong course. what is it that arrests him? ah! he puts forth his mighty strength, and clings, hand and foot, with the grip of despair, to a narrow ledge of rock, and there he hangs over the abyss! it is the emperor maximilian! the abbot of wiltau comes forth from his cell, sees an imperial destiny suspended between heaven and earth, and, crossing himself with awe, bids prayers be put up for the welfare of a passing soul. hark! there is a wild cry ringing through the upper air! ha! zyps of zirl, thou hunted and hunting outlaw, art thou out upon the heights at this fearful moment? watch the hardy mountaineer! he binds his _crampons_ on his feet,--he is making his perilous way towards his failing emperor;--now bounding like a hunted chamois; now creeping like an insect; now clinging like a root of ivy; now dropping like a squirrel:--he reaches the fainting monarch just as he relaxes his grasp on the jutting rock. courage, kaiser!--there is a hunter's hand for thee, a hunter's iron-shod foot to guide thee to safety. look! they clamber up the face of the rock, on points and ledges where scarce the small hoof of the chamois might find a hold; and the peasant-folk still maintain that an angel came down to their master's rescue. we will, however, refer the marvellous escape to the interposing hand of a pitying providence. zyps, the outlaw, becomes count hallooer von hohenfeldsen--"lord of the wild cry of the lofty rock;" and in the old pension-list of the proud house of hapsburg may still be seen an entry to this effect: that sixteen florins were paid annually to one "zyps of zirl." as you look up from the base of the martinswand, you may, with pains, distinguish a cross, which has been planted on the narrow ledge where the emperor was rescued by the outlaw. there is another vision, an imperial one also. the night is dark and wild. gusty winds come howling down from the mountain passes, driving sheets of blinding rain before them, and whirling them round in hissing eddies. at intervals the clouds are rent asunder, and the moon takes a hurried look at the world below. what does _she_ see? and what do _we_ hear? for there are other sounds stirring besides the ravings of the tempest, in that wild cleft of the mountains, which guard innsbruck, on the carinthian side. there is a hurried tramp of feet, a crowding and crushing up through the steep and narrow gorge, a mutter of suppressed voices, a fitful glancing of torches, which now flare up bravely enough, now wither in a moment before the derisive laugh of the storm. at the head of the melée there is a litter borne on the shoulders of a set of sure-footed hunters of the hills; and around this litter is clustered a moving constellation of lamps, which are anxiously shielded from the rude wrath of the tempest. a group of stately figures, wrapped in rich military cloaks, with helms glistening in the torch-light, and plumes streaming on the wind, struggle onward beside the litter. and who is this reclining there, his teeth firmly set to imprison the stifled groan of physical anguish? he is but fifty-three years of age, but the lines of premature decay are ploughed deep along brow and cheek, while his yellow locks are silvered and crisped with care. who can mistake that full, expansive forehead, that aquiline nose, that cold, stern blue eye, and that heavy, obstinate, austrian underlip, for other than those of the mighty emperor charles v? and can this suffering invalid, flying from foes who are almost on the heels of his attendants, jolted over craggy passes in midnight darkness, buffeted by the tempest, and withered by the sneer of adverse fortune--_can_ this be the emperor of germany, king of spain, lord of the netherlands, of naples, of lombardy, and the proud chief of the golden western world? yes, charles, thou art reading a stern lesson by that fitful torch-light; but thy strong will is yet unbent, and thy stern nature yet unsoftened. and who is the swift "avenger of blood" who is following close as a sleuth-hound on thy track? it is maurice of saxony--a match for thee in boldness of daring, and in strength of will. but charles wins the midnight race; and yet, instead of bowing before him whose "long-suffering would lead to repentance," he ascribes his escape to the "star of austria," ever in the ascendant, and mutters his favourite saying, "myself, and the lucky moment." one more scene: it is the year . bonaparte has decreed in the secret council chamber, where his own will is his sole adviser, that the tyrol shall be cleared of its troublesome nest of warrior-hunters. ten thousand french and bavarian soldiers have penetrated as far as the upper innthal, and are boldly pushing on towards prutz. but the mountain-walls of this profound valley are closing gloomily together, as if they would forbid even the indignant river to force its wild way betwixt them. _is_ there a path through the frowning gorge other than that rocky way which is fiercely held by the current? yes, there is a narrow road, painfully grooved by the hand of man out of the mountain side, now running along like a gallery, now dropping down to the brink of the stream. but the glittering array winds on. there is the heavy tread of the foot-soldiers, the trampling of horse, the dull rumble of the guns, the waving and flapping of the colours, and the angry remonstrance of the inn. but all else is still as a midnight sleep, except, indeed, when the eagles of the crag, startled from their eyries, raise their shrill cry as they spread their living wings above the gilded eagles of france. suddenly a voice is heard far up amid the mists of the heights--not the eagle's cry _this_ time--not the freak of a wayward echo--but human words, which say "_shall we begin?_" silence! it is a host that holds its breath and listens. was it a spirit of the upper air parleying with its kind? if so, it has its answer countersigned across the dark gulf. "_noch nicht!_"--"_not yet!_" the whole invading army pause: there is a wavering and writhing in the glittering serpent-length of that mighty force which is helplessly uncoiled along the base of the mountain. but hark! the voice of the hills is heard again, and it says "_now!_" _now_, then, descends the wild avalanche of destruction, and all is tumult, dismay, and death. the very crags of the mountain side, loosened in preparation, come bounding, thundering down. trunks and roots of pine trees, gathering speed on their headlong way, are launched down upon the powerless foe, mingled with the deadly hail of the tyrolese rifles. and this fearful storm descends along the whole line at once. no marvel that two-thirds of all that brilliant invading army are crushed to death along the grooved pathway, or are tumbled, horse and man, into the choked and swollen river. enough of horrors! who would willingly linger on the hideous details of such a scene? sorrowful that man should come, with his evil ambitions and his fierce revenges, to stain and to spoil such wonders of beauty as the hand of the creator has here moulded. sorrowful that man, in league with the serpent, should writhe into such scenes as these, and poison them with the virus of sin. richter who loves not knowledge? who shall rail against her beauty? may she mix with men and prosper! who shall fix her pillars? let her work prevail. ... let her know her place; she is the second, not the first, a higher hand must make her mild, if all be not in vain; and guide her footsteps, moving side by side with wisdom, like the younger child. tennyson marston moor (a cavalier song) to horse! to horse! sir nicholas, the clarion's note is high! to horse! to horse! sir nicholas, the big drum makes reply! ere this hath lucas marched, with his gallant cavaliers, and the bray of rupert's trumpets grows fainter in our ears. to horse! to horse! sir nicholas! white guy is at the door, and the raven whets his beak o'er the field of marston moor. up rose the lady alice, from her brief and broken prayer, and she brought a silken banner down the narrow turret-stair, oh! many were the tears that those radiant eyes had shed, as she traced the bright word "glory" in the gay and glancing thread; and mournful was the smile which o'er those lovely features ran as she said, "it is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the van!" "it shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest ride, midst the steel-clad files of skippon, the black dragoons of pride; the recreant heart of fairfax shall feel a sicklier qualm, and the rebel lips of oliver give out a louder psalm, when they see my lady's gewgaw flaunt proudly on their wing, and hear her loyal soldier's shout, 'for god and for the king.'" 'tis noon. the ranks are broken, along the royal line they fly, the braggarts of the court! the bullies of the rhine! stout langdale's cheer is heard no more, and astley's helm is down, and rupert sheathes his rapier, with a curse and with a frown, and cold newcastle mutters, as he follows in their flight, "the german boor had better far have supped in york to-night." the knight is left alone, his steel-cap cleft in twain, his good buff jerkin crimsoned o'er with many a gory stain; yet still he waves his banner, and cries amid the rout, "for church and king, fair gentlemen! spur on, and fight it out!" and now he wards a roundhead's pike, and now he hums a stave, and now he quotes a stage-play, and now he fells a knave. god aid thee now, sir nicholas! thou hast no thought of fear; god aid thee now, sir nicholas! for fearful odds are here! the rebels hem thee in, and at every cut and thrust, "down, down," they cry, "with belial! down with him to the dust." "i would," quoth grim old oliver, "that belial's trusty sword this day were doing battle for the saints and for the lord!" the lady alice sits with her maidens in her bower, the gray-haired warder watches from the castle's topmost tower; "what news? what news, old hubert?"--"the battle's lost and won; the royal troops are melting, like mists before the sun! and a wounded man approaches;--i'm blind, and cannot see, yet sure i am that sturdy step my master's step must be!" "i've brought thee back thy banner, wench, from as rude and red a fray, as e'er was proof of soldier's thew or theme for minstrel's lay! here, hubert, bring the silver bowl, and liquor quantum suff., i'll make a shift to drain it yet, ere i part with boots and buff;-- though guy through many a gaping wound is breathing forth his life, and i come to thee a landless man, my fond and faithful wife! "sweet! we will fill our money-bags, and freight a ship for france, and mourn in merry paris for this poor land's mischance: for if the worst befall me, why, better axe and rope, than life with lenthal for a king, and peters for a pope! alas! alas! my gallant guy!--curse on the crop-eared boor, who sent me with my standard, on foot from marston moor!" w. m. praed london the huge city perhaps never impressed the imagination more than when approaching it by night on the top of a coach you saw its numberless lights flaring, as tennyson says "like a dreary dawn." the most impressive approach is now by the river through the infinitude of docks, quays, and shipping. london is not a city, but a province of brick and stone. hardly even from the top of st. paul's or of the monument can anything like a view of the city as a whole be obtained. it is indispensable, however, to make one or the other of those ascents when a clear day can be found, not so much because the view is fine, as because you will get a sensation of vastness and multitude not easily to be forgotten. there is or was, not long ago, a point on the ridge that connects hampstead with highgate from which, as you looked over london to the surrey hills beyond, the modern babylon presented something like the aspect of a city. the ancient babylon may have vied with london in circumference, but the greater part of its area was occupied by open spaces; the modern babylon is a dense mass of humanity. london with its suburbs has five millions of inhabitants, and still it grows. it grows through the passion which seems to be seizing mankind everywhere, on this continent as well as in europe, for emigration from the country into the town, not only as the centre of wealth and employment, but as the centre of excitement, and, as the people fondly fancy, of enjoyment. the empire and the commercial relations of england draw representatives of trading communities or subject races from all parts of the globe, and the faces and costumes of the hindoo, the parsi, the lascar, and the ubiquitous chinaman, mingle in the motley crowd with the merchants of europe and america. the streets of london are, in this respect, to the modern, what the great place of tyre must have been to the ancient world. but pile carthage on tyre, venice on carthage, amsterdam on venice, and you will not make the equal, or anything near the equal, of london. here is the great mart of the world, to which the best and richest products are brought from every land and clime, so that if you have put money in your purse you may command every object of utility or fancy which grows or is made anywhere, without going beyond the circuit of the great cosmopolitan city. parisian, german, russian, hindoo, japanese, chinese industry is as much at your service here, if you have the all-compelling talisman in your pocket, as in paris, berlin, st. petersburg, benares, yokohama or pekin. that london is the great distributing centre of the world is shown by the fleets of the carrying trade of which the countless masts rise along her wharves and in her docks. she is also the bank of the world. but we are reminded of the vicissitudes of commerce and the precarious tenure by which its empire is held when we consider that the bank of the world in the middle of the last century was amsterdam. the first and perhaps the greatest marvel of london is the commissariat. how can the five millions be regularly supplied with food, and everything needful to life, even with such things as milk and those kinds of fruit which can hardly be left beyond a day? here again we see reason for concluding that though there may be fraud and scamping in the industrial world, genuine production, faithful service, disciplined energy, and skill in organization cannot wholly have departed from the earth. london is not only well fed, but well supplied with water and well drained. vastly and densely peopled as it is, it is a healthy city. yet the limit of practicable extension seems to be nearly reached. it becomes a question how the increasing multitude shall be supplied not only with food and water but with air. there is something very impressive in the roar of the vast city. it is a sound of a niagara of human life. it ceases not except during the hour or two before dawn, when the last carriages have rolled away from the balls and the market carts have hardly begun to come in. only in returning from a very late ball is the visitor likely to have a chance of seeing what wordsworth saw from westminster bridge: "earth has not anything to show more fair; dull would he be of soul who could pass by a sight so touching in its majesty; this city now doth, like a garment, wear the beauty of the morning; silent, bare, ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie open unto the fields, and to the sky; all bright and glittering in the open air. never did sun more beautifully steep in his first splendour, valley, rock or hill; ne'er saw i, never felt, a calm so deep! the river glideth at his own sweet will: dear god! the very houses seem asleep; and all that mighty heart is lying still!" goldwin smith: "a trip to england." 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 lights 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 düffeld, '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 thro' 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 feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; till over by dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, and "gallop," gasped 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. browning an incident of the french camp 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 scarcely 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. browning i made them lay their hands in mine and swear to reverence the king, as if he were their conscience, and their conscience as their king, to ride abroad redressing human wrongs, to speak no slander, no, nor listen to it. tennyson british colonial and naval power the sagacity of england is in nothing more clearly shown than in the foresight with which she has provided against the emergency of war. let it come when it may, it will not find her unprepared. so thickly are her colonies and naval stations scattered over the face of the earth, that her war-ships can speedily reach every commercial centre on the globe. there is that great centre of commerce, the mediterranean sea. it was a great centre long ago, when the phoenician traversed it, and, passing through the pillars of hercules, sped on his way to the distant, and then savage, britain. it was a great centre when rome and carthage wrestled in a death-grapple for its possession. but at the present day england is as much at home on the mediterranean as if it were one of her own canadian lakes. nor is it simply the number of the british colonies, or the evenness with which they are distributed, that challenges our admiration. the positions which these colonies occupy, and their natural military strength, are quite as important facts. there is not a sea or a gulf in the world, which has any real commercial importance, but england has a stronghold on its shores. and wherever the continents tending southward come to points, around which the commerce of nations must sweep, there is a british settlement; and the cross of st. george salutes you as you are wafted by. there is hardly a little desolate, rocky island or peninsula, formed apparently by nature for a fortress, and nothing else, but the british flag floats securely over it. these are literal facts. take, for example, the great overland route from europe to asia. despite its name, its real highway is on the waters of the mediterranean and red seas. it has three gates--three only. england holds the key to every one of these gates. count them--gibraltar, malta, aden. but she commands the entrance to the red sea, not by one, but by several strongholds. midway in the narrow strait is the black, bare rock of perim, sterile, precipitous, a perfect counterpart of gibraltar; and on either side, between it and the mainland, are the ship-channels which connect the red sea with the great indian ocean. this rock england holds. a little farther out is the peninsula of aden, another gibraltar, as rocky, as sterile, and as precipitous, connected with the mainland by a narrow strait, and having a harbour safe in all winds, and a central coal depôt. this england bought in . and to complete her security, she has purchased from some petty sultan the neighbouring islands of socotra and kouri, giving, as it were, a retaining fee, so that, though she does not need them herself, no rival power may ever possess them. as we sail a little farther on, we come to the china sea. what a beaten track of commerce is this! what wealth of comfort and luxury is wafted over it by every breeze!--the teas of china; the silks of farther india; the spices of the east. the ships of every clime and nation swarm on its waters--the stately barques of england, france, and holland; the swift ships of america; and mingled with them, in picturesque confusion, the clumsy junk of the chinaman, and the slender, darting canoe of the malaysian islanders. at the lower end of the china sea, where it narrows into malacca strait, england holds the little island of singapore--a spot of no use to her whatever, except as a commercial depôt, but of inestimable value for that; a spot which, under her fostering care, is growing up to take its place among the great emporiums of the world. half-way up the sea she holds the island of labuan, whose chief worth is this, that beneath its surface and that of the neighbouring mainland there lie inexhaustible treasures of coal, which are likely to yield wealth and power to the hand that controls them. at the upper end of the sea she holds hong-kong, a hot, unhealthy island, but an invaluable base from which to threaten and control the neighbouring waters. even in the broad, and as yet comparatively untracked pacific, she is making silent advances towards dominion. the vast continent of australia, which she has secured, forms its south-western boundary. and pushed out six hundred miles eastward from this lies new zealand, like a strong outpost, its shores so scooped and torn by the waves that it must be a very paradise of commodious bays and safe havens for the mariner. the soil, too, is of extraordinary fertility; and the climate, though humid, deals kindly with the englishman's constitution. nor is this all; for, advanced from it, north and south, like picket stations, are norfolk island, and the auckland group, both of which have good harbours. and it requires no prophet's eye to see that, when england needs posts farther eastward, she will find them among the green coral islets that stud the pacific. turn now your steps homeward, and pause a moment at the bermudas, those beautiful isles, with their fresh verdure--green gems in the ocean, with air soft and balmy as eden's was! they have their home uses too. they furnish arrow-root for the sick, and ample supplies of vegetables earlier than sterner climates will yield them. is this all that can be said? reflect a little more deeply. these islands possess a great military and naval depôt; and a splendid harbour, landlocked, strongly fortified, and difficult of access to strangers;--and all within a few days' sail of the chief ports of the atlantic shores of the new world. england therefore retains them as a station on the road to her west indian possessions; and should america go to war with her, she would use it as a base for offensive operations, where she might gather and whence she might hurl upon any unprotected port all her gigantic naval and military power. "atlantic monthly." england, my england what have i done for you, england, my england? what is there i would not do, england, my own? with your glorious eyes austere, as the lord were walking near, whispering terrible things and dear as the song on your bugles blown, england-- round the world on your bugles blown! where shall the watchful sun, england, my england, match the master-work you've done, england, my own? when shall he rejoice agen such a breed of mighty men as come forward, one to ten, to the song on your bugles blown, england-- down the years on your bugles blown? ever the faith endures, england, my england:-- "take and break us: we are yours, england, my own! life is good, and joy runs high between english earth and sky: death is death; but we shall die to the song on your bugles blown, england-- to the stars on your bugles blown!" they call you proud and hard, england, my england: you with worlds to watch and ward, england, my own! you whose mailed hand keeps the keys of such teeming destinies, you could know nor dread nor ease were the song on your bugles blown, england-- round the pit on your bugles blown! mother of ships whose might, england, my england, is the fierce old sea's delight, england, my own, chosen daughter of the lord, spouse-in-chief of the ancient sword, there's the menace of the word in the song on your bugles blown, england-- out of heaven on your bugles blown! w. e. henley a good time going (charles mackay, at the end of his american tour in , was entertained in boston by the leading literary men. this poem, written for the occasion, was read to speed the parting guest.) brave singer of the coming time, sweet minstrel of the joyous present, crowned with the noblest wreath of rhyme, the holly-leaf of ayrshire's peasant,[ ] good-bye! good-bye!--our hearts and hands, our lips in honest saxon phrases, cry, god be with him, till he stands his feet among the english daisies! 'tis here we part;--for other eyes the busy deck, the fluttering streamer, the dripping arms that plunge and rise, the waves in foam, the ship in tremor, the kerchiefs waving from the pier, the cloudy pillar gliding o'er him, the deep blue desert, lone and drear, with heaven above and home before him! his home!--the western giant smiles, and twirls the spotty globe to find it;-- this little speck the british isles? 'tis but a freckle,--never mind it! he laughs, and all his prairies roll, each gurgling cataract roars and chuckles, and ridges stretched from pole to pole heave till they crack their iron knuckles! but memory blushes at the sneer, and honour turns with frown defiant, and freedom, leaning on her spear, laughs louder than the laughing giant: "an islet is a world," she said, "when glory with its dust has blended, and britain keeps her noble dead till earth and seas and skies are rended!" beneath each swinging forest-bough some arm as stout in death reposes,-- from wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow her valour's life-blood runs in roses; nay, let our brothers of the west write smiling in their florid pages, one-half her soil has walked the rest in poets, heroes, martyrs, sages! hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, from sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, the british oak with rooted grasp her slender handful holds together; with cliffs of white and bowers of green, and ocean narrowing to caress her, and hills and threaded streams between;-- our little mother isle, god bless her! oliver wendell holmes footnotes: [ ] robert burns god is our refuge god is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. therefore will we not fear, though the earth do change, and though the mountains be moved in the heart of the seas; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. the lord of hosts is with us; the god of jacob is our refuge. there is a river, the streams whereof make glad the city of god, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most high. god is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: god shall help her at the dawn of morning. the nations raged, the kingdoms were moved: he uttered his voice, the earth melted. the lord of hosts is with us; the god of jacob is our refuge. come, behold the works of the lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth. he maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariots in the fire. be still, and know that i am god: i will be exalted among the nations, i will be exalted in the earth. the lord of hosts is with us; the god of jacob is our refuge. psalm xlvi. a good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things. but i say unto you that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. st. matthew, xii. indian summer 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. dressed 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, lifelike glowing, we see a second forest growing, each pictured leaf and branch bestowing a fairy grace to that twin wood, mirrored within the crystal flood. 'tis pleasant now in forest shades; the indian hunter strings his bow, to track through dark entangling glades the antlered 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. susanna moodie so live, that when thy summons comes to join the innumerable caravan which moves to that mysterious realm, where each shall take his chamber in the silent halls of death, thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, like one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. bryant the skylark bird of the wilderness, blithesome and cumberless, sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! emblem of happiness, blest is thy dwelling-place-- oh, to abide in the desert with thee! wild is thy lay and loud, far in the downy cloud; love gives it energy, love gave it birth. where, on thy dewy wing, where art thou journeying? thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. o'er fell and fountain sheen, o'er moor and mountain green, o'er the red streamer that heralds the day, over the cloudlet dim, over the rainbow's rim, musical cherub, soar, singing away! then, when the gloaming comes, low in the heather blooms, sweet will thy welcome, and bed of love be! emblem of happiness, blest is thy dwelling-place-- oh, to abide in the desert with thee! james hogg what is war what is war? i believe that half the people that talk about war have not the slightest idea what it is. in a short sentence it may be summed up to be the combination and concentration of all the horrors, atrocities, crimes, and sufferings of which human nature on this globe is capable. if you go into war now, you will have more banners to decorate your cathedrals and churches. englishmen will fight now as well as they ever did; and there is ample power to back them, if the country can be but sufficiently excited and deluded. you may raise up great generals. you may have another wellington, and another nelson, too; for this country can grow men capable of every enterprise. then there may be titles, and pensions, and marble monuments to eternize the men who have thus become great;--but what becomes of you, and your country, and your children? you profess to be a christian nation. you make it your boast even--though boasting is somewhat out of place in such questions--you make it your boast that you are a christian people, and that you draw your rule of doctrine and practice, as from a well pure and undefiled, from the lively oracles of god, and from the direct revelation of the omnipotent. you have even conceived the magnificent project of illuminating the whole earth, even to its remotest and darkest recesses, by the dissemination of the volume of the new testament, in whose every page are written for ever the words of peace. within the limits of this island alone, every sabbath-day, twenty thousand, yes, far more than twenty thousand temples are thrown open, in which devout men and women assemble to worship him who is the "prince of peace." is this a reality? or is your christianity a romance, and your profession a dream? no; i am sure that your christianity is not a romance, and i am equally sure that your profession is not a dream. it is because i believe this that i appeal to you with confidence, and that i have hope and faith in the future. i believe that we shall see, and at no very distant time, sound economic principles spreading much more widely amongst the people; a sense of justice growing up in a soil which hitherto has been deemed unfruitful; and--which will be better than all--the churches of the united kingdom, the churches of britain, awaking as it were from their slumbers, and girding up their loins to more glorious work, when they shall not only accept and believe in the prophecy, but labour earnestly for its fulfilment, that there shall come a time--a blessed time--a time which shall last for ever--when "nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more." john bright the homes of england the stately homes of england! how beautiful they stand, amidst their tall ancestral trees, o'er all the pleasant land! the deer across their greensward bound, through shade and sunny gleam: and the swan glides past them with the sound of some rejoicing stream. the merry homes of england! around their hearths by night, what gladsome looks of household love meet in the ruddy light! there woman's voice flows forth in song, or childhood's tale is told, or lips move tunefully along some glorious page of old. the blessed homes of england! how softly on their bowers is laid the holy quietness that breathes from sabbath hours! solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime floats through their woods at morn; all other sounds, in that still time, of breeze and leaf are born. the cottage homes of england! by thousands on her plains, they are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, and round the hamlet fanes. through glowing orchards forth they peep, each from its nook of leaves; and fearless there the lowly sleep, as the bird beneath the eaves. the free, fair homes of england! long, long, in hut and hall, may hearts of native proof be reared to guard each hallowed wall! and green for ever be the groves, and bright the flowery sod, where first the child's glad spirit loves its country and its god! felicia hemans to a water-fowl 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 seen against 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. bryant the fascination of light the strange fascination of light takes hold of all animated creatures, and commands a subtle devotion that cannot be set forth in a confession of faith. the delight of a boy in a bonfire is a breath of the heaven that is about us in our infancy. though it be but a heap of rubbish, revealed by the removal of the mantle of snow, lighting up with flickering, changing glow a rectangular door yard, the children stand and gaze into the dancing flame, their vast, distorted, ghostlike shadows lost in the night, their faces reflecting every evanescent glare, and their spirits charmed by the same spell that took form in the fire-worship of their ancestors. how they delight in stirring up the embers and sending up a fountain spray of sparks! what joy in seeing the big sticks break into glowing coals, darting out new tongues of flame to lick up the escaping embers! fire is one of nature's universal fascinations. the wildest and most wary animals approach and gaze at it in the night, and though it sometimes warns them off, it always holds them by a spell. the night migrating birds perish in scores against the plate-glass of coast lighthouses, swerving from the control of the all-powerful migratory instinct toward the fascinating glare that is their destruction. it is not sportsmanlike to hang a lantern in the marsh and shoot the duck that gather under it. but the night, the silent marsh, and the lantern have charms that the sportsman, with his legal and mechanical paraphernalia, can never understand. fish are devoted fire-worshippers, and that boy who has never speared by a jack-light is an object of compassion. the earth and the waters under the earth have no more fascinating sight than the gray, silent form of a pike, moving and motionless in the shallow water, a shadow more tangible than himself thrown by a jack-light on the mottled yellow rocks and sands of the bottom. a passing breath of wind, even the slightest motion of the punt, breaks every shadow and indentation into myriad fleeting ripples and waves of light, transforming the slender, silent fish into a sheaf of wriggling glimmers. with the stilling of the surface, the waiting pike and all the shadows and lights of the bottom grow once more still and distinct. there floats the greatest cannibal of the fishes, paying his devotion to the flame, and above him stands the greatest cannibal of all created beings, pointing his deadly spear. there is no moon. the stars cannot penetrate the thickening clouds. the bay is still and its shores invisible, the distant light of a farmhouse only serving to intensify the lonely silence. the savage joy of that moment repays the boy for all his laborious preparations. he brought two boards down the river from the mill, and toiled at them with all the tools in the woodshed till the ends and edges were made smooth. he collected lumber from all available sources for the ends and bottom, fastening them on with a miscellaneous collection of nails and springs. then he patiently picked an old piece of tarred rope into oakum, and caulked it into the seams with a sharpened gate-hinge. he notched a pine tree, gathered the gum and boiled it into pitch to make the joints tight. that extraordinary pair of oars he sawed, chopped, and whittled from an old plank. the spear is a family relic which he dug up and fitted with a white-ash pole, and the anchor is a long stone, tied by the slack of a clothes-line. the jack is a basket made of old pail-hoops, and fastened to an upright stick to hold the burning pine knot. yet we wonder why it is always the country boy who succeeds in the city! will he too, be lured by the seductive glimmer? will he turn away from the conquest of nature and embark in the conquest of his fellow-mortals? will he go to a resort for his fishing and a preserve for his shooting? will that bunch of hair protruding from under his hat be worn thin and gray in scrambling after the delights of the vain and the covetous? will he devote his superb strength of body and mind to outstripping and circumventing his fellows in the pursuit of that transient glimmer, that all-alluring _ignis fatuus_ which the babylon world calls success? s. t. wood daffodils 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 the bay; ten thousand saw i at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance. the waves beside them danced; but they outdid 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. wordsworth if thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty give him water to drink; for thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the lord shall reward thee. proverbs, xxv. to the dandelion dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, first pledge of blithesome may, which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, high-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they an eldorado in the grass have found, which not the rich earth's ample round may match in wealth--thou art more dear to me than all the prouder summer-blooms that be. lowell true greatness on the evening of the twenty-second of may, , two figures were seated at the wide doorway of a handsome house in florence. lillo, a boy of fifteen, sat on the ground, with his back against the angle of the door-post, and his long legs stretched out, while he held a large book open on his knee, and occasionally made a dash with his hand at an inquisitive fly, with an air of interest stronger than that excited by the finely-printed copy of petrarch which he kept open at one place, as if he were learning something by heart. romola sat nearly opposite lillo, but she was not observing him. her hands were crossed on her lap, and her eyes were fixed absently on the distant mountains: she was evidently unconscious of anything around her. an eager life had left its marks upon her: the finely-moulded cheek had sunk a little, the golden crown was less massive; but there was a placidity on romola's face which had never belonged to it in youth. it is but once that we can know our worst sorrows, and romola had known them while life was new. absorbed in this way, she was not at first aware that lillo had ceased to look at his book, and was watching her with a slightly impatient air, which meant that he wanted to talk to her, but was not quite sure whether she would like that entertainment just now. but persevering looks make themselves felt at last. romola did presently turn away her eyes from the distance and met lillo's impatient dark gaze with a brighter and brighter smile. he shuffled along the floor, still keeping the book on his lap, till he got close to her and lodged his chin on her knee. "what is it, lillo?" said romola, pulling his hair back from his brow. lillo was a handsome lad, but his features were turning out to be more massive and less regular than his father's. the blood of the tuscan peasant was in his veins. "mamma romola, what am i to be?" he said, well contented that there was a prospect of talking till it would be too late to con petrarch any longer. "what should you like to be, lillo? you might be a scholar. my father was a scholar, you know, and taught me a great deal. that is the reason why i can teach you." "yes," said lillo, rather hesitatingly. "but he is old and blind in the picture. did he get a great deal of glory?" "not much, lillo. the world was not always very kind to him, and he saw meaner men than himself put into higher places because they could flatter and say what was false. and then his dear son thought it right to leave him and become a monk; and after that, my father, being blind and lonely, felt unable to do the things that would have made his learning of greater use to men, so that he might still have lived in his works after he was in his grave." "i should not like that sort of life," said lillo, "i should like to be something that would make me a great man, and very happy besides--something that would not hinder me from having a good deal of pleasure." "that is not easy, my lillo. it is only a poor sort of happiness that could ever come by caring very much about our own narrow pleasures. we can have the highest happiness, such as goes along with being a great man, only by having wide thoughts, and much feeling for the rest of the world as well as ourselves; and this sort of happiness often brings so much pain with it, that we can tell it from pain only by its being what we would choose before everything, because our souls see it is good. there are so many things wrong and difficult in the world, that no man can be great--he can hardly keep himself from wickedness--unless he gives up thinking much about pleasure or rewards, and gets strength to endure what is hard and painful. my father had the greatness that belongs to integrity; he chose poverty and obscurity rather than falsehood. and so, my lillo, if you mean to act nobly and seek to know the best things god has put within reach of men, you must learn to fix your mind on that end, and not on what will happen to you because of it. and remember, if you were to choose something lower, and make it the rule of your life to seek your own pleasure and escape from what is disagreeable, calamity might come just the same; and it would be calamity falling on a base mind, which is the one form of sorrow that has no balm in it, and that may well make a man say, 'it would have been better for me if i had never been born.' i will tell you something, lillo." romola paused for a moment. she had taken lillo's cheeks between her hands, and his young eyes were meeting hers. "there was a man to whom i was very near, so that i could see a great deal of his life, who made almost everyone fond of him, for he was young, and clever, and beautiful, and his manners to all were gentle and kind. i believe, when i first knew him, he never thought of doing anything cruel or base. but because he tried to slip away from everything that was unpleasant, and cared for nothing else so much as his own safety, he came at last to commit some of the basest deeds--such as make men infamous. he denied his father, and left him to misery; he betrayed every trust that was reposed in him, that he might keep himself safe and get rich and prosperous. yet calamity overtook him." george eliot: "romola." the private of the buffs last night among his fellows rough he jested, quaffed, and swore: a drunken private of the buffs, who never looked before. to-day, beneath the foeman's frown, he stands in elgin's place, ambassador from britain's crown, and type of all her race. poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, bewildered and alone, a heart, with english instinct fraught, he yet can call his own. ay! tear his body limb from limb; bring cord, or axe, or flame!-- he only knows that not through him shall england come to shame. far kentish hopfields round him seemed like dreams to come and go; bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed one sheet of living snow: the smoke above his father's door in gray, soft eddyings hung:-- must he then watch it rise no more, doomed by himself, so young? yes, honour calls!--with strength like steel he put the vision by: let dusky indians whine and kneel; an english lad must die! and thus, with eyes that would not shrink, with knee to man unbent, unfaltering on its dreadful brink to his red grave he went. vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed; vain, those all-shattering guns; unless proud england keep, untamed, the strong heart of her sons! so, let his name through europe ring-- a man of mean estate who died, as firm as sparta's king, because his soul was great. f. h. doyle honourable toil two men i honour, and no third. first, the toilworn craftsman, that, with earth-made implement, laboriously conquers the earth, and makes her man's. venerable to me is the hard hand; crooked, coarse; wherein, notwithstanding, lies a cunning virtue, indefeasibly royal, as of the sceptre of this planet. venerable, too, is the rugged face, all weather-tanned, besoiled, with its rude intelligence; for it is the face of a man living manlike. o, but the more venerable for thy rudeness, and even because we must pity as well as love thee! hardly-entreated brother! for us was thy back so bent, for us were thy straight limbs and fingers so deformed: thou wert our conscript, on whom the lot fell, and fighting our battles wert so marred. for in thee, too, lay a god-created form, but it was not to be unfolded; encrusted must it stand with the thick adhesions and defacements of labour: and thy body, like thy soul, was not to know freedom. yet toil on, toil on: _thou_ art in thy duty, be out of it who may; thou toilest for the altogether indispensable, for daily bread. a second man i honour, and still more highly: him who is seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable; not daily bread, but the bread of life. is not he, too, in his duty; endeavouring towards inward harmony; revealing this, by act or by word, through all his outward endeavours, be they high or low? highest of all, when his outward and his inward endeavour are one; when we can name him artist; not earthly craftsman only, but inspired thinker, who with heaven-made implement conquers heaven for us! if the poor and humble toil that we have food, must not the high and glorious toil for him in return, that he have light, have guidance, freedom, immortality?--these two, in all their degrees, i honour: all else is chaff and dust, which let the wind blow whither it listeth. unspeakably touching is it, however, when i find both dignities united; and he, that must toil outwardly for the lowest of man's wants, is also toiling inwardly for the highest. sublimer in this world know i nothing than a peasant saint, could such now anywhere be met with. such a one will take thee back to nazareth itself; thou wilt see the splendour of heaven spring forth from the humblest depths of earth, like a light shining in great darkness. carlyle: "sartor resartus." on his blindness when i consider how my light is spent ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, and that one talent which is death to hide lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent to serve therewith my maker, and present my true account, lest he returning chide; "doth god exact day labour, light denied?" i fondly ask. but patience, to prevent that murmur, soon replies, "god doth not need either man's work, or his own gifts. who best bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, and post o'er land and ocean without rest: they also serve who only stand and wait." milton so shall inferior eyes, that borrow their behaviour from the great, grow great by your example and put on the dauntless spirit of resolution. shakespeare mysterious night mysterious night! when our first parent knew thee from report divine, and heard thy name, did he not tremble for this lovely frame, this glorious canopy of light and blue? yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, hesperus with the host of heaven came, and lo! creation widened in man's view. who could have thought such darkness lay concealed within thy beams, o sun! or who could find, whilst flow'r and leaf and insect stood revealed, that to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind! why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife? if light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? joseph blanco white the future hides in it gladness and sorrow: we press still thorow; nought that abides in it daunting us--onward! goethe vitaÏ lampada (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 honour a name, but the voice of a school-boy 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 the irreparable past ("and he cometh the third time, and saith unto them, sleep on now, and take your rest; it is enough, the hour is come; behold the son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. rise up, let us go; lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand." mark, xiv. , ) the words of christ are not like the words of other men. his sentences do not end with the occasion which called them forth: every sentence of christ's is a deep principle of human life, and it is so with these sentences. the principle contained in "sleep on now" is this, that the past is irreparable, and after a certain moment waking will do no good. you may improve the future, the past is gone beyond recovery. as to all that is gone by, so far as the hope of altering it goes, you may sleep on and take your rest: there is no power in earth or heaven that can undo what has once been done. let us proceed to give an illustration of this. this principle applies to a misspent youth. the young are by god's providence, exempted in a great measure from anxiety; they are as the apostles were in relation to their master: their friends stand between them and the struggles of existence. they are not called upon to think for themselves: the burden is borne by others. they get their bread without knowing or caring how it is paid for: they smile and laugh without a suspicion of the anxious thoughts of day and night which a parent bears to enable them to smile. so to speak, they are sleeping--and it is not a guilty sleep--while another watches. my young brethren--youth is one of the precious opportunities of life--rich in blessing if you choose to make it so; but having in it the materials of undying remorse if you suffer it to pass unimproved. your quiet gethsemane is now. do you know how you can imitate the apostles in their fatal sleep? you can suffer your young days to pass idly and uselessly away; you can live as if you had nothing to do but to enjoy yourselves: you can let others think for you, and not try to become thoughtful yourselves: till the business and difficulties of life come upon you unprepared, and you find yourselves like men waking from sleep, hurried, confused, scarcely able to stand, with all the faculties bewildered, not knowing right from wrong, led headlong to evil, just because you have not given yourselves in time to learn what is good. all that is sleep. and now let us mark it. you cannot repair that in after-life. oh! remember every period of human life has its own lesson, and you cannot learn that lesson in the next period. the boy has one set of lessons to learn, and the young man another, and the grown-up man another. let us consider one single instance. the boy has to learn docility, gentleness of temper, reverence, submission. all those feelings which are to be transferred afterwards in full cultivation to god, like plants nursed in a hotbed and then planted out, are to be cultivated first in youth. afterwards, those habits which have been merely habits of obedience to an earthly parent, are to become religious submission to a heavenly parent. our parents stand to us in the place of god. veneration for our parents is intended to become afterwards adoration for something higher. take that single instance; and now suppose that _that_ is not learned in boyhood. suppose that the boy sleeps to the duty of veneration, and learns only flippancy, insubordination, and the habit of deceiving his father,--can that, my young brethren, be repaired afterwards? humanly speaking not. life is like the transition from class to class in a school. the school-boy who has not learned arithmetic in the earlier classes, cannot secure it when he comes to mechanics in the higher: each section has its own sufficient work. he may be a good philosopher or a good historian, but a bad arithmetician he remains for life; for he cannot lay the foundation at the moment when he must be building the superstructure. the regiment which has not perfected itself in its manoeuvres on the parade ground, cannot learn them before the guns of the enemy. and just in the same way, the young person who has slept his youth away, and become idle, and selfish, and hard, cannot make up for that afterwards. he may do something, he may be religious--yes; but he cannot be what he might have been. there is a part of his heart which will remain uncultivated to the end. the apostles could share their master's sufferings--they could not save him. youth has its irreparable past. and therefore, my young brethren, let it be impressed upon you,--now is a time, infinite in its value for eternity, which will never return again. sleep not; learn that there is a very solemn work of heart which must be done while the stillness of the garden of gethsemane gives you time. now, or never. the treasures at your command are infinite. treasures of time--treasures of youth--treasures of opportunity that grown-up men would sacrifice everything they have to possess. oh for ten years of youth back again with the added experience of age! but it cannot be: they must be content to sleep on now and take their rest. rev. f. w. robertson: "sermons." a christmas hymn, it was the calm and silent night:-- seven hundred years and fifty-three had rome been growing up to might, and now was queen of land and sea! no sound was heard of clashing wars; peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; apollo, pallas, jove, and mars held undisturbed their ancient reign, in the solemn midnight centuries ago! 'twas in the calm and silent night! the senator of haughty rome impatient urged his chariot's flight, from lordly revel rolling home! triumphal arches gleaming swell his breast with thoughts of boundless sway; what recked the roman what befell a paltry province far away, in the solemn midnight centuries ago! within that province far away went plodding home a weary boor: a streak of light before him lay, fallen through a half-shut stable door across his path. he passed--for nought told what was going on within; how keen the stars! his only thought; the air, how calm and cold and thin, in the solemn midnight centuries ago! o strange indifference!--low and high drowsed over common joys and cares: the earth was still--but knew not why; the world was listening--unawares; how calm a moment may precede one that shall thrill the world for ever! to that still moment none would heed, man's doom was linked no more to sever in the solemn midnight centuries ago! it is the calm and solemn night! a thousand bells ring out, and throw their joyous peals abroad, and smite the darkness, charmed and holy _now_! the night that erst no name had worn, to it a happy name is given; for in that stable lay new-born the peaceful prince of earth and heaven, in the solemn midnight centuries ago. a. domett the quarrel _enter_ brutus _and_ cassius cas. that you have wrong'd me doth appear in this: you have condemn'd and noted lucius pella for taking bribes here of the sardians; wherein my letters, praying on his side, because i knew the man, were slighted off. bru. you wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. cas. in such a time as this it is not meet that every nice offence should bear his comment. bru. let me tell you, cassius, you yourself are much condemn'd to have an itching palm; to sell and mart your offices for gold to undeservers. cas. i an itching palm! you know that you are brutus that speak this, or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. bru. the name of cassius honours this corruption, and chastisement doth therefore hide his head. cas. chastisement! bru. remember march, the ides of march remember: did not great julius bleed for justice' sake? what villain touch'd his body, that did stab, and not for justice? what, shall one of us, that struck the foremost man of all this world but for supporting robbers, shall we now contaminate our fingers with base bribes, and sell the mighty space of our large honours for so much trash as may be grasped thus? i had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, than such a roman. cas. brutus, bay not me; i'll not endure it: you forget yourself, to hedge me in; i am a soldier, i, older in practice, abler than yourself to make conditions. bru. go to; you are not, cassius. cas. i am. bru. i say you are not. cas. urge me no more, i shall forget myself; have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. bru. away, slight man! cas. is't possible? bru. hear me, for i will speak. must i give way and room to your rash choler? shall i be frighted when a madman stares? cas. o ye gods, ye gods! must i endure all this? bru. all this! ay, more: fret till your proud heart break; go show your slaves how choleric you are, and make your bondmen tremble. must i budge? must i observe you? must i stand and crouch under your testy humour? by the gods, you shall digest the venom of your spleen, though it do split you; for, from this day forth, i'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, when you are waspish. cas. is it come to this? bru. you say you are a better soldier: let it appear so; make your vaunting true, and it shall please me well: for mine own part, i shall be glad to learn of noble men. cas. you wrong me every way; you wrong me, brutus; i said, an elder soldier, not a better: did i say "better"? bru. if you did, i care not. cas. when cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. bru. peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him. cas. i durst not! bru. no. cas. what, durst not tempt him! bru. for your life you durst not. cas. do not presume too much upon my love; i may do that i shall be sorry for. bru. you have done that you should be sorry for. there is no terror, cassius, in your threats, for i am arm'd so strong in honesty that they pass by me as the idle wind, which i respect not. i did send to you for certain sums of gold, which you denied me: for i can raise no money by vile means: by heaven, i had rather coin my heart, and drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring from the hard hands of peasants their vile trash by any indirection: i did send to you for gold to pay my legions, which you denied me: was that done like cassius? should i have answer'd caius cassius so? when marcus brutus grows so covetous, to lock such rascal counters from his friends, be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts; dash him to pieces! cas. i denied you not. bru. you did. cas. i did not: he was but a fool that brought my answer back. brutus hath rived my heart: a friend should bear his friend's infirmities, but brutus makes mine greater than they are. bru. i do not, till you practise them on me. cas. you love me not. bru. i do not like your faults. cas. a friendly eye could never see such faults. bru. a flatterer's would not, though they do appear as huge as high olympus. cas. come, antony, and young octavius, come, revenge yourselves alone on cassius, for cassius is aweary of the world; hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd, set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote, to cast into my teeth. o, i could weep my spirit from mine eyes! there is my dagger, and here my naked breast; within, a heart dearer than plutus' mine, richer than gold; if that thou be'st a roman, take it forth; i, that denied thee gold, will give my heart; strike, as thou didst at cæsar; for, i know, when thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better than ever thou lovedst cassius. bru. sheath your dagger: be angry when you will, it shall have scope; do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. o cassius, you are yoked with a lamb that carries anger as the flint bears fire; who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, and straight is cold again. cas. hath cassius lived to be but mirth and laughter to his brutus, when grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him? bru. when i spoke that i was ill-temper'd too. cas. do you confess so much? give me your hand. bru. and my heart too. cas. o brutus! bru. what's the matter? cas. have not you love enough to bear with me, when that rash humour which my mother gave me, makes me forgetful? bru. yes, cassius; and, from henceforth, when you are over-earnest with your brutus, he'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. shakespeare: "julius cæsar," iv. recessional ( ) god of our fathers, known of old, lord of our far-flung battle-line, beneath whose awful hand we hold dominion over palm and pine-- lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! the tumult and the shouting dies; the captains and the kings depart: still stands thine ancient sacrifice, an humble and a contrite heart. lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! far-called our navies melt away; on dune and headland sinks the fire: lo, all our pomp of yesterday is one with nineveh and tyre! judge of the nations, spare us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! if, drunk with sight of power, we loose wild tongues that have not thee in awe, such boasting as the gentiles use, or lesser breeds without the law-- lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! for heathen heart that puts her trust in reeking tube and iron shard, all valiant dust that builds on dust, and guarding, calls not thee to guard, for frantic boast and foolish word-- thy mercy on thy people, lord! amen. kipling none none none =the ontario readers.= the high school reader. authorized for use in the public and high schools and collegiate institutes of ontario by the department of education. toronto: rose publishing company. . _entered according to act of parliament of canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-six, by the_ minister of education _for ontario, in the office of the minister of agriculture._ printed and bound by hunter, rose & co., toronto. preface. the selections in the high school reader have been chosen with the belief that to pupils of such advancement as is required for entrance into high schools and collegiate institutes, oral reading should be taught from the best literature, inasmuch as it not only affords a wide range of thought and sentiment, but it also demands for its appropriate vocal interpretation such powers of sympathy and appreciation as are developed only by culture; and it is to impart culture that these institutions of higher learning have been established. experience has shown that it is from their ordinary reading books that pupils obtain their chief practical acquaintance with literature, and the selections here presented have been made with this in remembrance. they have been taken from the writings of authors of acknowledged representative character; and they have been arranged for the most part chronologically, so that pupils may unconsciously obtain some little insight into the history of the development of the literary art. they have also been so chosen as to convey a somewhat fair idea of the relative value and productivity of authorship in the three great english-speaking communities of the world--the mother countries, our neighbours' country, and our own. while a limited space, if nothing else, prevents the collection here made from being a complete anthology, yet it does pretend to represent the authors selected in characteristic moods, and (in so far as is possible in a school book, and a reading text-book) to present a somewhat fair perspective of the world of authorship. it may be said that, if this be so, some names are conspicuously absent: mcgee, canada's poet-orator; parkman, who has given to our country a place in the portraiture of nations; william morris, the chief of the modern school of romanticism; tyndall, who of the literature of science has made an art; lamb, daintiest of humorists; collins, "whose range of flight," as swinburne says, "was the highest of his generation." either from lack of space, or from some inherent unsuitableness in such selections as might otherwise have been made, it was found impossible to represent these names worthily; but as they are all more or less adequately represented in the _fourth reader_, the teacher who may wish to correct the perspective here presented may refer his pupils to the pieces from these authors there given. it may be added, too, that the body of recent literature is so enormous, that no adequate representation of it (at any rate as regards quantity) is possible within the limits of one book. the selections in poetry, with but three necessary exceptions, are complete wholes, and represent, as fairly as single pieces can, the respective merits and styles of their authors. the selections in prose cannot, of course, lay claim to this excellence; but they are all complete in themselves, or have been made so by short introductions; and it is hoped that they too are not unfairly representative of their authors. in many cases they are of somewhat unusual length; by this, however, they gain in interest and in representative character. in some of the prose selections, passages have occasionally been omitted, either because they interfered with the main narrative, or because, as they added nothing to it, to omit them would be a gain of space. in most cases these omissions are indicated by small asterisks. all the selections, both in prose and in verse, have been made with constant reference to their suitableness for the teaching of reading. they are fitted to exemplify every mode of expression, except, perhaps, that appropriate to a few of the stronger passions. it is not pretended that they are all simple and easy. many of them will require much study and preparation before they can be read with that precision of expression which is necessary to perfect intelligibility. the chronological arrangement precludes grading; the teacher will decide in what order the selections are to be read. the introductory chapter is mainly intended to assist the teacher in imparting to his pupils a somewhat scientific knowledge of the art of reading. of course the teacher will choose for himself his mode of dealing with the chapter, but it has been written with the thought that he should use it as a convenient series of texts, which he might expand and illustrate in accordance with his opportunities and judgment. examples for illustration are indispensable to the successful study of the principles described, and they should be sought for and obtained by the teacher and pupils together (whenever possible they should be taken from the reader), and should be kept labeled for reference and practice. if the application of these principles be thus practically made by the pupils themselves, they will receive a much more lasting impression of their meaning and value than if the examples were given to them at no cost of thought or search on their part. to the teacher it is recommended that he should not be contented with the short and necessarily imperfect exposition of the art of reading therein given. the more familiar he is with the scientific principles the more successfully will he be able to direct the studies and practices of his pupils. works on elocution are numerous and accessible. dr. rush's _philosophy of the voice_ is perhaps the foundation of all subsequent good work in the exposition of voice culture. professor murdoch's _analytic elocution_ is an exhaustive and scholarly treatise based upon it, and to the plan of treatment therein fully developed the practical part of the introductory chapter has largely conformed. the pleasing task remains of thanking those authors who have so kindly responded to requests for permission to use selections from their works: to president wilson, for a sonnet from _spring wild roses_, and for _our ideal_; to mr. charles sangster, for two sonnets from _hesperus_; to mr. john reade, for two poems from _the prophecy of merlin_; to mr. charles mair, for the scenes from _tecumseh_; and to professor c. g. d. roberts, for _to winter_. to miss a. t. jones, thanks are due for permission to use _abigail becker_, recently published in the _century magazine_. the heroic acts described in this poem seem so wonderful, so greatly superior to woman's strength, even to human strength and endurance, to accomplish, that were it possible to doubt its truthfulness, doubt one certainly would. nevertheless the poem is not only strictly in accordance with the facts, it is even within and below them. contents. _(the titles of the selections in poetry are printed in italics.)_ number. title. author. page. i. king solomon's prayer and blessing at the dedication of the temple. holy bible ii. invitation. holy bible iii. _the trial scene in the "merchant of venice."_ shakespeare iv. of boldness. bacon v. _to daffodils._ herrick vi. of contentedness in all estates and accidents. taylor vii. _to lucasta, on going to the wars._ lovelace viii. angling. walton ix. _on the morning of christ's nativity._ milton x. character of lord falkland. clarendon xi. _veni, creator spiritus._ dryden xii. _lines printed under the portrait of milton._ dryden xiii. _reason_ dryden xiv. on the love of country as a principle of action. steele xv. the golden scales. addison xvi. misjudged hospitality. swift xvii. _from the "essay on man."_ pope xviii. _rule, britannia._ thomson xix. the first crusade. hume xx. _the bard._ gray xxi. on an address to the throne concerning affairs in america. chatham xxii. from "the vicar of wakefield." goldsmith xxiii. meeting of johnson with wilkes. boswell xxiv. the policy of the empire in the first century. gibbon xxv. on the attacks upon his pension. burke xxvi. two eighteenth century scenes. cowper xxvii. from "the school for scandal." sheridan xxviii. _the cotter's saturday night._ burns xxix. _the land o' the leal._ lady nairn xxx. the trial by combat at the diamond of the desert. scott xxxi. _to a highland girl._ wordsworth xxxii. _france: an ode._ coleridge xxxiii. _complaint and reproof._ coleridge xxxiv. _the well of st. keyne._ southey xxxv. _the isles of greece._ byron xxxvi. _go where glory waits thee._ moore xxxvii. _dear harp of my country._ moore xxxviii. _come, ye disconsolate._ moore xxxix. _on a lock of milton's hair._ hunt xl. _the glove and the lions._ hunt xli. _the cloud._ shelley xlii. _on first looking into chapman's homer._ keats xliii. _on the grasshopper and the cricket._ keats xliv. the power and danger of the cæsars. de quincey xlv. unthoughtfulness. dr. arnold xlvi. _the bridge of sighs._ hood xlvii. _a parental ode to my son._ hood xlviii. metaphysics. haliburton xlix. _indian summer._ lover l. _to helen._ praed li. _horatius._ macaulay lii. _the raven._ poe liii. david swan--a fantasy. hawthorne liv. _my kate._ mrs. browning lv. _a dead rose._ mrs. browning lvi. _to the evening wind._ bryant lvii. death of the protector. carlyle lviii. _each and all._ emerson lix. waterloo. lever lx. _the diver._ lytton lxi. the plague of locusts. newman lxii. _the cane-bottom'd chair._ thackeray lxiii. the reconciliation. thackeray lxiv. _the island of the scots._ aytoun lxv. the gambling party. beaconsfield lxvi. the pickwickians disport themselves on ice. dickens lxvii. _the hanging of the crane._ longfellow lxviii. earthworms. darwin lxix. "_as ships, becalmed at eve._" clough lxx. _duty._ clough lxxi. _sonnets._ heavysege lxxii. dr. arnold at rugby. dean stanley lxxiii. _ode to the north-east wind._ kingsley lxxiv. from "the mill on the floss." george eliot lxxv. _the cloud confines._ rossetti lxxvi. _barbara frietchie._ whittier lxxvii. _contentment._ holmes lxxviii. the british constitution. gladstone lxxix. _the lord of burleigh._ tennyson lxxx. "_break, break, break._" tennyson lxxxi. _the "revenge"._ tennyson lxxxii. _hervé riel._ browning lxxxiii. _sonnet._ dr. wilson lxxxiv. _our ideal._ dr. wilson lxxxv. from the apology of socrates. jowett lxxxvi. the empire of the cæsars. froude lxxxvii. of the mystery of life. ruskin lxxxviii. the robin. lowell lxxxix. _the old cradle._ locker xc. _rugby chapel._ matt. arnold xci. _in the orillia woods._ sangster xcii. morals and character in the eighteenth century. goldwin smith xciii. a liberal education. huxley xciv. _too late._ mrs. craik xcv. _amor mundi._ miss rossetti xcvi. _toujours amour._ stedman xcvii. _england._ aldrich xcviii. _rococo._ aldrich xcix. _kings of men._ john reade c. _thalatta! thalatta!_ john reade ci. _the forsaken garden._ swinburne cii. _a ballad to queen elizabeth of the spanish armada._ dobson ciii. _circe._ dobson civ. _scenes from "tecumseh."_ mair cv. _the return of the swallows._ gosse cvi. _dawn angels._ miss robinson cvii. _le roi est mort._ miss robinson cviii. _to winter._ roberts cix. _abigail becker._ miss jones short extracts. first lines. author. page. he that cannot see well bacon _stone walls do not a prison make_ lovelace when the heart is right berkeley _it must be so--plato, thou reasonest well_ addison _england, with all thy faults, i love thee still_ cowper _now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast_ cowper _oh, wad some power the giftie gie us_ burns _life! we've been long together_ mrs. barbauld _rough wind, that moanest loud_ shelley _there is a book, who runs may read_ keble _there is no great and no small_ emerson _wellington, thy great work is but begun_ rossetti _sacrifice and self-devotion_ lord houghton _flower in the crannied wall_ tennyson _it fortifies my soul to know_ clough _and yet, dear heart! remembering thee_ whittier _there is no land like england_ tennyson _the summum pulchrum rests in heaven above_ clough be of good cheer then, my dear crito socrates _what know we greater than the soul_ tennyson _that is best blood that hath most iron in't_ lowell _such kings of shreds have woo'd and won her_ aldrich index of authors. name. page. addison, joseph , aldrich, thomas bailey , arnold, matthew arnold, thomas aytoun, wm. edmondstoune bacon, lord (francis) , barbauld, anna lÆtitia beaconsfield, lord (benjamin disraeli) berkeley, bishop (george) bible, the holy , boswell, james browning, elizabeth barrett , browning, robert bryant, william cullen burke, edmund burns, robert , byron, lord (george gordon noel) carlyle, thomas chatham, lord (wm. pitt) clarendon, lord clough, arthur hugh , , , coleridge, samuel taylor , cowper, william , , craik, dinah maria mulock darwin, charles de quincey, thomas dickens, charles dobson, austin , dryden, john , , eliot, george (marian evans cross) emerson, ralph waldo , froude, james anthony gibbon, edward gladstone, william ewart goldsmith, oliver gosse, edmund william gray, thomas haliburton, thomas chandler hawthorne, nathaniel heavysege, charles herrick, robert holmes, oliver wendell hood, thomas , houghton, lord (richard monckton milnes) hume, david hunt, leigh huxley, thomas henry jones, amanda t. jowett, benjamin keats, john keble, john kingsley, charles lever, charles james locker, frederick longfellow, henry wadsworth lovelace, richard , lover, samuel lowell, james russell , lytton, lord (edward bulwer) macaulay, lord (thomas babington) mair, charles milton, john moore, thomas , , nairn, baroness (carolina oliphant) newman, cardinal (john henry) poe, edgar allan pope, alexander praed, winthrop mackworth reade, john , roberts, charles george douglas robinson, a. mary f. , rossetti, christina georgina rossetti, dante gabriel , ruskin, john sangster, charles scott, sir walter shakespeare, william shelley, percy bysshe , sheridan, richard brinsley smith, goldwin southey, robert stanley, dean (arthur penrhyn) stedman, edmund clarence steele, sir richard swift, jonathan swinburne, algernon charles taylor, bishop (jeremy) tennyson, lord (alfred) , , , , thackeray, william makepeace , thomson, james walton, izaak whittier, john greenleaf , wilson, president (daniel) wordsworth, william introductory. the ability to read well cannot be attained without much pains and study. for even a moderate proficiency in the art of reading two requirements are essential: ( ) a cultivated mind quick to perceive the sequence of thoughts which the words to be read logically express, and equally quick in its power sympathetically to appreciate the sentiment with which the words are informed--the feeling, emotion, passion, which pervades them--but which they suggest rather than actually portray; and ( ) a voice so perfected that its utterances fall upon the ear of the listener with pleasing effect, and so flexible that it can be managed skilfully to convey to him the full meaning and force of all the ideas and sentiments formally expressed by the words or latent in them. of these two requirements the first is undeniably the more important; and that training in the art of reading in which the close, persistent, and liberal study of literature for its own sake has not proceeded _pari passu_ with the requisite exercises for the development of the powers of the voice and with the study of the principles of vocal interpretation, has resulted in a meretricious accomplishment of very illusive value. nor will the special study and accurate mastery of a number of individual selections give that readiness of mental apprehension which is indispensable to a good reader. the ability quickly to recognize word-forms and to utter them with ease, to catch the drift of ideas, and to feel ready sympathy with change and flow in sentiment, is not to be had without a long course of wide and varied reading. no one can become a good reader by passing through, no matter how carefully, a set of reading text-books merely. pupils should be encouraged to read for themselves. they should, of course, be guided in their selection of reading matter, and they should be helped to acquire a taste for that which is purest and most helpful in literature; but unless they form a _habit_ of reading, and of reading thoughtfully and with precision, they can never become good readers. in oral reading, readiness and accuracy depend largely upon the alertness and flexibility of the vocal organs, and to secure ease and excellence in the working of their delicate mechanism much practice is necessary. the pupil should persistently read aloud. a practice of this sort, watchfully pursued, with a reasonable degree of self-discipline in the correction or avoidance of errors, is helpful not alone in obtaining a mastery of the reading art, and in mental culture,--it is equally beneficial as a physical exercise. it will, however, be much more efficacious of good, both of mind and of body, if pursued in accordance with those principles of voice culture and of vocal interpretation, which experience and special study have established. but only a small proportion of all the reading that is done, is oral reading. it is _silent_ reading that is universally employed as an instrument of study, of business, of amusement. as a rule, however, very little provision is made for the acquirement of a facility in silent reading; this, it is thought, will result as a by-product of the regular training in oral reading. almost the reverse of this is true. ease and flexibility of articulation, quickness in catching the drift of ideas, and readiness in varying the tones of the voice in the utterance of words so as impressively to portray their latent sentiment,--all this is possible with those alone to whom difficult word-forms, complex sentence-structures, and the infinite variety and play of thought and emotion, are more or less familiar through such a wide range of reading as only the silent prosecution of it makes possible. the art of oral reading, however, though not so generally needful as silent reading, is still of great importance to everyone in respect of its practical utility simply,--though few of those whose duty it is to read aloud in public, do so either with accuracy or grace; as an accomplishment which may be used to give pleasure to others, it is, when perfectly possessed, not excelled by any other; so that as an acquisition which puts one in a position of vantage either for benefitting one's self or for bestowing delight or benefit upon others, it is worth every necessary struggle for its attainment. one of the most valuable results of oral reading when systematically pursued as a school study, is the effect which it has in improving the tones of the voice for ordinary conversation and discourse, and in securing some measure of orthoepy as a fixed habit of utterance. conversational speech is notoriously slovenly. the sonority of our vowels is lost, and their distinguishing qualities are obscured; and with unnoticed frequency our consonants are either dropped or amalgamated with one another. yet, while amendment in these matters is to be striven for, there is nothing that the teacher who wishes to establish habits of orthoepy has to be more watchful in guarding against, than bestowing upon his pupils an affected or mincing utterance, all the more ludicrous and objectionable, it may be, in that a certain set of words are pronounced with over-nicety, while almost all others are left in a state of neglected vulgarity. too frequently the study of oral reading is pursued with reference solely to the prospective public use of the art in the declamation of prepared passages; and the elocution-master's science has been brought into some discredit by wide discrepancies between the performances of his pupils in their well-drilled and often hackneyed selections and their ability to read unfamiliar pieces at sight. it is quite true that voice culture is greatly aided by the close study and frequent rendering of selections suitably chosen for the elocutionary difficulties which they present; but it should never be forgotten that good reading, the sort of reading which the schoolmaster should above all else endeavor to make his pupils proficient in, implies the ability so to read a plain account, a story, an oration, a play, or what not, _at sight_, with absolute correctness as to pronunciation, with such clearness of articulation and appropriateness of sentence utterance as will make it perfectly audible and intelligible to one's auditors, and with such suitable and impressive intonations as will put them in full possession of those emotions which may be said to be the essence or spirit of the piece;--and, moreover, to do all this with pleasure to one's hearers and with ease to one's self. now as comparatively few readers are ever required to read in public, and as in the home-circle everyone ought to read, it is plain that the first duty of the teacher of elocution is to develop in his pupils a mastery of such a style of reading as is appropriate to small audiences; and, _then_, if he have time and opportunity, to extend and amplify the practice of his art so as to fit such as are capable of fuller mastery of it to appear before greater audiences. for though all voices are capable of being much improved through cultivation, few only can be adapted to the requirements of a large auditorium; and the care and attention which should be devoted to the benefit of all should not be spent for the advantage merely of the few. and moreover, those practices and studies which voice culture and the attainment of a knowledge of the principles of vocal interpretation demand, may be pursued by all in common. that alone which is necessary for the public reader or orator, is a more extended, and, perhaps, a more earnest and thoughtful practice. although practices for the improvement of the voice cannot proceed far without attention to the principles of vocal interpretation, and though the study of the latter necessarily includes the former, yet for the sake of clearness the elementary principles of voice culture may be discussed separately from their application in the interpretation of thought and sentiment. with respect both to articulation and expression _the generic properties of the voice are five_, namely: _quality_, _pitch_, _force_, _time_, _abruptness_. of these properties there are, of course, many modes or degrees, but the voice must, in every tone that it utters, manifest itself in some mode or other of each; and it is the possibility of infinite choice in the ways of combining the modes that gives to vocal expression its infinite possibility of variety. the principles of voice culture will be best understood, however, if these properties be considered separately. =quality= has reference to the _kind_ of the voice in respect of its smoothness or roughness, sonority or thinness, musicalness or harshness; also in respect of the completeness of its vocality. =pitch= has reference to the degree of elevation or depression in what is called in music the _scale_. it may be used specifically, in reference to single tones or syllables (either as to their opening, or as to their whole utterance), or generally, as descriptive of the prevailing tone or note which the voice assumes in reading a sentence or passage. =force= has reference to the power or intensity with which the sounds of the voice are uttered. when force is used in the utterance of single syllables, in whole or in part, it is spoken of as =stress=. =time= is rate of utterance. it is used with reference both to single syllables, and to phrases, sentences, and passages. in regard to single syllables it is sometimes called =quantity=. in the consideration of time may be included that of _pauses_ and _rhythms_. =abruptness= has reference to the relative suddenness with which syllables may be uttered. it may vary from the most delicate opening to a forcible explosion. vocality depends upon respiration. all exercises, therefore, which are effective in increasing the vigor, freedom, and elasticity of the breathing apparatus, may be taken as initiatory steps in voice culture; and, in moderation, they should be practised continually. full, slow inspirations followed by slow, and, as far as possible, complete expirations; full, quick inspirations similarly followed; full inspirations followed by sudden and forcible expirations; full, deep inspirations, followed by slow, slightly but distinctly audible expirations, as in deep sighing; these and similar practices may be pursued. what is to be aimed at is to secure complete control of the breath, especially to the degree that, with perfect deliberateness, it can be equably and smoothly effused. in all exercises where vocality is required it is best _first_ to use the sound of _ä_, as in _far_, for in this sound the quality of the human voice is heard in most perfection, and in uttering it the vocal organs are most flexible and most easily adapt themselves to change. it may be preceded by the aspirate _h_, or by some consonant, as may be thought necessary. in effective speaking or reading, _with respect to the abruptness and rapidity of expiration there are three modes of utterance_: the =effusive=, by which the voice is poured forth smoothly and equably, the =expulsive= and the =explosive=. of these three modes the effusive is by far the most important, but the others, and especially the expulsive, have their uses also. these modes will be illustrated in the following exercise: exercise.-- . after a full and deliberate inspiration let the expiration of the element _h_ be gently effected, until the lungs are exhausted--the aspiration coming from the very depths of the throat. let this be repeated with the syllable _häh_, audibly whispered. this is _effusive_ utterance. . after a full and deliberate inspiration let the expiration of the element _h_ be suddenly effected, the expiration being continued until the whispering sound vanishes in the bottom of the throat. let this be repeated with the syllable _häh_, audibly whispered. this is _expulsive_ utterance. . let the exercise be the same as in ( ) except that the expiration is to be much more forcibly effected, and completed almost instantaneously. this is _explosive_ utterance. in the cultivation of the voice either one of two ends is generally kept in view--its improvement for speaking or its improvement for singing; but progress may be made towards both ends by the same study, and those exercises which benefit the singing voice benefit the speaking voice, and _vice versa_. _the distinction between speaking tones and singing tones should be clearly understood._ musical tones are produced by isochronous (equal-timed) vibrations of the vocal organs continued for some length of time. hence, a musical tone is a _note_, which may be prolonged at will without varying in pitch, either up or down. a speaking tone, on the contrary, is produced by vibrations which are not isochronous; it is not a _note_, properly so called, and can not be prolonged, without varying in pitch. musical tones are _discrete_,--the voice passes from pitch to pitch through the intervals silently. in speaking, _every_ tone, however short the time taken in uttering it, passes from one pitch to some other through an interval _concretely_, that is, with continuous vocality; though, with respect to one another, speech syllables, like notes in music, are discrete. this may be exemplified by uttering the words, "_where are you going?_" in singing these words, they may be uttered on the same note, or on different notes, or, indeed, with different notes for the same word; but the voice _skips_ from note to note through the intervals. in speaking the words, each is uttered with an inflection or intonation in which the voice varies in pitch, but passes through the interval concretely; the separate words, however, and the separate syllables (if there were any) being uttered discretely. musical utterance might be graphically illustrated by a series of horizontal lines of less or greater length succeeding one another at different distances above or below a fixed horizontal line. in a similar notation for speech utterance the lines would all be curved, to represent the concrete passage through the various intervals. _it is the concrete intonation of every syllable and monosyllabic word which gives to speech its distinctive character from music._ each syllable and monosyllabic word is called a =concrete=, and _it is with the concrete in all its various possibilities of utterance that voice culture has mainly to do_. the intervals traversed by the voice in uttering the concrete are very variable. using the musical scale for reference it may be said that in ordinary speech they are generally of but one, or, at most, two notes. in animated discourse or passionate utterance the intervals may be greater. for illustration, let the pronoun "_i_" be uttered in a tone of interrogative surprise; a concrete with a rising interval will be the result. the more the surprise is emphasized, especially if indignation be conjoined with it, the greater will be the interval that the voice passes through in uttering the concrete. if the word "_lie_" be given immediately after the pronoun with the same intensity of feeling, the voice discretely descends from the high pitch heard at the end of the utterance of the pronoun, and in uttering the next concrete, again ascends through an interval, of less or more extent according to the emphasis which is imparted to it. again, in speech of sorrow, murmuring, piteous complaint, and the like, concrete intervals of less extent than those used in ordinary discourse are often heard. thus, if the sentence "_pity me, kind lady, i have no mother_," be uttered with a plaintive expression, concretes with small intervals will be distinctly noticeable; but it will be also noticed that with respect to one another the syllables are discretely uttered, just as in the sentence where the concrete intervals were much greater. without intending a scientifically accurate and rigid statement, it may be said (again borrowing the terminology of music) that in ordinary speech the concretes are uttered with intervals of a _second_, or at most a _third_; that in very expressive or impassioned utterance intervals of a _fifth_ or an _octave_ are frequently used; and that the mode of progression from syllable to syllable is _diatonic_, that is, not concretely, but discretely from tone to tone; and further, that in plaintive language, the syllables are uttered concretely with intervals of a _semitone_ only, but that the mode of progression from syllable to syllable is still discrete. sometimes, but rarely, syllables are uttered _tremulously_, or with a _tremor_; that is, with constituent intervals of less than a semitone, uttered discretely in rapid succession, and passing, in the aggregate, through an interval of more or less width. an exaggerated form of this utterance may be heard in the neighing of a horse. exercise.-- . utter the syllable _pä_ as a concrete, with rising and falling intervals, severally, of a _second_, _third_, _fifth_, and an _octave_; also with intervals of a _semitone_; also with a _tremor_. let the exercise be varied so as to include many degrees of initial pitch. use a diagram of a musical staff for reference. . read with exaggerated impressiveness, "_am_ =i= _to be your slave?_ =no!=" in the pronunciation of the letter [=a], as in _pate_, two sounds are heard: the first is that of the name of the letter, which is uttered with some degree of fulness; the second is that of _[=e]_ in _mete_, but, as it were, tapering and vanishing;--in the meantime the voice traverses a rising interval of one tone, that is, of a second. the utterance of these two sounds, although the sounds themselves are distinct, is completely continuous, from the full opening of the one to the vanishing close of the other, and it is impossible to say where the first ends and where the last begins. it is essential, however, to consider them separately. the first is called the =radical movement=, and the second the =vanishing movement=; and these together constitute the entire concrete. all the vowels do not equally well exemplify in their utterance a _distinction of sound_ in their radical and vanishing movements, because some vowel sounds are less diphthongal than others, and some, again, are pure monophthongs; but _these two movements and the concrete variation of pitch, the result of one impulse of the voice, are the essential structure of every syllable_, and are characteristic of speech-notes as contradistinguished from those of song. when the radical and vanishing movements are effected smoothly, distinctly, and without intensity or emotion, commencing fully and with some abruptness, and terminating gently and almost inaudibly, the result is the =equable concrete=. this of course may be produced with intervals, either upward or downward, of any degree--tone, semitone, third, fifth, or octave. it must be said, however, that some syllables, and even some vowels, lend themselves more easily than others to that prolonged utterance which is essential to the production of wide intervals and the perfectness of the vanishing movement. the equable concrete is the natural, simple mode of utterance; but under the influence of interest, excitement, passion, and so on, the utterance of the concrete may be greatly varied from this by means of _stress_, or force applied to some part or to all of its extent. the different variations may be described as follows: ( ) =radical stress=, where force is applied to the opening of the concrete. (it should be said that a slight degree of radical stress is given even in the equable concrete, producing its full, clear opening.) ( ) =loud concrete=, where force is applied throughout the whole concrete, the proportion of the radical to the vanish remaining unaltered. ( ) =median stress=, where force is applied to the middle of the concrete, producing a swell, or impressive fulness. ( ) =compound stress=, where force is applied in an unusual degree to each extremity of the concrete. ( ) =final stress=, where force is applied to the end of the concrete, the radical stress being somewhat diminished in fulness. ( ) =thorough stress=, where force is so applied that the concrete has the same fulness throughout. exercise.--with the syllable _pä_ exemplify the _equable concrete_ and the several varieties of _stress_, using different degrees of initial or radical pitch, and the various intervals of the tone, semitone, third, fifth, and octave. the exercises for the radical stress should be first aspirated, then repeated with full vocality. besides the forms of the simple rising and falling intervals in which the concrete is generally uttered, there is another form, called the =wave=, effected by a union of these modes. it is of two varieties: ( ) where a rising movement is continued into a falling movement, called the =direct wave=; ( ) where a falling movement is continued into a rising movement, called the =inverted wave=. waves may pass through all varieties of intervals, and may be either ( ) _equal_, where the voice in both members passes through the same interval; or ( ) _unequal_, where in one flexion the interval traversed by the voice is greater than in the other. exercise.--with the syllable _p[=a]_ exemplify the different kinds of _waves_, with the same variations of radical pitch, interval, and stress, as before. the elementary sounds of speech are of three natural divisions; the _tonics_, the _subtonics_, and the _atonics_. the =tonics= are the simple vowels and diphthongs. they are of perfect vocality; they admit the concrete rise and fall through all the intervals of pitch; they may be uttered with more abruptness than the other elements; and being capable of indefinite prolongation they can receive the most perfect exemplification of the vanishing movement. they may be said to be: _[a:]_, as in _all_; _ä_, as in _arm_; _[.a]_, as in _ask_; _[)a]_, as in _an_; _[=a]_, as in _ate_; _â_, as in _air_; _[=e]_, as in _eve_; _[)e]_, as in _end_; _ë_, as in _err_; _[=i]_, as in _ice_; _[)i]_, as in _inn_; _[=o]_, as in _old_; _ö_, as in _or_; _[)o]_, as in _odd_; _[=u]_, as in _use_; _[)u]_, as in _up_; _[=o][=o]_, as in _ooze_; _[)o][)o]_, as in _book_; _oi_, as in _oil_; _ou_, as in _out_. (there are various ways of arranging and classifying these.) exercise.--exemplify generally the equable concrete, loud concrete, radical stress, and median stress, with upward and downward intervals, with clear, sharp openings, and with gradually attenuated vanishes, upon each of the _tonic elements_. the =subtonics= possess the properties of vocality and prolongation in some degree, but much less perfectly than the tonics, and their vocality (known as the _vocal murmur_) is the same for all. they are as follows:--_b_, _d_, _g_, _v_, _z_, _y_, _w_ (as in _woe_), _th_ (as in _then_), _zh_ (as _z_ in _azure_), j (as in _judge_, by some considered not elementary), _l_, _m_, _n_, _ng_ (as in _sing_), _r_ (as in _ran_), and _r_ (as in _far_). they can not, without great effort, be given an abrupt opening, and so are not capable of much radical fulness, but from their property of vocality they can receive, to a considerable degree, an exemplification of the vanishing movement. exercise.--utter the word _bud_ slowly, and detach from the rest of the word the obscure murmur heard in pronouncing the first letter: this is the _subtonic_ represented by _b_. utter this sound with different degrees of initial pitch, and with different intervals, both downward and upward. produce as full an opening of the radical movement as possible, but do not attempt to give it much stress. obtain in every case a distinct vanish. be careful not to convert the subtonic into a tonic. proceed in a similar manner with the other subtonics. then, distinctly obtaining the subtonics, unite them severally with the sound of _ä_, first forcibly, then more gently, producing such syllables as _bä_, _dä_, etc., which may be rendered with upward and downward intervals, and with different degrees of initial pitch. finally, with such syllables as _äb_, _äd_, _äg_, _äv_, etc., exemplify all the varieties of stress. the =atonics= correspond with the first eleven of the subtonics as given above, from which they differ almost alone in having _no_ vocality. they are _p_, _t_, _k_, _f_, _s_, _h_, _wh_ (as in _when_), _th_ (as in _thin_), _sh_, and _ch_ (as in _child_, by some considered not elementary). exercise.-- . form a list of such words as _pipe_, _tote_, _kick_, _fife_, _siss_, etc., and severally utter them slowly, holding the final element for a moment, and then letting the breath escape suddenly; then, holding the initial letter firmly for a moment let it come forcibly against the sound of the remainder of the word, producing an abrupt opening, and radical stress of the vowel concrete. . aspirate strongly the atonics as given above. exercise recapitulatory.-- . produce the syllable _pä_ in an articulate whisper in all the different varieties of pitch, interval, and stress. . repeat with such syllables as _paw_, _pooh_, _p[=o]h_, etc. . utter these syllables ( ) expulsively, ( ) explosively, with varying intervals both upward and downward, and producing distinct and clearly attenuated vanishes. . select some passage of poetry involving passionate thought, and read in articulated whispers, with appropriate intonations, somewhat exaggerated, it may be. let the intervals and stresses be slowly and distinctly given. . repeat the exercise in a half whisper. . next read the passage over several times in pure vocality, without exaggeration, increasing the strength of the utterance until it is as full and ringing as possible. care must be taken that the utterance is in reality full and ringing, not sharp and hard. let the pitch chosen be not too high--as low as possible; and let the tones come mainly from the chest and lower part of the throat. note.--in all the exercises care should be taken that they be performed easily and naturally, with perfect deliberation and without undue force; else they will be harmful rather than useful. exercise in concrete intervals continued.-- . read with appropriate intonations: "_did you say [a:], as in all?_"--"_no, i said ä, as in arm_,"--producing in the emphatic syllables suitable rising or falling intervals of _one tone_. then repeat, but with greater emphasis, producing intervals of a third, a fifth, or an octave. vary the sentences so as to include all the tonic elements. . with each tonic element, severally, produce first a rising and then a falling interval, each of a tone; then intervals of a third, a fifth, and an octave. . extend the exercise so as to produce with each element, and with all the various intervals, a series or succession of rising and falling intervals, thus: _rising, falling, rising, falling_, etc. use the blackboard and the musical scale for illustration and reference. syllables vary greatly in their capacity for prolongation, and in this respect are classified into _immutable_, _mutable_, and _indefinite_. =immutable syllables= are almost incapable of prolongation; they are those which end in one of the abrupt atonic elements, _p_, _t_, _k_; as _tip_, _hit_, _kick_; or in one of the abrupt subtonics, _b_, _d_, _g_; as _tub_, _thud_, _pug_. some syllables that so end, by virtue of tonic or subtonic elements which they may contain, are capable of _some_ prolongation; for example, _warp_, _dart_, _block_, _grab_, _dread_, _grog_. these are called =mutable syllables=. =indefinite syllables= are capable of almost indefinite prolongation; they are those which terminate in a tonic, or any subtonic except one of the three abrupt subtonics, _b_, _d_, _g_; for example, _awe_, _fudge_, _hail_, _arm_. note.--it must be remembered that when for the sake of exercise or effect syllables are extended in time, they must be so uttered that their identity is not impaired,--that is, their enunciation must be free from mouthing. as has been remarked before our pronunciation of vowels is notoriously careless; but by a little attention anyone can easily free himself from this reproach. frequent practice in the accurate enunciation of the tonic elements as given above, and a habit of watchfulness established as to the orthoepy of those which are most easily obscured, in all words in which they occur, will soon secure, if not a resonant, sonorous utterance with respect to the tonic elements, at least a correct pronunciation. but the correct and distinct pronunciation of the subtonic, and especially of the atonic, elements, when they occur, as is so frequent in english words, in combination, is not so easily accomplished; and orthoepy, in this respect, as a _habit_, cannot be secured without great care and incessant practice. for example, the word _months_ is habitually pronounced by almost everyone as if it were spelled _munce_. the following list for practice will afford material to begin with; other lists should be prepared by the teacher. _plinth, blithe, sphere, shriek, quote, whether, tipt, depth, robed, hoofed, calved, width, hundredth, exhaust, whizzed, hushed, ached, wagged, etched, pledged, asked, dreamt, alms, adapts, depths, lefts, heav'ns, meddl'd, beasts, wasps, hosts, exhausts, gasped, desks, selects, facts, hints, healths, tenths, salts, builds, wilds, milked, mulcts, elms, prob'd'st, think'st, hold'st, attempt'st, want'st, heard'st, mask'st._ exercise.--utter the words in the above list in distinct articulate whispers; then with vocality, softly and gently. avoid hissing and mouthing. while, in reading, distinct enunciation is an excellence to be aimed at, yet the words of a sentence should not be uttered as if completely severed from one another. every sentence falls naturally into _groups_, the several groups being composed of words related in sense; and for impressive reading the words of each group should be _implicated_, or tied together. for example, in the line, _once upon a midnight dreary, while i ponder'd, weak and weary_, there are naturally three groups; in the line, _the quality of mercy is not strain'd_, there is but one. in these groups the terminal sound of each word is implicated with the initial sound of the succeeding word. if the terminal sound is a tonic, or a flowing subtonic, the implication consists of a gentle murmuring prolongation of the terminal element coalescing with the initial element of the next word; if the terminal element is a flowing atonic the prolongation will not be accompanied by a murmur; but in either case the vocal organs, while prolonging the sound of one word, prepare, as it were, to begin the next. if the terminal element be one of the abrupt subtonics the vocal murmur is difficult to produce, and in this case, and also when the terminal element is an abrupt atonic, there is a suspension of the voice for a time equal to that occupied by the murmuring prolongation in the other cases; but the organs keep the position which they have in finishing the one word until they relax to take position for the utterance, with renewed exertion, of the opening sound of the next. it must be added that this implication is not confined to the component words of a group; for the sake of impressiveness the groups themselves are often implicated,--but by suspension of the voice and a maintenance of the vocal organs in their previous position, before they suddenly relax to form the opening sound of the first word in their next group, rather than by the murmuring prolongation above described. exercise.--read with suitable implication: ( ) _o tiber! father tiber! to whom the romans pray, a roman's life, a roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!_ ( ) _but still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, in bright succession raise, her ornament and guard._ the nicety with which implication should be effected depends, like exactness of articulation, upon the gravity, complexity, fervor, grace, beauty, or other distinguishing and elevated quality of the thoughts and sentiments contained in the words to be read. common-place ideas are couched, as a rule, in common-place language, and require no nice discrimination of sounds, or other refinement of utterance, for their full rendering; but in true poetry and impassioned prose implication is no mean instrument of effectual interpretation. the speaking voice, like the singing voice, is capable of utterance through a considerable range of pitch--in highly cultivated voices, of three octaves; in less highly cultivated voices, of one octave; but for all voices, not perverted by bad habit, there are three or four notes, of moderate height, upon which utterance is most easy and natural, and most capable of great and sustained effort. these notes should be selected as the =normal pitch= of discourse. in speaking or reading, except in certain infrequent cases, the _whole_ of the breath expired from the lungs should be utilized in producing =pure vocality=. should any breath be spent in aspiration, or in hissing, or in guttural enunciation, the vocality is said to be =impure=. impure vocality, it is true, has its own appropriate use, in the representation of certain emotional states of the mind. pure vocality is heard naturally in the tones of children at play; but in adults, through carelessness or injudicious education, it is often wanting. the mechanism of the voice is very complicated and not thoroughly understood. it is a matter of common experience, however, that in the utterance of tones of low pitch, whether speech tones or musical, the voice seems to come from the chest rather than from the head; and, in the utterance of tones of high pitch, on the other hand, it seems to come from the head rather than from the chest; so that all tones are said to belong either to the _lower_ or _chest register_, or to the _higher_ or _head register_. as both chest tones and head tones may be obscured by impurities, and their resonance diminished or destroyed by defective enunciation, the pure, clear, ringing utterance of tones of both registers should be constantly striven for. the normal pitch of utterance, referred to above, should always be such that the tones comprised in it can be produced either from the head or from the chest, at will; but for sustained efforts, for the best effects both of reading and of oratory, the chest tones are much to be preferred, since, as compared with head tones, they are capable of being produced with greater resonance and penetrating power, and, for any considerable length of time, with greater ease to the speaker. all tones of the human voice, whether speaking or musical, whether of the head or of the chest, are spoken of as having =quality=, or =timbre=, and the term is also used more generally in reference to the whole compass of utterance. the quality of the voice is its most distinguishing characteristic, and it is upon its cultivation and improvement that the greatest efforts of the student should be spent. pure voice is usually spoken of as being manifested in two qualities, the _natural_ and the _orotund_. =natural quality= may be described as a head tone to which some degree of resonance is given by the chest; but the brilliancy of its resonance is produced by its reverberation against the bony arch of the mouth. it may, of course, vary in pitch, but tones of low pitch that are intended to be impressive are most suitably rendered in orotund quality. in its perfect manifestations, the natural quality should be clear, ringing, light, and sparkling,--if it be possible to describe its characteristics by such metaphorical words. =orotund quality= is the result only of cultivation, but no speaker or reader can produce those finer effects which are the appropriate symbols of strong and deep emotion, whose voice cannot assume this mode at will. it differs from the natural mode in obtaining from the chest a greater supply of air, and a deeper and fuller resonance, and the reverberations seem to be against the walls of the pharynx, or posterior regions of the mouth, rather than against the palate, or upper part of the mouth. in fulness, strength, and ringing quality, it is superior to the natural mode, but not distinct from it; in clearness and smoothness it should be equal to it. as it befits a chest tone rather than a head tone, it is natural to utterances in medium and low pitch; but it must not be confounded with low pitch simply, nor must its characteristic fulness be taken for loudness simply. with the orotund, as well as with the natural quality, all the voice modes previously described may be conjoined. exercise.-- . with the syllable _häh_, make an expiration in the voice of whisper, forcing slowly all air out from the chest. then give to this expiration vocality, producing the reverberation far back in the mouth: the resulting utterance is a _hoarse exemplification of the orotund_. with the mouth in the position of a yawn, making the cavity of reverberation as large as possible, repeat the exercise until the utterance can be produced smoothly and without hoarseness. . form similar syllables containing other tonic elements, and make similar exercises, taking care to produce a smooth, effusive utterance. . select a sentence such as "_roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll_," abounding in long open vowels and indefinite syllables, and using suitable intonations read it in low pitch, with full, resonant chest tones. then gradually raise the pitch, still obtaining the tones from the chest and uttering them with full resonance. . with such syllables as _häh_, _you_, _now_, _man_, _war_, _hail_, _fool_, practise in orotund voice the various exercises for pitch, concrete intervals, waves, stress, etc., previously suggested. . read with feeling and appropriate intonations selected sentences from compositions of elevated or impassioned diction, as "solomons's prayer" (p. ), "the hymn" (p. ), "france" (p. ). of the various qualities (as they are called) of impure voice, the =aspirate=, the =sibilant=, and the =guttural= are defined with sufficient clearness, by their names. though these modes can be appropriately used only occasionally, nevertheless they are of great value to the reader, and the voice should be trained to assume them whenever necessary. great care must be exercised, however, that impurities shall never be present as characteristics of _normal_ utterance; this, whether from the head or chest, should be distinct, sonorous, and smooth, and should exhaust every particle of air expired. another impure quality is the =pectoral=, which is an aspiration produced, as it were, from the lowest cavities of the chest; and still another is the =falsetto=, an unnatural voice, that seems to be produced entirely in the upper cavities of the head. the employment of the falsetto at any time, either in speaking or reading, is of doubtful taste. exercise.-- . with the syllable _häh_ exemplify severally the aspirate, guttural, and pectoral qualities, first with insufficient vocality, then with sufficient. exemplify the sibilant impurity with such syllables as _pish_, _false_, _traitress_, _miscreant_. in those exercises employ intervals of varying lengths, different degrees of initial pitch, and the several varieties of stress; and let the utterances be made effusively, expulsively, and explosively. . select appropriate passages in "the raven" (p. ) for exercise in natural, orotund, aspirate, guttural, and pectoral qualities. read the passages severally with appropriate intonations,--it may be somewhat exaggeratingly. then read the whole poem feelingly, with appropriate, but not exaggerated intonations. so far, what has been said has had reference mainly to the cultivation and improvement of the voice, by the analogies and description of the various effective modes in which it can be manifested, and by the suggestion of suitable exercises for increasing its endurance, strength, flexibility, and resonance. it remains now to discuss shortly some of the principles of _vocal interpretation_,--that is, to discuss what modes of voice-action are appropriate to the representation of the various emotions which the wide range of literature presents to the reader. it must be said in respect of principles that only broad and easily verifiable ones are of use, and even these may be abused by a too rigorous adherence to them. the best rule that can be given, as indeed it is founded on a principle of widest application, is that laid down in the _fourth reader_:--_to give a faithful sympathetic attention to the full meaning and sentiment of what is read, and to manage the voice so as effectively to express this meaning and sentiment;_ since this will always ensure a certain measure of appropriateness, if not the full perfection of it. and it cannot be too much emphasized that even the fullest knowledge and most patient study can establish for the reading of any selection, or passage, or sentence, _none but general directions_, since the same words may very frequently be rendered in several ways, with differences of pitch, time, stress, quality, implication, and so on, but with equal effectiveness and equal appropriateness. and, on the other hand, any whole selection, even the simplest, is far too complex in its thought and sentiment to be disposed of in one general analysis, which shall predetermine the pitch, tone, and stress, and the prevailing width of the intervals, and the direction of the inflections; all these will vary from paragraph to paragraph, and from sentence to sentence, even from word to word. to sum up, it may be said that good reading demands as indispensable, quick-witted intelligence, ready sympathy, and a voice so trained as to be flexible and resonant; if the reader have this much endowment his reading will always be effective, and, moreover, appropriate and impressive. _all diction may be roughly described as exhibiting one of three states of feeling:_ ( ) that in which feeling, as it is generally understood, is almost wanting; ( ) that in which it is present in some considerable degree; ( ) that in which the feeling is present in an extreme degree, dominating the ideas which the several sentences logically express. to the first division, which may be called the =diction of discourse=, belongs all language indicative of a quiet state of mind--formal statement, narrative, description, simple argument or reasoning: it is the language of all ordinary writing. to the second division, which may be called the =diction of sentiment or feeling=, belongs all language which indicates that the mind of the speaker, real or supposed, is in a state of moderate excitement; that he is interested in the relation of himself to others, and, consequently, in the effect of his utterances upon them; or that, subjectively, he is interested in himself: it is the language of admiration, reverence, awe, sincerity, dignity, of pathos, supplication, penitence. to the third division, which may be called the =diction of passion=, belongs all language expressive of deeper excitement and more vehement interest than that described as animating the diction of feeling: it is the language of earnest or anxious interrogation, of passionate ejaculation, of powerful appeal, strong accusation, and fierce denunciation; also, of contempt, derision, scorn, loathing, anger, hate, and so on. voice, as we have seen, possesses five generic properties, pitch, force, quality, time, and abruptness; and, in every spoken word, it must assume some mode of _each_ of these properties, manifesting them in co-existence. this conjoint mode, or _vocal sign_, as it is called, should be the appropriate expression of the thought and feeling of which the word, in its place in the sentence, is the _graphical sign_. hence, as each word in a sentence may be said to have its appropriate vocal sign, so each variety of diction may be said to have its appropriate vocal expression,--a latitude of choice in the constituent modes, and a consequent indeterminateness in the resulting expression, being, of course, always conceded. the appropriate vocal expression for the diction of discourse may be said to consist of the following modes:--normal pitch, simple intonations, and waves of a second, moderate force, the equable concrete varied by slight radical stress, in quality the natural mode, in abruptness sufficient sharpness of opening to effect clear articulation, and in time a moderate rate with effusive utterance. as the diction rises above this plain unimpassioned character, and becomes more and more informed with feeling and sentiment, the constituent vocal signs, and hence the whole vocal expression, become more and more expressive. in pitch there is frequent variation: in expressions of joy, astonishment, or for command, the voice assumes naturally a somewhat higher elevation; and with equal naturalness it descends below its normal level to utter the language of grave, solemn, and reverential feeling. again, inasmuch as the interval of the second is the plainest and simplest within the command of the voice, in such diction as we are now considering, intervals of a third, a fifth, or even an octave, may be heard, both in simple intonations and in waves. force, too, will not be unvaryingly applied, but will be greater or less according as energy or passion may demand. in stress the equable concrete will give place to the radical or to the final, to express energetic resolve; or, in the language of pathos, exaltation, reverence, supplication, and so on, to the median--the most effective of all modes for the expression of such deep feeling as is compatible with slow utterance. in time the rate of utterance will vary with the syllabic quantities, these being short and crisp in the language of vivacious conversation, but extended, and with distinct, attenuated vanishes, in grave and important monologue. in quality, whenever the diction, departing from its simple character, becomes pervaded by some deep emotion, the natural mode will give place to the orotund. and while effusive utterance is always the prevalent mode, it will give place to the expulsive mode or to the explosive, when energy of thought or force of passion requires it so. thus, _as the diction rises_ from plain discourse to the language of feeling, _the appropriate vocal expression gathers intensity and becomes more varied_, assumes, as may be said, brighter colors and displays greater contrasts; and so, in the third class of diction, the diction of passion, it displays its intensest and most vivid modes--its brightest colors, its deepest contrasts. as it is in a general sense only, that diction can be understood to be referrible to three classes, so also, in a general sense only, can it be understood that any particular sentence or passage has its appropriate vocal expression. all that is intended is simply this: an analysis of the sentence, or passage, or selection, gives to the careful student a certain conception of the quality and intensity of the feeling or passion that pervades it; this is to be interpreted, as well as may be, by the most appropriate vocal signs possible--the whole constituting the vocal expression suitable to the piece. in respect to its pervading emotion, the selection will have what is called a =drift=, or general tendency, towards one of those states described as characteristic of the diction of discourse, the diction of feeling, and the diction of passion, respectively; and it is the business of the reader to watch for this drift, which of course may vary from passage to passage, from sentence to sentence, and sometimes from word to word, and to interpret it as best he may. to indicate what modes of voice utterance are naturally most appropriate to the expression of these various emotional states and drifts, it will be best to take up, one by one, the different properties of the voice, and the several modes in which they are manifested, and to state briefly, and in general terms, the emotional state or drift of which it is an appropriate expression. (with respect to quality and abruptness this will be sufficiently done indirectly.) the student then must for himself, if he wishes to apply these results to the reading of any selected passage, first by analysis ascertain what are the emotional states which it involves, what are its prevailing drifts, then in respect to each property of the voice choose the suitable mode for the interpretation of these several states or drifts, conjoin the selected modes into appropriate vocal signs, and with these form the vocal expression that suitably interprets the whole passage. _the teacher, or the teacher and student together, should select from the_ reader, _or elsewhere, sentences or passages that fitly exemplify the different modes; these should be written upon a black-board, or in some other way preserved, and be referred to frequently for practice both in voice culture and in vocal interpretation._ i. pitch. pitch must be considered under three heads: first, as referring to the prevailing elevation of tone assumed by the voice in the reading of a whole sentence, passage, or selection, called _general_ or _sentential pitch_; second, as referring to the degree of elevation assumed by the voice in the utterance of the opening, or radical, of any syllable, called _initial_ or _radical pitch_; third, as referring to the tone-width of the intervals in the utterance of the syllable concrete. =sentential pitch= in its various modes is descriptive of the general position in the scale taken by the tones of the voice in uttering a sentence or passage. it may be spoken of as _medium_, _high_, and _low_. =medium pitch= should correspond with the _normal pitch of discourse_ previously described. it is natural to the expression of all unimpassioned thought, and also of all emotions, except the livelier, and the deeper and more intense. =high pitch= and =low pitch= are only relative terms. they do not represent fixed and definite modes of utterance; and all that can be said is, that for the interpretation of what may be called the lighter feelings and emotions, such as cheerfulness, joy, exultation, interest, and so on, also for the expression of raillery, facetiousness, humorous conversation, laughter, and the like, sentential pitch of a degree somewhat higher than normal pitch is appropriate; and, on the other hand, for the interpretation of what may be called the graver and deeper feelings, such as awe, reverence, humility, grief, and melancholy, and the more impassioned emotions, as disgust, loathing, horror, rage, despair, as well as for the expression of all very serious and impressive thought, sentential pitch of a degree somewhat lower than normal pitch is appropriate. the degree of elevation and depression must be determined by the judgment and good taste of the reader; but it must be borne in mind that this degree may vary from passage to passage, and from sentence to sentence, and even from phrase to phrase. in every style of diction, no matter how unimpassioned it may be, there will be frequent changes in the train of thought, and frequent changes in the intensity of feeling; to represent these changes there should be corresponding variations, or =transitions in sentential pitch=. these transitions also serve another purpose, namely, to indicate an interpolated or parenthetical idea. in making transitions the voice follows the general law of all vocal interpretation; strong contrasts in thought and feeling are marked by transitions of wide intervals, and lesser contrasts by lesser intervals. _transitions in pitch are naturally accompanied by corresponding changes in force, rate of utterance, and phrasing_; and, like all other modes of expression, these receive their color from the intensity of thought and feeling of which they are the symbols. for example, in the rendering of a parenthetical clause (since, as a rule, the thought expressed in the parenthesis is of less gravity than the thought in the main sentence), the voice will manifest itself in lighter force and generally in quicker movement, that is, in lighter, less contrasting colors; but whether the pitch be raised or lowered depends upon the sentential pitch appropriate to the main sentence,--it should be in contrast with that. and it may be remarked in passing, that the reading of the parenthesis should end with a phrase melody similar to that appropriate to the words immediately before the parenthesis, so that the ear may naturally be carried back to the proper place in the main clause for the continuation of the expression of the principal thought. =radical pitch=, that is the pitch with which the opening of a syllable is uttered, is, in respect of appropriate employment, the most important element of reading or speaking; but all that can be done here, is to call attention to this, and leave the student to exercise his taste and judgment in regard to its use. the importance of appropriately varying radical pitch so as to impart melody to continued utterance will be seen at once if a simple sentence (for example, "_tom and jim sat on a log_") be read, first in that monotonous voice (that is, with unvarying radical pitch) so often heard in the labored reading of improperly taught young children, and then with those appropriate intonations heard in animated colloquy. when properly rendered, even if read with but little animation, each syllable, or concrete, passes through an interval of a second, and the several syllables are discretely uttered; but the _radical pitch varies from syllable to syllable_, forming a diatonic melody. _for the rendering of any given sentence in appropriate diatonic melody, positive direction as to the order of succession in respect of radical pitch cannot be given_; the same words may be uttered with equal appropriateness in many varieties of melody. the ignoring of this fact has led to the most absurd pretensions. a group of two or three syllabic concretes is called a =phrase of melody=; and as phrases vary with respect to pitch, in the order of succession of the radicals of their constituent syllables, they receive different names: such as the _monotone_, in which the radicals are all on the same pitch; and the _ditone_ and the _tritone_, groups of two tones and three tones respectively, with radicals of different pitch; and, again, the concretes in these phrases may have upward or downward intonations: but fixed rules cannot be laid down for their use. the reader must bear in mind, however, that it is upon the tasteful use of phrases and cadences, that is, upon the tasteful employment of variation in radical pitch, that the melody of uttered language depends; and that if it be devoid of this melody, it is both wearisome and unimpressive to the hearer. the intonations of the voice must necessarily be through either rising intervals or falling intervals, and there is a generic difference in the meaning of these. =the rising interval= is heard naturally at the end of a direct question; that is, one to which "_yes_" or "_no_" is an expected answer, as "_are you going home?_" the suspensive tone which the voice assumes at the end of the interrogation is indicative of incompleteness of thought; and _indication of incompleteness is the characteristic function of all rising intervals_. =the falling interval= is heard naturally at the close of a complete statement, as "_i am here_"; and hence, _words indicating completeness, positiveness, resolution, are appropriately uttered with downward intervals_. in effecting a downward intonation the voice operates in one of two ways: either the _weaker mode_, in which it descends from a radical pitch at or near the current tone to a lower pitch; or the _stronger mode_, in which it assumes discretely a radical pitch as much _above_ the current tone as the emphasis requires, and descends concretely either to the current tone or below it. as every sentence is more or less incomplete until the end is reached, _rising intervals are the rule in intonation, and falling intervals the exception_, and it is this infrequency of use which gives to the falling movement its value as a mode of emphasis. but where the emphasis is that of doubt, uncertainty, surprise, or interrogation, the suspensiveness of these emotional states is appropriately expressed by rising intonations; and hence, too, in all sentences in which the interrogative element is strongly present, the rising interval should characterize every syllable in it, and the sentences be uttered with interrogative intonations throughout. if in any such sentence, a particular word is to be especially emphasized, this is effected by giving to the word a low radical pitch and retaining the rising interval indicative of interrogation. =the width of the interval= depends, as is natural, upon the intensity of the thought or emotion of which the concrete is intended to be an expression. for example, suppose the statement, "=you= _are the culprit_," be answered by the surprised and indignant interrogation, "=i?=" the emphatic words here used may be appropriately uttered with intervals of a tone, a third, a fifth, or an octave, according to the emphasis supposed necessary. =the semitone=, as has been said before, is an interval sometimes heard in language of distress, complaint, grief, sorrow, tenderness, compassion, pity. occasionally it is introduced in diatonic melody as an appropriate emphatic mode of uttering a single word; as, for example, "_other friends have flown before; on the morrow_ he _will leave me_." at times diction may assume what may be called a _pathetic drift_, and for the suitable interpretation of this drift semitonic intervals may be used, and the mode of progression cease for a space to be diatonic and become semitonic, or _chromatic_, as it is called. =the wave= is one of the most impressive of the elements of expression; but its proper use demands great flexibility in the vocal organs and a high degree of taste in the reader. like all other unusual modes, its employment lends color and contrast to utterance; that is, it makes it more effective for the purposes of emphasis or distinction. the wave, as has been described, is a concrete with an upward and a downward movement united; but its last constituent is that which most affects the ear and leaves upon it the stronger impression, and hence, especially if it be given with a wide interval, _its dominant characteristic will be that of the second movement_; for example, if the second movement be upward, the wave may express interrogation mingled with surprise or scorn; if the second movement be downward, the wave may express astonishment mingled with indignation. the intervals which are given to the wave depend upon the diction to which it is applied. to express great surprise or vehement indignation it may sweep through a fifth or a whole octave. in these extreme modes _the wave frequently is given a wider interval in the second movement than in the first_, and its effect intensified by the appropriate use of stress, and (for the expression of such emotions as scorn, contempt, irony, ridicule, and so on) of the impure qualities of voice. when used with intervals of the second, the characteristics of direct and inverted forms lose some of their distinctness; but in this degree the wave is effectively used to put into relief occasional words, or, with median stress and long quantities, to give to the otherwise short and tripping character of the second a dignified and impressive effect suited to the rendering of all serious and important diction that is not impassioned. =the wave of the semitone= is generally employed when time, or syllabic quantity, is needed as an element in the expression of the language of complaint or pathos. the effect is much the same whether it be direct or indirect. =the tremor= may be used to express grief, supplication, tenderness, in which the interval through which it ranges may be wide, or, for a more plaintive effect, be limited to the semitone. with constituent intervals other than the semitone (that is, of a tone or otherwise), and ranging through an aggregate interval of less or greater width, it may be used to express laughter; as, for example, in the utterance of the syllables "_ha_, _ha_, _ha_, _ha_, _ha_," which, when rapidly effected, resembles one syllable uttered with discrete intervals. combined with stress, aspiration, and guttural vibration, in suitable modifications, this laughing tone may be made to express scorn, derision, exultation, triumph, and so on. ii. force. force must be considered under two aspects: first, as to the _degree of its intensity_ in the utterance of syllables, words, phrases, and sentences; and second, as to the _form of its application in the utterance of the concrete_. when the term is used without qualification, the first of these considerations is intended; when the second is intended, force is generally spoken of as =stress=. _force must be contradistinguished from loudness._ in mere loudness the vocal organs are comparatively relaxed--the intensity of sound being produced by the violent discharge of a great volume of air from the lungs. in forceful utterance the vocal organs are compressed and tense, and though the volume of air effused be small, the resulting sound-vibrations are strong, and distinct, and of penetrating power. in respect of intensity, force may be manifested in infinite variation, but the degrees usually spoken of are _very light_, _light_, _moderate_, _strong_, and _very strong_. as with all other modes, these degrees will vary from word to word, and from sentence to sentence; and great judgment and taste must be exercised in employing them, so that they appropriately represent the intensity of the thought and feeling of which they are to be the expression. =moderate force= is the natural expression of tranquillity, and, therefore, of all unimpassioned diction. as the diction becomes pervaded by the more positive emotions, the tones of the voice naturally become stronger. certainty requires strong force with pure quality. so all the passions, the lighter as well as the more vehement, require the degree of force to be heightened: cheerfulness, joy, ecstacy, requiring force moderately strong; and anger, hate, terror, revenge, being suitably rendered by very strong force. again, doubt, uncertainty, secrecy, as well as the gentler and more plaintive emotions, are most suitably represented by the lighter shades of force. as the voice assumes the intenser modes of force, the vocal organs become more and more compressed, and utterance is more and more labored; the breath forced out cannot all be vocalized; the voice becomes less and less pure, and manifests itself in the aspirate and guttural qualities. _hence, strongly suppressed utterance in impure vocality, rather than mere loudness in pure vocality, is the appropriate expression for all the intenser passions._ iii. stress. stress is force considered with respect of the form of its application to the concrete. since the equable concrete is the natural colorless expression of unimpassioned thought, force applied to any part of it changes its character, and gives it a more or less significant emphasis. the three most usual forms of stress are the _radical_, the _median_, and the _final_; these may be effected in any of the degrees of force. _compound stress_ and _thorough stress_ admit of but little variation. =radical stress=, to some extent an essential, but not an expressive element in the equable concrete, is, in a somewhat stronger form, an element in all utterance that is intended to be vivid and energetic, emphasizing these characteristics by its own incisive clearness. the more animated and energetic the diction the clearer and more determined should be the opening of the concrete, that is, the more distinct and forcible should be its radical stress; while in graver language the radical stress is less pronounced. in its emphatic degree it ought at no time to be allowed to become a current mode, imparting its peculiar incisive character to every syllable; though, for especial emphasis, it may be appropriately used in this way in the utterance of the several words of a phrase. =final stress= differs from radical stress principally in this, that while it equally indicates energy and positiveness, it does so as in accordance with predetermination and reflection. _radical stress denotes, as it were, an involuntary state of energy; final stress, the energy or fixedness of resolve._ hence, final stress is appropriate to the expression of resolution, of obstinacy, of earnest conviction, of passionate resolve. it emphasizes the characteristics of wide intervals, giving to rising intonations a more decidedly interrogatory character, and making falling intonations more vehemently and passionately positive. =median stress=, as it can be effectively applied to none but indefinite or mutable syllables, is compatible only with such a rate of utterance as will permit of these receiving long quantities. it may receive any degree of force, from that gentle swell which indicates a tranquil flow of emotion, to that firm and swelling energy which is the appropriate expression of the language of elevated feeling. with the wider intervals it should be used only for occasional emphasis; but in its lighter forms it may prevail as a drift of dignified expression. median stress, being always necessarily associated with long quantity in syllables, is not an appropriate mode in the language of colloquy, or in vivacious discourse of any kind. it is, however, the fit interpreter of that fervid and lofty imagination which clothes itself in forms of grace and grandeur; and hence, with intonations and waves of the lesser intervals, with medium or low sentential pitch, a moderate degree of force, and the pure or orotund quality, it is the appropriate expression of all exalted prose and poetry, not strongly dramatic. =thorough stress= is effected by continuing the force and fulness of the radical stress throughout the whole concrete. used as a current mode, which should be but rarely, it is expressive of bluntness, arrogance, bravado; and, with short quantities, of ignorant coarseness. occasionally it may be used instead of final stress to give emphasis to a syllable whose vanishing movement is but little capable of receiving an increase of force. =compound stress= combines the qualities of both radical and final stress; it is therefore of extreme character, and can be only occasionally used. with wide intervals, in its stronger modes, it is expressive of the utmost intensity of feeling; in its lighter modes it is the natural expression of strong surprise. =the loud concrete= is simply the equable concrete uttered with greater fulness of breath and loudness of tone. it is used to break a current of light force for the sake of emphasizing some word or phrase; and, in impassioned discourse, it may be used as a current mode, individual words or phrases being then put in relief by receiving the forcible radical, or thorough, or compound stress. in reference to stress it must be remembered that, as with all other varieties of emphatic utterance, no one form should prevail as an exclusive mode. even a prevalent drift of thought or feeling will be most effectively rendered by vocal signs which change in color and intensity from word to word. it must also be borne in mind in reference both to force and stress, and to pitch and time as well, that the modes which are employed must sustain a suitable relation to the situation and surroundings of the speaker. where considerable space has to be filled and distance overcome, the energy of utterance should be correspondingly intense; but for great distances, what is called =level speaking= is the only effectual mode,--that is, speaking exclusively in those tones of normal pitch in which the voice has most penetrating power, with force of almost constant intensity, and in a somewhat slow movement with long syllabic quantities, but of course with as much needful variation of expression as is possible within these limits. iv. time. time is rate of utterance. it comprehends _quantity_, or rate considered in reference to the duration of individual syllables; and _movement_, or rate considered in reference to the utterance of syllables and words in succession. with it may be considered _pauses_, or cessations of the voice, helpful in the expression of thought and feeling, and necessary to the working of the vocal mechanism. =quantity=, as defined above, is an arbitrary thing, dependent almost entirely upon the will of the speaker. but many words and syllables are more expressive of their meaning when, in uttering them, the voice is somewhat prolonged,--hence _quantity is an element of expression_. again, many words and syllables can receive this prolongation of utterance more readily than others,--hence _quantity is a natural element of spoken language_. as indefinite syllables are much more capable of prolongation than mutable or immutable syllables, they are said to possess long quantity, or, more shortly, "to possess quantity"; mutable syllables possess quantity in a less degree, and immutable syllables are naturally deficient in quantity. as an element of expression, quantity (that is, long quantity) lends dignity and grace to the movement of the voice, and affords ground for the display of those expressive modes of vocal action which are incompatible with the rapid or ejaculatory utterance of the concrete; and hence, with median stress, the wave, moderate intervals, medium or low sentential pitch, it is used as naturally interpretative of solemnity, reverence, awe, deep pathos, ardent admiration, and all elevated emotion. colloquial tones, excited argument, wit, raillery, and all the lighter emotions, require for their expression, brilliancy rather than grace, and so are more fittingly interpreted by short quantities and radical stress. the discerning reader, in his work of vocal interpretation, will not fail to take advantage of the inherent character of syllables with respect to quantity. our language abounds in indefinite syllables to which he may impart whatever quantity he may desire. on the other hand, immutable syllables, while not admitting the wave and the median stress, are eminently fitted to receive the more forcible forms of radical stress; and mutable syllables, with their abrupt closes, permit of perfect exemplifications of thorough and final stress. =movement=, though it depends for its slower and more expressive forms upon the capacities of syllables for the reception of long quantities, is, in its more rapid forms, quite independent of syllabic structure, and dependent only on the will of the speaker; hence it may be spoken of as being altogether under his control. a medium rate of utterance is, with respect to time, the natural expression of an equable flow of thought. the livelier emotions should be indicated by quicker rates, and hence, cheerfulness, joy, vivacious dialogue, animated narration, naturally find their expression in movements more or less brisk, with short quantities, varied intonations, and pitch higher than the normal; the more vehement emotions, eagerness, anger, excited anxiety, demand simply heightened forms of these modes. contrariwise, thought of grave and meditative character, admiration, reverence, and all the deeper and calmer feelings, require a deliberative, slow-timed utterance, with long quantities for accented syllables, and extended time for even unaccented syllables. as these serious emotions become stronger and deeper, the syllabic quantities become proportionately longer, and with impressive median swells, orotund quality, low pitch, waves and simple intonations of the second, frequent phrases in monotone, and an occasional tremor, constitute the most impressive utterance of adoration. _occasionally an abrupt change in quantity, or movement, may be employed as a mode of emphasis_, either positive or negative; for example, in a current of rapid movement, a word may be put into strong relief by being uttered with quantity much extended; contrariwise, a parenthetical or explanatory phrase is usually touched upon lightly and with a more rapid movement than that of the current in which it is found. =pause= _may be used as an element in the expression of thought simply, that is, as a help to the interpretation of the mere sense of the words read_; or, _more emphatically, as an element in the expression of feeling and emotion_. as interpretative of thought, pauses should correspond mainly with the graphical marks of punctuation. two things, however, must be borne in mind: _first_, the use of punctuation marks in writing and in printing is always more or less an arbitrary matter, scarcely any two authors agreeing in their employment of them; and therefore the reader's own good sense must be to him his principal authority as to the closeness with which he follows them: and _second_, pauses are to an auditor what punctuation marks are intended to be to a reader; but, whereas the eye may constantly keep within its vision the relation of each word uttered, both to those which preceded it and to those which are to follow, the ear hears the words that are read only _ictus_ by _ictus_, stroke by stroke, and therefore can not aid the mind to grasp this relation--the memory alone helping to do that; and hence, in reading, pauses should be more frequent, and perhaps more prolonged, than the punctuation marks might seem to necessitate. the reader should also bear in mind that even the plainest and simplest diction, or that requiring the most rapid utterance, may be so marked by appropriate pauses that those stoppages of the voice necessarily required for inspiration, shall never occur except when they assist to interpret the sense,--they must not interrupt it. as interpretative of emotion pauses do not necessarily correspond to grammatical structure; but, as with all the modes of expression previously considered, their frequency and length--their only modifications--must harmonize with the feeling which they are to assist in interpreting. in length, for example, they should correspond with the movement of which they may be said to form a part; when the movement is slow, as in the expression of awe, reverence, and the like, they are naturally long; in the brisk movement required to interpret the livelier emotions, they should be short. as a mode of emphasis pause serves to fix the attention of the hearer,--either _backward_ upon a word or phrase, that the mind may dwell upon it, or _forward_ to awaken curiosity and expectation: it is evident then that a frequent use of it for this purpose would destroy its value. _pauses may be used in reading to simulate an appropriate labor of utterance_, as when the mind is supposed to be overcome by sorrow, or disturbed by anger. at such times also, they serve as fit rests for the voice in its efforts to express the disturbed condition of the mind, and as appropriate avenues for the escape of emotion otherwise than by vocality, as by sibling. _pauses should be used also to indicate sudden transitions from one state of caution to another._ _the high school reader_. * * * * * i. king solomon's prayer and blessing at the dedication of the temple. _from_ the first book of kings. _translated --revised ._ then solomon assembled the elders of israel, and all the heads of the tribes, the princes of the fathers' houses of the children of israel, unto king solomon in jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the lord out of the city of david, which is zion. and all the men of israel assembled themselves unto king solomon at the feast, in the month ethanim, which is the seventh month. and all the elders of israel came, and the priests took up the ark. and they brought up the ark of the lord, and the tent of meeting, and all the holy vessels that were in the tent; even these did the priests and the levites bring up. and king solomon and all the congregation of israel, that were assembled unto him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing sheep and oxen, that could not be told nor numbered for multitude. and the priests brought in the ark of the covenant of the lord unto its place, into the oracle of the house, to the most holy place, even under the wings of the cherubim. for the cherubim spread forth their wings over the place of the ark, and the cherubim covered the ark and the staves thereof above. there was nothing in the ark save the two tables of stone which moses put there at horeb, when the lord made a covenant with the children of israel, when they came out of the land of egypt. and it came to pass, when the priests were come out of the holy place, that the cloud filled the house of the lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud: for the glory of the lord filled the house of the lord. then spake solomon, the lord hath said that he would dwell in the thick darkness. i have surely built thee an house of habitation, a place for thee to dwell in for ever. and the king turned his face about, and blessed all the congregation of israel: and all the congregation of israel stood. and he said, blessed be the lord, the god of israel, which spake with his mouth unto david my father, and hath with his hand fulfilled it, saying, since the day that i brought forth my people israel out of egypt, i chose no city out of all the tribes of israel to build an house, that my name might be there; but i chose david to be over my people israel. now it was in the heart of david my father to build an house for the name of the lord, the god of israel. but the lord said unto david my father, whereas it was in thine heart to build an house for my name, thou didst well that it was in thine heart: nevertheless thou shalt not build the house; but thy son that shall come forth out of thy loins, he shall build the house for my name. and the lord hath established his word that he spake; for i am risen up in the room of david my father, and sit on the throne of israel, as the lord promised, and have built the house for the name of the lord, the god of israel. and there have i set a place for the ark, wherein is the covenant of the lord, which he made with our fathers, when he brought them out of the land of egypt. and solomon stood before the altar of the lord in the presence of all the congregation of israel, and spread forth his hands toward heaven: and he said, o lord, the god of israel, there is no god like thee, in heaven above, or on earth beneath; who keepest covenant and mercy with thy servants, that walk before thee with all their heart: who hast kept with thy servant david my father that which thou didst promise him: yea, thou spakest with thy mouth, and hast fulfilled it with thine hand, as it is this day. now therefore, o lord, the god of israel, keep with thy servant david my father that which thou hast promised him, saying, there shall not fail thee a man in my sight to sit on the throne of israel; if only thy children take heed to their way, to walk before me as thou hast walked before me. now therefore, o god of israel, let thy word, i pray thee, be verified, which thou spakest unto thy servant david my father. but will god in very deed dwell on the earth? behold, heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house that i have builded! yet have thou respect unto the prayer of thy servant, and to his supplication, o lord my god, to hearken unto the cry and to the prayer which thy servant prayeth before thee this day: that thine eyes may be open toward this house night and day, even toward the place whereof thou hast said, my name shall be there: to hearken unto the prayer which thy servant shall pray toward this place. and hearken thou to the supplication of thy servant, and of thy people israel, when they shall pray toward this place: yea, hear thou in heaven thy dwelling place: and when thou hearest, forgive. if a man sin against his neighbour, and an oath be laid upon him to cause him to swear, and he come and swear before thine altar in this house: then hear thou in heaven, and do, and judge thy servants, condemning the wicked, to bring his way upon his own head; and justifying the righteous, to give him according to his righteousness. when thy people israel be smitten down before the enemy, because they have sinned against thee; if they turn again to thee, and confess thy name, and pray and make supplication unto thee in this house: then hear thou in heaven, and forgive the sin of thy people israel, and bring them again unto the land which thou gavest unto their fathers. when heaven is shut up, and there is no rain, because they have sinned against thee; if they pray toward this place, and confess thy name, and turn from their sin, when thou dost afflict them: then hear thou in heaven, and forgive the sin of thy servants, and of thy people israel, when thou teachest them the good way wherein they should walk; and send rain upon thy land, which thou hast given to thy people for an inheritance. if there be in the land famine, if there be pestilence, if there be blasting or mildew, locust or caterpiller; if their enemy besiege them in the land of their cities; whatsoever plague, whatsoever sickness there be; what prayer and supplication soever be made by any man, or by all thy people israel, which shall know every man the plague of his own heart, and spread forth his hands toward this house: then hear thou in heaven thy dwelling place, and forgive, and do, and render unto every man according to all his ways, whose heart thou knowest; (for thou, even thou only, knowest the hearts of all the children of men;) that they may fear thee all the days that they live in the land which thou gavest unto our fathers. moreover concerning the stranger, that is not of thy people israel, when he shall come out of a far country for thy name's sake; (for they shall hear of thy great name, and of thy mighty hand, and of thy stretched out arm:) when he shall come and pray toward this house; hear thou in heaven thy dwelling place, and do according to all that the stranger calleth to thee for; that all the peoples of the earth may know thy name, to fear thee, as doth thy people israel, and that they may know that this house which i have built is called by thy name. if thy people go out to battle against their enemy, by whatsoever way thou shalt send them, and they pray unto the lord toward the city which thou hast chosen, and toward the house which i have built for thy name: then hear thou in heaven their prayer and their supplication, and maintain their cause. if they sin against thee, (for there is no man that sinneth not,) and thou be angry with them, and deliver them to the enemy, so that they carry them away captive unto the land of the enemy, far off or near; yet if they shall bethink themselves in the land whither they are carried captive, and turn again, and make supplication unto thee in the land of them that carried them captive, saying, we have sinned, and have done perversely, we have dealt wickedly; if they return unto thee with all their heart and with all their soul in the land of their enemies, which carried them captive, and pray unto thee toward their land, which thou gavest unto their fathers, the city which thou hast chosen, and the house which i have built for thy name: then hear thou their prayer and their supplication in heaven thy dwelling place, and maintain their cause; and forgive thy people which have sinned against thee, and all their transgressions wherein they have transgressed against thee; and give them compassion before those who carried them captive, that they may have compassion on them: for they be thy people, and thine inheritance, which thou broughtest forth out of egypt, from the midst of the furnace of iron: that thine eyes may be open unto the supplication of thy servant, and unto the supplication of thy people israel, to hearken unto them whensoever they cry unto thee. for thou didst separate them from among all the peoples of the earth, to be thine inheritance, as thou spakest by the hand of moses thy servant, when thou broughtest our fathers out of egypt, o lord god. and it was so, that when solomon had made an end of praying all this prayer and supplication unto the lord, he arose from before the altar of the lord, from kneeling on his knees with his hands spread forth toward heaven. and he stood, and blessed all the congregation of israel with a loud voice, saying, blessed be the lord, that hath given rest unto his people israel, according to all that he promised: there hath not failed one word of all his good promise, which he promised by the hand of moses his servant. the lord our god be with us, as he was with our fathers: let him not leave us, nor forsake us: that he may incline our hearts unto him, to walk in all his ways, and to keep his commandments, and his statutes, and his judgments, which he commanded our fathers. and let these my words, wherewith i have made supplication before the lord, be nigh unto the lord our god day and night, that he maintain the cause of his servant, and the cause of his people israel, as every day shall require: that all the peoples of the earth may know that the lord, he is god; there is none else. let your heart therefore be perfect with the lord our god, to walk in his statutes, and to keep his commandments, as at this day. and the king, and all israel with him, offered sacrifice before the lord. ii. invitation. _from_ isaiah. _translated --revised ._ ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness. incline your ear, and come unto me; hear and your soul shall live: and i will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of david.... seek ye the lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near: let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our god, for he will abundantly pardon. for my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the lord. for as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts. for as the rain cometh down and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, and giveth seed to the sower and bread to the eater; so shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which i please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto i sent it. for ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree, and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree: and it shall be to the lord for a name, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off. iii. the trial scene in the "merchant of venice."[a] william shakespeare.-- - . _scene_--a court of justice. _present_--the duke, the magnificoes, antonio, bassanio, gratiano, solanio, and others. _duke._ what, is antonio here? _antonio._ ready, so please your grace. _duke._ i am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer a stony adversary, an inhuman wretch uncapable of pity, void and empty from any dram of mercy. _antonio._ i have heard your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify his rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, and that no lawful means can carry me out of his envy's reach, i do oppose my patience to his fury; and am arm'd to suffer, with a quietness of spirit, the very tyranny and rage of his. _duke._ go one, and call the jew into the court. _solanio._ he's ready at the door: he comes, my lord. _enter_ shylock. _duke._ make room, and let him stand before our face.-- shylock, the world thinks, and i think so too, that thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice to the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange than is thy strange apparent cruelty; and where thou now exact'st the penalty,-- which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,-- thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, but, touch'd with human gentleness and love, forgive a moiety of the principal; glancing an eye of pity on his losses, that have of late so huddled on his back, enough to press a royal merchant down and pluck commiseration of his state from brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, from stubborn turks and tartars, never train'd to offices of tender courtesy. we all expect a gentle answer, jew. _shylock._ i have possess'd your grace of what i purpose; and by our holy sabbath have i sworn to have the due and forfeit of my bond: if you deny it, let the danger light upon your charter and your city's freedom. you'll ask me, why i rather choose to have a weight of carrion flesh than to receive three thousand ducats; i'll not answer that; but, say, it is my humor; is it answer'd? what if my house be troubled with a rat, and i be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats to have it ban'd? what, are you answer'd yet? some men there are love not a gaping pig; some, that are mad if they behold a cat; and others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose, cannot contain themselves: for affection, master of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes, or loathes. now, for your answer: as there is no firm reason to be render'd, why he cannot abide a gaping pig; why he, a harmless necessary cat; why he, a woollen bagpipe,--but of force must yield to such inevitable shame as to offend, himself being offended; so can i give no reason, nor i will not, more than a lodg'd hate and a certain loathing i bear antonio, that i follow thus a losing suit against him. are you answer'd? _bassanio._ this is no answer, thou unfeeling man, to excuse the current of thy cruelty. _shylock._ i am not bound to please thee with my answer. _bassanio._ do all men kill the things they do not love? _shylock._ hates any man the thing he would not kill? _bassanio._ every offence is not a hate at first. _shylock._ what, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice? _antonio._ i pray you, think you question with the jew. you may as well go stand upon the beach, and bid the main flood bate his usual height; you may as well use question with the wolf, why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; you may as well forbid the mountain pines to wag their high tops, and to make no noise, when they are fretted with the gusts of heaven; you may as well do anything most hard, as seek to soften that--than which what's harder?-- his jewish heart: therefore, i do beseech you, make no more offers, use no further means, but, with all brief and plain conveniency, let me have judgment, and the jew his will. _bassanio._ for thy three thousand ducats here is six. _shylock._ if every ducat in six thousand ducats were in six parts, and every part a ducat, i would not draw them; i would have my bond. _duke._ how shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none? _shylock._ what judgment shall i dread, doing no wrong? you have among you many a purchas'd slave, which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, you use in abject and in slavish parts, because you bought them: shall i say to you, let them be free, marry them to your heirs? why sweat they under burdens? let their beds be made as soft as yours, and let their palates be season'd with such viands? you will answer, "the slaves are ours:" so do i answer you: the pound of flesh, which i demand of him, is dearly bought; 'tis mine, and i will have it: if you deny me, fie upon your law! there is no force in the decrees of venice. i stand for judgment: answer; shall i have it? _duke._ upon my power i may dismiss this court, unless bellario, a learnèd doctor, whom i have sent for to determine this, come here to-day. _solanio._ my lord, here stays without a messenger with letters from the doctor, new come from padua. _duke._ bring us the letters; call the messenger. _bassanio._ good cheer, antonio! what, man, courage yet! the jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. _antonio._ i am a tainted wether of the flock, meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground, and so let me: you cannot better be employ'd, bassanio, than to live still, and write mine epitaph. _enter_ nerissa, _dressed like a lawyer's clerk._ _duke._ came you from padua, from bellario? _nerissa._ from both, my lord: bellario greets your grace. [_presents a letter._ _bassanio._ why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? _shylock._ to cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. _gratiano._ not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh jew, thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can, no, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness of thy sharp envy. can no prayers pierce thee? _shylock._ no, none that thou hast wit enough to make. _gratiano._ o, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog! and for thy life let justice be accus'd. thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, to hold opinion with pythagoras, that souls of animals infuse themselves into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, and, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. _shylock._ till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud: repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall to cureless ruin. i stand here for law. _duke._ this letter from bellario doth commend a young and learnèd doctor to our court:-- where is he? _nerissa._ he attendeth here hard by, to know your answer, whether you'll admit him. _duke._ with all my heart.--some three or four of you go give him courteous conduct to this place.-- meantime the court shall hear bellario's letter. [clerk reads.] _your grace shall understand, that, at the receipt of your letter, i am very sick: but, in the instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of rome; his name is balthazar. i acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the jew and antonio the merchant: we turned o'er many books together: he is furnished with my opinion: which, bettered with his own learning, the greatness whereof i cannot enough commend, comes with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's request in my stead. i beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation; for i never knew so young a body with so old a head. i leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation._ _duke._ you hear the learned bellario, what he writes: and here, i take it, is the doctor come.-- _enter_ portia, _dressed like a doctor of laws._ give me your hand: came you from old bellario? _portia._ i did, my lord. _duke._ you are welcome; take your place. are you acquainted with the difference that holds this present question in the court? _portia._ i am informèd, throughly of the cause. which is the merchant here, and which the jew? _duke._ antonio and old shylock, both stand forth. _portia._ is your name shylock? _shylock._ shylock is my name. _portia._ of a strange nature is the suit you follow; yet in such rule that the venetian law cannot impugn you as you do proceed.-- you stand within his danger, do you not? [_to_ antonio. _antonio._ ay, so he says. _portia._ do you confess the bond? _antonio._ i do. _portia._ then must the jew be merciful. _shylock._ on what compulsion must i? tell me that. _portia._ the quality of mercy is not strain'd; it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes the thronèd monarch better than his crown; his sceptre shows the force of temporal power, the attribute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; but mercy is above this sceptred sway; it is enthronèd in the hearts of kings, it is an attribute to god himself; and earthly power doth then show likest god's when mercy seasons justice. therefore, jew, though justice be thy plea, consider this,-- that, in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy. i have spoke thus much to mitigate the justice of thy plea; which if thou follow, this strict court of venice must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. _shylock._ my deeds upon my head! i crave the law, the penalty and forfeit of my bond. _portia._ is he not able to discharge the money? _bassanio._ yes, here i tender it for him in the court; yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, i will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, on forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: if this will not suffice, it must appear that malice bears down truth. and i beseech you, wrest once the law to your authority: to do a great right, do a little wrong; and curb this cruel devil of his will. _portia._ it must not be; there is no power in venice can alter a decree establishèd: 'twill be recorded for a precedent; and many an error, by the same example, will rush into the state. it cannot be. _shylock._ a daniel come to judgment! yea, a daniel! o wise young judge, how do i honour thee! _portia._ i pray you, let me look upon the bond. _shylock._ here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. _portia._ shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. _shylock._ an oath, an oath, i have an oath in heaven: shall i lay perjury upon my soul? no, not for venice. _portia._ why, this bond is forfeit; and lawfully by this the jew may claim a pound of flesh, to be by him cut off nearest the merchant's heart.--be merciful; take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. _shylock._ when it is paid according to the tenor. it doth appear you are a worthy judge; you know the law, your exposition hath been most sound: i charge you by the law, whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, proceed to judgment. by my soul i swear there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me: i stay here on my bond. _antonio._ most heartily i do beseech the court to give the judgment. _portia._ why, then, thus it is: you must prepare your bosom for his knife;-- _shylock._ o noble judge! o excellent young man! _portia._--for the intent and purpose of the law hath full relation to the penalty, which here appeareth due upon the bond. _shylock._ 'tis very true: o wise and upright judge! how much more elder art thou than thy looks! _portia._ therefore, lay bare your bosom. _shylock._ ay, his breast: so says the bond:--doth it not, noble judge?-- "nearest his heart:" those are the very words. _portia._ it is so. are there balance here, to weigh the flesh? _shylock._ i have them ready. _portia._ have by some surgeon, shylock, on your charge, to stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. _shylock._ is it so nominated in the bond? _portia._ it is not so express'd; but what of that? 'twere good you do so much for charity. _shylock._ i cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. _portia._ come, merchant, have you anything to say? _antonio._ but little: i am arm'd, and well prepar'd.-- give me your hand, bassanio: fare you well! grieve not that i am fallen to this for you; for herein fortune shows herself more kind than is her custom: it is still her use to let the wretched man outlive his wealth, to view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow an age of poverty; from which lingering penance of such a misery doth she cut me off. commend me to your honorable wife: tell her the process of antonio's end; say how i lov'd you, speak me fair in death; and, when the tale is told, bid her be judge whether bassanio had not once a love. repent not you that you shall lose your friend, and he repents not that he pays your debt; for, if the jew do cut but deep enough, i'll pay it instantly with all my heart. _bassanio._ antonio, i am married to a wife which is as dear to me as life itself; but life itself, my wife, and all the world, are not with me esteem'd above thy life: i would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all here to this devil, to deliver you. _portia._ your wife would give you little thanks for that, if she were by, to hear you make the offer. _gratiano._ i have a wife, whom, i protest, i love: i would she were in heaven, so she could entreat some power to change this currish jew. _nerissa._ 'tis well you offer it behind her back; the wish would make else an unquiet house. _shylock._ [_aside._] these be the christian husbands! i have a daughter; would any of the stock of bárrabas had been her husband rather than a christian!-- [_to_ portia.] we trifle time; i pray thee, pursue sentence. _portia._ a pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: the court awards it, and the law doth give it. _shylock._ most rightful judge! _portia._ and you must cut this flesh from off his breast: the law allows it, and the court awards it. _shylock._ most learnèd judge! a sentence!--come, prepare. _portia._ tarry a little; there is something else. this bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; the words expressly are "a pound of flesh": take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; but, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed one drop of christian blood, thy lands and goods are, by the laws of venice, confiscate unto the state of venice. _gratiano._ o upright judge!--mark, jew:--o learnèd judge! _shylock._ is that the law? _portia._ thyself shalt see the act: for, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. _gratiano._ o learnèd judge!--mark, jew:--a learnèd judge! _shylock._ i take this offer, then: pay the bond thrice, and let the christian go. _bassanio._ here is the money. _portia._ soft! the jew shall have all justice;--soft! no haste:-- he shall have nothing but the penalty. _gratiano._ o jew! an upright judge, a learnèd judge! _portia._ therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less nor more but just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more or less than a just pound,--be it but so much as makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, or the division of the twentieth part, of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn but in the estimation of a hair,-- thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. _gratiano._ a second daniel, a daniel, jew! now, infidel, i have thee on the hip. _portia._ why doth the jew pause? take thy forfeiture. _shylock._ give me my principal, and let me go. _bassanio._ i have it ready for thee; here it is. _portia._ he hath refus'd it in the open court: he shall have merely justice, and his bond. _gratiano._ a daniel, still say i; a second daniel!-- i thank thee, jew, for teaching me that word. _shylock._ shall i not have barely my principal? _portia._ thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, to be so taken at thy peril, jew. _shylock._ why, then the devil give him good of it! i'll stay no longer question. _portia._ tarry, jew: the law hath yet another hold on you. it is enacted in the laws of venice, if it be prov'd against an alien that by direct or indirect attempts he seek the life of any citizen, the party 'gainst the which he doth contrive shall seize one half his goods; the other half comes to the privy coffer of the state; and the offender's life lies in the mercy of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. in which predicament, i say, thou stand'st; for it appears, by manifest proceeding, that, indirectly, and directly too, thou hast contriv'd against the very life of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd the danger formerly by me rehears'd. down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. _gratiano._ beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself: and yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, thou hast not left the value of a cord; therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. _duke._ that thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, i pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: for half thy wealth, it is antonio's; the other half comes to the general state, which humbleness may drive unto a fine. _portia._ ay, for the state; not for antonio. _shylock._ nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: you take my house when you do take the prop that doth sustain my house; you take my life, when you do take the means whereby i live. _portia._ what mercy can you render him, antonio? _gratiano._ a halter gratis; nothing else, for god's sake. _antonio._ so please my lord the duke, and all the court, to quit the fine for one half of his goods, i am content, so he will let me have the other half in use, to render it, upon his death, unto the gentleman that lately stole his daughter: two things provided more,--that, for this favor, he presently become a christian; the other, that he do record a gift, here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, unto his son lorenzo and his daughter. _duke._ he shall do this; or else i do recant the pardon that i late pronouncèd here. _portia._ art thou contented, jew? what dost thou say? _shylock._ i am content. _portia._ clerk, draw a deed of gift. _shylock._ i pray you, give me leave to go from hence; i am not well: send the deed after me, and i will sign it. _duke._ get thee gone, but do it. _gratiano._ in christening thou shalt have two godfathers; had i been judge, thou should'st have had ten more, to bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [_exit shylock._ _duke._ sir, i entreat you home with me to dinner. _portia._ i humbly do desire your grace of pardon: i must away this night toward padua, and it is meet i presently set forth. _duke._ i am sorry that your leisure serves you not. antonio, gratify this gentleman, for, in my mind, you are much bound to him. [_exeunt omnes._ footnotes: [a] as an introduction read "the merchant of venice," fourth reader, page . iv. of boldness. lord bacon.-- - . _from_ essays. it is a trivial grammar-school text, but yet worthy a wise man's consideration: question was asked of demosthenes, what was the chief part of an orator? he answered, action: what next? action: what next again? action. he said it that knew it best, and had by nature himself no advantage in that he commended. a strange thing, that that part of an orator which is but superficial, and rather the virtue of a player, should be placed so high above those other noble parts, of invention, elocution, and the rest; nay, almost alone, as if it were all in all. but the reason is plain. there is in human nature generally more of the fool than of the wise; and therefore those faculties by which the foolish part of men's minds is taken, are most potent. wonderful like is the case of boldness in civil business; what first? boldness: what second and third? boldness. and yet boldness is a child of ignorance and baseness, far inferior to other parts: but, nevertheless, it doth fascinate, and bind hand and foot those that are either shallow in judgment or weak in courage, which are the greatest part; yea, and prevaileth with wise men at weak times; therefore we see it hath done wonders in popular states, but with senates and princes less; and more, ever upon the first entrance of bold persons into action, than soon after; for boldness is an ill keeper of promise. surely, as there are mountebanks for the natural body, so are there mountebanks for the politic body--men that undertake great cures, and perhaps have been lucky in two or three experiments, but want the grounds of science, and therefore cannot hold out. nay, you shall see a bold fellow many times do mahomet's miracle. mahomet made the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law. the people assembled: mahomet called the hill to come to him again and again; and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed, but said, "if the hill will not come to mahomet, mahomet will go to the hill." so these men, when they have promised great matters, and failed most shamefully, yet, if they have the perfection of boldness, they will but slight it over, and make a turn, and no more ado. certainly, to men of great judgment, bold persons are sport to behold; nay, and to the vulgar also boldness hath somewhat of the ridiculous: for, if absurdity be the subject of laughter, doubt you not but great boldness is seldom without some absurdity; especially it is a sport to see when a bold fellow is out of countenance, for that puts his face into a most shrunken and wooden posture, as needs it must--for in bashfulness the spirits do a little go and come--but with bold men, upon like occasion, they stand at a stay; like a stale at chess, where it is no mate, but yet the game cannot stir: but this last were fitter for a satire than for a serious observation. this is well to be weighed, that boldness is ever blind, for it seeth not dangers and inconveniences: therefore it is ill in counsel, good in execution; so that the right use of bold persons is, that they never command in chief, but be seconds, and under the direction of others; for in counsel it is good to see dangers, and in execution not to see them, except they be very great. * * * * * _he that cannot see well, let him go softly._ bacon. v. to daffodils. robert herrick.-- - . fair daffodils, we weep to see you haste away so soon; as yet the early-rising sun has not attain'd his noon. stay, stay, until the hasting day has run but to the even-song; and, having pray'd together, we will go with you along. we have short time to stay, as you; we have as short a spring; as quick a growth to meet decay, as you, or anything. we die as your hours do, and dry away, like to the summer's rain; or as the pearls of morning's dew, ne'er to be found again. * * * * * _stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage; minds innocent and quiet take that for a hermitage: if i have freedom in my love, and in my soul am free, angels alone, that soar above, enjoy such liberty._ richard lovelace.-- - . vi. of contentedness in all estates and accidents. jeremy taylor.-- - . _from_ holy living. virtues and discourses are, like friends, necessary in all fortunes; but those are the best, which are friends in our sadnesses, and support us in our sorrows and sad accidents: and in this sense, no man that is virtuous can be friendless; nor hath any man reason to complain of the divine providence, or accuse the public disorder of things, or in his own infelicity, since god hath appointed one remedy for all the evils in the world, and that is a contented spirit: for this alone makes a man pass through fire, and not be scorched; through seas, and not be drowned; through hunger and nakedness, and want nothing. for since all the evil in the world consists in the disagreeing between the object and the appetite, as when a man hath what he desires not, or desires what he hath not, or desires amiss; he that composes his spirit to the present accident, hath variety of instances for his virtue, but none to trouble him, because his desires enlarge not beyond his present fortune: and a wise man is placed in the variety of chances, like the nave or centre of a wheel, in the midst of all the circumvolutions and changes of posture, without violence or change, save that it turns gently in compliance with its changed parts, and is indifferent which part is up, and which is down; for there is some virtue or other to be exercised, whatever happens, either patience or thanksgiving, love or fear, moderation or humility, charity or contentedness, and they are every one of them equally in order to his great end and immortal felicity: and beauty is not made by white or red, by black eyes and a round face, by a straight body and a smooth skin; but by a proportion to the fancy. no rules can make amiability; our minds and apprehensions make that: and so is our felicity; and we may be reconciled to poverty and a low fortune, if we suffer contentedness and the grace of god to make the proportions. for no man is poor that does not think himself so: but if, in a full fortune, with impatience he desires more, he proclaims his wants and his beggarly condition. but because this grace of contentedness was the sum of all the old moral philosophy, and a great duty in christianity, and of most universal use in the whole course of our lives, and the only instrument to ease the burdens of the world and the enmities of sad chances, it will not be amiss to press it by the proper arguments by which god hath bound it upon our spirits; it being fastened by reason and religion, by duty and interest, by necessity and conveniency, by example, and by the proposition of excellent rewards, no less than peace and felicity. contentedness in all estates is a duty of religion; it is the great reasonableness of complying with the divine providence, which governs all the world, and hath so ordered us in the administration of his great family. he were a strange fool that should be angry because dogs and sheep need no shoes, and yet himself is full of care to get some. god hath supplied those needs to them by natural provisions, and to thee by an artificial: for he hath given thee reason to learn a trade, or some means to make or buy them, so that it only differs in the manner of our provision: and which had you rather want, shoes or reason? and my patron, that hath given me a farm, is freer to me than if he gives a loaf ready baked. but, however, all these gifts come from him, and therefore it is fit he should dispense them as he pleases; and if we murmur here, we may, at the next melancholy, be troubled that god did not make us to be angels or stars. for if that which we are or have do not content us, we may be troubled for every thing in the world which is beside our being or our possessions. god is the master of the scenes; we must not choose which part we shall act; it concerns us only to be careful that we do it well, always saying, "if this please god, let it be as it is:" and we, who pray that god's will may be done in earth as it is in heaven, must remember that the angels do whatsoever is commanded them, and go wherever they are sent, and refuse no circumstances; and if their employment be crossed by a higher decree, they sit down in peace, and rejoice in the event; and when the angel of judea could not prevail in behalf of the people committed to his charge, because the angel of persia opposed it, he only told the story at the command of god, and was as content, and worshipped with as great an ecstasy in his proportion, as the prevailing spirit. do thou so likewise: keep the station where god hath placed you, and you shall never long for things without, but sit at home, feasting upon the divine providence and thy own reason, by which we are taught that it is necessary and reasonable to submit to god. for is not all the world god's family? are not we his creatures? are we not as clay in the hand of the potter? do we not live upon his meat, and move by his strength, and do our work by his light? are we any thing but what we are from him? and shall there be a mutiny among the flocks and herds, because their lord or their shepherd chooses their pastures, and suffers them not to wander into deserts and unknown ways? if we choose, we do it so foolishly that we cannot like it long, and most commonly not at all: but god, who can do what he pleases, is wise to choose safely for us, affectionate to comply with our needs, and powerful to execute all his wise decrees. here, therefore, is the wisdom of the contented man, to let god choose for him; for when we have given up our wills to him, and stand in that station of the battle where our great general hath placed us, our spirits must needs rest while our conditions have for their security the power, the wisdom, and the charity of god. contentedness in all accidents brings great peace of spirit, and is the great and only instrument of temporal felicity. it removes the sting from the accident, and makes a man not to depend upon chance and the uncertain dispositions of men for his well-being, but only on god and his own spirit. we ourselves make our fortunes good or bad; and when god lets loose a tyrant upon us, or a sickness, or scorn, or a lessened fortune, if we fear to die, or know not to be patient, or are proud or covetous, then the calamity sits heavy on us. but if we know how to manage a noble principle, and fear not death so much as a dishonest action, and think impatience a worse evil than a fever, and pride to be the biggest disgrace, and poverty to be infinitely desirable before the torments of covetousness; then we who now think vice to be so easy, and make it so familiar, and think the cure so impossible, shall quickly be of another mind, and reckon these accidents amongst things eligible. but no man can be happy that hath great hopes and great fears of things without, and events depending upon other men, or upon the chances of fortune. the rewards of virtue are certain, and our provisions for our natural support are certain; or if we want meat till we die, then we die of that disease--and there are many worse than to die with an atrophy or consumption, or unapt and coarser nourishment. but he that suffers a transporting passion concerning things within the power of others, is free from sorrow and amazement no longer than his enemy shall give him leave; and it is ten to one but he shall be smitten then and there where it shall most trouble him; for so the adder teaches us where to strike, by her curious and fearful defending of her head. the old stoics, when you told them of a sad story, would still answer, "_what is that to me?_" yes, for the tyrant hath sentenced you also to prison. well, what is that? he will put a chain upon my leg; but he cannot bind my soul. no; but he will kill you. then i will die. if presently, let me go, that i may presently be freer than himself: but if not till anon, or to-morrow, i will dine first, or sleep, or do what reason or nature calls for, as at other times. this, in gentile philosophy, is the same with the discourse of st. paul, "i have learned, in whatsoever state i am, therewith to be content. i know both how to be abased, and i know how to abound: every where and in all things i am instructed, both to be full and to be hungry; both to abound and suffer need." we are in the world like men playing at tables; the chance is not in our power, but to play it is; and when it is fallen we must manage it as we can: and let nothing trouble us, but when we do a base action, or speak like a fool, or think wickedly,--these things god hath put into our powers; but concerning those things which are wholly in the choice of another, they cannot fall under our deliberation, and therefore neither are they fit for our passions. my fear may make me miserable, but it cannot prevent what another hath in his power and purpose; and prosperities can only be enjoyed by them who fear not at all to lose them; since the amazement and passion concerning the future takes off all the pleasure of the present possession. therefore, if thou hast lost thy land, do not also lose thy constancy; and if thou must die a little sooner, yet do not die impatiently. for no chance is evil to him that is content: and to a man nothing is miserable unless it be unreasonable. no man can make another man to be his slave unless he hath first enslaved himself to life and death, to pleasure or pain, to hope or fear: command these passions, and you are freer than the parthian kings. vii. to lucasta, on going to the wars. richard lovelace.-- - . tell me not, sweet, i am unkind, that from the nunnery of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, to war and arms i fly. true, a new mistress now i chase, the first foe in the field; and with a stronger faith embrace a sword, a horse, a shield. yet this inconstancy is such as you, too, shall adore,-- i could not love thee, dear, so much, lov'd i not honor more. viii. angling. izaak walton.-- - . _from_ the complete angler. _venator._--o my good master, this morning walk has been spent to my great pleasure and wonder; but i pray, when shall i have your direction how to make artificial flies, like to those that the trout loves best, and also how to use them? _piscator._--my honest scholar, it is now past five of the clock; we will fish till nine, and then go to breakfast. go you to yon sycamore-tree, and hide your bottle of drink under the hollow root of it; for about that time, and in that place, we will make a brave breakfast with a piece of powdered beef, and a radish or two, that i have in my fish-bag: we shall, i warrant you, make a good, honest, wholesome, hungry breakfast, and i will then give you direction for the making and using of your flies; and in the meantime, there is your rod and line, and my advice is, that you fish as you see me do, and let's try which can catch the first fish. _venator._--i thank you, master; i will observe and practise your direction as far as i am able. _piscator._--look you, scholar, you see i have hold of a good fish: i now see it is a trout. i pray put that net under him, and touch not my line, for if you do, then we break all. well done, scholar! i thank you. now for another. trust me, i have another bite: come, scholar, come, lay down your rod, and help me to land this as you did the other. so now we shall be sure to have a good dish for supper. _venator._--i am glad of that; but i have no fortune: sure, master, yours is a better rod and better tackling. _piscator._--nay, then, take mine; and i will fish with yours. look you, scholar, i have another. come, do as you did before. and now i have a bite at another. oh me! he has broke all: there's half a line and a good hook lost. _venator._--ay, and a good trout too. _piscator._--nay, the trout is not lost; for pray take notice, no man can lose what he never had. _venator._--master, i can neither catch with the first nor second angle: i have no fortune. _piscator._--look you, scholar, i have yet another. and now, having caught two brace of trouts, i will tell you a short tale as we walk towards our breakfast. a scholar, a preacher i should say, that was to preach to procure the approbation of a parish that he might be their lecturer, had got from his fellow-pupil the copy of a sermon that was first preached with great commendation by him that composed it; and though the borrower of it preached it, word for word, as it was at first, yet it was utterly disliked as it was preached by the second to his congregation; which the sermon borrower complained of to the lender of it; and thus was answered: "i lent you, indeed, my fiddle, but not my fiddle-stick; for you are to know, that every one cannot make music with my words, which are fitted to my own mouth." and so, my scholar, you are to know, that as the ill pronunciation or ill accenting of words in a sermon spoils it, so the ill carriage of your line, or not fishing even to a foot in a right place, makes you lose your labor; and you are to know, that though you have my fiddle, that is, my very rod and tacklings with which you see i catch fish, yet you have not my fiddle-stick, that is, you yet have not skill to know how to carry your hand and line, nor how to guide it to a right place; and this must be taught you; for you are to remember, i told you angling is an art, either by practice or a long observation, or both. but take this for a rule: when you fish for a trout with a worm, let your line have so much and not more lead than will fit the stream in which you fish; that is to say, more in a great troublesome stream than in a smaller that is quieter; as near as may be, so much as will sink the bait to the bottom, and keep it still in motion, and not more. but now let's say grace and fall to breakfast. what say you, scholar, to the providence of an old angler? does not this meat taste well? and was not this place well chosen to eat it? for this sycamore-tree will shade us from the sun's heat. _venator._--all excellent good, and my stomach excellent good too. and now i remember and find that true which devout lessius says: "that poor men, and those that fast often, have much more pleasure in eating than rich men and gluttons, that always feed before their stomachs are empty of their last meal, and call for more; for by that means they rob themselves of that pleasure that hunger brings to poor men." and i do seriously approve of that saying of yours, "that you would rather be a civil, well-governed, well-grounded, temperate, poor angler, than a drunken lord." but i hope there is none such: however, i am certain of this, that i have been at many very costly dinners that have not afforded me half the content that this has done, for which i thank god and you. and now, good master, proceed to your promised direction for making and ordering my artificial fly. _piscator_.--my honest scholar, i will do it; for it is a debt due unto you by my promise.... ... look how it begins to rain!--and by the clouds, if i mistake not, we shall presently have a smoking shower, and therefore sit close: this sycamore-tree will shelter us; and i will tell you, as they shall come into my mind, more observations of fly-fishing for a trout.... ... and now, scholar, my direction for fly-fishing is ended with this shower, for it has done raining: and now look about you, and see how pleasantly that meadow looks; nay, and the earth smells as sweetly too. come, let me tell you what holy mr. herbert says of such days and flowers as these; and then we will thank god that we enjoy them, and walk to the river and sit down quietly, and try to catch the other brace of trouts. sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, the bridal of the earth and sky: the dew shall weep thy fall to-night; for thou must die. sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, thy root is ever in its grave; and thou must die. sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, a box where sweets compacted lie; thy music shows ye have your closes; and all must die. only a sweet and virtuous soul, like season'd timber, never gives; but, though the whole world turn to coal, then chiefly lives. _venator._--i thank you, good master, for your good direction for fly-fishing, and for the sweet enjoyment of the pleasant day, which is so far spent without offence to god or man; and i thank you for the sweet close of your discourse with mr. herbert's verses, who, i have heard, loved angling; and i do the rather believe it, because he had a spirit suitable to anglers, and to those primitive christians that you love and have so much commended. _piscator._--well, my loving scholar, and i am pleased to know that you are so well pleased with my direction and discourse.... and now, i think it will be time to repair to our angle-rods, which we left in the water to fish for themselves: and you shall choose which shall be yours; and it is an even lay, one of them catches. and, let me tell you, this kind of fishing with a dead rod, and laying night-hooks, are like putting money to use; for they both work for the owners, when they do nothing but sleep, or eat, or rejoice; as you know we have done this last hour, and sat as quietly, and as free from cares under this sycamore, as virgil's tityrus and his meliboeus did, under their broad beech tree. no life, my honest scholar, no life so happy and so pleasant, as the life of a well-governed angler; for when the lawyer is swallowed up with business, and the statesman is preventing or contriving plots, then we sit on cowslip banks, hear the birds sing, and possess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams, which we now see glide so quietly by us. indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling as dr. boteler said of strawberries, "doubtless, god could have made a better berry, but doubtless, god never did;" and so, if i might be judge, "god never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling." ix. on the morning of christ's nativity. ( ). john milton.-- - . i. this is the month, and this the happy morn, wherein the son of heaven's eternal king, of wedded maid and virgin mother born, our great redemption from above did bring; for so the holy sages once did sing, that he our deadly forfeit should release, and with his father work us a perpetual peace. ii. that glorious form, that light unsufferable, and that far-beaming blaze of majesty, wherewith he wont at heaven's high council-table to sit the midst of trinal unity, he laid aside; and, here with us to be, forsook the courts of everlasting day, and chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. iii. say, heavenly muse, shall not thy sacred vein afford a present to the infant god? hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, to welcome him to this his new abode, now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, hath took no print of the approaching light, and all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? iv. see how from far upon the eastern road the star-led wizards haste with odors sweet! o run, prevent them with thy humble ode, and lay it lowly at his blessèd feet; have thou the honor first thy lord to greet, and join thy voice unto the angel choir, from out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. * * * * * the hymn. . it was the winter wild, while the heaven-born child, all meanly wrapt, in the rude manger lies; nature, in awe to him, had doff'd her gaudy trim, with her great master so to sympathize: it was no season then for her to wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. . only, with speeches fair, she woos the gentle air to hide her guilty front with innocent snow, and on her naked shame, pollute with sinful blame, the saintly veil of maiden white to throw; confounded, that her maker's eyes should look so near upon her foul deformities. . but he, her fears to cease, sent down the meek-ey'd peace: she, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding down through the turning sphere, his ready harbinger, with turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; and, waving wide her myrtle wand, she strikes a universal peace through sea and land. . no war, or battle's sound, was heard the world around: the idle spear and shield were high up hung; the hookèd chariot stood, unstain'd with hostile blood; the trumpet spake not to the armèd throng; and kings sat still with awful eye, as if they surely knew their sovran lord was by. . but peaceful was the night wherein the prince of light his reign of peace upon the earth began: the winds, with wonder whist, smoothly the waters kiss'd, whispering new joys to the mild ocean, who now hath quite forgot to rave, while birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave. . the stars, with deep amaze, stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, bending one way their precious influence; and will not take their flight, for all the morning light, or lucifer that often warn'd them thence; but in their glimmering orbs did glow, until their lord himself bespake, and bid them go. . and, though the shady gloom had given day her room, the sun himself withheld his wonted speed; and hid his head for shame, as his inferior flame the new-enlighten'd world no more should need; he saw a greater sun appear than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. . the shepherds on the lawn, or ere the point of dawn, sat simply chatting in a rustic row; full little thought they then that the mighty pan was kindly come to live with them below: perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. . when such music sweet their hearts and ears did greet, as never was by mortal finger strook, divinely-warbled voice answering the stringèd noise, as all their souls in blissful rapture took: the air, such pleasure loth to lose, with thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. . nature, that heard such sound beneath the hollow round of cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, now was almost won to think her part was done, and that her reign had here its last fulfilling: she knew such harmony alone could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. . at last surrounds their sight a globe of circular light, that with long beams the shame-faced night array'd; the helmèd cherubim, and swordèd seraphim, are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, harping in loud and solemn choir, with unexpressive notes to heaven's new-born heir. . such music (as 'tis said) before was never made, but when of old the sons of morning sung, while the creator great his constellations set, and the well-balanced world on hinges hung, and cast the dark foundations deep, and bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep. . ring out, ye crystal spheres! once bless our human ears, (if ye have power to touch our senses so,) and let your silver chime move in melodious time; and let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; and with your ninefold harmony make up full consort to the angelic symphony. . for, if such holy song enwrap our fancy long, time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; and speckled vanity will sicken soon and die; and leprous sin will melt from earthly mould; and hell itself will pass away, and leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. . yea, truth and justice then will down return to men, orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, mercy will sit between, thron'd in celestial sheen, with radiant feet the tissu'd clouds down steering; and heaven, as at some festival, will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. . but wisest fate says, no, this must not yet be so; the babe yet lies in smiling infancy, that on the bitter cross must redeem our loss; so both himself and us to glorify: yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep, the wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. . with such a horrid clang as on mount sinai rang, while the red fire and smould'ring clouds out brake: the aged earth, aghast, with terror of that blast, shall from the surface to the centre shake; when, at the world's last session, the dreadful judge in middle air shall spread his throne. . and then at last our bliss full and perfect is, but now begins; for from this happy day the old dragon under ground, in straiter limits bound, not half so far casts his usurpèd sway; and, wroth to see his kingdom fail, swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. . the oracles are dumb; no voice or hideous hum runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving. apollo from his shrine can no more divine, with hollow shriek the steep of delphos leaving. no nightly trance, or breathèd spell, inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell. . the lonely mountains o'er, and the resounding shore, a voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; from haunted spring, and dale edg'd with poplar pale, the parting genius is with sighing sent; with flower-inwoven tresses torn the nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. . in consecrated earth, and on the holy hearth, the lars, and lemures, moan with midnight plaint; in urns, and altars round, a drear and dying sound affrights the flamens at their service quaint; and the chill marble seems to sweat, while each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. . peor, and baälim, forsake their temples dim, with that twice-batter'd god of palestine; and moonèd ashtaroth, heaven's queen and mother both, now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine: the libyc hammon shrinks his horn; in vain the tyrian maids their wounded thammuz mourn. . and sullen moloch, fled, hath left in shadows dread, his burning idol all of blackest hue in vain with cymbals' ring they call the grisly king, in dismal dance about the furnace blue; the brutish gods of nile as fast, isis, and orus, and the dog anubis, haste. . nor is osiris seen in memphian grove or green, trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud; nor can he be at rest within his sacred chest; naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; in vain, with timbrell'd anthems dark, the sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. . he feels from juda's land the dreaded infant's hand; the rays of bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; nor all the gods beside longer dare abide, not typhon huge ending in snaky twine: our babe, to show his godhead true, can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew. . so, when the sun in bed, curtain'd with cloudy red, pillows his chin upon an orient wave, the flocking shadows pale troop to the infernal jail, each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; and the yellow-skirted fays fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze. . but see! the virgin blest hath laid her babe to rest. time is our tedious song should here have ending: heaven's youngest-teemèd star, hath fix'd her polish'd car, her sleeping lord with handmaid lamp attending; and all about the courtly stable bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. x. character of lord falkland. lord clarendon.-- - . _from_ history of the rebellion. in this unhappy battle [of newbury] was slain the lord viscount falkland; a person of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetness and delight in conversation, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed civil war, than that single loss, it must be most infamous, and execrable to all posterity. before this parliament, his condition of life was so happy that it was hardly capable of improvement. before he came to be twenty years of age, he was master of a noble fortune, which descended to him by the gift of a grandfather, without passing through his father or mother, who were then both alive, and not well enough contented to find themselves passed by in the descent. his education for some years had been in ireland, where his father was lord-deputy; so that, when he returned into england, to the possession of his fortune, he was unentangled with any acquaintance or friends, which usually grow up by the custom of conversation; and therefore was to make a pure election of his company; which he chose by other rules than were prescribed to the young nobility of that time. and it cannot be denied, though he admitted some few to his friendship for the agreeableness of their natures, and their undoubted affection to him, that his familiarity and friendship, for the most part, was with men of the most eminent and sublime parts, and of untouched reputation in point of integrity; and such men had a title to his bosom. he was a great cherisher of wit, and fancy, and good parts in any man; and, if he found them clouded with poverty or want, a most liberal and bountiful patron towards them, even above his fortune; of which, in those administrations, he was such a dispenser, as, if he had been trusted with it to such uses, and if there had been the least of vice in his expense, he might have been thought too prodigal. he was constant and pertinacious in whatsoever he resolved to do, and not to be wearied by any pains that were necessary to that end. and, therefore, having once resolved not to see london, which he loved above all places, till he had perfectly learned the greek tongue, he went to his own house in the country, and pursued it with that indefatigable industry, that it will not be believed in how short a time he was master of it, and accurately read all the greek historians. in this time, his house being within little more than ten miles of oxford, he contracted familiarity and friendship with the most polite and accurate men of that university; who found such an immenseness of wit, and such a solidity of judgment in him, so infinite a fancy, bound in by a most logical ratiocination, such a vast knowledge, that he was not ignorant in anything, yet such an excessive humility, as if he had known nothing, that they frequently resorted and dwelt with him, as in a college situated in a purer air; so that his house was a university in a less volume; whither they came not so much for repose as study; and to examine and refine those grosser propositions, which laziness and consent made current in vulgar conversation.... he was superior to all those passions and affections which attend vulgar minds, and was guilty of no other ambition than of knowledge, and to be reputed a lover of all good men; and that made him too much a contemner of those arts, which must be indulged in the transactions of human affairs.... he had a courage of the most clear and keen temper, and so far from fear, that he seemed not without some appetite of danger; and therefore, upon any occasion of action, he always engaged his person in those troops which he thought, by the forwardness of the commanders, to be most like to be farthest engaged; and in all such encounters, he had about him an extraordinary cheerfulness, without at all affecting the execution that usually attended them; in which he took no delight, but took pains to prevent it, where it was not by resistance made necessary: insomuch that at edge-hill, when the enemy was routed, he was like to have incurred great peril, by interposing to save those who had thrown away their arms, and against whom, it may be, others were more fierce for their having thrown them away: so that a man might think he came into the field chiefly out of curiosity to see the face of danger, and charity to prevent the shedding of blood. yet, in his natural inclination, he acknowledged he was addicted to the profession of a soldier; and shortly after he came to his fortune, before he was of age, he went into the low countries, with a resolution of procuring command, and to give himself up to it; from which he was diverted by the complete inactivity of that summer; so he returned into england, and shortly after entered upon that vehement course of study we mentioned before, till the first alarm from the north; then again he made ready for the field, and though he received some repulse in the command of a troop of horse, of which he had a promise, he went a volunteer with the earl of essex. from the entrance into this unnatural war, his natural cheerfulness and vivacity grew clouded, and a kind of sadness and dejection of spirit stole upon him, which he had never been used to; yet being one of those who believed that one battle would end all differences, and that there would be so great a victory on one side, that the other would be compelled to submit to any conditions from the victor--which supposition and conclusion generally sunk into the minds of most men, and prevented the looking after many advantages that might then have been laid hold of--he resisted those indispositions. but after the king's return from brentford, and the furious resolution of the two houses not to admit any treaty for peace, those indispositions, which had before touched him, grew into a perfect habit of uncheerfulness; and he, who had been so exactly unreserved and affable to all men, that his face and countenance was always present, and vacant, to his company, and held any cloudiness, and less pleasantness of the visage, a kind of rudeness or incivility, became, on a sudden, less communicable; and thence, very sad, pale, and exceedingly affected with the spleen. in his clothes and habit, which he had minded before always with more neatness, and industry, and expense, than is usual to so great a soul, he was not now only incurious, but too negligent; and in his reception of suitors, and the necessary or casual addresses to his place, so quick, and sharp, and severe, that there wanted not some men--strangers to his nature and disposition--who believed him proud and imperious; from which no mortal man was ever more free.... when there was any overture or hope of peace, he would be more erect and vigorous, and exceedingly solicitous to press anything which he thought might promote it; and sitting among his friends, often, after a deep silence, and frequent sighs, would, with a shrill and sad accent, ingeminate the word _peace, peace_; and would passionately profess, "that the very agony of the war, and the view of the calamities and desolation the kingdom did and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart." this made some think, or pretend to think, "that he was so much enamoured of peace, that he would have been glad the king should have bought it at any price;" which was a most unreasonable calumny. as if a man, that was himself the most punctual and precise in every circumstance that might reflect upon conscience or honor, could have wished the king to have committed a trespass against either.... in the morning before the battle, as always upon action, he was very cheerful, and put himself into the first rank of the lord byron's regiment, then advancing upon the enemy, who had lined the hedges on both sides with musketeers; from whence he was shot with a musket in the lower part of the belly, and in the instant falling from his horse, his body was not found till the next morning; till when, there was some hope he might have been a prisoner; though his nearest friends, who knew his temper, received small comfort from that imagination. thus fell that incomparable young man, in the four-and-thirtieth year of his age, having so much despatched the true business of life, that the oldest rarely attain to that immense knowledge, and the youngest enter not into the world with more innocency: whosoever leads such a life, needs be the less anxious upon how short warning it is taken from him. xi. veni, creator spiritus. john dryden.-- - . creator spirit, by whose aid the world's foundations first were laid, come, visit every pious mind; come, pour thy joys on humankind; from sin and sorrow set us free, and make thy temples worthy thee. o source of uncreated light, the father's promis'd paraclete! thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, our hearts with heavenly love inspire; come, and thy sacred unction bring to sanctify us, while we sing. plenteous of grace, descend from high, rich in thy sevenfold energy! thou strength of his almighty hand, whose power does heaven and earth command; proceeding spirit, our defence, who dost the gift of tongues dispense, and crown'st thy gift with eloquence. refine and purge our earthy parts; but, oh, inflame and fire our hearts! our frailties help, our vice control, submit the senses to the soul; and when rebellious they are grown, then lay thy hand, and hold them down. chase from our minds the infernal foe, and peace, the fruit of love, bestow; and lest our feet should step astray, protect and guide us in the way. make us eternal truths receive, and practise all that we believe: give us thy self, that we may see the father and the son by thee. immortal honor, endless fame, attend the almighty father's name: the saviour son be glorified, who for lost man's redemption died: and equal adoration be, eternal paraclete, to thee! xii. lines printed under the portrait of milton. dryden. three poets, in three distant ages born, greece, italy, and england did adorn. the first in loftiness of thought surpass'd, the next in majesty, in both the last. the force of nature could no farther go; to make a third she join'd the former two. xiii. reason. dryden. _from_ religio laici. dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars to lonely, weary, wandering travellers, is reason to the soul; and as on high those rolling fires discover but the sky, not light us here; so reason's glimmering ray was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, but guide us upward to a better day and as those nightly tapers disappear, when day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere; so pale grows reason at religion's sight; so dies, and so dissolves, in supernatural light. xiv. on the love of country as a principle of action. richard steele.-- - . _from_ the tatler, june , . when men look into their own bosoms, and consider the generous seeds which are there planted, that might, if rightly cultivated, ennoble their lives, and make their virtue venerable to futurity; how can they, without tears, reflect on the universal degeneracy from that public spirit, which ought to be the first and principal motive of all their actions? in the grecian and roman nations, they were wise enough to keep up this great incentive, and it was impossible to be in the fashion without being a patriot. all gallantry had its first source from hence; and to want a warmth for the public welfare, was a defect so scandalous, that he who was guilty of it had no pretence to honor or manhood. what makes the depravity among us, in this behalf, the more vexatious and irksome to reflect upon, is, that the contempt of life is carried as far amongst us, as it could be in those memorable people; and we want only a proper application of the qualities which are frequent among us, to be as worthy as they. there is hardly a man to be found who will not fight upon any occasion, which he thinks may taint his own honor. were this motive as strong in everything that regards the public, as it is in this our private case, no man would pass his life away without having distinguished himself by some gallant instance of his zeal towards it in the respective incidents of his life and profession. but it is so far otherwise, that there cannot at present be a more ridiculous animal, than one who seems to regard the good of others. he, in civil life, whose thoughts turn upon schemes which may be of general benefit, without further reflection, is called a projector; and the man whose mind seems intent upon glorious achievements, a knight-errant. the ridicule among us runs strong against laudable actions; nay, in the ordinary course of things, and the common regards of life, negligence of the public is an epidemic vice. the brewer in his excise, the merchant in his customs, and, for aught we know, the soldier in his muster-rolls, think never the worse of themselves for being guilty of their respective frauds towards the public. this evil is come to such a fantastical height, that he is a man _of_ a public spirit, and heroically affected to his country, who can go so far as even to turn usurer with all he has in her funds. there is not a citizen in whose imagination such a one does not appear in the same light of glory, as codrus, scævola, or any other great name in old rome. were it not for the heroes of so much _per cent._ as have regard enough for themselves and their nation to trade with her with their wealth, the very notion of public love would long ere now have vanished from among us. but however general custom may hurry us away in the stream of a common error, there is no evil, no crime, so great as that of being cold in matters relating to the common good. this is in nothing more conspicuous than in a certain willingness to receive anything that tends to the diminution of such as have been conspicuous instruments in our service. such inclinations proceed from the most low and vile corruption, of which the soul of man is capable. this effaces not only the practice, but the very approbation of honor and virtue; and has had such an effect, that, to speak freely, the very sense of public good has no longer a part even in our conversations. can then the most generous motive of life, the good of others, be so easily banished the breast of man? is it possible to draw all our passions inward? shall the boiling heat of youth be sunk in pleasures, the ambition of manhood in selfish intrigues? shall all that is glorious, all that is worth the pursuit of great minds, be so easily rooted out? when the universal bent of a people seems diverted from the sense of their common good, and common glory, it looks like a fatality, and crisis of impending misfortune. the generous nations we just now mentioned understood this so very well, that there was hardly an oration ever made, which did not turn upon this general sense, "that the love of their country was the first and most essential quality in an honest mind." demosthenes, in a cause wherein his fame, reputation, and fortune, were embarked, puts his all upon this issue; "let the athenians," says he, "be benevolent to me, as they think i have been zealous for them." this great and discerning orator knew, there was nothing else in nature could bear him up against his adversaries, but this one quality of having shown himself willing or able to serve his country. this certainly is the test of merit; and the first foundation for deserving good-will is, having it yourself. the adversary of this orator at that time was Æschines, a man of wily arts and skill in the world, who could, as occasion served, fall in with a national start of passion, or sullenness of humor, which a whole nation is sometimes taken with as well as a private man; and by that means divert them from their common sense, into an aversion for receiving anything in its true light. but when demosthenes had awakened his audience with that one hint of judging by the general tenor of his life towards them, his services bore down his opponent before him, who fled to the covert of his mean arts, until some more favorable opportunity should offer against the superior merit of demosthenes. it were to be wished, that love of their country were the first principle of action in men of business, even for their own sakes; for when the world begins to examine into their conduct, the generality, who have no share in, or hopes of any part in power or riches, but what is the effect of their own labor or prosperity, will judge of them by no other method, than that of how profitable their administration has been to the whole. they who are out of the influence of men's fortune or favor, will let them stand or fall by this one only rule; and men who can bear being tried by it, are always popular in their fall. those, who cannot suffer such a scrutiny, are contemptible in their advancement. but i am here running into shreds of maxims from reading tacitus this morning, which has driven me from my recommendation of public spirit, which was the intended purpose of this lucubration. there is not a more glorious instance of it, than in the character of regulus. this same regulus was taken prisoner by the carthaginians, and was sent by them to rome, in order to demand some punic noblemen, who were prisoners, in exchange for himself; and was bound by an oath that he would return to carthage, if he failed in his commission. he proposes this to the senate, who were in suspense upon it, which regulus observing, without having the least notion of putting the care of his own life in competition with the public good, desired them to consider that he was old, and almost useless; that those demanded in exchange were men of daring tempers, and great merit in military affairs; and wondered they would make any doubt of permitting him to go back to the short tortures prepared for him at carthage, where he should have the advantage of ending a long life both gloriously and usefully. this generous advice was consented to; and he took his leave of his country and his weeping friends, to go to certain death, with that cheerful composure, as a man, after the fatigue of business in a court or a city, retires to the next village for the air. * * * * * _when the heart is right there is true patriotism_. bishop berkeley.-- - . xv. the golden scales. joseph addison.-- - . _from_ the spectator, august , . i was lately entertaining myself with comparing homer's balance, in which jupiter is represented as weighing the fates of hector and achilles, with a passage of virgil, wherein that deity is introduced as weighing the fates of turnus and Æneas. i then considered how the same way of thinking prevailed in the eastern parts of the world, as in those noble passages of scripture, where we are told, that the great king of babylon, the day before his death, had been weighed in the balance, and been found wanting. in other places of the holy writings the almighty is described as weighing the mountains in scales, making the weight for the winds, knowing the balancings of the clouds; and, in others, as weighing the actions of men, and laying their calamities together in a balance. milton, as i have observed in a former paper, had an eye to several of these foregoing instances, in that beautiful description wherein he represents the archangel and the evil spirit as addressing themselves for the combat, but parted by the balance which appeared in the heavens, and weighed the consequences of such a battle. the eternal, to prevent such horrid fray, hung forth in heaven his golden scales, yet seen betwixt astrea and the scorpion sign, wherein all things created first he weigh'd, the pendulous round earth with balanced air in counterpoise; now ponder; all events, battles and realms: in these he puts two weights, the sequel each of parting and of fight: the latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam; which gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend. "satan, i know thy strength, and thou know'st mine, neither our own, but given; what folly then to boast what arms can do! since thine no more than heaven permits; nor mine, though doubled now to trample thee as mire: for proof look up, and read thy lot in yon celestial sign, where thou art weigh'd, and shewn how light, how weak, if thou resist." the fiend look'd up and knew his mounted scale aloft; nor more: but fled murm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night. these several amusing thoughts having taken possession of my mind some time before i went to sleep, and mingling themselves with my ordinary ideas, raised in my imagination a very odd kind of vision. i was, methought, replaced in my study, and seated in my elbow-chair, where i had indulged the foregoing speculations, with my lamp burning by me, as usual. whilst i was here meditating on several subjects of morality, and considering the nature of many virtues and vices, as materials for those discourses with which i daily entertain the public; i saw, methought, a pair of golden scales hanging by a chain in the same metal over the table that stood before me; when, on a sudden, there were great heaps of weights thrown down on each side of them. i found upon examining these weights, they showed the value of everything that is in esteem among men. i made an essay of them, by putting the weight of wisdom in one scale, and that of riches in another, upon which the latter, to show its comparative lightness, immediately "flew up and kicked the beam." but, before i proceed, i must inform my reader, that these weights did not exert their natural gravity, till they were laid in the golden balance, insomuch that i could not guess which was light or heavy, whilst i held them in my hand. this i found by several instances, for upon my laying a weight in one of the scales, which was inscribed by the word eternity; though i threw in that of time, prosperity, affliction, wealth, poverty, interest, success, with many other weights, which in my hand seemed very ponderous, they were not able to stir the opposite balance, nor could they have prevailed, though assisted with the weight of the sun, the stars, and the earth. upon emptying the scales, i laid several titles and honors, with pomps, triumphs, and many weights of the like nature, in one of them, and seeing a little glittering weight lie by me, i threw it accidentally into the other scale, when, to my great surprise, it proved so exact a counterpoise, that it kept the balance in an equilibrium. this little glittering weight was inscribed upon the edges of it with the word vanity. i found there were several other weights which were equally heavy, and exact counterpoises to one another; a few of them i tried, as avarice and poverty, riches and content, with some others. there were likewise several weights that were of the same figure, and seemed to correspond with each other, but were entirely different when thrown into the scales, as religion and hypocrisy, pedantry and learning, wit and vivacity, superstition and devotion, gravity and wisdom, with many others. i observed one particular weight lettered on both sides, and upon applying myself to the reading of it, i found on one side written "_in the dialect of men_," and underneath it, "calamities;" on the other side was written, "_in the language of the gods_," and underneath, "blessings." i found the intrinsic value of this weight to be much greater than i imagined, for it overpowered health, wealth, good-fortune, and many other weights, which were much more ponderous in my hand than the other. there is a saying among the scotch, that "an ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy;" i was sensible of the truth of this saying, when i saw the difference between the weight of natural parts and that of learning. the observation which i made upon these two weights opened to me a new field of discoveries, for notwithstanding the weight of natural parts was much heavier than that of learning, i observed that it weighed an hundred times heavier than it did before, when i put learning into the same scale with it. i made the same observation upon faith and morality; for notwithstanding the latter outweighed the former separately, it received a thousand times more additional weight from its conjunction with the former, than what it had by itself. this odd phenomenon showed itself in other particulars, as in wit and judgment, philosophy and religion, justice and humanity, zeal and charity, depth of sense and perspicuity of style, with innumerable other particulars, too long to be mentioned in this paper. as a dream seldom fails of dashing seriousness with impertinence, mirth with gravity, methought i made several other experiments of a more ludicrous nature, by one of which i found that an english octavo was very often heavier than a french folio; and by another, that an old greek or latin author weighed down a whole library of moderns. seeing one of my _spectators_ lying by me, i laid it into one of the scales, and flung a twopenny piece in the other. the reader will not inquire into the event, if he remembers the first trial which i have recorded in this paper. i afterwards threw both the sexes into the balance; but as it is not for my interest to disoblige either of them, i shall desire to be excused from telling the result of this experiment. having an opportunity of this nature in my hands, i could not forbear throwing into one scale the principles of a tory, and in the other those of a whig; but as i have all along declared this to be a neutral paper, i shall likewise desire to be silent under this head also, though upon examining one of the weights, i saw the word tekel engraven on it in capital letters. i made many other experiments, and though i have not room for them all in this day's speculation, i may perhaps reserve them for another. i shall only add, that upon my awaking i was sorry to find my golden scales vanished, but resolved for the future to learn this lesson from them, not to despise or value any things for their appearances, but to regulate my esteem and passions towards them according to their real and intrinsic value. * * * * * _it must be so--plato, thou reasonest well!-- else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, this longing after immortality? or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, of falling into nought? why shrinks the soul back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, and intimates eternity to man._ _from cato._--addison. xvi. misjudged hospitality. jonathan swift.-- - . _from_ the tatler, march , . _ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes emollit mores._ ovid. those inferior duties of life which the french call _les petites morales_, or the smaller morals, are with us distinguished by the name of good manners or breeding. this i look upon, in the general notion of it, to be a sort of artificial good sense, adapted to the meanest capacities, and introduced to make mankind easy in their commerce with each other. low and little understandings, without some rules of this kind, would be perpetually wandering into a thousand indecencies and irregularities in behavior; and in their ordinary conversation, fall into the same boisterous familiarities that one observeth amongst them when a debauch hath quite taken away the use of their reason. in other instances, it is odd to consider, that for want of common discretion, the very end of good breeding is wholly perverted; and civility, intended to make us easy, is employed in laying chains and fetters upon us, in debarring us of our wishes, and in crossing our most reasonable desires and inclinations. this abuse reigneth chiefly in the country, as i found to my vexation, when i was last there, in a visit i made to a neighbor about two miles from my cousin. as soon as i entered the parlor, they put me into the great chair that stood close by a huge fire, and kept me there by force, until i was almost stifled. then a boy came in great hurry to pull off my boots, which i in vain opposed, urging that i must return soon after dinner. in the meantime, the good lady whispered her eldest daughter, and slipped a key into her hand. the girl returned instantly with a beer-glass half full of _aqua mirabilis_ and syrup of gillyflowers. i took as much as i had a mind for; but madam avowed i should drink it off--for she was sure it would do me good, after coming out of the cold air--and i was forced to obey; which absolutely took away my stomach. when dinner came in, i had a mind to sit at a distance from the fire; but they told me it was as much as my life was worth, and set me with my back just against it. although my appetite was quite gone, i resolved to force down as much as i could; and desired the leg of a pullet. "indeed, mr. bickerstaff," says the lady, "you must eat a wing, to oblige me;" and so put a couple upon my plate. i was persecuted at this rate during the whole meal. as often as i called for small-beer, the master tipped the wink, and the servant brought me a brimmer of october. some time after dinner, i ordered my cousin's man, who came with me, to get ready the horses; but it was resolved i should not stir that night; and when i seemed pretty much bent upon going, they ordered the stable door to be locked; and the children hid my cloak and boots. the next question was, what i would have for supper. i said i never ate anything at night; but was at last, in my own defence, obliged to name the first thing that came into my head. after three hours spent chiefly in apologies for my entertainment, insinuating to me, "that this was the worst time of the year for provisions; that they were at a great distance from any market; that they were afraid i should be starved; and that they knew they kept me to my loss," the lady went, and left me to her husband--for they took special care i should never be alone. as soon as her back was turned, the little misses ran backward and forward every moment; and constantly as they came in, or went out, made a courtesy directly at me, which, in good manners, i was forced to return with a bow, and, "your humble servant, pretty miss." exactly at eight the mother came up, and discovered by the redness of her face that supper was not far off. it was twice as large as the dinner, and my persecution doubled in proportion. i desired, at my usual hour, to go to my repose, and was conducted to my chamber by the gentleman, his lady, and the whole train of children. they importuned me to drink something before i went to bed; and upon my refusing, at last left a bottle of _stingo_, as they called it, for fear i should wake and be thirsty in the night. i was forced in the morning to rise and dress myself in the dark, because they would not suffer my kinsman's servant to disturb me at the hour i desired to be called. i was now resolved to break through all measures to get away; and after sitting down to a monstrous breakfast of cold beef, mutton, neats' tongues, venison-pasty, and stale-beer, took leave of the family. but the gentleman would needs see me part of my way, and carry me a short-cut through his own grounds, which he told me would save half a mile's riding. this last piece of civility had like to have cost me dear, being once or twice in danger of my neck, by leaping over his ditches, and at last forced to alight in the dirt; when my horse, having slipped his bridle, ran away, and took us up more than an hour to recover him again. it is evident that none of the absurdities i met with in this visit proceeded from an ill intention, but from a wrong judgment of complaisance, and a misapplication in the rules of it. xvii. from the "essay on man."[b] alexander pope.-- - . heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, all but the page prescrib'd, their present state; from brutes what men, from men what spirits know; or who could suffer being here below? the lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, had he thy reason, would he skip and play? pleas'd to the last, he crops the flowery food, and licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood. o blindness to the future! kindly given, that each may fill the circle mark'd by heaven; who sees with equal eye, as god of all, a hero perish, or a sparrow fall, atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, and now a bubble burst, and now a world. hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; wait the great teacher death; and god adore. what future bliss he gives not thee to know, but gives that hope to be thy blessing now. hope springs eternal in the human breast: man never is, but always to be, blest. the soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, rests and expatiates in a life to come. lo, the poor indian! whose untutor'd mind sees god in clouds, or hears him in the wind; his soul proud science never taught to stray far as the solar walk, or milky way; yet simple nature to his hope has given, behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven; some safer world in depth of woods embraced, some happier island in the watery waste, where slaves once more their native land behold, no fiends torment, no christians thirst for gold. to be, contents his natural desire; he asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire; but thinks, admitted to that equal sky, his faithful dog shall bear him company. what if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread, or hand, to toil, aspir'd to be the head? what if the head, the eye, or ear repin'd to serve mere engines to the ruling mind? just as absurd for any part to claim to be another, in this general frame; just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains the great directing mind of all ordains. all are but parts of one stupendous whole, whose body nature is, and god the soul; that changed through all, and yet in all the same, great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame, warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees; lives through all life, extends through all extent, spreads undivided, operates unspent; breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, as full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; as full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, as the rapt seraph that adores and burns: to him no high, no low, no great, no small; he fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. all nature is but art unknown to thee; all chance, direction, which thou canst not see; all discord, harmony not understood; all partial evil, universal good: and spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, one truth is clear, _whatever is, is right_. vice is a monster of so frightful mien, as, to be hated, needs but to be seen; yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, we first endure, then pity, then embrace. virtuous and vicious every man must be, few in the extreme, but all in the degree: the rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise; and even the best by fits what they despise. behold the child, by nature's kindly law, pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw: some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, a little louder, but as empty quite: scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, and beads and prayer-books are the toys of age: pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before, till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er. has god, thou fool! work'd solely for thy good thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food? who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, for him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn. is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? loves of his own and raptures swell the note. the bounding steed you pompously bestride shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. is thine alone the seed that strews the plain? the birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain. thine the full harvest of the golden year? part pays, and justly, the deserving steer. the hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call, lives on the labors of this lord of all. know, nature's children all divide her care; the fur that warms a monarch warm'd a bear. while man exclaims, "see all things for my use!" "see man for mine!" replies a pamper'd goose: and just as short of reason he must fall, who thinks all made for one, not one for all. for forms of government let fools contest; whate'er is best administer'd is best: for modes of faith let graceless zealots fight; his can't be wrong whose life is in the right. in faith and hope the world will disagree, but all mankind's concern is charity: all must be false that thwart this one great end, and all of god that bless mankind or mend. honor and shame from no condition rise; act well your part, there all the honor lies. fortune in men has some small difference made, one flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; the cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, the friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. "what differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?" i'll tell you, friend, a wise man and a fool. you'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow; the rest is all but leather or prunello. go! if your ancient but ignoble blood has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood, go! and pretend your family is young, nor own your fathers have been fools so long. what can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? alas! not all the blood of all the howards. who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, is but the more a fool, the more a knave. who noble ends by noble means obtains, or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, like good aurelius let him reign, or bleed like socrates,--that man is great indeed. an honest man's the noblest work of god. know then this truth (enough for man to know), "virtue alone is happiness below." ... never elated while one man's oppress'd; never dejected while another's bless'd....[c] see the sole bliss heaven could on all bestow! which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know: yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, the bad must miss, the good untaught will find: slave to no sect, who takes no private road, but looks through nature up to nature's god; pursues that chain which links the immense design, joins heaven and earth, and mortal and divine: sees that no being any bliss can know, but touches some above and some below; learns from this union of the rising whole, the first, last purpose of the human soul; and knows where faith, law, morals, all began, all end, in love of god and love of man. footnotes: [b] if the _essay on man_ were shivered into fragments, it would not lose its value: for it is precisely its details which constitute its moral as well as literary beauties.--a. w. ward, _quoted by_ mark pattison. [c] in these two lines, which, so far as i know, are the most complete, the most concise, and the most lofty expressions of moral temper existing in english words, pope sums the law of noble life. ruskin, _lectures on art_. xviii. rule, britannia. james thomson.-- - . when britain first, at heaven's command, arose from out the azure main, this was the charter of the land, and guardian angels sang this strain: rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! the nations not so blest as thee, must, in their turns, to tyrants fall, whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free, the dread and envy of them all. rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! still more majestic shalt thou rise, more dreadful from each foreign stroke; as the loud blast that tears the skies, serves but to root thy native oak. rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; all their attempts to bend thee down will but arouse thy generous flame, but work their woe and thy renown. rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! to thee belongs the rural reign; thy cities shall with commerce shine; all thine shall be the subject main, and every shore it circles thine. rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! the muses, still with freedom found, shall to thy happy coast repair; blest isle! with matchless beauty crown'd, and manly hearts to guard the fair. rule, britannia, rule the waves! britons never will be slaves! xix. the first crusade. david hume.-- - . _from_ history of england. after mahomet had, by means of his pretended revelations, united the dispersed arabians under one head, they issued forth from their deserts in great multitudes; and being animated with zeal for their new religion, and supported by the vigor of their new government, they made deep impression on the eastern empire, which was far in the decline, with regard both to military discipline and to civil policy. jerusalem, by its situation, became one of their most early conquests; and the christians had the mortification to see the holy sepulchre, and the other places, consecrated by the presence of their religious founder, fallen into the possession of infidels. but the arabians or saracens were so employed in military enterprises, by which they spread their empire in a few years from the banks of the ganges to the straits of gibraltar, that they had no leisure for theological controversy: and though the alcoran, the original monument of their faith, seems to contain some violent precepts, they were much less infected with the spirit of bigotry and persecution than the indolent and speculative greeks, who were continually refining on the several articles of their religious system. they gave little disturbance to those zealous pilgrims, who daily flocked to jerusalem; and they allowed every man, after paying a moderate tribute, to visit the holy sepulchre, to perform his religious duties, and to return in peace. but the turcomans or turks, a tribe of tartars, who had embraced mahometanism, having wrested syria from the saracens, and having, in the year , made themselves masters of jerusalem, rendered the pilgrimage much more difficult and dangerous to the christians. the barbarity of their manners, and the confusions attending their unsettled government, exposed the pilgrims to many insults, robberies, and extortions: and these zealots, returning from their meritorious fatigues and sufferings, filled all christendom with indignation against the infidels, who profaned the holy city by their presence, and derided the sacred mysteries in the very place of their completion. gregory vii., among the other vast ideas which he entertained, had formed the design of uniting all the western christians against the mahometans; but the egregious and violent invasions of that pontiff on the civil power of princes, had created him so many enemies, and had rendered his schemes so suspicious, that he was not able to make great progress in this undertaking. the work was reserved for a meaner instrument, whose low condition in life exposed him to no jealousy, and whose folly was well calculated to coincide with the prevailing principles of the times. peter, commonly called the hermit, a native of amiens in picardy, had made the pilgrimage to jerusalem. being deeply affected with the dangers to which that act of piety now exposed the pilgrims, as well as with the instances of oppression under which the eastern christians labored, he entertained the bold, and, in all appearance, impracticable project of leading into asia, from the farthest extremities of the west, armies sufficient to subdue those potent and warlike nations which now held the holy city in subjection. he proposed his views to martin ii., who filled the papal chair, and who, though sensible of the advantages which the head of the christian religion must reap from a religious war, and though he esteemed the blind zeal of peter a proper means for effecting the purpose, resolved not to interpose his authority, till he saw a greater probability of success. he summoned a council at placentia, which consisted of four thousand ecclesiastics, and thirty thousand seculars; and which was so numerous that no hall could contain the multitude, and it was necessary to hold the assembly in a plain. the harangues of the pope, and of peter himself, representing the dismal situation of their brethren in the east, and the indignity suffered by the christian name, in allowing the holy city to remain in the hands of infidels, here found the minds of men so well prepared, that the whole multitude suddenly and violently declared for the war, and solemnly devoted themselves to perform this service, so meritorious, as they believed it, to god and religion. but though italy seemed thus to have zealously embraced the enterprise, martin knew, that, in order to insure success, it was necessary to enlist the greater and more warlike nations in the same engagement; and having previously exhorted peter to visit the chief cities and sovereigns of christendom, he summoned another council at clermont in auvergne. the fame of this great and pious design being now universally diffused, procured the attendance of the greatest prelates, nobles, and princes; and when the pope and the hermit renewed their pathetic exhortations, the whole assembly, as if impelled by an immediate inspiration, not moved by their preceding impressions, exclaimed with one voice, _it is the will of god, it is the will of god!_--words deemed so memorable, and so much the result of a divine influence, that they were employed as the signal of rendezvous and battle in all the future exploits of those adventurers. men of all ranks flew to arms with the utmost ardor; and an exterior symbol, too, a circumstance of chief moment, was here chosen by the devoted combatants. the sign of the cross, which had been hitherto so much revered among christians, and which, the more it was an object of reproach among the pagan world, was the more passionately cherished by them, became the badge of union, and was affixed to their right shoulder, by all who enlisted themselves in this sacred warfare. europe was at this time sunk into profound ignorance and superstition. the ecclesiastics had acquired the greatest ascendant over the human mind: the people, who, being little restrained by honor, and less by law, abandoned themselves to the worst crimes and disorders, knew of no other expiation than the observances imposed on them by their spiritual pastors: and it was easy to represent the holy war as an equivalent for all penances, and an atonement for every violation of justice and humanity. but amidst the abject superstition which now prevailed, the military spirit also had universally diffused itself; and though not supported by art or discipline, was become the general passion of the nations governed by the feudal law. all the great lords possessed the right of peace and war: they were engaged in perpetual hostilities with each other: the open country was become a scene of outrage and disorder: the cities, still mean and poor, were neither guarded by walls nor protected by privileges, and were exposed to every insult: individuals were obliged to depend for safety on their own force, or their private alliances: and valor was the only excellence which was held in esteem, or gave one man the pre-eminence above another. when all the particular superstitions, therefore, were here united in one great object, the ardor for military enterprises took the same direction; and europe, impelled by its two ruling passions, was loosened, as it were, from its foundations, and seemed to precipitate itself in one united body upon the east. all orders of men, deeming the crusades the only road to heaven, enlisted themselves under these sacred banners, and were impatient to open the way with their sword to the holy city. nobles, artisans, peasants, even priests, enrolled their names; and to decline this meritorious service was branded with the reproach of impiety, or, what perhaps was esteemed still more disgraceful, of cowardice and pusillanimity. the infirm and aged contributed to the expedition by presents and money; and many of them, not satisfied with the merit of this atonement, attended it in person, and were determined, if possible, to breathe their last in sight of that city where their saviour had died for them. women themselves, concealing their sex under the disguise of armor, attended the camp. the greatest criminals were forward in a service, which they regarded as a propitiation for all crimes; and the most enormous disorders were, during the course of those expeditions, committed by men enured to wickedness, encouraged by example, and impelled by necessity. the multitude of the adventurers soon became so great, that their more sagacious leaders, hugh count of vermandois, brother to the french king, raymond count of toulouse, godfrey of bouillon, prince of brabant, and stephen count of blois, became apprehensive lest the greatness itself of the armament should disappoint its purpose; and they permitted an undisciplined multitude, computed at , men, to go before them, under the command of peter the hermit and walter the moneyless. these men took the road towards constantinople through hungary and bulgaria; and trusting that heaven, by supernatural assistance, would supply all their necessities, they made no provision for subsistance on their march. they soon found themselves obliged to obtain by plunder, what they had vainly expected from miracles; and the enraged inhabitants of the countries through which they passed, gathering together in arms, attacked the disorderly multitude and put them to slaughter without resistance. the more disciplined armies followed after; and passing the straights at constantinople, they were mustered in the plains of asia, and amounted in the whole to the number of , combatants.... after the adventurers in the holy war were assembled on the banks of the bosphorus, opposite to constantinople, they proceeded on their enterprise; but immediately experienced those difficulties which their zeal had hitherto concealed from them, and for which, even if they had foreseen them, it would have been almost impossible to provide a remedy. the greek emperor, alexis comnenus, who had applied to the western christians for succor against the turks, entertained hopes, and those but feeble ones, of obtaining such a moderate supply, as, acting under his command, might enable him to repulse the enemy: but he was extremely astonished to see his dominions overwhelmed, on a sudden, by such an inundation of licentious barbarians, who, though they pretended friendship, despised his subjects as unwarlike, and detested them as heretical. by all the arts of policy, in which he excelled, he endeavored to divert the torrent; but while he employed professions, caresses, civilities, and seeming services towards the leaders of the crusade, he secretly regarded those imperious allies as more dangerous than the open enemies by whom his empire had been formerly invaded. having effected that difficult point of disembarking them safely in asia, he entered into a private correspondence with soliman, emperor of the turks; and practised every insidious art, which his genius, his power, or his situation, enabled him to employ, for disappointing the enterprise, and discouraging the latins from making thenceforward any such prodigious migrations. his dangerous policy was seconded by the disorders inseparable from so vast a multitude, who were not united under one head, and were conducted by leaders of the most independent intractable spirit, unacquainted with military discipline, and determined enemies to civil authority and submission. the scarcity of provisions, the excesses of fatigue, the influence of unknown climates, joined to the want of concert in their operations, and to the sword of a warlike enemy, destroyed the adventurers by thousands, and would have abated the ardor of men impelled to war by less powerful motives. their zeal, however, their bravery, and their irresistible force, still carried them forward, and continually advanced them to the great end of their enterprise. after an obstinate siege they took nice, the seat of the turkish empire; they defeated soliman in two great battles; they made themselves masters of antioch; and entirely broke the force of the turks, who had so long retained those countries in subjection. the soldan of egypt, whose alliance they had hitherto courted, recovered, on the fall of the turkish power, his former authority in jerusalem; and he informed them by his ambassadors, that if they came disarmed to that city, they might now perform their religious vows, and that all christian pilgrims, who should thenceforth visit the holy sepulchre, might expect the same good treatment which they had ever received from his predecessors. the offer was rejected; the soldan was required to yield up the city to the christians; and on his refusal, the champions of the cross advanced to the siege of jerusalem, which they regarded as the consummation of their labors. by the detachments which they had made, and the disasters which they had undergone, they were diminished to the number of twenty thousand foot, and fifteen hundred horse; but these were still formidable, from their valor, their experience, and the obedience which, from past calamities, they had learned to pay to their leaders. after a siege of five weeks, they took jerusalem by assault; and, impelled by a mixture of military and religious rage, they put the numerous garrison and inhabitants to the sword without distinction. neither arms defended the valiant, nor submission the timorous: no age or sex was spared: infants on the breast were pierced by the same blow with their mothers, who implored for mercy: even a multitude to the number of ten thousand persons, who had surrendered themselves prisoners, and were promised quarter, were butchered in cold blood by those ferocious conquerors. the streets of jerusalem were covered with dead bodies; and the triumphant warriors, after every enemy was subdued and slaughtered, immediately turned themselves, with the sentiments of humiliation and contrition, towards the holy sepulchre. they threw aside their arms, still streaming with blood: they advanced with reclined bodies, and naked feet and heads, to that sacred monument: they sang anthems to their saviour, who had there purchased their salvation by his death and agony: and their devotion, enlivened by the presence of the place where he had suffered, so overcame their fury, that they dissolved in tears, and bore the appearance of every soft and tender sentiment. so inconsistent is human nature with itself! and so easily does the most effeminate superstition ally, both with the most heroic courage and with the fiercest barbarity! this great event happened on the fifth of july in the last year of the eleventh century. the christian princes and nobles, after choosing godfrey of bouillon king of jerusalem, began to settle themselves in their new conquests; while some of them returned to europe, in order to enjoy at home that glory, which their valor had acquired them in this popular and meritorious enterprise. xx. the bard. _a pindaric ode._[d] thomas gray.-- - . i. . "ruin seize thee, ruthless king! confusion on thy banners wait; though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing, they mock the air with idle state. helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail to save thy secret soul from nightly fears, from cambria's curse, from cambria's tears!" such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride of the first edward scatter'd wild dismay, as down the steep of snowdon's shaggy side he wound with toilsome march his long array. stout glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: "to arms!" cried mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance. i. . on a rock, whose haughty brow frowns o'er old conway's foaming flood, rob'd in the sable garb of woe, with haggard eyes the poet stood; (loose his beard, and hoary hair stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air), and with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. "hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! o'er thee, o king! their hundred arms they wave, revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; vocal no more, since cambria's fatal day, to high-born hoel's harp, or soft llewellyn's lay. i. . "cold is cadwallo's tongue, that hush'd the stormy main: brave urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: mountains, ye mourn in vain modred, whose magic song made huge plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. on dreary arvon's shore they lie, smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale: far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail; the famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. dear lost companions of my tuneful art, dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, ye died amidst your dying country's cries-- no more i weep. they do not sleep. on yonder cliffs, a grisly band, i see them sit; they linger yet, avengers of their native land: with me in dreadful harmony they join, and weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. ii. . "weave the warp, and weave the woof, the winding-sheet of edward's race. give ample room, and verge enough the characters of hell to trace. mark the year, and mark the night, when severn shall re-echo with affright the shrieks of death, through berkley's roof that ring, shrieks of an agonizing king! she-wolf of france, with unrelenting fangs, that tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, from thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs the scourge of heaven. what terrors round him wait! amazement in his van, with flight combin'd, and sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind. ii. . "mighty victor, mighty lord! low on his funeral couch he lies! no pitying heart, no eye, afford a tear to grace his obsequies. is the sable warrior fled? thy son is gone. he rests among the dead. the swarm, that in thy noontide beam were born? gone to salute the rising morn. fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, while proudly riding o'er the azure realm in gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, that, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. ii. . "fill high the sparkling bowl, the rich repast prepare; reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: close by the regal chair fell thirst and famine scowl a baleful smile upon their baffled guest. heard ye the din of battle bray, lance to lance, and horse to horse? long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, and through the kindred squadrons mow their way. ye towers of julius, london's lasting shame, with many a foul and midnight murder fed, revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, and spare the meek usurper's holy head. above, below, the rose of snow, twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread: the bristled boar in infant-gore wallows beneath the thorny shade. now, brothers, bending o'er the accursèd loom, stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. iii. . "edward, lo! to sudden fate (weave we the woof. the thread is spun.) half of thy heart we consecrate. (the web is wove. the work is done.) stay, o stay! nor thus forlorn leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: in yon bright track, that fires the western skies, they melt, they vanish from my eyes. but oh! what solemn scenes on snowdon's height descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? visions of glory, spare my aching sight! ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! no more our long-lost arthur we bewail. all hail, ye genuine kings, britannia's issue, hail! iii. . "girt with many a baron bold sublime their starry fronts they rear; and gorgeous dames, and statesmen old in bearded majesty, appear. in the midst a form divine! her eye proclaims her of the briton-line; her lion-port, her awe-commanding face, attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. what strings symphonious tremble in the air, what strains of vocal transport round her play. hear from the grave, great taliessin, hear they breathe a soul to animate thy clay. bright rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, waves in the eye of heaven her many-color'd wings. iii. . "the verse adorn again fierce war, and faithful love, and truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. in buskin'd measures move pale grief, and pleasing pain, with horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. a voice, as of the cherub-choir, gales from blooming eden bear; and distant warblings lessen on my ear, that lost in long futurity expire. fond impious man, thinks thou yon sanguine cloud, rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? to-morrow he repairs the golden flood, and warms the nations with redoubled ray. enough for me: with joy i see the different doom our fates assign. be thine despair, and sceptred care; to triumph, and to die, are mine." he spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. footnotes: [d] this ode is founded on a tradition current in wales, that edward the first, when he completed the conquest of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.--gray. xxi. on an address to the throne concerning affairs in america. house of lords--november th, . lord chatham.-- - . i rise, my lords, to declare my sentiments on this most solemn and serious subject. it has imposed a load upon my mind, which, i fear, nothing can remove, but which impels me to endeavor its alleviation, by a free and unreserved communication of my sentiments. in the first part of the address, i have the honor of heartily concurring with the noble earl who moved it. no man feels sincerer joy than i do; none can offer more genuine congratulations on every accession of strength to the protestant succession. i therefore join in every congratulation on the birth of another princess, and the happy recovery of her majesty. but i must stop here. my courtly complaisance will carry me no farther. i will not join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. i cannot concur in a blind and servile address, which approves and endeavors to sanctify the monstrous measures which have heaped disgrace and misfortune upon us. this, my lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment! it is not a time for adulation. the smoothness of flattery cannot now avail--cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. it is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. we must dispel the illusion and the darkness which envelop it, and display, in its full danger and true colors, the ruin that is brought to our doors. this, my lords, is our duty. it is the proper function of this noble assembly, sitting, as we do, upon our honors in this house, the hereditary council of the crown. _who_ is the minister--_where_ is the minister, that has dared to suggest to the throne the contrary, unconstitutional language this day delivered from it? the accustomed language from the throne has been application to parliament for advice, and a reliance on its constitutional advice and assistance. as it is the right of parliament to give, so it is the duty of the crown to ask it. but on this day, and in this extreme momentous exigency, no reliance is reposed on our constitutional counsels! no advice is asked from the sober and enlightened care of parliament! but the crown, from itself and by itself, declares an unalterable determination to pursue measures--and what measures, my lords? the measures that have produced the imminent perils that threaten us; the measures that have brought ruin to our doors. can the minister of the day now presume to expect a continuance of support in this ruinous infatuation? can parliament be so dead to its dignity and its duty as to be thus deluded into the loss of the one and the violation of the other? to give an unlimited credit and support for the steady perseverance in measures not proposed for our parliamentary advice, but dictated and forced upon us--in measures, i say, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to ruin and contempt! "but yesterday, and england might have stood against the world: now none so poor to do her reverence." i use the words of a poet; but, though it be poetry, it is no fiction. it is a shameful truth, that not only the power and strength of this country are wasting away and expiring, but her well-earned glories, her true honor, and substantial dignity are sacrificed. france, my lords, has insulted you; she has encouraged and sustained america; and, whether america be wrong or right, the dignity of this country ought to spurn at the officious insult of french interference. the ministers and ambassadors of those who are called rebels and enemies are in paris; in paris they transact the reciprocal interests of america and france. can there be a more mortifying insult? can even our ministers sustain a more humiliating disgrace? do they dare to resent it? do they presume even to hint a vindication of their honor, and the dignity of the state, by requiring the dismission of the plenipotentiaries of america? such is the degradation to which they have reduced the glories of england! the people whom they affect to call contemptible rebels, but whose growing power has at last obtained the name of enemies; the people with whom they have engaged this country in war, and against whom they now command our implicit support in every measure of desperate hostility--this people, despised as rebels, or acknowledged as enemies, are abetted against you, supplied with every military store, their interests consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by your inveterate enemy! and our ministers dare not interpose with dignity or effect. is this the honor of a great kingdom? is this the indignant spirit of england, who "but yesterday" gave law to the house of bourbon? my lords, the dignity of nations demands a decisive conduct in a situation like this.... my lords, this ruinous and ignominious situation, where we can not act with success, nor suffer with honor, calls upon us to remonstrate in the strongest and loudest language of truth, to rescue the ear of majesty from the delusions which surround it. the desperate state of our arms abroad is in part known. no man thinks more highly of them than i do. i love and honor the english troops. i know their virtues and their valor. i know they can achieve anything except impossibilities; and i know that the conquest of english america _is an impossibility_. you cannot, i venture to say it, _you cannot_ conquer america. your armies in the last war effected everything that could be effected; and what was it? it cost a numerous army, under the command of a most able general [lord amherst], now a noble lord in this house, a long and laborious campaign, to expel five thousand frenchmen from french america. my lords, _you cannot conquer america_. what is your present situation there? we do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered much. besides the sufferings, perhaps _total loss_ of the northern force, the best appointed army that ever took the field, commanded by sir william howe, has retired from the american lines. _he was obliged_ to relinquish his attempt, and with great delay and danger to adopt a new and distant plan of operations. we shall soon know, and in any event have reason to lament, what may have happened since. as to conquest, therefore, my lords, i repeat, it is impossible. you may swell every expense and every effort still more extravagantly; pile and accumulate every assistance you can buy or borrow; traffic and barter with every little pitiful german prince that sells and sends his subjects to the shambles of a foreign prince; your efforts are forever vain and impotent--doubly so from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your enemies, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty! if i were an american, as i am an englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, i never would lay down my arms--never--never--never. but, my lords, who is the man, that, in addition to these disgraces and mischiefs of our army, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage? to call into civilized alliance the wild and inhuman savage of the woods; to delegate to the merciless indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren? my lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. unless thoroughly done away, it will be a stain on the national character. it is a violation of the constitution. i believe it is against law. it is not the least of our national misfortunes that the strength and character of our army are thus impaired. infected with the mercenary spirit of robbery and rapine, familiarized to the horrid scenes of savage cruelty, it can no longer boast of the noble and generous principles which dignify a soldier, no longer sympathize with the dignity of the royal banner, nor feel the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war, "that make ambition virtue!" what makes ambition virtue?--the sense of honor. but is the sense of honor consistent with a spirit of plunder, or the practice of murder? can it flow from mercenary motives, or can it prompt to cruel deeds? the independent views of america have been stated and asserted as the foundation of this address. my lords, no man wishes for the due dependence of america on this country more than i do. to preserve it, and not confirm that state of independence into which your measures hitherto have driven them, is the object which we ought to unite in attaining. the americans, contending for their rights against arbitrary exactions, i love and admire. it is the struggle of free and virtuous patriots. but, contending for independency and total disconnection from england, as an englishman, i cannot wish them success; for in a due constitutional dependency, including the ancient supremacy of this country in regulating their commerce and navigation, consists the mutual happiness and prosperity both of england and america. she derived assistance and protection from us; and we reaped from her the most important advantages. she was, indeed, the fountain of our wealth, the nerve of our strength, the nursery and basis of our naval power. it is our duty, therefore, my lords, if we wish to save our country, most seriously to endeavor the recovery of these most beneficial subjects; and in this perilous crisis, perhaps the present moment may be the only one in which we can hope for success. for in their negotiations with france, they have, or think they have, reason to complain; though it be notorious that they have received from that power important supplies and assistance of various kinds, yet it is certain they expected it in a more decisive and immediate degree. america is in ill humor with france; on some points they have not entirely answered her expectations. let us wisely take advantage of every possible moment of reconciliation. besides, the natural disposition of america herself still leans toward england; to the old habits of connection and mutual interest that united both countries. this _was_ the established sentiment of all the continent; and still, my lords, in the great and principal part, the sound part of america, this wise and affectionate disposition prevails. and there is a very considerable part of america yet sound--the middle and the southern provinces. some parts may be factious and blind to their true interests; but if we express a wise and benevolent disposition to communicate with them those immutable rights of nature and those constitutional liberties to which they are equally entitled with ourselves, by a conduct so just and humane we shall confirm the favorable and conciliate the adverse. i say, my lords, the rights and liberties to which they are equally entitled with ourselves, _but no more_. i would participate to them every enjoyment and freedom which the colonizing subjects of a free state can possess, or wish to possess; and i do not see why they should not enjoy every fundamental right in their property, and every original substantial liberty, which devonshire, or surrey, or the county i live in, or any other county in england, can claim; reserving always, as the sacred right of the mother country, the due constitutional dependency of the colonies. the inherent supremacy of the state in regulating and protecting the navigation and commerce of all her subjects, is necessary for the mutual benefit and preservation of every part, to constitute and preserve the prosperous arrangement of the whole empire. the sound parts of america, of which i have spoken, must be sensible of these great truths and of their real interests. america is not in that state of desperate and contemptible rebellion which this country has been deluded to believe. it is not a wild and lawless banditti, who, having nothing to lose, might hope to snatch something from public convulsions. many of their leaders and great men have a great stake in this great contest. the gentleman who conducts their armies, i am told, has an estate of four or five thousand pounds a year; and when i consider these things, i cannot but lament the inconsiderate violence of our penal acts, our declaration of treason and rebellion, with all the fatal effects of attainder and confiscation. as to the disposition of foreign powers which is asserted [in the king's speech] to be pacific and friendly, let us judge, my lords, rather by their actions and the nature of things than by interested assertions. the uniform assistance supplied to america by france suggests a different conclusion. the most important interests of france in aggrandizing and enriching herself with what she most wants, supplies of every naval store from america, must inspire her with different sentiments. the extraordinary preparations of the house of bourbon, by land and by sea, from dunkirk to the straits, equally ready and willing to overwhelm these defenceless islands, should rouse us to a sense of their real disposition and our own danger. not five thousand troops in england! hardly three thousand in ireland! what can we oppose to the combined force of our enemies? scarcely twenty ships of the line so fully or sufficiently manned, that any admiral's reputation would permit him to take the command of. the river of lisbon in the possession of our enemies! the seas swept by american privateers! our channel trade torn to pieces by them! in this complicated crisis of danger, weakness at home, and calamity abroad, terrified and insulted by the neighboring powers, unable to act in america, or acting only to be destroyed, where is the man with the forehead to promise or hope for success in such a situation, or from perseverance in the measures that have driven us to it? who has the forehead to do so? where is that man? i should be glad to see his face. you cannot _conciliate_ america by your present measures. you cannot _subdue_ her by your present or by any measures. what, then, can you do? you cannot conquer; you cannot gain; but you can _address_; you can lull the fears and anxieties of the moment into an ignorance of the danger that should produce them. but, my lords, the time demands the language of truth. we must not now apply the flattering unction of servile compliance or blind complaisance. in a just and necessary war, to maintain the rights or honor of my country, i would strip the shirt from my back to support it. but in such a war as this, unjust in its principle, impracticable in its means, and ruinous in its consequences, i would not contribute a single effort nor a single shilling. i do not call for vengeance on the heads of those who have been guilty; i only recommend to them to make their retreat. let them walk off; and let them make haste, or they may be assured that speedy and condign punishment will overtake them. my lords, i have submitted to you, with the freedom and truth which i think my duty, my sentiments on your present awful situation. i have laid before you the ruin of your power, the disgrace of your reputation, the pollution of your discipline, the contamination of your morals, the complication of calamities, foreign and domestic, that overwhelm your sinking country. your dearest interests, your own liberties, the constitution itself totters to the foundation. all this disgraceful danger, this multitude of misery, is the monstrous offspring of this unnatural war. we have been deceived and deluded too long. let us now stop short. this is the crisis--the only crisis of time and situation, to give us a possibility of escape from the fatal effects of our delusions. but if, in an obstinate and infatuated perseverance in folly, we slavishly echo the peremptory words this day presented to us, nothing can save this devoted country from complete and final ruin. we madly rush into multiplied miseries, and "confusion worse confounded." is it possible, can it be believed, that ministers are yet blind to this impending destruction? i did hope, that instead of this false and empty vanity, this overweening pride, engendering high conceits and presumptuous imaginations, ministers would have humbled themselves in their errors, would have confessed and retracted them, and by an active, though a late, repentance, have endeavored to redeem them. but, my lords, since they had neither sagacity to foresee, nor justice nor humanity to shun these oppressive calamities--since not even severe experience can make them feel, nor the imminent ruin of their country awaken them from their stupefaction, the guardian care of parliament must interpose. i shall, therefore, my lords, propose to you an amendment of the address to his majesty, to be inserted immediately after the two first paragraphs of congratulation on the birth of a princess, to recommend an immediate cessation of hostilities, and the commencement of a treaty to restore peace and liberty to america, strength and happiness to england, security and permanent prosperity to both countries. this, my lords, is yet in our power; and let not the wisdom and justice of your lordships neglect the happy, and, perhaps, the only opportunity. by the establishment of irrevocable law, founded on mutual rights, and ascertained by treaty, these glorious enjoyments may be firmly perpetuated. and let me repeat to your lordships, that the strong bias of america, at least of the wise and sounder parts of it, naturally inclines to this happy and constitutional reconnection with you. notwithstanding the temporary intrigues with france, we may still be assured of their ancient and confirmed partiality to us. america and france _cannot_ be congenial. my lords, to encourage and confirm that innate inclination to this country, founded on every principle of affection, as well as consideration of interest; to restore that favorable disposition into a permanent and powerful reunion with this country; to revive the mutual strength of the empire; again to awe the house of bourbon, instead of meanly truckling, as our present calamities compel us, to every insult of french caprice and spanish punctilio; to re-establish our commerce; to reassert our rights and our honor; to confirm our interests, and renew our glories forever--a consummation most devoutly to be endeavored! and which, i trust, may yet arise from reconciliation with america--i have the honor of submitting to you the following amendment, which i move to be inserted after the two first paragraphs of the address: "and that this house does most humbly advise and supplicate his majesty to be pleased to cause the most speedy and effectual measures to be taken for restoring peace in america; and that no time may be lost in proposing an immediate opening of a treaty for the final settlement of the tranquillity of these invaluable provinces, by a removal of the unhappy causes of this ruinous civil war, and by a just and adequate security against the return of the like calamities in times to come. and this house desire to offer the most dutiful assurances to his majesty, that they will, in due time, cheerfully co-operate with the magnanimity and tender goodness of his majesty for the preservation of his people, by such explicit and most solemn declarations, and provisions of fundamental and irrevocable laws, as may be judged necessary for the ascertaining and fixing forever the respective rights of great britain and her colonies." xxii. from "the vicar of wakefield." the family use art, which is opposed with still greater. oliver goldsmith.-- - . whatever might have been sophia's sensations, the rest of the family was easily consoled for mr. burchell's absence by the company of our landlord, whose visits now became more frequent and longer. though he had been disappointed in procuring my daughters the amusements of the town, as he designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them with those little recreations which our retirement would admit of. he usually came in the morning, and while my son and i followed our occupations abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused them by describing the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquainted. he could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere of the play-houses, and had all the good things of the high wits by rote long before they made their way into the jest-books. the intervals between conversation were employed in teaching my daughters piquet, or sometimes in setting my two little ones to box to make them _sharp_, as he called it; but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law, in some measure blinded us to all his imperfections. it must be owned that my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him; or, to speak it more tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. if the cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made by olivia: if the gooseberry wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering: it was her fingers that gave the pickles their peculiar green; and in the composition of a pudding, it was her judgment that mixed the ingredients. then the poor woman would sometimes tell the 'squire, that she thought him and olivia extremely of a size, and would bid both stand up to see which was tallest. these instances of cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw through, were very pleasing to our benefactor, who gave every day some new proofs of his passion, which, though they had not risen to proposals of marriage, yet we thought fell but little short of it; and his slowness was attributed sometimes to native bashfulness, and sometimes to his fear of offending his uncle. an occurrence, however, which happened soon after, put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of our family; my wife even regarded it as an absolute promise. my wife and daughters happening to return a visit to neighbor flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who travelled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a head. as this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us, and notwithstanding all i could say, and i said much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures done too. having, therefore, engaged the limner, for what could i do? our next deliberation was to shew the superiority of our taste in the attitudes. as for our neighbor's family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven oranges, a thing quite out of taste, no variety in life, no composition in the world. we desired to have something in a brighter style, and after many debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution of being drawn together in one large historical family piece. this would be cheaper, since one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel; for all families of any taste were now drawn in the same manner. as we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit us, we were contented each with being drawn as independent historical figures. my wife desired to be represented as venus, and the painter was desired not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair. her two little ones were to be as cupids by her side, while i, with my gown and band, was to present her with my books on the whistonian controversy. olivia would be drawn as an amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, dressed in a green joseph richly laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could put in for nothing; and moses was to be dressed out with an hat and white feather. our taste so much pleased the 'squire, that he insisted on being put in as one of the family, in the character of alexander the great, at olivia's feet. this was considered by us all as an indication of his desire to be introduced into the family, nor could we refuse his request. the painter was therefore set to work, and as he wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. the piece was large, and it must be owned he did not spare his colors; for which my wife gave him great encomiums. we were all perfectly satisfied with his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance had not occurred till the picture was finished, which now struck us with dismay. it was so very large that we had no place in the house to fix it. how we all came to disregard so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it is, we had been all greatly remiss. the picture, therefore, instead of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of all our neighbors. one compared it to robinson crusoe's long-boat, too large to be removed; another thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle; some wondered how it could be got out, but still more were amazed how it ever got in. but though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually raised more malicious suggestions in many. the 'squire's portrait being found united with ours, was an honor too great to escape envy. scandalous whispers began to circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually disturbed by persons who came as friends to tell us what was said of us by enemies. these reports we always resented with becoming spirit; but scandal ever improves by opposition. we once again therefore entered into a consultation upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too much cunning to give me entire satisfaction. it was this: as our principal object was to discover the honor of mr. thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to sound him by pretending to ask his advice in the choice of an husband for her eldest daughter. if this was not found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was then resolved to terrify him with a rival. to this last step, however, i would by no means give my consent, till olivia gave me the most solemn assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon this occasion, if he did not prevent it, by taking her himself. such was the scheme laid, which, though i did not strenuously oppose, i did not entirely approve. the next time, therefore, that mr. thornhill came to see us, my girls took care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an opportunity of putting her scheme in execution; but they only retired to the next room, whence they could overhear the whole conversation: my wife artfully introduced it, by observing, that one of the miss flamboroughs was like to have a very good match of it in mr. spanker. to this the 'squire assenting, she proceeded to remark, that they who had warm fortunes were always sure of getting good husbands: "but heaven help," continued she, "the girls that have none. what signifies beauty, mr. thornhill? or what signifies all the virtue, and all the qualifications in the world, in this age of self-interest? it is not, what is she? but, what has she? is all the cry." "madam," returned he, "i highly approve the justice, as well as the novelty, of your remarks, and if i were a king, it should be otherwise. it should then, indeed, be fine times for the girls without fortunes: our two young ladies should be the first for whom i would provide." "ah, sir," returned my wife, "you are pleased to be facetious: but i wish i were a queen, and then i know where my eldest daughter should look for an husband. but now that you have put it into my head, seriously, mr. thornhill, can't you recommend me a proper husband for her? she is now nineteen years old, well grown and well educated, and, in my humble opinion, does not want for parts." "madam," replied he, "if i were to choose, i would find out a person possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy. one with prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity; such, madam, would be, in my opinion, the proper husband." "ay, sir," said she, "but do you know of any such person?"--"no, madam," returned he, "it is impossible to know any person that deserves to be her husband: she's too great a treasure for one man's possession: she's a goddess. upon my soul, i speak what i think, she's an angel"--"ah, mr. thornhill, you only flatter my poor girl: but we have been thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately dead, and who wants a manager; you know whom i mean, farmer williams; a warm man, mr. thornhill, able to give her good bread; and who has several times made her proposals:" (which was actually the case) "but, sir," concluded she, "i should be glad to have your approbation of our choice."--"how, madam," replied he, "my approbation! my approbation of such a choice! never. what! sacrifice so much beauty and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing! excuse me, i can never approve of such a piece of injustice! and i have my reasons!"--"indeed, sir," cried deborah, "if you have your reasons, that's another affair; but i should be glad to know those reasons."--"excuse me, madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery;" (laying his hand upon his bosom) "they remain buried, rivetted here." after he was gone, upon general consultation, we could not tell what to make of these fine sentiments. olivia considered them as instances of the most exalted passion; but i was not quite so sanguine: yet, whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of farmer williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid her his addresses. xxiii. meeting of johnson with wilkes. ( ). james boswell.-- - . _from_ life of samuel johnson, ll. d. i am now to record a very curious incident in dr. johnson's life, which fell under my own observation; of which _pars magna fui_, and which i am persuaded will, with the liberal-minded, be much to his credit. my desire of being acquainted with celebrated men of every description had made me, much about the same time, obtain an introduction to dr. samuel johnson and to john wilkes, esq. two men more different could not perhaps be selected out of all mankind. they had even attacked one another with some asperity in their writings; yet i lived in habits of friendship with both. i could fully relish the excellence of each; for i have ever delighted in that intellectual chemistry, which can separate good qualities from evil in the same person. sir john pringle, "mine own friend and my father's friend," between whom and dr. johnson i in vain wished to establish an acquaintance, as i respected and lived in intimacy with both of them, observed to me once, very ingeniously, "it is not in friendship as in mathematics, where two things, each equal to a third, are equal between themselves. you agree with johnson as a middle quality, and you agree with me as a middle quality; but johnson and i should not agree." sir john was not sufficiently flexible; so i desisted; knowing, indeed, that the repulsion was equally strong on the part of johnson; who, i know not from what cause, unless his being a scotchman, had formed a very erroneous opinion of sir john. but i conceived an irresistible wish, if possible, to bring dr. johnson and mr. wilkes together. how to manage it, was a nice and difficult matter.[e] my worthy booksellers and friends, messieurs dilly in the poultry, at whose hospitable and well-covered table i have seen a greater number of literary men than at any other, except that of sir joshua reynolds, had invited me to meet mr. wilkes and some more gentlemen on wednesday, may th. "pray," said i, "let us have dr. johnson." "what, with mr. wilkes? not for the world," said mr. edward dilly: "dr. johnson would never forgive me." "come," said i, "if you'll let me negotiate for you, i will be answerable that all shall go well." _dilly._ "nay, if you will take it upon you, i am sure i shall be very happy to see them both here." notwithstanding the high veneration which i entertained for dr. johnson, i was sensible that he was sometimes a little actuated by the spirit of contradiction, and by means of that i hoped i should gain my point. i was persuaded that if i had come upon him with a direct proposal, "sir, will you dine in company with jack wilkes?" he would have flown into a passion, and would probably have answered, "dine with jack wilkes, sir! i'd as soon dine with jack ketch." i, therefore, while we were sitting quietly by ourselves at his house in an evening, took occasion to open my plan thus: "mr. dilly, sir, sends his respectful compliments to you, and would be happy if you would do him the honor to dine with him on wednesday next along with me, as i must soon go to scotland." _johnson._ "sir, i am obliged to mr. dilly. i will wait upon him." _boswell._ "provided, sir, i suppose, that the company which he is to have is agreeable to you?" _johnson._ "what do you mean, sir? what do you take me for? do you think i am so ignorant of the world as to imagine that i am to prescribe to a gentleman what company he is to have at his table?" _boswell._ "i beg your pardon, sir, for wishing to prevent you from meeting people whom you might not like. perhaps he may have some of what he calls his patriotic friends with him." _johnson._ "well, sir, and what then? what care i for his _patriotic friends_? poh!" _boswell._ "i should not be surprised to find jack wilkes there." _johnson._ "and if jack wilkes _should_ be there, what is that to _me_, sir? my dear friend, let us have no more of this. i am sorry to be angry with you; but really it is treating me strangely to talk to me as if i could not meet any company whatever, occasionally." _boswell._ "pray forgive me, sir, i meant well. but you shall meet whoever comes, for me." thus i secured him, and told dilly that he would find him very well pleased to be one of his guests on the day appointed. upon the much expected wednesday, i called on him about half an hour before dinner, as i often did when we were to dine out together, to see that he was ready in time, and to accompany him. i found him buffeting his books, as upon a former occasion, covered with dust, and making no preparation for going abroad. "how is this, sir?" said i. "don't you recollect that you are to dine at mr. dilly's?" _johnson._ "sir, i did not think of going to dilly's; it went out of my head. i have ordered dinner at home with mrs. williams." _boswell._ "but, my dear sir, you know you were engaged to mr. dilly, and i told him so. he will expect you, and will be much disappointed if you don't come." _johnson._ "you must talk to mrs williams about this." here was a sad dilemma. i feared that what i was so confident i had secured would yet be frustrated. he had accustomed himself to show mrs. williams such a degree of humane attention, as frequently imposed some restraint upon him; and i knew that if she should be obstinate, he would not stir. i hastened down stairs to the blind lady's room, and told her i was in great uneasiness, for dr. johnson had engaged to me to dine this day at mr. dilly's, but that he had told me he had forgotten his engagement, and had ordered dinner at home. "yes, sir," said she, pretty peevishly, "dr. johnson is to dine at home." "madam," said i, "his respect for you is such, that i know he will not leave you, unless you absolutely desire it. but as you have so much of his company, i hope you will be good enough to forego it for a day, as mr. dilly is a very worthy man, has frequently had agreeable parties at his house for dr. johnson, and will be vexed if the doctor neglects him to-day. and then, madam, be pleased to consider my situation; i carried the message, and i assured mr. dilly that dr. johnson was to come; and no doubt he has made a dinner, and invited a company, and boasted of the honor he expected to have. i shall be quite disgraced if the doctor is not there." she gradually softened to my solicitations, which were certainly as earnest as most entreaties to ladies upon any occasion, and was graciously pleased to empower me to tell dr. johnson, "that all things considered, she thought he should certainly go." i flew back to him, still in dust, and careless of what should be the event, "indifferent in his choice to go or stay"; but as soon as i had announced to him mrs. williams's consent, he roared, "frank, a clean shirt," and was very soon dressed. when i had him fairly seated in a hackney-coach with me, i exulted as much as a fortune-hunter who has got an heiress into a post-chaise with him to set out for gretna green. when we entered mr. dilly's drawing room, he found himself in the midst of a company he did not know. i kept myself snug and silent, watching how he would conduct himself. i observed him whispering to mr. dilly, "who is that gentleman, sir?"--"mr. arthur lee." _johnson._ "too, too, too" (under his breath), which was one of his habitual mutterings. mr. arthur lee could not but be very obnoxious to johnson, for he was not only a _patriot_, but an _american_. he was afterwards minister from the united states at the court of madrid. "and who is the gentleman in lace?"--"mr. wilkes, sir." this information confounded him still more; he had some difficulty to restrain himself, and, taking up a book, sat down upon a window-seat and read, or at least kept his eye upon it intently for some time, till he composed himself. his feelings, i dare say, were awkward enough. but he had no doubt recollected his having rated me for supposing that he could be at all disconcerted by any company, and he, therefore, resolutely set himself to behave quite as an easy man of the world, who could adapt himself at once to the disposition and manners of those whom he might chance to meet. the cheering sound of "dinner is upon the table," dissolved his reverie, and we _all_ sat down without any symptoms of ill humor.... mr. wilkes placed himself next to dr. johnson, and behaved to him with so much attention and politeness, that he gained upon him insensibly. no man ate more heartily than johnson, or loved better what was nice and delicate. mr. wilkes was very assiduous in helping him to some fine veal. "pray give me leave, sir--it is better here--a little of the brown--some fat, sir--a little of the stuffing--some gravy--let me have the pleasure of giving you some butter--allow me to recommend a squeeze of this orange; or the lemon, perhaps may have more zest"--"sir; sir, i am obliged to you, sir," cried johnson, bowing, and turning his head to him with a look for some time of "surly virtue," but, in a short while of complacency. foote being mentioned, johnson said, "he is not a good mimic." one of the company added, "a merry-andrew, a buffoon." _johnson._ "but he has wit too, and is not deficient in ideas, or in fertility and variety of imagery, and not empty of reading; he has knowledge enough to fill up his part. one species of wit he has in an eminent degree, that of escape. you drive him into a corner with both hands; but he is gone, sir, when you think you have got him--like an animal that jumps over your head. then he has a great range for wit; he never lets truth stand between him and the jest, and he is sometimes mighty coarse. garrick is under many restraints from which foote is free." _wilkes._ "garrick's wit is more like lord chesterfield's." _johnson._ "the first time i was in company with foote was at fitzherbert's. having no good opinion of the fellow, i was resolved not to be pleased; and it is very difficult to please a man against his will. i went on eating my dinner pretty sullenly, affecting not to mind him. but the dog was so very comical, that i was obliged to lay down my knife and fork, throw myself back in my chair, and fairly laugh it out. no, sir, he was irresistible. he upon one occasion experienced, in an extraordinary degree, the efficacy of his powers of entertaining. amongst the many and various modes which he tried of getting money, he became a partner with a small-beer brewer, and he was to have a share of the profits for procuring customers amongst his numerous acquaintance. fitzherbert was one who took his small-beer, but it was so bad that the servants resolved not to drink it. they were at some loss how to notify their resolution, being afraid of offending their master, who, they knew, liked foote much as a companion. at last they fixed upon a little black boy, who was rather a favorite, to be their deputy, and deliver their remonstrance; and, having invested him with the sole authority of the kitchen, he was to inform mr. fitzherbert, in all their names, upon a certain day, that they would drink foote's small-beer no longer. on that day foote happened to dine at fitzherbert's, and this boy served at table; he was so delighted with foote's stories, and merriment, and grimace, that when he went down stairs, he told them, 'this is the finest man i have ever seen. i will not deliver your message. i will drink his small-beer.'" ... mr. wilkes remarked, that "among all the bold flights of shakespeare's imagination, the boldest was making birnam-wood march to dunsinane; creating a wood where there never was a shrub; a wood in scotland! ha! ha! ha!" and he also observed, that "the clannish slavery of the highlands of scotland was the single exception to milton's remark of 'the mountain nymph, sweet liberty,' being worshipped in all hilly countries." "when i was at inverary," said he, "on a visit to my old friend archibald, duke of argyle, his dependents congratulated me on being such a favorite of his grace. i said, 'it is, then, gentlemen, truly lucky for me; for if i had displeased the duke, and he had wished it, there is not a campbell among you but would have been ready to bring john wilkes's head to him in a charger. it would have been only "'off with his head! so much for _aylesbury_.' "i was then member for aylesbury." ... mr. arthur lee mentioned some scotch who had taken possession of a barren part of america, and wondered why they should choose it. _johnson._ "why, sir, all barrenness is comparative. the _scotch_ would not know it to be barren." _boswell._ "come, come, he is flattering the english. you have now been in scotland, sir, and say if you did not see meat and drink enough there." _johnson._ "why, yes, sir; meat and drink enough to give the inhabitants sufficient strength to run away from home." all these quick and lively sallies were said sportively, quite in jest, and with a smile, which showed that he meant only wit. upon this topic he and mr. wilkes could perfectly assimilate; here was a bond of union between them, and i was conscious that as both of them had visited caledonia, both were fully satisfied of the strange narrow ignorance of those who imagine that it is a land of famine. but they amused themselves with persevering in the old jokes. when i claimed a superiority for scotland over england in one respect, that no man can be arrested there for a debt merely because another swears it against him; but there must first be the judgment of a court of law ascertaining its justice; and that a seizure of the person, before judgment is obtained, can take place only if his creditor should swear that he is about to fly from the country, or, as it is technically expressed, is _in meditatione fugæ_;--_wilkes._ "that, i should think, may be safely sworn of all the scotch nation." _johnson_ (to mr. wilkes). "you must know, sir, i lately took my friend boswell, and showed him genuine civilized life in an english provincial town. i turned him loose at lichfield, my native city, that he might see for once real civility; for you know he lives among savages in scotland and among rakes in london." _wilkes._ "except when he is with grave, sober, decent people, like you and me." _johnson_ (smiling). "and we ashamed of him." ... this record, though by no means so perfect as i could wish, will serve to give a notion of a very curious interview, which was not only pleasing at the time, but had the agreeable and benignant effect of reconciling any animosity, and sweetening any acidity, which, in the various bustle of political contest, had been produced in the minds of two men, who, though widely different, had so many things in common--classical learning, modern literature, wit and humor, and ready repartee--that it would have been much to be regretted if they had been forever at a distance from each other. mr. burke gave me much credit for this successful _negotiation_; and pleasantly said, "that there was nothing equal to it in the whole history of the _corps diplomatique_." i attended dr. johnson home, and had the satisfaction to hear him tell mrs. williams how much he had been pleased with mr. wilkes's company, and what an agreeable day he had passed. footnotes: [e] johnson's dislike of mr. wilkes was so great that it extended even to his connections. he happened to dine one day at sir joshua reynolds's with a large and distinguished company, amongst whom were mr. wilkes's brother, israel, and his lady. in the course of conversation, mr. israel wilkes was about to make some remark, when johnson suddenly stopped him with, "i hope, sir, what you are going to say may be better worth hearing than what you have already said." this rudeness shocked and spread a gloom over the whole party, particularly as mr. israel wilkes was a gentleman of a very amiable character and of refined taste, and, what dr. johnson little suspected, a very loyal subject. johnson afterwards owned to me that he was very sorry that he had "_snubbed_ wilkes, as his wife was present." i replied, that he should be sorry for many reasons. "no," said johnson, who was very reluctant to apologize for offences of this nature; "no, i only regret it because his wife was by." i believe that he had no kind of motive for this incivility to mr. israel wilkes but disgust at his brother's political principles. miss reynolds's recollections. xxiv. the policy of the empire in the first century. edward gibbon.-- - . _from_ the decline and fall of the roman empire. in the second century of the christian era, the empire of rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth, and the most civilized portion of mankind. the frontiers of that extensive monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valor. the gentle but powerful influence of laws and manners had gradually cemented the union of the provinces. their peaceful inhabitants enjoyed and abused the advantages of wealth and luxury. the image of a free constitution was preserved with decent reverence: the roman senate appeared to possess the sovereign authority, and devolved on the emperors all the executive powers of government. during a happy period of more than fourscore years, the public administration was conducted by the virtue and abilities of nerva, trajan, hadrian, and the two antonines. the principal conquests of the romans were achieved under the republic; and the emperors, for the most part, were satisfied with preserving those dominions which had been acquired by the policy of the senate, the active emulation of the consuls, and the martial enthusiasm of the people. the seven first centuries were filled with a rapid succession of triumphs; but it was reserved for augustus to relinquish the ambitious design of subduing the whole earth, and to introduce a spirit of moderation into the public councils. inclined to peace by his temper and situation, it was easy for him to discover that rome, in her present exalted situation, had much less to hope than to fear from the chance of arms; and that, in the prosecution of remote wars, the undertaking became every day more difficult, the event more doubtful, and the possession more precarious and less beneficial. the experience of augustus added weight to these salutary reflections, and effectually convinced him that, by the prudent vigor of his counsels, it would be easy to secure every concession which the safety or the dignity of rome might require from the most formidable barbarians. instead of exposing his person and his legions to the arrows of the parthians, he obtained, by an honorable treaty, the restitution of the standards and prisoners which had been taken in the defeat of crassus. his generals, in the early part of his reign, attempted the reduction of Æthiopia and arabia felix. they marched near a thousand miles to the south of the tropic; but the heat of the climate soon repelled the invaders, and protected the unwarlike natives of those sequestered regions. the northern countries of europe scarcely deserved the expense and labor of conquest. the forests and morasses of germany were filled with a hardy race of barbarians, who despised life when it was separated from freedom; and though, on the first attack, they seemed to yield to the weight of the roman power, they soon, by a signal act of despair, regained their independence, and reminded augustus of the vicissitude of fortune. on the death of that emperor, his testament was publicly read in the senate. he bequeathed, as a valuable legacy to his successors, the advice of confining the empire within those limits which nature seemed to have placed as its permanent bulwarks and boundaries: on the west the atlantic ocean; the rhine and danube on the north; the euphrates on the east; and towards the south, the sandy deserts of arabia and africa. happily for the repose of mankind, the moderate system recommended by the wisdom of augustus was adopted by the fears and vices of his immediate successors. engaged in the pursuit of pleasure, or in the exercise of tyranny, the first cæsars seldom showed themselves to the armies or to the provinces; nor were they disposed to suffer that those triumphs which _their_ indolence neglected should be usurped by the conduct and valor of their lieutenants. the military fame of a subject was considered as an insolent invasion of the imperial prerogative; and it became the duty, as well as interest, of every roman general to guard the frontiers intrusted to his care, without aspiring to conquests which might have proved no less fatal to himself than to the vanquished barbarians. the only accession which the roman empire received during the first century of the christian era was the province of britain. in this single instance the successors of cæsar and augustus were persuaded to follow the example of the former, rather than the precept of the latter. the proximity of its situation to the coast of gaul seemed to invite their arms; the pleasing, though doubtful, intelligence of a pearl-fishery attracted their avarice; and as britain was viewed in the light of a distinct and insulated world, the conquest scarcely formed any exception to the general system of continental measures. after a war of about forty years, undertaken by the most stupid, maintained by the most dissolute, and terminated by the most timid of all the emperors, the far greater part of the island submitted to the roman yoke. the various tribes of britons possessed valor without conduct, and the love of freedom without the spirit of union. they took up arms with savage fierceness; they laid them down, or turned them against each other, with wild inconstancy; and while they fought singly, they were successively subdued. neither the fortitude of caractacus, nor the despair of boadicea, nor the fanaticism of the druids, could avert the slavery of their country, or resist the steady progress of the imperial generals, who maintained the national glory, when the throne was disgraced by the weakest or the most vicious of mankind. at the very time when domitian, confined to his palace, felt the terrors which he inspired, his legions, under the command of the virtuous agricola, defeated the collected force of the caledonians at the foot of the grampian hills; and his fleets, venturing to explore an unknown and dangerous navigation, displayed the roman arms round every part of the island. the conquest of britain was considered as already achieved; and it was the design of agricola to complete and insure his success by the easy reduction of ireland, for which, in his opinion, one legion and a few auxiliaries were sufficient. the western isle might be improved into a valuable possession, and the britons would wear their chains with the less reluctance, if the prospect and example of freedom was on every side removed from before their eyes. but the superior merit of agricola soon occasioned his removal from the government of britain; and forever disappointed this rational, though extensive, scheme of conquest. before his departure the prudent general had provided for security as well as for dominion. he had observed that the island is almost divided into two unequal parts by the opposite gulfs, or, as they are now called, the friths of scotland. across the narrow interval of about forty miles he had drawn a line of military stations, which was afterwards fortified, in the reign of antoninus pius, by a turf rampart, erected on foundations of stone. this wall of antoninus, at a small distance beyond the modern cities of edinburgh and glasgow, was fixed as the limit of the roman province. the native caledonians preserved, in the northern extremity of the island, their wild independence, for which they were not less indebted to their poverty than to their valor. their incursions were frequently repelled and chastised, but their country was never subdued. the masters of the fairest and most wealthy climates of the globe turned with contempt from gloomy hills assailed by the winter tempest, from lakes concealed in a blue mist, and from cold and lonely heaths, over which the deer of the forest were chased by a troop of naked barbarians. such was the state of the roman frontiers, and such the maxims of imperial policy, from the death of augustus to the accession of trajan. xxv. on the attacks upon his pension.[f] edmund burke.-- - . in one thing i can excuse the duke of bedford for his attack upon me and my mortuary pension: he cannot readily comprehend the transaction he condemns. what i have obtained was the fruit of no bargain, the production of no intrigue, the result of no compromise, the effect of no solicitation. the first suggestion of it never came from me, mediately or immediately, to his majesty or any of his ministers. it was long known that the instant my engagements would permit it, and before the heaviest of all calamities had forever condemned me to obscurity and sorrow, i had resolved on a total retreat. i had executed that design. i was entirely out of the way of serving or of hurting any statesman or any party, when the ministers so generously and so nobly carried into effect the spontaneous bounty of the crown. both descriptions have acted as became them. when i could no longer serve them, the ministers have considered my situation. when i could no longer hurt them, the revolutionists have trampled on my infirmity. my gratitude, i trust, is equal to the manner in which the benefit was conferred. it came to me, indeed, at a time of life, and in a state of mind and body, in which no circumstance of fortune could afford me any real pleasure. but this was no fault in the royal donor, or in his ministers, who were pleased, in acknowledging the merits of an invalid servant of the public, to assuage the sorrows of a desolate old man.... i was not like his grace of bedford, swaddled, and rocked, and dandled into a legislator: "_nitor in adversum_" is the motto for a man like me. i possessed not one of the qualities, nor cultivated one of the arts, that recommend men to the favor and protection of the great. i was not made for a minion or a tool. as little did i follow the trade of winning the hearts by imposing on the understandings of the people. at every step of my progress in life--for in every step was i traversed and opposed--and at every turnpike i met, i was obliged to shew my passport, and again and again to prove my sole title to the honor of being useful to my country, by a proof that i was not wholly unacquainted with its laws, and the whole system of its interests both abroad and at home. otherwise, no rank, no toleration even, for me. i had no arts but manly arts. on them i have stood, and, please god, in spite of the duke of bedford and the earl of lauderdale, to the last gasp will i stand.... the duke of bedford conceives that he is obliged to call the attention of the house of peers to his majesty's grant to me, which he considers as excessive and out of all bounds. i know not how it has happened, but it really seems, that, whilst his grace was meditating his well-considered censure upon me, he fell into a sort of sleep. homer nods, and the duke of bedford may dream; and as dreams--even his golden dreams--are apt to be ill-pieced and incongruously put together, his grace preserved his idea of reproach to _me_, but took the subject-matter from the crown grants to _his own family_. this is "the stuff of which his dreams are made." in that way of putting things together, his grace is perfectly in the right. the grants to the house of russell were so enormous, as not only to outrage economy, but even to stagger credibility. the duke of bedford is the leviathan among all the creatures of the crown. he tumbles about his unwieldy bulk; he plays and frolics in the ocean of the royal bounty. huge as he is, and whilst "he lies floating many a rood," he is still a creature. his ribs, his fins, his whalebone, his blubber, the very spiracles through which he spouts a torrent of brine against his origin, and covers me all over with the spray--everything of him and about him is from the throne. is it for _him_ to question the dispensation of the royal favor? i really am at a loss to draw any sort of parallel between the public merits of his grace, by which he justifies the grants he holds, and these services of mine, on the favorable construction of which i have obtained what his grace so much disapproves. in private life i have not at all the honor of acquaintance with the noble duke; but i ought to presume, and it costs me nothing to do so, that he abundantly deserves the esteem and love of all who live with him. but as to public service, why, truly, it would not be more ridiculous for me to compare myself, in rank, in fortune, in splendid descent, in youth, strength, or figure, with the duke of bedford, than to make a parallel between his services and my attempts to be useful to my country. it would not be gross adulation, but uncivil irony, to say that he has any public merit of his own to keep alive the idea of the services by which his vast landed pensions were obtained. my merits, whatever they are, are original and personal: his are derivative. it is his ancestor, the original pensioner, that has laid up this inexhaustible fund of merit, which makes his grace so very delicate and exceptious about the merit of all other grantees of the crown. had he permitted me to remain in quiet, i should have said: "'tis his estate; that's enough. it is his by law; what have i to do with it or its history?" he would naturally have said on his side: "'tis this man's fortune. he is as good now as my ancestor was two hundred and fifty years ago. i am a young man with very old pensions: he is an old man with very young pensions--that's all." why will his grace, by attacking me, force me reluctantly to compare my little merit with that which obtained from the crown those prodigies of profuse donation by which he tramples on the mediocrity of humble and laborious individuals?... since the new grantees have war made on them by the old, and that the word of the sovereign is not to be taken, let us turn our eyes to history, in which great men have always a pleasure in contemplating the heroic origin of their house. the first peer of the name, the first purchaser of the grants, was a mr. russell, a person of an ancient gentleman's family, raised by being a minion of henry the eighth. as there generally is some resemblance of character to create these relations, the favorite was in all likelihood much such another as his master. the first of those immoderate grants was not taken from the ancient demesne of the crown, but from the recent confiscation of the ancient nobility of the land. the lion, having sucked the blood of his prey, threw the offal carcass to the jackal in waiting. having tasted once the food of confiscation, the favorites became fierce and ravenous. this worthy favorite's first grant was from the lay nobility. the second, infinitely improving on the enormity of the first, was from the plunder of the church. in truth, his grace is somewhat excusable for his dislike to a grant like mine, not only in its quantity, but in its kind, so different from his own. mine was from a mild and benevolent sovereign: his, from henry the eighth. mine had not its fund in the murder of any innocent person of illustrious rank, or in the pillage of any body of unoffending men: his grants were from the aggregate and consolidated funds of judgments iniquitously legal, and from possessions voluntarily surrendered by the lawful proprietors with the gibbet at their door. the merit of the grantee whom he derives from, was that of being a prompt and greedy instrument of a levelling tyrant, who oppressed all descriptions of his people, but who fell with particular fury on everything that was great and noble. mine has been in endeavoring to screen every man, in every class, from oppression, and particularly in defending the high and eminent, who, in the bad times of confiscating princes, confiscating chief-governors, or confiscating demagogues, are the most exposed to jealousy, avarice, and envy. the merit of the original grantee of his grace's pensions was in giving his hand to the work, and partaking the spoil with a prince who plundered a part of the national church of his time and country. mine was in defending the whole of the national church of my own time and my own country, and the whole of the national churches of all countries, from the principles and the examples which lead to ecclesiastical pillage, thence to a contempt of _all_ prescriptive titles, thence to the pillage of _all_ property, and thence to universal desolation. the merit of the origin of his grace's fortune was in being a favorite and chief adviser to a prince who left no liberty to his native country. my endeavor was to obtain liberty for the municipal country in which i was born, and for all descriptions and denominations in it. mine was to support, with unrelaxing vigilance, every right, every privilege, every franchise, in this my adopted, my dearer, and more comprehensive country; and not only to preserve those rights in this chief seat of empire, but in every nation, in every land, in every climate, language, and religion, in the vast domain that still is under the protection, and the larger that was once under the protection, of the british crown. his founder's merits were, by arts in which he served his master and made his fortune, to bring poverty, wretchedness, and depopulation on his country. mine were under a benevolent prince, in promoting the commerce, manufactures, and agriculture of his kingdom. his founder's merit was the merit of a gentleman raised by the arts of a court and the protection of a wolsey to the eminence of a great and potent lord. his merit in that eminence was, by instigating a tyrant to injustice, to provoke a people to rebellion. my merit was, to awaken the sober part of the country, that they might put themselves on their guard against any one potent lord, or any greater number of potent lords, or any combination of great leading men of any sort, if ever they should attempt to proceed in the same courses, but in the reverse order,--that is, by instigating a corrupted populace to rebellion, and, through that rebellion, introducing a tyranny yet worse than the tyranny which his grace's ancestor supported, and of which he profited in the manner we behold in the despotism of henry the eighth. the political merit of the first pensioner of his grace's house was that of being concerned as a counsellor of state in advising, and in his person executing, the conditions of a dishonorable peace with france,--the surrendering of the fortress of boulogne, then our outguard on the continent. by that surrender, calais, the key of france, and the bridle in the mouth of that power, was not many years afterwards finally lost. my merit has been in resisting the power and pride of france, under any form of its rule; but in opposing it with the greatest zeal and earnestness, when that rule appeared in the worst form it could assume,--the worst, indeed, which the prime cause and principle of all evil could possibly give it. it was my endeavor by every means to excite a spirit in the house, where i had the honor of a seat, for carrying on with early vigor and decision the most clearly just and necessary war that this or any nation ever carried on, in order to save my country from the iron yoke of its power, and from the more dreadful contagion of its principles,--to preserve, while they can be preserved, pure and untainted, the ancient, inbred integrity, piety, good-nature, and good-humor of the people of england, from the dreadful pestilence which, beginning in france, threatens to lay waste the whole moral and in a great degree the whole physical world, having done both in the focus of its most intense malignity. the labors of his grace's founder merited the "curses, not loud, but deep," of the commons of england, on whom _he_ and his master had effected a _complete parliamentary reform_, by making them, in their slavery and humiliation, the true and adequate representatives of a debased, degraded, and undone people. my merits were in having had an active, though not always an ostentatious share, in every one act, without exception, of undisputed constitutional utility in my time, and in having supported, on all occasions, the authority, the efficiency, and the privileges of the commons of great britain. i ended my services by a recorded and fully reasoned assertion on their own journals of their constitutional rights, and a vindication of their constitutional conduct. i labored in all things to merit their inward approbation, and (along with the assistants of the largest, the greatest, and best of my endeavors) i received their free, unbiased, public, and solemn thanks. thus stands the account of the comparative merits of the crown grants which compose the duke of bedford's fortune, as balanced against mine. footnotes: [f] _from_ "a letter to a noble lord, _on the attacks made upon mr. burke and his pension, in the house of lords, by the duke of bedford and the earl of lauderdale, early in the present session of parliament." ._ * * * * * _england, with all thy faults, i love thee still, my country! and, while yet a nook is left where english minds and manners may be found, shall be constrain'd to love thee. though thy clime be fickle, and thy year, most part, deform'd with dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, i would not yet exchange thy sullen skies and fields without a flower, for warmer france with all her vines._ cowper.--_the timepiece_. xxvi. two eighteenth century scenes. william cowper.-- - . _from letters to the rev. john newton._ nov. th, . ... since our conflagration here, we have sent two women and a boy to the justice, for depredation; s. r. for stealing a piece of beef, which, in her excuse, she said she intended to take care of. this lady, whom you well remember, escaped for want of evidence; not that evidence was wanting, but our men of gotham judged it unnecessary to send it. with her went the woman i mentioned before, who, it seems, has made some sort of profession, but upon this occasion allowed herself a latitude of conduct rather inconsistent with it, having filled her apron with wearing-apparel, which she likewise intended to take care of. she would have gone to the county gaol, had william raban, the baker's son, who prosecuted, insisted upon it; but he, good-naturedly, though i think weakly, interposed in her favor, and begged her off. the young gentleman who accompanied these fair ones is the junior son of molly boswell. he had stolen some iron-work, the property of griggs the butcher. being convicted, he was ordered to be whipped, which operation he underwent at the cart's tail, from the stone-house to the high arch, and back again. he seemed to show great fortitude, but it was all an imposition upon the public. the beadle, who performed it, had filled his left hand with yellow ochre, through which, after every stroke, he drew the lash of his whip, leaving the appearance of a wound upon the skin, but in reality not hurting him at all. this being perceived by mr. constable h., who followed the beadle, he applied his cane, without any such management or precaution, to the shoulders of the too merciful executioner. the scene immediately became more interesting. the beadle could by no means be prevailed upon to strike hard, which provoked the constable to strike harder; and this double flogging continued, till a lass of silver-end, pitying the pitiful beadle thus suffering under the hands of the pitiless constable, joined the procession, and placing herself immediately behind the latter, seized him by his capillary club, and pulling him backwards by the same, slapped his face with a most amazon fury. this concatenation of events has taken up more of my paper than i intended it should, but i could not forbear to inform you how the beadle thrashed the thief, the constable the beadle, and the lady the constable, and how the thief was the only person concerned who suffered nothing. * * * * * march th, . it being his majesty's pleasure, that i should yet have another opportunity to write before he dissolves the parliament, i avail myself of it with all possible alacrity. i thank you for your last, which was not the less welcome for coming, like an extraordinary gazette, at a time when it was not expected. as when the sea is uncommonly agitated, the water finds its way into creeks and holes of rocks, which in its calmer state it never reaches, in like manner the effect of these turbulent times is felt even at orchard side, where in general we live as undisturbed by the political element as shrimps or cockles that have been accidentally deposited in some hollow beyond the water-mark, by the usual dashing of the waves. we were sitting yesterday after dinner, the two ladies and myself, very composedly, and without the least apprehension of any such intrusion in our snug parlor, one lady knitting, the other netting, and the gentleman winding worsted, when to our unspeakable surprise a mob appeared before the window; a smart rap was heard at the door, the boys bellowed, and the maid announced mr. grenville. puss was unfortunately let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his good friends at his heels, was refused admittance at the grand entry, and referred to the back door, as the only possible way of approach. candidates are creatures not very susceptible of affronts, and would rather, i suppose, climb in at the window, than be absolutely excluded. in a minute, the yard, the kitchen, and the parlor were filled. mr. grenville, advancing toward me, shook me by the hand with a degree of cordiality that was extremely seducing. as soon as he, and as many more as could find chairs, were seated, he began to open the intent of his visit. i told him i had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit. i assured him i had no influence, which he was not equally inclined to believe, and the less, no doubt, because mr. ashburner, the draper, addressing himself to me at this moment, informed me that i had a great deal. supposing that i could not be possessed of such a treasure without knowing it, i ventured to affirm my first assertion, by saying, that if i had any i was utterly at a loss to imagine where it could be, or wherein it consisted. thus ended the conference. mr. grenville squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. he kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a most loving, kissing, kind-hearted gentleman. he is very young, genteel, and handsome. he has a pair of very good eyes in his head, which not being sufficient, as it should seem, for the many nice and difficult purposes of a senator, he has a third also, which he suspended from his buttonhole. the boys halloo'd, the dogs barked, puss scampered, the hero, with his long train of obsequious followers, withdrew. we made ourselves very merry with the adventure, and in a short time settled into our former tranquillity, never probably to be thus interrupted more. i thought myself, however, happy in being able to affirm truly that i had not that influence for which he sued; and which, had i been possessed of it, with my present views of the dispute between the crown and the commons, i must have refused him, for he is on the side of the former. it is comfortable to be of no consequence in a world where one cannot exercise any without disobliging somebody. the town, however, seems to be much at his service, and if he be equally successful throughout the country, he will undoubtedly gain his election. mr. ashburner, perhaps, was a little mortified, because it was evident i owed the honor of this visit to his misrepresentation of my importance. but had he thought proper to assure mr. grenville that i had three heads, i should not, i suppose, have been bound to produce them.... * * * * * _now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, and while the bubbling and loud hissing urn throws up a steamy column, and the cups that cheer but not inebriate wait on each, so let us welcome peaceful evening in._ cowper.--_the winter evening_. xxvii. from "the school for scandal."[g] richard brinsley sheridan.-- - . scene.--_a room in_ sir peter teazle's _house._ _enter_ sir peter teazle. _sir pet._ when an old bachelor marries a young wife, what is he to expect? 'tis now six months since lady teazle made me the happiest of men--and i have been the most miserable dog ever since. we tiffed a little going to church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells had done ringing. i was more than once nearly choked with gall during the honeymoon, and had lost all comfort in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. yet i chose with caution--a girl bred wholly in the country, who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a race ball. yet she now plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of fashion and the town with as ready a grace as if she never had seen a bush or a grass-plot out of grosvenor square! i am sneered at by all my acquaintance, and paragraphed in the newspapers. she dissipates my fortune, and contradicts all my humors; yet the worst of it is, i doubt i love her, or i should never bear all this. however, i'll never be weak enough to own it. but i meet with nothing but crosses and vexations--and the fault is entirely hers. i am, myself, the sweetest-tempered man alive, and hate a teasing temper; and so i tell her a hundred times a day.--ay! and what is very extraordinary, in all our disputes she is always in the wrong. but lady sneerwell, and the set she meets at her house, encourage the perverseness of her disposition. then, to complete my vexation, maria, my ward, whom i ought to have the power of a father over, is determined to turn rebel too, and absolutely refuses the man whom i have long resolved on for her husband-- _enter_ lady teazle. lady teazle, lady teazle, i'll not bear it! _lady teaz._ sir peter, sir peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but i ought to have my own way in everything, and, what's more, i will too. what! though i was educated in the country, i know very well that women of fashion in london are accountable to nobody after they are married. _sir pet._ very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to have no influence, no authority? _lady teaz._ authority! no, to be sure. if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me: i am sure you were old enough. _sir pet._ old enough!--ay, there it is. well, well, lady teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, i'll not be ruined by your extravagance! _lady teaz._ my extravagance! i'm sure i'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be. _sir pet._ no, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. such wastefulness! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the pantheon into a greenhouse, and give a _fête champêtre_ at christmas. _lady teaz._ and am i to blame, sir peter, because flowers are dear in cold weather? you should find fault with the climate, and not with me. for my part, i'm sure i wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet. _sir pet._ oons! madam--if you had been born to this, i shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when i married you. _lady teaz._ no, no, i don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or i should never have married you. _sir pet._ yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style--the daughter of a plain country squire. recollect, lady teazle, when i saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side, your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working. _lady teaz._ oh, yes! i remember it very well, and a curious life i led. my daily occupation--to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt deborah's lap-dog. _sir pet._ yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. _lady teaz._ and then you know my evening amusements! to draw patterns for ruffles, which i had not materials to make up; to play pope joan with the curate; to read a sermon to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. _sir pet._ i am glad you have so good a memory. yes, madam, these were the recreations i took you from; but now you must have your coach--_vis-à-vis_--and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to kensington gardens. no recollection, i suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coach-horse. _lady teaz._ no--i vow i never did that: i deny the butler and the coach-horse. _sir pet._ this, madam, was your situation; and what have i done for you? i have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank--in short, i have made you my wife. _lady teaz._ well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, that is---- _sir pet._ my widow, i suppose? _lady teaz._ hem! hem! _sir pet._ i thank you, madam--but don't flatter yourself; for, though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, i promise you: however, i am equally obliged to you for the hint. _lady teaz._ then why will you endeavor to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense? _sir pet._ madam, i say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me? _lady teaz._ sir peter! would you have me be out of the fashion? _sir pet._ the fashion, indeed! what had you to do with the fashion before you married me? _lady teaz._ for my part, i should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste. _sir pet._ ay--there again--taste! zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me! _lady teaz._ that's very true, indeed, sir peter! and after having married you, i should never pretend to taste again, i allow. but now, sir peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, i presume i may go to my engagement at lady sneerwell's. _sir pet._ ay, there's another precious circumstance--a charming set of acquaintances you have made there! _lady teaz._ nay, sir peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. _sir pet._ yes, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose anybody should have a character but themselves! such a crew! ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales; coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation. _lady teaz._ what, would you restrain the freedom of speech? _sir pet._ ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society. _lady teaz._ why, i believe i do bear a part with a tolerable grace. _sir pet._ grace, indeed! _lady teaz._ but i vow i bear no malice against the people i abuse; when i say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humor; and i take it for granted they deal exactly in the same manner with me. but, sir peter, you know you promised to come to lady sneerwell's too. _sir pet._ well, well, i'll call in, just to look after my own character. _lady teaz._ then, indeed, you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. so good-bye to ye. [_exit._ _sir pet._ so--i have gained much by my intended expostulation! yet with what a charming air she contradicts everything i say; and how pleasantly she shows her contempt for my authority! well, though i can't make her love me; there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and i think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me. [_exit_. scene.--_a room in_ lady sneerwell's _house._ lady sneerwell, mrs. candour, crabtree, sir benjamin backbite, _and_ joseph surface, _discovered_. _enter_ lady teazle _and_ maria. _lady sneer._ lady teazle, i hope we shall see sir peter? _lady teaz._ i believe he'll wait on your ladyship presently. _lady sneer._ maria, my love, you look grave. come, you shall sit down to piquet with mr. surface. _mar._ i take very little pleasure in cards--however, i'll do as your ladyship pleases. _mrs. can._ now i'll die; but you are so scandalous, i'll forswear your society. _lady teaz._ what's the matter, mrs. candour? _mrs. can._ they'll not allow our friend miss vermillion to be handsome. _lady sneer._ oh, surely she is a pretty woman. _crab._ i am very glad you think so, ma'am. _mrs. can._ she has a charming fresh color. _lady teaz._ yes, when it is fresh put on. _mrs. can._ oh, fie! her color is natural: i have seen it come and go! _lady teaz._ i dare say you have, ma'am: it goes off at night, and comes again in the morning. _sir ben._ true, ma'am, it not only comes and goes; but, what's more, her maid can fetch and carry it! _mrs. can._ ha! ha! ha! how i hate to hear you talk so! but surely now, her sister is, or was, very handsome. _crab._ who? mrs. evergreen? oh! she's six-and-fifty if she's an hour! _mrs. can._ now positively you wrong her; fifty-two or fifty-three is the utmost--and i don't think she looks more. _sir ben._ ah! there's no judging by her looks, unless one could see her face. _lady sneer._ well, well, if mrs. evergreen does take some pains to repair the ravages of time, you must allow she effects it with great ingenuity; and surely that's better than the careless manner in which the widow ochre caulks her wrinkles. _sir ben._ nay, now, lady sneerwell, you are severe upon the widow. come, come, 'tis not that she paints so ill--but, when she has finished her face, she joins it on so badly to her neck, that she looks like a mended statue, in which the connoisseur may see at once that the head is modern, though the trunk's antique. _crab._ ha! ha! ha! well said, nephew! _mrs. can._ ha! ha! ha! well, you make me laugh; but i vow i hate you for it. what do you think of miss simper? _sir ben._ why, she has very pretty teeth. _lady teaz._ yes, and on that account, when she is neither speaking nor laughing (which very seldom happens), she never absolutely shuts her mouth, but leaves it always on a-jar, as it were--thus. [_shows her teeth._ _mrs. can._ how can you be so ill-natured? _lady teaz._ nay, i allow even that's better than the pains mrs. prim takes to conceal her losses in front. she draws her mouth till it positively resembles the aperture of a poor's-box, and all her words appear to slide out edgewise as it were--thus: _how do you do, madam? yes, madam._ [_mimics._ _lady sneer._ very well, lady teazle; i see you can be a little severe. _lady teaz._ in defence of a friend it is but justice. but here comes sir peter to spoil our pleasantry. _enter_ sir peter teazle. _sir pet._ ladies, your most obedient.--[_aside,_] mercy on me, here is the whole set! a character dead at every word, i suppose. _mrs. can._ i am rejoiced you are come, sir peter. they have been so censorious--and lady teazle as bad as any one. _sir pet._ that must be very distressing to you, indeed, mrs. candour. _mrs. can._ oh, they will allow good qualities to nobody: not even good nature to our friend mrs. pursy. _lady teaz._ what, the fat dowager who was at mrs. quadrille's last night? _mrs. can._ nay, her bulk is her misfortune; and, when she takes so much pains to get rid of it, you ought not to reflect on her. _lady sneer._ that's very true, indeed. _lady teaz._ yes, i know she almost lives on acids and small whey; laces herself by pulleys; and often, in the hottest noon in summer, you may see her on a little squat pony, with her hair plaited up behind like a drummer's, and puffing round the ring on a full trot. _mrs. can._ i thank you, lady teazle, for defending her. _sir pet._ yes, a good defence, truly. _mrs. can._ truly, lady teazle is as censorious as miss sallow. _crab._ yes, and she is a curious being to pretend to be censorious--an awkward thing, without any one good point under the sun. _mrs. can._ positively you shall not be so very severe. miss sallow is a near relation of mine by marriage, and, as for her person, great allowance is to be made; for, let me tell you, a woman labors under many disadvantages who tries to pass for a girl of six-and-thirty. _lady sneer._ though, surely, she is handsome still--and for the weakness in her eyes, considering how much she reads by candlelight, it is not to be wondered at. _mrs. can._ true, and then as to her manner; upon my word i think it is particularly graceful, considering she never had the least education; for you know her mother was a welsh milliner, and her father a sugar-baker at bristol. _sir ben._ ah! you are both of you too good-natured! _sir pet._ yes, distressingly good-natured! this their own relation! mercy on me! [_aside._ _mrs. can._ for my part, i own i cannot bear to hear a friend ill-spoken of. _sir pet._ no, to be sure! _sir ben._ oh! you are of a moral turn. mrs. candour and i can sit for an hour and hear lady stucco talk sentiment. _lady teas._ nay, i vow lady stucco is very well with the dessert after dinner; for she's just like the french fruit one cracks for mottoes--made up of paint and proverb. _mrs. can._ well, i will never join in ridiculing a friend; and so i constantly tell my cousin ogle, and you all know what pretensions she has to be critical on beauty. _crab._ oh, to be sure! she has herself the oddest countenance that ever was seen; 'tis a collection of features from all the different countries of the globe. _sir ben._ so she has, indeed--an irish front---- _crab._ caledonian locks---- _sir ben._ dutch nose---- _crab._ austrian lips---- _sir ben._ complexion of a spaniard---- _crab._ and teeth _à la chinoise_. _sir ben._ in short, her face resembles a _table d'hôte_ at spa--where no two guests are of a nation---- _crab._ or a congress at the close of a general war--wherein all the members, even to her eyes, appear to have a different interest, and her nose and chin are the only parties likely to join issue. _mrs. can._ ha! ha! ha! _sir pet._ mercy on my life!--a person they dine with twice a week! [_aside._ _mrs. can._ nay, but i vow you shall not carry the laugh off so--for give me leave to say that mrs. ogle---- _sir pet._ madam, madam, i beg your pardon--there's no stopping these good gentlemen's tongues. but when i tell you, mrs. candour, that the lady they are abusing is a particular friend of mine, i hope you'll not take her part. _lady sneer._ ha! ha! ha! well said, sir peter! but you are a cruel creature--too phlegmatic yourself for a jest, and too peevish to allow wit in others. _sir pet._ ah, madam, true wit is more nearly allied to good nature than your ladyship is aware of. _lady teas._ true, sir peter; i believe they are so near akin that they can never be united. _sir ben._ or rather, suppose them man and wife, because one seldom sees them together. _lady teaz._ but sir peter is such an enemy to scandal, i believe he would have it put down by parliament. _sir pet._ positively, madam, if they were to consider the sporting with reputation of as much importance as poaching on manors, and pass an act for the preservation of fame, as well as game, i believe many would thank them for the bill. _lady sneer._ why! sir peter; would you deprive us of our privileges? _sir pet._ ay, madam; and then no person should be permitted to kill characters and run down reputations but qualified old maids and disappointed widows. _lady sneer._ go, you monster! _mrs. can._ but, surely, you would not be quite so severe on those who only report what they hear? _sir pet._ yes, madam, i would have law merchant for them too; and in all cases of slander currency, whenever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured parties should have a right to come on any of the indorsers. _crab._ well, for my part, i believe there never was a scandalous tale without some foundation. _lady sneer._ come, ladies, shall we sit down to cards in the next room? _enter_ servant, _who whispers_ sir peter. _sir pet._ i'll be with them directly.--[_exit_ servant.] i'll get away unperceived. [_aside._ _lady sneer._ sir peter, you are not going to leave us? _sir pet._ your ladyship must excuse me; i'm called away by particular business. but i leave my character behind me. [_exit._ _sir ben._ well--certainly, lady teazle, that lord of yours is a strange being: i could tell you some stories of him would make you laugh heartily if he were not your husband. _lady teaz._ oh, pray, don't mind that; come, do let's hear them. [_exeunt all but_ joseph surface _and_ maria. _jos. surf._ maria, i see you have no satisfaction in this society. _mar._ how is it possible i should? if to raise malicious smiles at the infirmities or misfortunes of those who have never injured us be the province of wit or humor, heaven grant me a double portion of dulness! _jos. surf._ yet they appear more ill-natured than they are; they have no malice at heart. _mar._ then is their conduct still more contemptible; for, in my opinion, nothing could excuse the intemperance of their tongues but a natural and uncontrollable bitterness of mind. footnotes: [g] for the sake of brevity a part of the first scene has been excised. it subsequently appears that lady teazle abandons the society of the scandal-mongers, and she and her fond but somewhat irascible husband become happily reconciled. * * * * * _oh, wad some power the giftie gie us to see oursel's as others see us! it wad frae monie a blunder free us and foolish notion: what airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, and e'en devotion!_ robert burns. xxviii. the cotter's saturday night.[h] robert burns.-- - . let not ambition mock their useful toil, their homely joys, and destiny obscure; nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile the short and simple annals of the poor. gray. my lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! no mercenary bard his homage pays; with honest pride, i scorn each selfish end,-- my dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: to you i sing, in simple scottish lays, the lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; the native feelings strong, the guileless ways; what aiken in a cottage would have been; ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, i ween. november chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;[ ] the short'ning winter-day is near a close; the miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; the black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: the toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes-- this night his weekly moil is at an end,-- collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, hoping the morn[ ] in ease and rest to spend, and, weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. at length his lonely cot appears in view, beneath the shelter of an aged tree; the expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher[ ] through, to meet their dad, wi' flichterin[ ] noise an' glee. his wee bit ingle,[ ] blinkin bonnily, his clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, the lisping infant prattling on his knee, does a' his weary carking cares beguile, an' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. belyve,[ ] the elder bairns come drapping in, at service out, amang the farmers roun'; some ca'[ ] the pleugh, some herd, some tentie[ ] rin a canny[ ] errand to a neebor town: their eldest hope, their jenny, woman grown, in youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw[ ] new gown, or deposite[ ] her sair-won[ ] penny-fee,[ ] to help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet and each for other's welfare kindly spiers:[ ] the social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; each tells the uncos[ ] that he sees or hears; the parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; anticipation forward points the view. the mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, gars[ ] auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; the father mixes a' wi' admonition due. their master's an' their mistress's command the younkers a' are warnèd to obey; an' mind their labors wi' an eydent[ ] hand, an' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk[ ] or play: "an' oh! be sure to fear the lord alway, an' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, implore his counsel and assisting might: they never sought in vain that sought the lord aright!" but, hark! a rap comes gently to the door; jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor to do some errands, and convoy her hame. the wily mother sees the conscious flame sparkle in jenny's e'e, an' flush her cheek; wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, while jenny hafflins[ ] is afraid to speak; weel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake. wi' kindly welcome jenny brings him ben;[ ] a strappan youth; he taks the mother's eye; blithe jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; the father cracks[ ] of horses, pleughs, and kye. the youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, but, blate[ ] an' laithfu',[ ] scarce can weel behave; the mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy what makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave.[ ] o happy love! where love like this is found! o heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! i've pacèd much this weary, mortal round, and sage experience bids me this declare-- "if heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, one cordial in this melancholy vale, 'tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, in other's arms breathe out the tender tale, beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." is there, in human form, that bears a heart-- a wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth! that can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, betray sweet jenny's unsuspecting youth? curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! are honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? is there no pity, no relenting ruth, points to the parents fondling o'er their child? then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild! but now the supper crowns their simple board, the halesome parritch, chief of scotia's food the soupe[ ] their only hawkie[ ] does afford, that 'yont the hallan[ ] snugly chows her cood; the dame brings forth, in complimental mood, to grace the lad, her weel-hain'd[ ] kebbuck,[ ] fell,[ ] an' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid: the frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell how 'twas a towmond[ ] auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.[ ] the cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, they, round the ingle, form a circle wide; the sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, the big ha'-bible,[ ] ance his father's pride: his bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, his lyart[ ] haffets[ ] wearing thin an' bare; those strains that once did sweet in zion glide, he wales[ ] a portion with judicious care; and "let us worship god!" he says, with solemn air. they chant their artless notes in simple guise; they tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: perhaps "dundee's" wild warbling measures rise, or plaintive "martyrs," worthy of the name; or noble "elgin" beets[ ] the heavenward flame, the sweetest far of scotia's holy lays: compar'd with these, italian trills are tame; the tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise; nae unison hae they with our creator's praise. the priest-like father reads the sacred page-- how abram was the friend of god on high; or moses bade eternal warfare wage with amalek's ungracious progeny; or how the royal bard did groaning lie beneath the stroke of heaven's avenging ire; or job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; or rapt isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. perhaps the christian volume is the theme-- how guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; how he, who bore in heaven the second name, had not on earth whereon to lay his head; how his first followers and servants sped; the precepts sage they wrote to many a land; how he, who lone in patmos banishèd, saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; and heard great bab'lon's doom pronounced by heaven's command. then kneeling down, to heaven's eternal king, the saint, the father, and the husband prays: hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," that thus they all shall meet in future days: there ever bask in uncreated rays, no more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear; together hymning their creator's praise, in such society, yet still more dear; while circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. compar'd with this, how poor religion's pride, in all the pomp of method, and of art, when men display to congregations wide devotion's every grace, except the heart! the power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, the pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; but, haply, in some cottage far apart, may hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul; and in his book of life the inmates poor enroll. then homeward all take off their several way: the youngling cottagers retire to rest; the parent-pair their secret homage pay, and proffer up to heaven the warm request that he, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, and decks the lily fair in flowery pride, would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, for them, and for their little ones provide; but chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. from scenes like these old scotia's grandeur springs, that makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: princes and lords are but the breath of kings; "an honest man's the noblest work of god;" and certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, the cottage leaves the palace far behind; what is a lordling's pomp?--a cumbrous load, disguising oft the wretch of human kind, studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! o scotia! my dear, my native soil! for whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent! long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! and, oh! may heaven their simple lives prevent from luxury's contagion, weak and vile! then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, a virtuous populace may rise the while, and stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle. o thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide that stream'd through wallace's undaunted heart; who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, or nobly die, the second glorious part, (the patriot's god peculiarly thou art, his friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) o never, never, scotia's realm desert; but still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, in bright succession raise, her ornament and guard. footnotes: [h] inscribed to r. aiken, esq. [ ] moan. [ ] morrow. [ ] stagger. [ ] fluttering. [ ] fire-place. [ ] presently. [ ] drive, _i.e._, with shouting or calling. [ ] attentive. [ ] requiring judgment. [ ] brave, fine, handsome. [ ] de´posite, _for_ depos´it. [ ] dear-won, hard-earned. [ ] money-wages. [ ] enquires. [ ] _unknown_ things, news. [ ] makes. [ ] diligent. [ ] trifle. [ ] half. [ ] in, into the room. [ ] talks. [ ] bashful. [ ] unwilling, shy. [ ] what is _left_, rest. [ ] sup; _here_, milk. [ ] white-faced cow. [ ] partition wall. [ ] carefully kept. [ ] cheese. [ ] tasty. [ ] twelvemonth. [ ] since flax was in flower. [ ] hall-bible. [ ] grey, greyish. [ ] temples, _here_ temple-locks. [ ] chooses. [ ] feeds, nourishes. xxix. the land o' the leal. lady nairn.-- - . i'm wearin' awa', john, like snaw-wreaths in thaw, john, i'm wearin' awa' to the land o' the leal. there's nae sorrow there, john; there's neither cauld nor care, john; the day is aye fair in the land o' the leal. our bonnie bairn's there, john; she was baith gude and fair, john; and oh! we grudg'd her sair to the land o' the leal. but sorrow's sel' wears past, john, and joy's a-comin' fast, john, the joy that's aye to last in the land o' the leal. sae dear that joy was bought, john, sae free the battle fought, john, that sinfu' man e'er brought to the land o' the leal. oh! dry your glistening e'e, john, my soul langs to be free, john, and angels beckon me to the land o' the leal. oh! haud ye leal and true, john, your day it's wearin' through, john, and i'll welcome you to the land o' the leal. now fare-ye weel, my ain john, this warld's cares are vain, john, we'll meet, and we'll be fain in the land o' the leal. * * * * * _life! we've been long together, through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'tis hard to part when friends are dear; perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; then steal away, give little warning, choose thine own time; say not good-night, but in some brighter clime bid me good-morning_. mrs. barbauld.-- - . xxx. the trial by combat at the diamond of the desert.[i] _from_ the talisman. sir walter scott.-- - . it had been agreed, on account of the heat of the climate, that the judicial combat, which was the cause of the present assemblage of various nations at the diamond of the desert, should take place at one hour after sunrise. the wide lists, which had been constructed under the inspection of the knight of the leopard, enclosed a space of hard sand, which was one hundred and twenty yards long by forty in width. they extended in length from north to south, so as to give both parties the equal advantage of the rising sun. saladin's royal seat was erected on the western side of the enclosure, just in the centre, where the combatants were expected to meet in mid encounter. opposed to this was a gallery with closed casements, so contrived, that the ladies, for whose accommodation it was erected, might see the fight without being themselves exposed to view. at either extremity of the lists was a barrier, which could be opened or shut at pleasure. thrones had been also erected, but the archduke, perceiving that his was lower than king richard's, refused to occupy it; and coeur de lion, who would have submitted to much ere any formality should have interfered with the combat, readily agreed that the sponsors, as they were called, should remain on horseback during the fight. at one extremity of the lists were placed the followers of richard, and opposed to them were those who accompanied the defender, conrade. around the throne destined for the soldan were ranged his splendid georgian guards, and the rest of the enclosure was occupied by christian and mohammedan spectators. long before daybreak, the lists were surrounded by even a larger number of saracens than richard had seen on the preceding evening. when the first ray of the sun's glorious orb arose above the desert, the sonorous call, "to prayer, to prayer!" was poured forth by the soldan himself, and answered by others, whose rank and zeal entitled them to act as muezzins. it was a striking spectacle to see them all sink to earth, for the purpose of repeating their devotions, with their faces turned to mecca. but when they arose from the ground, the sun's rays, now strengthening fast, seemed to confirm the lord of gilsland's conjecture of the night before. they were flashed back from many a spear-head, for the pointless lances of the preceding day were certainly no longer such. de vaux pointed it out to his master, who answered with impatience, that he had perfect confidence in the good faith of the soldan; but if de vaux was afraid of his bulky body, he might retire. soon after this the noise of timbrels was heard, at the sound of which the whole saracen cavaliers threw themselves from their horses, and prostrated themselves, as if for a second morning prayer. this was to give an opportunity to the queen, with edith and her attendants, to pass from the pavilion to the gallery intended for them. fifty guards of saladin's seraglio escorted them, with naked sabres, whose orders were, to cut to pieces whomsoever, were he prince or peasant, should venture to gaze on the ladies as they passed, or even presume to raise his head until the cessation of the music should make all men aware that they were lodged in their gallery, not to be gazed on by the curious eye. this superstitious observance of oriental reverence to the fair sex called forth from queen berengaria some criticisms very unfavorable to saladin and his country. but their den, as the royal fair called it, being securely closed and guarded by their sable attendants, she was under the necessity of contenting herself with seeing, and laying aside for the present the still more exquisite pleasure of being seen. meantime the sponsors of both champions went, as was their duty, to see that they were duly armed, and prepared for combat. the archduke of austria was in no hurry to perform this part of the ceremony, having had rather an unusually severe debauch upon wine of schiraz the preceding evening. but the grand master of the temple, more deeply concerned in the event of the combat, was early before the tent of conrade of montserrat. to his great surprise, the attendants refused him admittance. "do you not know me, ye knaves?" said the grand master in great anger. "we do, most valiant and reverend," answered conrade's squire; "but even _you_ may not at present enter--the marquis is about to confess himself." "confess himself!" exclaimed the templar, in a tone where alarm mingled with surprise and scorn--"and to whom i pray thee?" "my master bid me be secret," said the squire; on which the grand master pushed past him, and entered the tent almost by force. the marquis of montserrat was kneeling at the feet of the hermit of engaddi, and in the act of beginning his confession. "what means this, marquis?" said the grand master, "up, for shame--or, if you must needs confess, am not i here?" "i have confessed to you too often already," replied conrade, with a pale cheek and a faltering voice. "for god's sake, grand master, begone, and let me unfold my conscience to this holy man." "in what is he holier than i am?" said the grand master.--"hermit, prophet, madman--say, if thou darest, in what thou excellest me?" "bold and bad man," replied the hermit, "know that i am like the latticed window, and the divine light passes through to avail others, though alas! it helpeth not me. thou art like the iron stanchions, which neither receive light themselves, nor communicate it to any one." "prate not to me, but depart from this tent," said the grand master; "the marquis shall not confess this morning, unless it be to me, for i part not from his side." "is this _your_ pleasure?" said the hermit to conrade; "for think not i will obey that proud man, if you continue to desire my assistance." "alas!" said conrade irresolutely, "what would you have me say? farewell for a while--we will speak anon." "o, procrastination!" exclaimed the hermit, "thou art a soul-murderer!--unhappy man, farewell; not for a while, but until we both shall meet--no matter where.--and for thee," he added, turning to the grand master, "tremble!" "tremble!" replied the templar contemptuously, "i cannot if i would." the hermit heard not his answer, having left the tent. "come! to this gear hastily," said the grand master, "since thou wilt needs go through the foolery.--hark thee--i think i know most of thy frailties by heart, so we may omit the detail, which may be somewhat a long one, and begin with the absolution. what signifies counting the spots of dirt that we are about to wash from our hands?" "knowing what thou art thyself," said conrade, "it is blasphemous to speak of pardoning another." "that is not according to the canon, lord marquis," said the templar; "thou art more scrupulous than orthodox. the absolution of the wicked priest is as effectual as if he were himself a saint; otherwise,--god help the poor penitent! what wounded man inquires whether the surgeon that tents his gashes have clean hands or not?--come, shall we to this toy?" "no," said conrade, "i will rather die unconfessed than mock the sacrament." "come, noble marquis," said the templar, "rouse up your courage, and speak not thus. in an hour's time thou shalt stand victorious in the lists, or confess thee in thy helmet, like a valiant knight." "alas, grand master!" answered conrade, "all augurs ill for this affair. the strange discovery by the instinct of a dog, the revival of this scottish knight, who comes into the lists like a spectre,--all betokens evil." "pshaw!" said the templar, "i have seen thee bend thy lance boldly against him in sport, and with equal chance of success. think thou art but in a tournament, and who bears him better in the tilt-yard than thou?--come, squires and armorers, your master must be accoutred for the field." the attendants entered accordingly, and began to arm the marquis. "what morning is without?" said conrade. "the sun rises dimly," answered a squire. "thou seest, grand master," said conrade, "naught smiles on us." "thou wilt fight the more coolly, my son," answered the templar. "thank heaven that hath tempered the sun of palestine to suit thine occasion." thus jested the grand master; but his jests had lost their influence on the harassed mind of the marquis, and, notwithstanding his attempts to seem gay, his gloom communicated itself to the templar. "this craven," he thought, "will lose the day in pure faintness and cowardice of heart, which he calls tender conscience. i, whom visions and auguries shake not--who am firm in my purpose as the living rock--i should have fought the combat myself.--would to god the scot may strike him dead on the spot; it were next best to his winning the victory. but, come what will, he must have no other confessor than myself. our sins are too much in common, and he might confess my share with his own." while these thoughts passed through his mind, he continued to assist the marquis in arming, but it was in silence. the hour at length arrived, the trumpets sounded, the knights rode into the lists armed at all points, and mounted like men who were to do battle for a kingdom's honor. they wore their visors up, and, riding around the lists three times, showed themselves to the spectators. both were goodly persons, and both had noble countenances. but there was an air of manly confidence on the brow of the scot, a radiancy of hope, which amounted even to cheerfulness, while, although pride and effort had recalled much of conrade's natural courage, there lowered still on his brow a cloud of ominous despondence. even his steed seemed to tread less lightly and blithely to the trumpet-sound than the noble arab which was bestrode by sir kenneth; and the _spruch-sprecher_ shook his head while he observed, that while the challenger rode around the lists in the course of the sun--that is, from right to left--the defender made the same circuit _widder-sins_--that is, from left to right--which is in most countries held ominous. a temporary altar was erected just beneath the gallery occupied by the queen, and beside it stood the hermit in the dress of his order, as a carmelite friar. other churchmen were also present. to this altar the challenger and defender were successively brought forward, conducted by their respective sponsors. dismounting before it, each knight avouched the justice of his cause by a solemn oath on the evangelists, and prayed that his success might be according to the truth or falsehood of what he then swore. they also made oath, that they came to do battle in knightly guise, and with the usual weapons, disclaiming the use of spells, charms, or magical devices, to incline victory to their side. the challenger pronounced his vow with a firm and manly voice, and a bold and cheerful countenance. when the ceremony was finished, the scottish knight looked at the gallery, and bent his head to the earth, as if in honor of those invisible beauties which were enclosed within; then, loaded with armor as he was, sprung to the saddle without the use of the stirrup, and made his courser carry him in a succession of caracoles to his station at the eastern extremity of the lists. conrade also presented himself before the altar with boldness enough; but his voice, as he took the oath, sounded hollow, as if drowned in his helmet. the lips with which he appealed to heaven to adjudge victory to the just quarrel, grew white as they uttered the impious mockery. as he turned to remount his horse, the grand master approached him closer, as if to rectify something about the sitting of his gorget, and whispered, "coward and fool! recall thy senses, and do me this battle bravely; else, by heaven, shouldst thou escape him, thou escapest not _me_!" the savage tone in which this was whispered, perhaps completed the confusion of the marquis's nerves, for he stumbled as he made to horse; and though he recovered his feet, sprung to the saddle with his usual agility, and displayed his address in horsemanship as he assumed his position opposite to the challenger's, yet the accident did not escape those who were on the watch for omens, which might predict the fate of the day. the priests, after a solemn prayer that god would show the rightful quarrel, departed from the lists. the trumpets of the challenger then rung a flourish, and the herald-at-arms proclaimed at the eastern end of the lists,--"here stands a good knight, sir kenneth of scotland, champion for the royal king richard of england, who accuseth conrade, marquis of montserrat, of foul treason and dishonor done to the said king." when the words kenneth of scotland announced the name and character of the champion, hitherto scarce generally known, a loud and cheerful acclaim burst from the followers of king richard, and hardly, notwithstanding repeated commands of silence, suffered the reply of the defendant to be heard. he, of course, avouched his innocence, and offered his body for battle. the esquires of the combatants now approached, and delivered to each his shield and lance, assisting to hang the former around his neck, that his two hands might remain free, one for the management of the bridle, the other to direct the lance. the shield of the scot displayed his old bearing, the leopard, but with the addition of a collar and broken chain, in allusion to his late captivity. the shield of the marquis bore, in reference to his title, a serrated and rocky mountain. each shook his lance aloft, as if to ascertain the weight and toughness of the unwieldy weapon, and then laid it in the rest. the sponsors, heralds, and squires, now retired to the barriers, and the combatants sat opposite to each other, face to face, with couched lance and closed visor, the human form so completely enclosed, that they looked more like statues of molten iron than beings of flesh and blood. the silence of suspense was now general--men breathed thicker, and their very souls seemed seated in their eyes, while not a sound was to be heard save the snorting and pawing of the good steeds, who, sensible of what was about to happen, were impatient to dash into career. they stood thus for perhaps three minutes, when at a signal given by the soldan, an hundred instruments rent the air with their brazen clamors, and each champion striking his horse with the spurs, and slacking the rein, the horses started into full gallop, and the knights met in mid space with a shock like a thunderbolt. the victory was not in doubt--no, not one moment. conrade, indeed, showed himself a practised warrior; for he struck his antagonist knightly in the midst of his shield, bearing his lance so straight and true, that it shivered into splinters from the steel spear-head up to the very gauntlet. the horse of sir kenneth recoiled two or three yards and fell on his haunches, but the rider easily raised him with hand and rein. but for conrade there was no recovery. sir kenneth's lance had pierced through the shield, through a plated corselet of milan steel, through a _secret_, or coat of linked mail, worn beneath the corselet, had wounded him deep in the bosom, and borne him from his saddle, leaving the truncheon of the lance fixed in his wound. the sponsors, heralds, and saladin himself, descending from his throne, crowded around the wounded man; while sir kenneth, who had drawn his sword ere yet he discovered his antagonist was totally helpless, now commanded him to avow his guilt. the helmet was hastily unclosed, and the wounded man, gazing wildly on the skies, replied, "what would you more? god hath decided justly. i am guilty--but there are worse traitors in the camp than i.--in pity to my soul, let me have a confessor!" he revived as he uttered these words. "the talisman--the powerful remedy, royal brother," said king richard to saladin. "the traitor," answered the soldan, "is more fit to be dragged from the lists to the gallows by the heels, than to profit by its virtues: and some such fate is in his look," he added, after gazing fixedly upon the wounded man; "for though his wound may be cured, yet azrael's seal is on the wretch's brow." "nevertheless," said richard, "i pray you do for him what you may, that he may at least have time for confession. slay not soul and body! to him one half-hour of time may be worth more, by ten thousand fold, than the life of the oldest patriarch." "my royal brother's wish shall be obeyed," said saladin.--"slaves, bear this wounded man to our tent." "do not so," said the templar, who had hitherto stood gloomily looking on in silence. "the royal duke of austria and myself will not permit this unhappy christian prince to be delivered over to the saracens, that they may try their spells upon him. we are his sponsors, and demand that he be assigned to our care." "that is, you refuse the certain means offered to recover him?" said richard. "not so," said the grand master, recollecting himself. "if the soldan useth lawful medicines, he may attend the patient in my tent." "do so, i pray thee, good brother," said richard to saladin, "though the permission be ungraciously yielded.--but now to a more glorious work. sound, trumpets--shout, england, in honor of england's champion!" drum, clarion, trumpet, and cymbal, rung forth at once, and the deep and regular shout, which for ages has been the english acclamation, sounded amidst the shrill and irregular yells of the arabs, like the diapason of the organ amid the howling of a storm. there was silence at length. "brave knight of the leopard," resumed coeur de lion, "thou hast shown that the ethiopian _may_ change his skin and the leopard his spots, though clerks quote scripture for the impossibility. yet i have more to say to you when i have conducted you to the presence of the ladies, the best judges, and best rewarders, of deeds of chivalry." the knight of the leopard bowed assent. "and thou, princely saladin, wilt also attend them. i promise thee our queen will not think herself welcome, if she lacks the opportunity to thank her royal host for her most princely reception." saladin bent his head gracefully, but declined the invitation. "i must attend the wounded man," he said. "the leech leaves not his patient more than the champion the lists, even if he be summoned to a bower like those of paradise.... at noon," said the soldan, as he departed, "i trust ye will all accept a collation under the black camel-skin tent of a chief of curdistan." the same invitation was circulated among the christians, comprehending all those of sufficient importance to be admitted to sit at a feast made for princes. "hark!" said richard, "the timbrels announce that our queen and her attendants are leaving their gallery; and see, the turbans sink on the ground, as if struck down by a destroying angel. all lie prostrate, as if the glance of an arab's eye could sully the lustre of a lady's cheek! come, we will to the pavillion, and lead our conqueror thither in triumph. how i pity that noble soldan, who knows but of love as it is known to those of inferior nature!" blondel tuned his harp to its boldest measure, to welcome the introduction of the victor into the pavilion of queen berengaria. he entered, supported on either side by his sponsors, richard and william longsword, and knelt gracefully down before the queen, though more than half the homage was silently rendered to edith, who sat on her right hand. "unarm him, my mistresses," said the king, whose delight was in the execution of such chivalrous usages; "let beauty honor chivalry! undo his spurs, berengaria; queen though thou be, thou owest him what marks of favor thou canst give.--unlace his helmet, edith; by this hand, thou shalt, wert thou the proudest plantagenet of the line, and he the poorest knight on earth!" both ladies obeyed the royal commands,--berengaria with bustling assiduity, as anxious to gratify her husband's humor, and edith blushing and growing pale alternately, as slowly and awkwardly she undid, with longsword's assistance, the fastenings which secured the helmet to the gorget. "and what expect you from beneath this iron shell?" said richard, as the removal of the casque gave to view the noble countenance of sir kenneth, his face glowing with recent exertion, and not less so with present emotion. "what think ye of him, gallants and beauties?" said richard. "doth he resemble an ethiopian slave, or doth he present the face of an obscure and nameless adventurer? no, by my good sword! here terminate his various disguises. he hath knelt down before you, unknown save by his worth; he arises, equally distinguished by birth and by fortune. the adventurous knight, kenneth, arises david, earl of huntingdon, prince royal of scotland!" there was a general exclamation of surprise, and edith dropped from her hand the helmet which she had just received.... "may we know of your grace by what strange and happy chance this riddle has been read?" said the queen berengaria. "letters were brought to us from england," said the king, "in which we learned, among other unpleasant news, that the king of scotland had seized upon three of our nobles, when on a pilgrimage to saint ninian, and alleged as a cause, that his heir being supposed to be fighting in the ranks of the teutonic knights, against the heathen of borussia, was, in fact, in our camp and in our power; and, therefore, william proposed to hold these nobles as hostages for his safety. this gave me the first light on the real rank of the knight of the leopard, and my suspicions were confirmed by de vaux, who, on his return from ascalon, brought back with him the earl of huntingdon's sole attendant, a thick-skulled slave, who had gone thirty miles to unfold to de vaux a secret he should have told to me." "old strauchan must be excused," said the lord of gilsland. "he knew from experience that my heart is somewhat softer than if i wrote myself plantagenet." "thy heart soft? thou commodity of old iron, and cumberland flint that thou art!" exclaimed the king. "it is we plantagenets who boast soft and feeling hearts, edith," he continued, turning to his cousin, with an expression which called the blood into her cheek.--"give me thy hand, my fair cousin, and, prince of scotland, thine."... it is needless to follow into further particulars the conferences at the royal tent, or to enquire whether david, earl of huntingdon, was as mute in the presence of edith plantagenet, as when he was bound to act under the character of an obscure and nameless adventurer. it may be well believed that he there expressed, with suitable earnestness, the passion to which he had so often before found it difficult to give words. the hour of noon now approached, and saladin waited to receive the princes of christendom in a tent, which, but for its large size, differed little from that of the ordinary shelter of the common curdman, or arab; yet, beneath its ample and sable covering, was prepared a banquet after the most gorgeous fashion of the east, extended upon carpets of the richest stuffs, with cushions laid for the guests. but we cannot stop to describe the cloth of gold and silver, the superb embroidery in arabesque, the shawls of cashmere, and the muslins of india, which were here unfolded in all their splendor; far less to tell the different sweetmeats, ragouts edged with rice colored in various manners, with all the other niceties of eastern cookery. lambs roasted whole, and game and poultry dressed in pilaus, were piled in vessels of gold, and silver, and porcelain, and intermixed with large mazers of sherbet, cooled in snow and ice from the caverns of mount lebanon. a magnificent pile of cushions at the head of the banquet, seemed prepared for the master of the feast, and such dignitaries as he might call to share that place of distinction, while from the roof of the tent in all quarters, but over this seat of eminence in particular, waved many a banner and pennon, the trophies of battles won, and kingdoms overthrown. but amongst and above them all, a long lance displayed a shroud, the banner of death, with this impressive inscription, "saladin, king of kings--saladin, victor of victors--saladin must die." amid these preparations, the slaves who had arranged the refreshments stood with drooped heads and folded arms, mute and motionless as monumental statuary, or as automata, which waited the touch of the artist to put them in motion. expecting the approach of his princely guests, the soldan, imbued, as most were, with the superstitions of his time, paused over a horoscope and corresponding scroll, which had been sent to him by the hermit of engaddi when he departed from the camp. "strange and mysterious science," he muttered to himself, "which, pretending to draw the curtain of futurity, misleads those whom it seems to guide, and darkens the scene which it pretends to illuminate! who would not have said that i was that enemy most dangerous to richard, whose enmity was to be ended by marriage with his kinswoman? yet it now appears that a union betwixt this gallant earl and the lady will bring about friendship betwixt richard and scotland, an enemy more dangerous than i, as a wild cat in a chamber is more to be dreaded than a lion in a distant desert.--but then,...--how now, what means this intrusion?" he spoke to the dwarf nectabanus, who rushed into the tent fearfully agitated, with each strange and disproportioned feature wrenched by horror into still more extravagant ugliness,--his mouth open, his eyes staring, his hands, with their shrivelled and deformed fingers, wildly expanded. "what now?" said the soldan, sternly. "_accipe hoc!_" groaned out the dwarf. "ha! say'st thou?" answered saladin. "_accipe hoc!_" replied the panic-struck creature, unconscious, perhaps, that he repeated the same words as before. "hence! i am in no vein for foolery," said the emperor. "nor am i further fool," said the dwarf, "than to make my folly help out my wits to earn my bread, poor helpless wretch!--hear, hear me, great soldan!" "nay, if thou hast actual wrong to complain of," said saladin, "fool or wise, thou art entitled to the ear of a king.--retire hither with me;" and he led him into the inner tent. whatever their conference related to, it was soon broken off by the fanfare of the trumpets, announcing the arrival of the various christian princes, whom saladin welcomed to his tent with a royal courtesy well becoming their rank and his own; but chiefly he saluted the young earl of huntingdon, and generously congratulated him upon prospects, which seemed to have interfered with and overclouded those which he had himself entertained. "but think not," said the soldan, "thou noble youth, that the prince of scotland is more welcome to saladin, than was kenneth to the solitary ilderim when they met in the desert, or the distressed ethiop to the hakim adonbec. a brave and generous disposition like thine hath a value independent of condition and birth, as the cool draught which i here proffer thee, is as delicious from an earthen vessel as from a goblet of gold." the earl of huntingdon made a suitable reply, gratefully acknowledging the various important services he had received from the generous soldan; but when he had pledged saladin in the bowl of sherbet which the soldan had proffered to him, he could not help remarking with a smile, "the brave cavalier, ilderim, knew not of the formation of ice, but the munificent soldan cools his sherbet with snow." "wouldst thou have an arab or a curdman as wise as a hakim?" said the soldan. "he who does on a disguise must make the sentiments of his heart and the learning of his head accord with the dress which he assumes. i desired to see how a brave and single-hearted cavalier of frangistan would conduct himself in debate with such a chief as i then seemed; and i questioned the truth of a well-known fact, to know by what arguments thou wouldst support thy assertion." while they were speaking, the archduke of austria, who stood a little apart, was struck with the mention of iced sherbet, and took with pleasure and some bluntness the deep goblet, as the earl of huntingdon was about to replace it. "most delicious!" he exclaimed, after a deep draught, which the heat of the weather, and the feverishness following the debauch of the preceding day, had rendered doubly acceptable. he sighed as he handed the cup to the grand master of the templars. saladin made a sign to the dwarf, who advanced and pronounced, with a harsh voice, the words, _accipe hoc!_ the templar started, like a steed who sees a lion under a bush, beside the pathway; yet instantly recovered, and to hide, perhaps, his confusion, raised the goblet to his lips;--but those lips never touched that goblet's rim. the sabre of saladin left its sheath as lightning leaves the cloud. it was waved in the air,--and the head of the grand master rolled to the extremity of the tent, while the trunk remained, for a second, standing, with the goblet still clenched in its grasp, then fell, the liquor mingling with the blood that spurted from the veins. there was a general exclamation of treason, and austria, nearest to whom saladin stood with the bloody sabre in his hand, started back as if apprehensive that his turn was to come next. richard and others laid hand on their swords. "fear nothing, noble austria," said saladin, as composedly as if nothing had happened, "nor you, royal england, be wroth at what you have seen. not for his manifold treasons;--not for the attempt which, as may be vouched by his own squire, he instigated against king richard's life;--not that he pursued the prince of scotland and myself in the desert, reducing us to save our lives by the speed of our horses;--not that he had stirred up the maronites to attack us upon this very occasion, had i not brought up unexpectedly so many arabs as rendered the scheme abortive;--not for any or all of these crimes does he now lie there, although each were deserving such a doom;--but because, scarce half-an-hour ere he polluted our presence, as the simoom empoisons the atmosphere, he poniarded his comrade and accomplice, conrade of montserrat, lest he should confess the infamous plots in which they had both been engaged." "how! conrade murdered?--and by the grand master, his sponsor and most intimate friend!" exclaimed richard. "noble soldan, i would not doubt thee; yet this must be proved; otherwise"---- "there stands the evidence," said saladin, pointing to the terrified dwarf. "allah, who sends the fire-fly to illuminate the night-season, can discover secret crimes by the most contemptible means." the soldan proceeded to tell the dwarf's story, which amounted to this.--in his foolish curiosity, or as he partly confessed, with some thoughts of pilfering, nectabanus had strayed into the tent of conrade, which had been deserted by his attendants, some of whom had left the encampment to carry the news of his defeat to his brother, and others were availing themselves of the means which saladin had supplied for revelling. the wounded man slept under the influence of saladin's wonderful talisman, so that the dwarf had opportunity to pry about at pleasure, until he was frightened into concealment by the sound of a heavy step. he skulked behind a curtain, yet could see the motions, and hear the words of the grand master, who entered, and carefully secured the covering of the pavillion behind him. his victim started from sleep, and it would appear that he instantly suspected the purpose of his old associate, for it was in a tone of alarm that he demanded wherefore he disturbed him. "i come to confess and absolve thee," answered the grand master. of their further speech the terrified dwarf remembered little, save that conrade implored the grand master not to break a wounded reed, and that the templar struck him to the heart with a turkish dagger, with the words _accipe hoc_,--words which long afterward haunted the terrified imagination of the concealed witness. "i verified the tale," said saladin, "by causing the body to be examined; and i made this unhappy being, whom allah hath made the discoverer of the crime, repeat in your own presence the words which the murderer spoke, and you yourselves saw the effect which they produced upon his conscience." the soldan paused, and the king of england broke silence:-- "if this be true, as i doubt not, we have witnessed a great act of justice, though it bore a different aspect. but wherefore in this presence? wherefore with thine own hand?" "i had designed otherwise," said saladin, "but had i not hastened his doom, it had been altogether averted, since, if i had permitted him to taste of my cup, as he was about to do, how could i, without incurring the brand of inhospitality, have done him to death as he deserved? had he murdered my father, and afterward partaken of my food and my bowl, not a hair of his head could have been injured by me. but enough of him; let his carcass and his memory be removed from amongst us." the body was carried away, and the marks of the slaughter obliterated or concealed with such ready dexterity, as showed that the case was not altogether so uncommon, as to paralyze the assistants and officers of saladin's household. but the christian princes felt that the scene which they had beheld weighed heavily on their spirits, and although, at the courteous invitation of the soldan, they assumed their seats at the banquet, yet it was with the silence of doubt and amazement. the spirits of richard alone surmounted all cause for suspicion or embarrassment. yet he, too, seemed to ruminate on some proposition, as if he were desirous of making it in the most insinuating and acceptable manner which was possible. at length he drank off a large bowl of wine, and addressing the soldan, desired to know whether it was not true that he had honored the earl of huntingdon with a personal encounter. saladin answered with a smile, that he had proved his horse and his weapons with the heir of scotland, as cavaliers are wont to do with each other when they meet in the desert; and modestly added that, though the combat was not entirely decisive, he had not, on his part, much reason to pride himself on the event. the scot, on the other hand, disclaimed the attributed superiority, and wished to assign it to the soldan. "enough of honor thou hast had in the encounter," said richard, "and i envy thee more for that, than for the smiles of edith plantagenet, though one of them might reward a bloody day's work.--but what say you, noble princes; is it fitting that such a royal ring of chivalry should break up without something being done for future times to speak of? what is the overthrow and death of a traitor, to such a fair garland of honor as is here assembled, and which ought not to part without witnessing something more worthy of their regard? how say you, princely soldan; what if we two should now, and before this fair company, decide the long-contended question for this land of palestine, and end at once these tedious wars? yonder are the lists ready, nor can paynimrie ever hope a better champion than thou. i, unless worthier offers, will lay down my gauntlet in behalf of christendom, and, in all love and honor, we will do mortal battle for the possession of jerusalem." there was a deep pause for the soldan's answer. his cheek and brow colored highly, and it was the opinion of many present that he hesitated whether he should accept the challenge. at length he said: "fighting for the holy city against those whom we regard as idolaters, and worshippers of stocks and stones, and graven images, i might confide that allah would strengthen my arm; or if i fell beneath the sword of the melech ric, i could not pass to paradise by a more glorious death. but allah has already given jerusalem to the true believers, and it were a tempting the god of the prophet to peril, upon my own personal strength and skill, that which i hold securely by the superiority of my forces." "if not for jerusalem, then," said richard, in the tone of one who would entreat a favor of an intimate friend, "yet, for the love of honor, let us run at least three courses with grinded lances." "even this," said saladin, half smiling at coeur de lion's affectionate earnestness for the combat, "even this i may not lawfully do. the master places the shepherd over the flock, not for the shepherd's own sake, but for the sake of the sheep. had i a son to hold the sceptre when i fell, i might have had the liberty, as i have the will, to brave this bold encounter; but your own scripture sayeth, that when the herdsman is smitten, the sheep are scattered." "thou hast had all the fortune," said richard, turning to the earl of huntingdon with a sigh. "i would have given the best year of my life for that one half-hour beside the diamond of the desert!" the chivalrous extravagance of richard awakened the spirits of the assembly, and when at length they arose to depart, saladin advanced and took coeur de lion by the hand. "noble king of england," he said, "we now part, never to meet again. that your league is dissolved, no more to be reunited, and that your native forces are far too few to enable you to prosecute your enterprise, is as well known to me as to yourself. i may not yield you up that jerusalem which you so much desire to hold. it is to us, as to you, a holy city. but whatever other terms richard demands of saladin, shall be as willingly yielded as yonder fountain yields its waters. ay, and the same should be as frankly afforded by saladin, if richard stood in the desert with but two archers in his train!" footnotes: [i] while the army of the crusaders was inactive near ascalon, a truce having been agreed to between the saracens and their assailants, the grand master of the templars, conrade marquis of montserrat, and others of the christian princes, were plotting to effect its dismemberment. richard of england was the leading spirit of the crusade, and the plotters wished either to get rid of him or to inspire his colleagues with jealousy of his leadership. the grand master sought to have the king assassinated. conrade tried to break up the league by milder means: he first provoked the duke of austria to insult the english banner; and then thinking rightly that the suspicion and wrath of richard would fall upon austria, he secretly stole the banner from its place. its safe-keeping, after austria's insult, had been entrusted by the king to sir kenneth, known as the knight of the leopard, in reality david prince of scotland, who in the disguise of an obscure gentleman had joined the crusade as a follower of the english king. sir kenneth was innocently decoyed from his watch, and in his absence, the banner, left with but his dog to guard it, was stolen by conrade. for his failure of duty. sir kenneth was condemned to immediate death, but saladin, who in the disguise of an arab physician was in the english camp, and who had rescued the king from death by fever, urgently interceding, his life was spared. saladin took sir kenneth to the camp of the saracens, and knowing his worth and valor, having previously had knightly encounter with him in the desert, disguised him as a nubian slave, and sent him as a present to richard with the hope that he might in some way discover by whom the banner had been stolen. attending richard as a slave sir kenneth saved the king from the assassination which the grand master had instigated, and aided by the instinct of his dog, also disguised, he detected the thief in conrade. richard thereupon, at once charged conrade with the theft, and challenged him to mortal combat. the king was prevented by the council of the princes from fighting in person, but having divined in the nubian slave the former knight of the leopard, he permitted sir kenneth to fight in his stead, that the knight might atone for the dishonor of being faithless in his watch. conrade's cause was espoused by the grand master, who had been his confidant, and by the duke of austria. the encounter was appointed to take place at the diamond of the desert, in the territory of saladin, who was asked to act as umpire. it had been stipulated that but five hundred saracens should be present at the trial; saladin, however, having been apprised of further plotting on the part of the grand master, for safety's sake caused a larger attendance of his followers. sir kenneth had long loved edith plantagenet, but being known to her only as a poor and nameless adventurer, he had not yet openly avowed his love. xxxi. to a highland girl. (at inversneyde, upon loch lomond.) william wordsworth.-- - . sweet highland girl, a very shower of beauty is thy earthly dower! twice seven consenting years have shed their utmost bounty on thy head: and these gray rocks; this household lawn; these trees, a veil just half withdrawn; this fall of water, that doth make a murmur near the silent lake; this little bay, a quiet road that holds in shelter thy abode; in truth, together do ye seem like something fashion'd in a dream; such forms as from their covert peep when earthly cares are laid asleep! yet, dream and vision as thou art, i bless thee with a human heart: god shield thee to thy latest years! thee neither know i nor thy peers; and yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. with earnest feeling i shall pray for thee when i am far away: for never saw i mien, or face, in which more plainly i could trace benignity and home-bred sense ripening in perfect innocence. here scatter'd like a random seed, remote from men, thou dost not need the embarrass'd look of shy distress, and maidenly shamefacèdness: thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear the freedom of a mountaineer: a face with gladness overspread! soft smiles, by human kindness bred! and seemliness complete, that sways thy courtesies, about thee plays; with no restraint, but such as springs from quick and eager visitings of thoughts that lie beyond the reach of thy few words of english speech: a bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife that gives thy gestures grace and life! so have i, not unmov'd in mind, seen birds of tempest-loving kind, thus beating up against the wind. what hand but would a garland cull for thee who art so beautiful? o happy pleasure! here to dwell beside thee in some heathy dell; adopt your homely ways, and dress, a shepherd, thou a shepherdess! but i could frame a wish for thee more like a grave reality: thou art to me but as a wave of the wild sea; and i would have some claim upon thee, if i could, though but of common neighborhood. what joy to hear thee, and to see! thy elder brother i would be, thy father, anything to thee! now thanks to heaven! that of its grace hath led me to this lonely place. joy have i had; and going hence i bear away my recompense. in spots like these it is we prize our memory, feel that she hath eyes: then, why should i be loth to stir? i feel this place was made for her; to give new pleasure like the past, continued long as life shall last. nor am i loth, though pleas'd at heart, sweet highland girl! from thee to part; for i, methinks, till i grow old, as fair before me shall behold, as i do now, the cabin small, the lake, the bay, the waterfall; and thee, the spirit of them all! xxxii. france: an ode. ( .) samuel taylor coleridge.-- - . i. ye clouds! that far above me float and pause, whose pathless march no mortal may control! ye ocean-waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll, yield homage only to eternal laws! ye woods! that listen to the night-birds singing, midway the smooth and perilous slope reclin'd, save when your own imperious branches, swinging, have made a solemn music of the wind! where, like a man belov'd of god, through glooms, which never woodman trod, how oft, pursuing fancies holy, my moonlight way o'er flowering weeds i wound, inspir'd, beyond the guess of folly, by each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! o ye loud waves! and o ye forests high! and o ye clouds that far above me soar'd! thou rising sun! thou blue rejoicing sky! yea, every thing that is and will be free! bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be, with what deep worship i have still ador'd the spirit of divinest liberty. ii. when france in wrath her giant-limbs uprear'd, and with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea, stamp'd her strong foot and said she would be free, bear witness for me, how i hoped and fear'd! with what a joy my lofty gratulation unaw'd i sang, amid a slavish band; and when to whelm the disenchanted nation, like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand. the monarchs march'd in evil day, and britain join'd the dire array, though dear her shores and circling ocean, though many friendships, many youthful loves, had swoll'n the patriot emotion, and flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; yet still my voice, unalter'd, sang defeat to all that brav'd the tyrant-quelling lance, and shame too long delay'd and vain retreat! for ne'er, o liberty! with partial aim i dimm'd thy light or damp'd thy holy flame; but bless'd the pæans of deliver'd france, and hung my head and wept at britain's name. iii. "and what," i said, "though blasphemy's loud scream with that sweet music of deliverance strove! though all the fierce and drunken passions wove a dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream! ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, the sun was rising, though ye hid his light!" and when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, the dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright; when france her front deep-scarr'd and gory conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory; when, insupportably advancing, her arm made mockery of the warrior's tramp, while, timid looks of fury glancing, domestic treason, crush'd beneath her fatal stamp, writh'd like a wounded dragon in his gore: then i reproach'd my fears that would not flee; "and soon," i said, "shall wisdom teach her lore in the low huts of them that toil and groan! and, conquering by her happiness alone, shall france compel the nations to be free, till love and joy look round, and call the earth their own." iv. forgive me, freedom! o forgive those dreams! i hear thy voice, i hear thy loud lament, from bleak helvetia's icy cavern sent,-- i hear thy groans upon her blood-stain'd streams! heroes, that for your peaceful country perish'd, and ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows with bleeding wounds, forgive me, that i cherish'd one thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes! to scatter rage, and traitorous guilt, where peace her jealous home had built; a patriot-race to disinherit of all that made their stormy wilds so dear, and with inexpiable spirit to taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer,-- o france, that mockest heaven, adulterous, blind, and patriot only in pernicious toils, are these thy boasts, champion of human kind? to mix with kings in the low lust of sway, yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; to insult the shrine of liberty with spoils from freemen torn; to tempt and to betray? v. the sensual and the dark rebel in vain, slaves by their own compulsion! in mad game they burst their manacles and wear the name of freedom, graven on a heavier chain! o liberty! with profitless endeavor have i pursued thee, many a weary hour; but thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. alike from all, howe'er they praise thee (nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee), alike from priestcraft's harpy minions, and factious blasphemy's obscener slaves, thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, the guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves! and there i felt thee!--on that sea-cliff's verge, whose pines, scarce travell'd by the breeze above, had made one murmur with the distant surge! yes, while i stood and gaz'd, my temples bare, and shot my being through earth, sea, and air, possessing all things with intensest love, o liberty! my spirit felt thee there. xxxiii. complaint and reproof. coleridge. i. how seldom, friend! a good great man inherits honor or wealth, with all his worth and pains! it sounds like stories from the land of spirits, if any man obtain that which he merits, or any merit that which he obtains. ii. for shame, dear friend! renounce this canting strain! what wouldst thou have a good great man obtain? place--titles--salary--a gilded chain-- or throne of corses which his sword hath slain?-- greatness and goodness are not means but ends! hath he not always treasures, always friends, the good great man?--three treasures,--love, and light, and calm thoughts, regular as infant's breath;-- and three firm friends, more sure than day and night,-- himself, his maker, and the angel death. xxxiv. the well of st. keyne. robert southey.-- - . a well there is in the west country, and a clearer one never was seen; there is not a wife in the west country but has heard of the well of st. keyne. an oak and an elm-tree stand beside, and behind doth an ash-tree grow, and a willow from the bank above droops to the water below. a traveller came to the well of st. keyne; joyfully he drew nigh; for from cock-crow he had been travelling, and there was not a cloud in the sky. he drank of the water so cool and clear, for thirsty and hot was he; and he sat down upon the bank under the willow-tree. there came a man from the house hard by, at the well to fill his pail; on the well-side he rested it, and he bade the stranger hail. "now, art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he; "for, an if thou hast a wife, the happiest draught thou hast drank this day that ever thou didst in thy life. "or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, ever here in cornwall been? for, an if she have, i'll venture my life she has drank of the well of st. keyne." "i have left a good woman who never was here," the stranger he made reply; "but that my draught should be the better for that, i pray you answer me why." "st. keyne," quoth the cornish-man, "many a time drank of this crystal well; and, before the angel summon'd her, she laid on the water a spell,-- "if the husband of this gifted well shall drink before his wife, a happy man thenceforth is he, for he shall be master for life; "but if the wife should drink of it first, god help the husband then!" the stranger stoop'd to the well of st. keyne, and drank of the water again. "you drank of the well, i warrant, betimes?" he to the cornish-man said; but the cornish-man smiled as the stranger spake, and sheepishly shook his head:-- "i hasten'd, as soon as the wedding was done, and left my wife in the porch; but i' faith she had been wiser than me, for she took a bottle to church." xxxv. the isles of greece. lord byron.-- - . the isles of greece! the isles of greece! where burning sappho lov'd and sung, where grew the arts of war and peace, where delos rose, and phoebus sprung! eternal summer gilds them yet, but all, except their sun, is set. the scian and the teian muse, the hero's harp, the lover's lute, have found the fame your shores refuse: their place of birth alone is mute to sounds which echo further west than your sires' "islands of the blest." the mountains look on marathon-- and marathon looks on the sea; and musing there an hour alone, i dream'd that greece might still be free; for standing on the persians' grave, i could not deem myself a slave. a king sate on the rocky brow which looks o'er sea-born salamis; and ships, by thousands, lay below, and men in nations;--all were his! he counted them at break of day-- and when the sun set, where were they? and where are they? and where art thou, my country? on thy voiceless shore the heroic lay is tuneless now-- the heroic bosom beats no more! and must thy lyre, so long divine, degenerate into hands like mine? 'tis something, in the dearth of fame, though link'd among a fetter'd race, to feel at least a patriot's shame, even as i sing, suffuse my face; for what is left the poet here? for greeks a blush--for greece a tear. must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest? must _we_ but blush?--our fathers bled. earth! render back from out thy breast a remnant of our spartan dead! of the three hundred grant but three, to make a new thermopylæ! what, silent still? and silent all? ah! no;--the voices of the dead sound like a distant torrent's fall, and answer, "let one living head, but one, arise,--we come, we come!" 'tis but the living who are dumb. in vain--in vain: strike other chords; fill high the cup with samian wine! leave battles to the turkish hordes, and shed the blood of scio's vine! hark! rising to the ignoble call-- how answers each bold bacchanal! you have the pyrrhic dance as yet; where is the pyrrhic phalanx gone? of two such lessons, why forget the nobler and the manlier one? you have the letters cadmus gave-- think ye he meant them for a slave? fill high the bowl with samian wine! we will not think of themes like these! it made anacreon's song divine: he served--but served polycrates-- a tyrant; but our masters then were still, at least, our countrymen. the tyrant of the chersonese was freedom's best and bravest friend; _that_ tyrant was miltiades! oh! that the present hour would lend another despot of the kind! such chains as his were sure to bind. fill high the bowl with samian wine! on suli's rock, and parga's shore, exists the remnant of a line such as the doric mothers bore; and there, perhaps, some seed is sown, the heracleidan blood might own. trust not for freedom to the franks-- they have a king who buys and sells: in native swords, and native ranks, the only hope of courage dwells; but turkish force, and latin fraud, would break your shield, however broad. fill high the bowl with samian wine! our virgins dance beneath the shade-- i see their glorious black eyes shine; but gazing on each glowing maid, my own the burning tear-drop laves, to think such breasts must suckle slaves. place me on sunium's marbled steep, where nothing, save the waves and i, may hear our mutual murmurs sweep; there, swan-like, let me sing and die: a land of slaves shall ne'er be mine-- dash down yon cup of samian wine! xxxvi. go where glory waits thee. thomas moore.-- - . go where glory waits thee; but, while fame elates thee, o, still remember me! when the praise thou meetest to thine ear is sweetest, o, then remember me! other arms may press thee, dearer friends caress thee, all the joys that bless thee sweeter far may be; but when friends are nearest, and when joys are dearest, o, then remember me! when, at eve, thou rovest by the star thou lovest, o, then remember me! think, when home returning, bright we've seen it burning, o, thus remember me! oft as summer closes, when thine eye reposes on its lingering roses, once so lov'd by thee, think of her who wove them, her who made thee love them, o, then remember me! when, around thee dying, autumn leaves are lying, o, then remember me! and, at night, when gazing on the gay hearth blazing, o, still remember me! then, should music, stealing all the soul of feeling, to thy heart appealing, draw one tear from thee; then let memory bring thee strains i used to sing thee,-- o, then remember me! xxxvii. dear harp of my country. moore. dear harp of my country! in darkness i found thee, the cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, when proudly, my own island harp, i unbound thee, and gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song! the warm lay of love and the light note of gladness have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; but, so oft hast thou echo'd the deep sigh of sadness, that ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. dear harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers, this sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine! go, sleep with the sunshine of fame on thy slumbers, till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine; if the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone; i was _but_ as the wind, passing heedlessly over, and all the wild sweetness i waked was thy own. xxxviii. come, ye disconsolate. moore. come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, come, at god's altar fervently kneel; here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish-- earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. joy of the desolate, light of the straying, hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, here speaks the comforter, in god's name saying,-- "earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure." go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us, what charm for aching hearts _he_ can reveal, sweet as that heavenly promise hope sings us, "earth has no sorrow that god cannot heal." xxxix. on a lock of milton's hair. leigh hunt.-- - . it lies before me there, and my own breath stirs its thin outer threads, as though beside the living head i stood in honor'd pride, talking of lovely things that conquer death. perhaps he press'd it once, or underneath ran his fine fingers, when he leant, blank-ey'd, and saw, in fancy, adam and his bride with their rich locks, or his own delphic wreath. there seems a love in hair, though it be dead. it is the gentlest, yet the strongest thread of our frail plant,--a blossom from the tree surviving the proud trunk;--as though it said patience and gentleness is power; in me behold affectionate eternity. xl. the glove and the lions. leigh hunt. king francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport, and one day, as his lions strove, sat looking on the court: the nobles fill'd the benches round, the ladies by their side, and 'mongst them count de lorge, with one he hoped to make his bride; and truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; they bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws; with wallowing might and stifled roar they roll'd one on another, till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous smother; the bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air; said francis then, "good gentlemen, we're better here than there!" de lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame, with smiling lips, and sharp bright eyes, which always seem'd the same: she thought, "the count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be; he surely would do desperate things to show his love of me! king, ladies, lovers, all look on; the chance is wondrous fine; i'll drop my glove to prove his love; great glory will be mine!" she dropp'd her glove to prove his love: then look'd on him and smiled; he bow'd, and in a moment leap'd among the lions wild: the leap was quick; return was quick; he soon regain'd his place; then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face! "in truth!" cried francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat: "no love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!" * * * * * _rough wind, that moanest loud grief too sad for song; wild wind, when sullen cloud knells all the night long; sad storm, whose tears are vain, bare woods, whose branches strain, deep caves and dreary main, wail, for the world's wrong._ _a dirge_.--shelley. xli. the cloud. percy bysshe shelley.-- - . i. i bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers from the seas and the streams; i bear light shade for the leaves when laid in their noon-day dreams. from my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds every one, when rock'd to rest on their mother's breast, as she dances about the sun. i wield the flail of the lashing hail, and whiten the green plains under; and then again i dissolve it in rain, and laugh as i pass in thunder. ii. i sift the snow on the mountains below, and their great pines groan aghast; and all the night 'tis my pillow white, while i sleep in the arms of the blast. sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers lightning, my pilot, sits; in a cavern under is fetter'd the thunder,-- it struggles and howls at fits. over earth and ocean with gentle motion this pilot is guiding me, lured by the love of the genii that move in the depths of the purple sea; over the rills and the crags and the hills, over the lakes and the plains, wherever he dream under mountain or stream the spirit he loves remains; and i all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, whilst he is dissolving in rains. iii. the sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, and his burning plumes outspread, leaps on the back of my sailing rack, when the morning star shines dead; as on the jag of a mountain-crag, which an earthquake rocks and swings, an eagle alit one moment may sit in the light of its golden wings. and, when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, its ardor of rest and of love, and the crimson pall of eve may fall from the depth of heaven above, with wings folded i rest on mine airy nest, as still as a brooding dove. iv. that orbèd maiden, with white-fire laden, whom mortals call the moon, glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor by the midnight breezes strewn; and wherever the beat of her unseen feet, which only the angels hear, may have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, the stars peep behind her and peer. and i laugh to see them whirl and flee like a swarm of golden bees, when i widen the rent in my wind-built tent,-- till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, are each pav'd with the moon and these. v. i bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, and the moon's with a girdle of pearl; the volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, when the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. from cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, over a torrent sea, sunbeam-proof, i hang like a roof,-- the mountains its columns be. the triumphal arch, through which i march, with hurricane, fire, and snow, when the powers of the air are chain'd to my chair, is the million-color'd bow; the sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, while the moist earth was laughing below. vi. i am the daughter of earth and water, and the nursling of the sky; i pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; i change, but i cannot die. for after the rain, when with never a stain the pavilion of heaven is bare, and the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams build up the blue dome of air, i silently laugh at my own cenotaph,-- and out of the caverns of rain, like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, i arise, and unbuild it again. xlii. on first looking into chapman's homer. john keats.-- - . much have i travell'd in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen; round many western islands have i been which bards in fealty to apollo hold. oft of one wide expanse had i been told that deep-brow'd homer ruled as his demesne: yet did i never breathe its pure serene till i heard chapman speak out loud and bold: then felt i like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken; or like stout cortez when with eagle eyes he stared at the pacific--and all his men look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- silent, upon a peak in darien. xliii. on the grasshopper and the cricket. keats. the poetry of earth is never dead: when all the birds are faint with the hot sun, and hide in cooling trees, a voice will run from hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead: that is the grasshopper's--he takes the lead in summer luxury,--he has never done with his delights, for, when tired out with fun, he rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. the poetry of earth is ceasing never: on a lone winter evening, when the frost has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills the cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, and seems to one in drowsiness half lost, the grasshopper's among some grassy hills. xliv. the power and danger of the cÆsars. thomas de quincey.-- - . _from_ the cÆsars. to this view of the imperial character and relations must be added one single circumstance, which in some measure altered the whole for the individual who happened to fill the office. the emperor _de facto_ might be viewed under two aspects; there was the man, and there was the office. in his office he was immortal and sacred: but as a question might still be raised, by means of a mercenary army, as to the claims of the particular individual who at any time filled the office, the very sanctity and privilege of the character with which he was clothed might actually be turned against himself; and here it is, at this point, that the character of roman emperor became truly and mysteriously awful. gibbon has taken notice of the extraordinary situation of a _subject_ in the roman empire who should attempt to fly from the wrath of the cæsar. such was the ubiquity of the emperor that this was metaphysically hopeless. except across pathless deserts or amongst barbarous nomads, it was impossible to find even a transient sanctuary from the imperial pursuit. if the fugitive went down to the sea, there he met the emperor: if he took the wings of the morning, and fled to the uttermost parts of the earth, there was also cæsar in the person of his lieutenants. but, by a dreadful counter-charm, the same omnipresence of imperial anger and retribution which withered the hopes of the poor humble prisoner, met and confounded the emperor himself, when hurled from his elevation by some fortunate rival. all the kingdoms of the earth, to one in that situation, became but so many wards of the same infinite prison. flight, if it were even successful for the moment, did but a little retard his inevitable doom. and so evident was this, that hardly in one instance did the fallen prince _attempt_ to fly; passively he met the death which was inevitable, in the very spot where ruin had overtaken him. neither was it possible even for a merciful conqueror to show mercy; for, in the presence of an army so mercenary and factious, his own safety was but too deeply involved in the extermination of rival pretenders to the crown. such, amidst the sacred security and inviolability of the office, was the hazardous tenure of the individual. nor did his dangers always arise from persons in the rank of competitors and rivals. sometimes it menaced him in quarters which his eye had never penetrated, and from enemies too obscure to have reached his ear. by way of illustration we will cite a case from the life of the emperor commodus, which is wild enough to have furnished the plot of a romance, though as well authenticated as any other passage in that reign. the story is narrated by herodian, and the outline was this:--a slave of noble qualities, and of magnificent person, having liberated himself from the degradations of bondage, determined to avenge his own wrongs by inflicting continual terror upon the town and neighborhood which had witnessed his humiliation. for this purpose he resorted to the woody recesses of the province (somewhere in the modern transylvania), and, attracting to his wild encampment as many fugitives as he could, by degrees he succeeded in training a very formidable troop of freebooters. partly from the energy of his own nature, and partly from the neglect and remissness of the provincial magistrates, the robber captain rose from less to more, until he had formed a little army, equal to the task of assaulting fortified cities. in this stage of his adventures he encountered and defeated several of the imperial officers commanding large detachments of troops; and at length grew of consequence sufficient to draw upon himself the emperor's eye, and the honor of his personal displeasure. in high wrath and disdain at the insults offered to his eagles by this fugitive slave, commodus fulminated against him such an edict as left him no hope of much longer escaping with impunity. public vengeance was now awakened; the imperial troops were marching from every quarter upon the same centre; and the slave became sensible that in a very short space of time he must be surrounded and destroyed. in this desperate situation he took a desperate resolution: he assembled his troops, laid before them his plan, concerted the various steps for carrying it into effect, and then dismissed them as independent wanderers. so ends the first chapter of the tale. the next opens in the passes of the alps, whither, by various routes, of seven or eight hundred miles in extent, these men had threaded their way in manifold disguises, through the very midst of the emperor's camps. according to this man's gigantic enterprise, in which the means were as audacious as the purpose, the conspirators were to rendezvous, and first to recognize each other, at the gates of rome. from the danube to the tiber did this band of robbers severally pursue their perilous routes through all the difficulties of the road and the jealousies of the military stations, sustained by the mere thirst of vengeance--vengeance against that mighty foe whom they knew only by his proclamations against themselves. everything continued to prosper; the conspirators met under the walls of rome; the final details were arranged; and those also would have prospered but for a trifling accident. the season was one of general carnival at rome; and, by the help of those disguises which the license of this festival time allowed, the murderers were to have penetrated as maskers to the emperor's retirement, when a casual word or two awoke the suspicions of a sentinel. one of the conspirators was arrested; under the terror and uncertainty of the moment, he made much ampler discoveries than were expected of him; the other accomplices were secured: and commodus was delivered from the uplifted daggers of those who had sought him by months of patient wanderings, pursued through all the depths of the illyrian forests, and the difficulties of the alpine passes. it is not easy to find words of admiration commensurate to the energetic hardihood of a slave--who, by way of answer and reprisal to an edict summarily consigning him to persecution and death, determines to cross europe in quest of its author, though no less a person than the master of the world--to seek him out in the inmost recesses of his capital city, of his private palace, of his consecrated bed-chamber--and there to lodge a dagger in his heart, as the adequate reply to the imperial sentence of proscription against himself. such, amidst the superhuman grandeur and hallowed privileges of the roman emperor's office, were the extraordinary perils which menaced the individual officer. the office rose by its grandeur to a region above the clouds and vapors of earth: the officer might find his personal security as unsubstantial as those wandering vapors. nor is it possible that these circumstances of violent opposition can be better illustrated than in this tale of herodian. whilst the emperor's mighty arms were stretched out to arrest some potentate in the heart of asia, a poor slave is silently and stealthily creeping round the base of the alps, with the purpose of winning his way as a murderer to the imperial bed-chamber; cæsar is watching some potent rebel of the orient, at a distance of two thousand leagues, and he overlooks the dagger which is within three stealthy steps, and one tiger's leap, of his own heart. all the heights and the depths which belong to man's frailty, all the contrasts of glory and meanness, the extremities of what is highest and lowest in human casualties, meeting in the station of the roman cæsar semper augustus--have combined to call him into high marble relief, and to make him the most interesting study of all whom history has emblazoned with colors of fire and blood, or has crowned most lavishly with diadems of cyprus and laurel. xlv. unthoughtfulness. dr. arnold.-- - . _a lecture delivered in rugby chapel._ the state of spiritual folly is, i suppose, one of the most universal evils in the world. for the number of those who are naturally foolish is exceedingly great; of those, i mean, who understand no worldly thing well; of those who are careless about everything, carried about by every breath of opinion, without knowledge, and without principle. but the term spiritual folly includes, unhappily, a great many more than these; it takes in not those only who are in the common sense of the term foolish, but a great many who are in the common sense of the term clever, and many who are even in the common sense of the terms, prudent, sensible, thoughtful, and wise. it is but too evident that some of the ablest men who have ever lived upon earth, have been in no less a degree spiritually fools. and thus, it is not without much truth that christian writers have dwelt upon the insufficiency of worldly wisdom, and have warned their readers to beware, lest, while professing themselves to be wise, they should be accounted as fools in the sight of god. but the opposite to this notion, that those who are, as it were, fools in worldly matters are wise before god,--although this also is true in a certain sense, and under certain peculiar circumstances, yet taken generally, it is the very reverse of truth; and the careless and incautious language which has been often used on this subject, has been extremely mischievous. on the contrary, he who is foolish in worldly matters is likely also to be, and most commonly is, no less foolish in the things of god. and the opposite belief has arisen mainly from that strange confusion between ignorance and innocence, with which many ignorant persons seem to solace themselves. whereas, if you take away a man's knowledge, you do not bring him to the state of an infant, but to that of a brute; and of one of the most mischievous and malignant of the brute creation. for you do not lessen or weaken the man's body by lowering his mind; he still retains his strength and his passions, the passions leading to self-indulgence, the strength which enables him to feed them by continued gratification. he will not think, it is true, to any good purpose; it is very possible to destroy in him the power of reflection, whether as exercised upon outward things, or upon himself and his own nature, or upon god. but you cannot destroy the power of adapting means to ends, nor that of concealing his purposes by fraud or falsehood; you take only his wisdom, and leave that cunning which marks so notoriously both the savage and the madman. he, then, who is a fool as far as regards earthly things, is much more a fool with regard to heavenly things; he who cannot raise himself even to the lower height, how is he to attain to the higher? he who is without reason and conscience, how shall he be endowed with the spirit of god? it is my deep conviction and long experience of this truth, which makes me so grieve over a want of interest in your own improvement in human learning, whenever i observe it,--over the prevalence of a thoughtless and childish spirit amongst you.... the idleness and want of interest which i grieve for, is one which extends itself, but too impartially, to knowledge of every kind: to divine knowledge, as might be expected, even more than to human. those whom we commonly find careless about their general lessons, are quite as ignorant and as careless about their bibles; those who have no interest in general literature, in poetry, or in history, or in philosophy, have certainly no greater interest, i do not say in works of theology, but in works of practical devotion, in the lives of holy men, in meditations, or in prayers. alas, the interest of their minds is bestowed on things far lower than the very lowest of all which i have named; and therefore, to see them desiring something only a little higher than their present pursuits, could not but be encouraging; it would, at least, show that the mind was rising upwards. it may, indeed, stop at a point short of the highest, it may learn to love earthly excellence, and rest there contented, and seek for nothing more perfect; but that, at any rate, is a future and merely contingent evil. it is better to love earthly excellence than earthly folly; it is far better in itself, and it is, by many degrees, nearer to the kingdom of god. there is another case, however, which i cannot but think is more frequent now than formerly; and if it is so, it may be worth while to direct our attention to it. common idleness and absolute ignorance are not what i wish to speak of now, but a character advanced above these; a character which does not neglect its school-lessons, but really attains to considerable proficiency in them; a character at once regular and amiable, abstaining from evil, and for evil in its low and grosser forms having a real abhorrence. what, then, you will say, is wanting here? i will tell you what seems to be wanting--a spirit of manly, and much more of christian, thoughtfulness. there is quickness and cleverness; much pleasure, perhaps, in distinction, but little in improvement; there is no desire of knowledge for its own sake, whether human or divine. there is, therefore, but little power of combining and digesting what is read; and, consequently, what is read passes away, and takes no root in the mind. this same character shows itself in matters of conduct; it will adopt, without scruple, the most foolish, commonplace notions of boys, about what is right and wrong; it will not, and cannot, from the lightness of its mind, concern itself seriously about what is evil in the conduct of others, because it takes no regular care of its own, with reference to pleasing god; it will not do anything low or wicked, but it will sometimes laugh at those who do; and it will by no means take pains to encourage, nay, it will sometimes thwart and oppose anything that breathes a higher spirit, and asserts a more manly and christian standard of duty. one cause of this consists in the number and character and cheapness, and peculiar mode of publication, of the works of amusement of the present day. the works of amusement published only a very few years since were comparatively few in number; they were less exciting, and therefore less attractive; they were dearer, and therefore less accessible; and, not being published periodically, they did not occupy the mind for so long a time, nor keep alive so constant an expectation; nor, by thus dwelling upon the mind, and distilling themselves into it as it were drop by drop, did they possess it so largely, coloring even, in many instances, its very language, and affording frequent matter for conversation. the evil of all these circumstances is actually enormous. the mass of human minds, and much more of the minds of young persons, have no great appetite for intellectual exercise; but they have some, which by careful treatment may be strengthened and increased. but here to this weak and delicate appetite is presented an abundance of the most stimulating and least nourishing food possible. it snatches it greedily, and is not only satisfied, but actually conceives a distaste for anything simpler and more wholesome. that curiosity which is wisely given us to lead us on to knowledge, finds its full gratification in the details of an exciting and protracted story, and then lies down as it were gorged, and goes to sleep. other faculties claim their turn, and have it. we know that in youth the healthy body and lively spirits require exercise, and in this they may and ought to be indulged; but the time and interest which remain over when the body has had its enjoyment, and the mind desires its share, this has been already wasted and exhausted upon things utterly unprofitable: so that the mind goes to its work hurriedly and languidly, and feels it to be no more than a burden. the mere lessons may be learnt from a sense of duty; but that freshness of power which in young persons of ability would fasten eagerly upon some one portion or other of the wide field of knowledge, and there expatiate, drinking in health and strength to the mind, as surely as the natural exercise of the body gives to it bodily vigor,--that is tired prematurely, perverted, and corrupted; and all the knowledge which else it might so covet, it now seems a wearying effort to retain. great and grievous as is the evil, it is peculiarly hard to find the remedy for it. if the books to which i have been alluding were books of downright wickedness, we might destroy them wherever we found them; we might forbid their open circulation; we might conjure you to shun them as you would any other clear sin, whether of word or deed. but they are not wicked books for the most part; they are of that class which cannot be actually prohibited; nor can it be pretended that there is a sin in reading them. they are not the more wicked for being published so cheap, and at regular intervals; but yet these two circumstances make them so peculiarly injurious. all that can be done is to point out the evil; that it is real and serious i am very sure, and its defects are most deplorable on the minds of the fairest promise; but the remedy for it rests with yourselves, or rather with each of you individually, so far as he is himself concerned. that an unnatural and constant excitement of the mind is most injurious, there is no doubt; that excitement involves a consequent weakness, is a law of our nature than which none is surer; that the weakness of mind thus produced is and must be adverse to quiet study and thought, to that reflection which alone is wisdom, is also clear in itself, and proved too largely by experience. and that without reflection there can be no spiritual understanding, is at once evident; while without spiritual understanding, that is, without a knowledge and a study of god's will, there can be no spiritual life. and therefore childishness and unthoughtfulness cannot be light evils; and if i have rightly traced the prevalence of these defects to its cause, although that cause may seem to some to be trifling, yet surely it is well to call your attention to it, and to remind you that in reading works of amusement, as in every other lawful pleasure, there is and must be an abiding responsibility in the sight of god; that, like other lawful pleasures, we must beware of excess in it; and not only so, but if we find it hurtful to us, either because we have used it too freely in times past, or because our nature is too weak to bear it, that then we are bound most solemnly to abstain from it; because, however lawful in itself, or to others who can practise it without injury, whatever is to us an hindrance in the way of our intellectual and moral and spiritual improvement, that is in our case a positive sin. * * * * * _there is a book, who runs may read, which heavenly truth imparts; and all the lore its scholars need,--pure eyes and christian hearts. the works of god, above, below, within us and around, are pages in that book, to show how god himself is found._ john keble.-- - . xlvi. the bridge of sighs. thomas hood.-- - . one more unfortunate, weary of breath, rashly importunate, gone to her death! take her up tenderly, lift her with care; fashion'd so slenderly, young, and so fair! look at her garments clinging like cerements; whilst the wave constantly drips from her clothing; take her up instantly, loving, not loathing.-- touch her not scornfully; think of her mournfully, gently and humanly; not of the stains of her,-- all that remains of her now is pure womanly. make no deep scrutiny into her mutiny rash and undutiful: past all dishonor, death has left on her only the beautiful. still, for all slips of hers, one of eve's family,-- wipe those poor lips of hers oozing so clammily. loop up her tresses escaped from the comb,-- her fair auburn tresses; whilst wonderment guesses where was her home? who was her father? who was her mother? had she a sister? had she a brother? or was there a dearer one still, and a nearer one yet, than all other? alas! for the rarity of christian charity under the sun! oh! it was pitiful! near a whole city full, home she had none. sisterly, brotherly, fatherly, motherly feelings had changed: love, by harsh evidence, thrown from its eminence; even god's providence seeming estranged. where the lamps quiver so far in the river, with many a light from window and casement, from garret to basement, she stood, with amazement, houseless by night. the bleak wind of march made her tremble and shiver; but not the dark arch, or the black flowing river: mad from life's history, glad to death's mystery, swift to be hurl'd-- anywhere, anywhere out of the world! in she plunged boldly,-- no matter how coldly the dark river ran,-- over the brink of it, picture it,--think of it, dissolute man! lave in it, drink of it, then, if you can! take her up tenderly, lift her with care; fashion'd so slenderly, young, and so fair! ere her limbs frigidly stiffen too rigidly, decently,--kindly,-- smooth and compose them; and her eyes, close them, staring so blindly! dreadfully staring through muddy impurity, as when with the daring last look of despairing fix'd on futurity. perishing gloomily, spurr'd by contumely, cold inhumanity, burning insanity, into her rest.-- cross her hands humbly, as if praying dumbly, over her breast! owning her weakness, her evil behavior, and leaving, with meekness, her sins to her saviour! xlvii. a parental ode to my son. aged three years and five months. thomas hood. thou happy, happy elf! (but stop,--first let me kiss away that tear)-- thou tiny image of myself! (my love, he's poking peas into his ear!) thou merry, laughing sprite! with spirits feather-light, untouch'd by sorrow, and unsoil'd by sin-- (good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!) thou little tricksy puck! with antic toys so funnily bestuck, light as the singing bird that wings the air-- (the door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) thou darling of thy sire! (why, jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire!) thou imp of mirth and joy! in love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, thou idol of thy parents--(drat the boy! there goes my ink!) thou cherub--but of earth; fit playfellow for fays, by moonlight pale, in harmless sport and mirth, (that dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) thou human humming-bee extracting honey from ev'ry blossom in the world that blows, singing in youth's elysium ever sunny, (another tumble!--that's his precious nose!) thy father's pride and hope! (he'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) with pure heart newly stamp'd from nature's mint-- (where did he learn that squint?) thou young domestic dove! (he'll have that jug off with another shove!) dear nursling of the hymeneal nest! (are those torn clothes his best?) little epitome of man! (he'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) touch'd with the beauteous tints of dawning life-- (he's got a knife!) thou enviable being! no storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, play on, play on, my elfin john! toss the light ball--bestride the stick-- (i knew so many cakes would make him sick!) with fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, with many a lamb-like frisk, (he's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) thou pretty opening rose! (go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) balmy, and breathing music like the south, (he really brings my heart into my mouth!) fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,-- (i wish that window had an iron bar!) bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,-- (i tell you what, my love, i cannot write, unless he's sent above!) xlviii. metaphysics. thomas chandler haliburton.-- - . _from_ traits of american humor. old doctor sobersides, the minister of pumpkinville, where i lived in my youth, was one of the metaphysical divines of the old school, and could cavil upon the ninth part of a hair about entities and quiddities, nominalism and realism, free-will and necessity, with which sort of learning he used to stuff his sermons and astound his learned hearers, the bumpkins. they never doubted that it was all true, but were apt to say with the old woman in molière: "he speaks so well that i don't understand him a bit." i remember a conversation that happened at my grandfather's, in which the doctor had some difficulty in making his metaphysics all "as clear as preaching." there was my grandfather; uncle tim, who was the greatest hand at raising onions in our part of the country, but "not knowing metaphysics, had no notion of the true reason of his not being sad"; my aunt judy keturah titterwell, who could knit stockings "like all possest," but could not syllogise; malachi muggs, our hired man that drove the oxen; and isaac thrasher, the district schoolmaster, who had dropped in to warm his fingers and get a drink of cider. something was under discussion, and my grandfather could make nothing of it; but the doctor said it was "metaphysically true." "pray, doctor," said uncle tim, "tell me something about metaphysics; i have often heard of that science, but never for my life could find out what it was." "metaphysics," said the doctor, "is the science of abstraction." "i'm no wiser for that explanation," said uncle tim. "it treats," said the doctor, "of matters most profound and sublime, a little difficult perhaps for a common intellect or an unschooled capacity to fathom, but not the less important on that account, to all living beings." "what does it teach?" asked the schoolmaster. "it is not applied so much to the operation of teaching," answered the doctor, "as to that of inquiring; and the chief inquiry is, whether things are, or whether they are not." "i don't understand the question," said uncle tim, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "for example, whether this earth on which we tread," said the doctor, giving a heavy stamp on the floor, and setting his foot on the cat's tail, "whether the earth does really exist, or whether it does not exist." "that is a point of considerable consequence to settle," said my grandfather. "especially," added the schoolmaster, "to the holders of real estate." "now the earth," continued the doctor, "may exist--" "why, who ever doubted that?" asked uncle tim. "a great many men," said the doctor, "and some very learned ones." uncle tim stared a moment, and then began to fill his pipe, whistling the tune of "heigh! betty martin," while the doctor went on: "the earth, i say, may exist, although bishop berkeley has proved beyond all possible gainsaying or denial, that it does not exist. the case is clear; the only difficulty is, to know whether we shall believe it or not." "and how," asked uncle tim, "is all this to be found out?" "by digging down to the first principles," answered the doctor. "ay," interrupted malachi, "there is nothing equal to the spade and pickaxe." "that is true," said my grandfather, going on in malachi's way, "'tis by digging for the foundation, that we shall find out whether the world exists or not; for, if we dig to the bottom of the earth and find the foundation--why then we are sure of it. but if we find no foundation, it is clear that the world stands upon nothing, or, in other words, that it does not stand at all; therefore, it stands to reason--" "i beg your pardon," interrupted the doctor, "but you totally mistake me; i used the word digging metaphorically, meaning the profoundest cogitation and research into the nature of things. that is the way in which we may ascertain whether things are, or whether they are not." "but if a man can't believe his eyes," said uncle tim, "what signifies talking about it?" "our eyes," said the doctor, "are nothing at all but the inlets of sensation, and when we see a thing, all we are aware of is, that we have a sensation of it: we are not aware that the thing exists. we are sure of nothing that we see with our eyes." "not without spectacles," said aunt judy. "plato, for instance, maintains that the sensation of any object is produced by a perpetual succession of copies, images, or counterfeits, streaming off from the object to the organ of sensation. descartes, too, has explained the matter upon the principle of whirligigs." "but does the world exist?" asked the schoolmaster. "a good deal may be said on both sides," replied the doctor, "though the ablest heads are for non-existence." "in common cases," said uncle tim, "those who utter nonsense are considered blockheads." "but in metaphysics," said the doctor, "the case is different." "now all this is hocus-pocus to me," said aunt judy, suspending her knitting-work, and scratching her forehead with one of the needles, "i don't understand a bit more of the business than i did at first." "i'll be bound there is many a learned professor," said uncle tim, "could say the same after spinning a long yarn of metaphysics." the doctor did not admire this gibe at his favorite science. "that is as the case may be," said he; "this thing or that thing may be dubious, but what then? doubt is the beginning of wisdom." "no doubt of that," said my grandfather, beginning to poke the fire, "and when a man has got through his doubting, what does he begin to build up in the metaphysical way?" "why, he begins by taking something for granted," said the doctor. "but is that a sure way of going to work?" "'tis the only thing he can do," replied the doctor, after a pause, and rubbing his forehead as if he was not altogether satisfied that his foundation was a solid one. my grandfather might have posed him with another question, but he poked the fire and let him go on. "metaphysics, to speak exactly----" "ah," interrupted the schoolmaster, "bring it down to vulgar fractions, and then we shall understand it." "'tis the consideration of immateriality, or the mere spirit and essence of things." "come, come," said aunt judy, taking a pinch of snuff, "now i see into it." "thus, man is considered, not in his corporeality, but in his essence or capability of being; for a man, metaphysically, or to metaphysical purposes, hath two natures, that of spirituality, and that of corporeality, which may be considered separate." "what man?" asked uncle tim. "why, any man; malachi there, for example; i may consider him as malachi spiritual, or malachi corporeal." "that is true," said malachi, "for when i was in the militia they made me a sixteenth corporal, and i carried grog to the drummer." "that is another affair," said the doctor in continuation; "we speak of man in his essence; we speak, also, of the essence of locality, the essence of duration--" "and essence of peppermint," said aunt judy. "pooh!" said the doctor, "the essence i mean is quite a different essence." "something too fine to be dribbled through the worm of a still," said my grandfather. "then i am all in the dark again," rejoined aunt judy. "by the spirit and essence of things i mean things in the abstract." "and what becomes of a thing when it goes into the abstract?" asked uncle tim. "why, it becomes an abstraction." "there we are again," said uncle tim; "but what on earth is an abstraction?" "it is a thing that has no matter: that is, it cannot be felt, seen, heard, smelt, or tasted; it has no substance or solidity; it is neither large nor small, hot nor cold, long nor short." "then what is the long and short of it?" asked the schoolmaster. "abstraction," replied the doctor. "suppose, for instance," said malachi, "that i had a pitchfork----" "ay," said the doctor, "consider a pitchfork in general; that is, neither this one nor that one, nor any particular one, but a pitchfork or pitchforks divested of their materiality--these are things in the abstract." "they are things in the hay-mow," said malachi. "pray," said uncle tim, "have there been many such things discovered?" "discovered!" returned the doctor, "why, all things, whether in heaven, or upon the earth, or in the waters under the earth, whether small or great, visible or invisible, animate or inanimate; whether the eye can see, or the ear can hear, or the nose can smell, or the fingers touch; finally, whatever exists or is imaginable in the nature of things, past, present, or to come, all may be abstractions." "indeed!" said uncle tim, "pray, what do you make of the abstraction of a red cow?" "a red cow," said the doctor, "considered metaphysically or as an abstraction, is an animal possessing neither hide nor horns, bones nor flesh, but is the mere type, eidolon, and fantastical semblance of these parts of a quadruped. it has a shape without any substance, and no color at all, for its redness is the mere counterfeit or imagination of such. as it lacks the positive, so is it also deficient in the accidental properties of all the animals in its tribe, for it has no locomotion, stability, or endurance, neither goes to pasture, gives milk, chews the cud, nor performs any other function of the horned beast, but is a mere creation of the brain, begotten by a freak of the fancy and nourished by a conceit of the imagination." "pshaw!" exclaimed aunt judy. "all the metaphysics under the sun wouldn't make a pound of butter!" "that's a fact," said uncle tim. * * * * * _there is no great and no small to the soul that maketh all: and where it cometh, all things are:-- and it cometh everywhere._ emerson. xlix. indian summer.[j] samuel lover.-- - . when summer's verdant beauty flies, and autumn glows with richer dyes, a softer charm beyond them lies-- it is the indian summer. ere winter's snows and winter's breeze bereave of beauty all the trees, the balmy spring renewal sees in the sweet indian summer. and thus, dear love, if early years have drown'd the germ of joy in tears, a later gleam of hope appears-- just like the indian summer: and ere the snows of age descend, o trust me, dear one, changeless friend, our falling years may brightly end-- just like the indian summer. footnotes: [j] the brief period which succeeds the autumnal close, called the "indian summer,"--a reflex, as it were, of the early portion of the year--strikes a stranger in america as peculiarly beautiful, and quite charmed me.--lover. l. to helen.[k] july , . winthrop mackworth praed.-- - . dearest, i did not dream, four years ago, when through your veil i saw your bright tear shine, caught your clear whisper, exquisitely low, and felt your soft hand tremble into mine, that in so brief--so very brief a space, he, who in love both clouds and cheers our life, would lay on you, so full of light, joy, grace, the darker, sadder duties of the wife,-- doubts, fears, and frequent toil, and constant care for this poor frame, by sickness sore bested; the daily tendance on the fractious chair, the nightly vigil by the feverish bed. yet not unwelcom'd doth this morn arise, though with more gladsome beams it might have shone: strength of these weak hands, light of these dim eyes, in sickness, as in health,--bless you, my own! footnotes: [k] praed died on the th of july. li. horatius.[l] a lay made about the year of the city ccclx. lord macaulay.-- - . lars porsena of clusium by the nine gods he swore that the great house of tarquin should suffer wrong no more. by the nine gods he swore it, and named a trysting day, and bade his messengers ride forth, east and west and south and north, to summon his array. east and west and south and north the messengers ride fast, and tower and town and cottage have heard the trumpet's blast. shame on the false etruscan who lingers in his home, when porsena of clusium is on the march for rome. the horsemen and the footmen are pouring in amain from many a stately market-place; from many a fruitful plain; from many a lonely hamlet, which, hid by beech and pine, like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest of purple apennine; from lordly volaterræ, where scowls the far-famed hold piled by the hands of giants for godlike kings of old; from seagirt populonia, whose sentinels descry sardinia's snowy mountain-tops fringing the southern sky; from the proud mart of pisæ, queen of the western waves, where ride massilia's triremes heavy with fair-hair'd slaves; from where sweet clanis wanders through corn and vines and flowers; from where cortona lifts to heaven her diadem of towers. tall are the oaks whose acorns drop in dark auser's rill; fat are the stags that champ the boughs of the ciminian hill; beyond all streams clitumnus is to the herdsman dear; best of all pools the fowler loves the great volsinian mere. but now no stroke of woodman is heard by auser's rill; no hunter tracks the stag's green path up the ciminian hill; unwatch'd along clitumnus grazes the milk-white steer; unharm'd the waterfowl may dip in the volsinian mere. the harvests of arretium, this year, old men shall reap; this year, young boys in umbro shall plunge the struggling sheep; and in the vats of luna, this year, the must shall foam round the white feet of laughing girls whose sires have march'd to rome. there be thirty chosen prophets, the wisest of the land, who alway by lars porsena both morn and evening stand: evening and morn the thirty have turn'd the verses o'er, traced from the right on linen white by mighty seers of yore. and with one voice the thirty have their glad answer given: "go forth, go forth, lars porsena; go forth, belov'd of heaven. go, and return in glory to clusium's royal dome; and hang round nurscia's altars the golden shields of rome." and now hath every city sent up her tale of men: the foot are fourscore thousand, the horse are thousands ten. before the gates of sutrium is met the great array. a proud man was lars porsena upon the trysting day. for all the etruscan armies were ranged beneath his eye, and many a banish'd roman, and many a stout ally; and with a mighty following to join the muster came the tusculan mamilius, prince of the latian name. but by the yellow tiber was tumult and affright: from all the spacious champaign to rome men took their flight. a mile around the city, the throng stopp'd up the ways; a fearful sight it was to see through two long nights and days. for aged folks on crutches, and women great with child, and mothers sobbing over babes that clung to them and smiled, and sick men borne in litters high on the necks of slaves, and troops of sun-burn'd husbandmen with reaping-hooks and staves, and droves of mules and asses laden with skins of wine, and endless flocks of goats and sheep, and endless herds of kine, and endless trains of wagons that creak'd beneath the weight of corn-sacks and of household goods, choked every roaring gate. now, from the rock tarpeian, could the wan burghers spy the line of blazing villages red in the midnight sky. the fathers of the city, they sat all night and day, for every hour some horseman came with tidings of dismay. to eastward and to westward have spread the tuscan bands; nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote in crustumerium stands. verbenna down to ostia hath wasted all the plain; astur hath storm'd janiculum, and the stout guards are slain. i wis, in all the senate, there was no heart so bold, but sore it ached, and fast it beat, when that ill news was told. forthwith up rose the consul, up rose the fathers all; in haste they girded up their gowns, and hied them to the wall. they held a council standing, before the river-gate; short time was there, ye well may guess, for musing or debate. out spake the consul roundly: "the bridge must straight go down; for, since janiculum is lost, nought else can save the town." just then a scout came flying, all wild with haste and fear: "to arms! to arms! sir consul: lars porsena is here." on the low hills to westward the consul fix'd his eye, and saw the swarthy storm of dust rise fast along the sky. and nearer fast and nearer doth the red whirlwind come; and louder still and still more loud, from underneath that rolling cloud, is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, the trampling, and the hum. and plainly and more plainly now through the gloom appears, far to left and far to right, in broken gleams of dark-blue light, the long array of helmets bright, the long array of spears. and plainly and more plainly above that glimmering line, now might ye see the banners of twelve fair cities shine; but the banner of proud clusium was highest of them all, the terror of the umbrian, the terror of the gaul. and plainly and more plainly now might the burghers know, by port and vest, by horse and crest, each warlike lucumo. there cilnius of arretium on his fleet roan was seen; and astur of the four-fold shield, girt with the brand none else may wield, tolumnius with the belt of gold, and dark verbenna from the hold by reedy thrasymene. fast by the royal standard, o'erlooking all the war, lars porsena of clusium sat in his ivory car. by the right wheel rode mamilius, prince of the latian name; and by the left false sextus, that wrought the deed of shame. but when the face of sextus was seen among the foes, a yell that rent the firmament from all the town arose. on the house-tops was no woman but spat towards him and hiss'd, no child but scream'd out curses, and shook its little fist. but the consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low, and darkly look'd he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. "their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down; and if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?" then out spake brave horatius, the captain of the gate: "to every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late. and how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods, and for the tender mother who dandled him to rest, and for the wife who nurses his baby at her breast, and for the holy maidens who feed the eternal flame, to save them from false sextus that wrought the deed of shame? hew down the bridge, sir consul, with all the speed ye may; i, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. in yon strait path a thousand may well be stopp'd by three. now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?" then out spake spurius lartius; a ramnian proud was he: "lo, i will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee." and out spake strong herminius; of titian blood was he: "i will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." "horatius," quoth the consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be." and straight against that great array forth went the dauntless three. for romans in rome's quarrel spared neither land nor gold, nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, in the brave days of old. then none was for a party; then all were for the state; then the great man help'd the poor, and the poor man lov'd the great: then lands were fairly portion'd; then spoils were fairly sold: the romans were like brothers in the brave days of old. now roman is to roman more hateful than a foe, and the tribunes beard the high, and the fathers grind the low. as we wax hot in faction, in battle we wax cold: wherefore men fight not as they fought in the brave days of old. now while the three were tightening their harness on their backs, the consul was the foremost man to take in hand an axe: and fathers mix'd with commons seized hatchet, bar, and crow, and smote upon the planks above, and loosed the props below. meanwhile the tuscan army, right glorious to behold, came flashing back the noonday light, rank behind rank, like surges bright of a broad sea of gold. four hundred trumpets sounded a peal of warlike glee, as that great host, with measured tread, and spears advanced, and ensigns spread, roll'd slowly towards the bridge's head, where stood the dauntless three. the three stood calm and silent, and look'd upon the foes, and a great shout of laughter from all the vanguard rose: and forth three chiefs came spurring before that deep array; to earth they sprang, their swords they drew, and lifted high their shields, and flew to win the narrow way; aunus from green tifernum, lord of the hill of vines; and seius, whose eight hundred slaves sicken in ilva's mines; and picus, long to clusium vassal in peace and war, who led to fight his umbrian powers from that gray crag where, girt with towers, the fortress of nequinum lowers o'er the pale waves of nar. stout lartius hurled down aunus into the stream beneath: herminius struck at seius, and clove him to the teeth: at picus brave horatius darted one fiery thrust; and the proud umbrian's gilded arms clash'd in the bloody dust. then ocnus of falerii rush'd on the roman three; and lausulus of urgo, the rover of the sea; and aruns of volsinium, who slew the great wild boar, the great wild boar that had his den amidst the reeds of cosa's fen, and wasted fields, and slaughter'd men, along albinia's shore. herminius smote down aruns: lartius laid ocnus low: right to the heart of lausulus horatius sent a blow. "lie there," he cried, "fell pirate! no more, aghast and pale, from ostia's walls the crowd shall mark the track of thy destroying bark. no more campania's hinds shall fly to woods and caverns when they spy. thy thrice accursèd sail." but now no sound of laughter was heard among the foes. a wild and wrathful clamor from all the vanguard rose. six spears' lengths from the entrance halted that deep array, and for a space no man came forth to win the narrow way. but hark! the cry is astur: and lo! the ranks divide; and the great lord of luna comes with his stately stride. upon his ample shoulders clangs loud the four-fold shield, and in his hand he shakes the brand which none but he can wield. he smiled on those bold romans a smile serene and high; he eyed the flinching tuscans, and scorn was in his eye. quoth he, "the she-wolf's litter stand savagely at bay: but will ye dare to follow, if astur clears the way?" then, whirling up his broadsword with both hands to the height, he rush'd against horatius, and smote with all his might. with shield and blade horatius right deftly turn'd the blow. the blow, though turn'd, came yet too nigh; it miss'd his helm, but gash'd his thigh: the tuscans raised a joyful cry to see the red blood flow. he reel'd, and on herminius he lean'd one breathing-space; then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, sprang right at astur's face. through teeth, and skull, and helmet, so fierce a thrust he sped, the good sword stood a hand-breadth out behind the tuscan's head. and the great lord of luna fell at that deadly stroke, as falls on mount alvernus a thunder-smitten oak. far o'er the crashing forest the giant arms lie spread; and the pale augurs, muttering low, gaze on the blasted head. on astur's throat horatius right firmly press'd his heel, and thrice and four times tugg'd amain, ere he wrench'd out the steel. "and see," he cried, "the welcome, fair guests, that waits you here! what noble lucumo comes next to taste our roman cheer?" but at his haughty challenge a sullen murmur ran, mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, along that glittering van. there lack'd not men of prowess, nor men of lordly race; for all etruria's noblest were round the fatal place. but all etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see on the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless three: and, from the ghastly entrance where those bold romans stood, all shrank, like boys who unaware, ranging the woods to start a hare, come to the mouth of the dark lair where, growling low, a fierce old bear lies amidst bones and blood. was none who would be foremost to lead such dire attack: but those behind cried "forward!" and those before cried "back!" and backward now and forward wavers the deep array; and on the tossing sea of steel, to and fro the standards reel; and the victorious trumpet-peal dies fitfully away. yet one man for one moment stood out before the crowd; well known was he to all the three, and they gave him greeting loud. "now welcome, welcome, sextus! now welcome to thy home! why dost thou stay, and turn away? here lies the road to rome." thrice look'd he at the city; thrice look'd he at the dead; and thrice came on in fury, and thrice turn'd back in dread; and, white with fear and hatred, scowl'd at the narrow way where, wallowing in a pool of blood, the bravest tuscans lay. but meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied; and now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. "come back, come back, horatius!" loud cried the fathers all. "back, lartius! back, herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!" back darted spurius lartius; herminius darted back: and, as they pass'd, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack. but when they turn'd their faces, and on the farther shore saw brave horatius stand alone, they would have cross'd once more. but with a crash like thunder fell every loosen'd beam, and, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream: and a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of rome, as to the highest turret-tops was splash'd the yellow foam. and, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein, the furious river struggled hard, and toss'd his tawny mane, and burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, and whirling down, in fierce career, battlement, and plank, and pier, rush'd headlong to the sea. alone stood brave horatius, but constant still in mind; thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. "down with him!" cried false sextus, with a smile on his pale face. "now yield thee," cried lars porsena, "now yield thee to our grace." round turn'd he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; nought spake he to lars porsena, to sextus nought spake he; but he saw on palatinus the white porch of his home; and he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of rome. "o tiber! father tiber! to whom the romans pray, a roman's life, a roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" so he spake, and speaking sheathed the good sword by his side, and with his harness on his back plunged headlong in the tide. no sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; but friends and foes in dumb surprise, with parted lips and straining eyes, stood gazing where he sank; and when above the surges they saw his crest appear, all rome sent forth a rapturous cry, and even the ranks of tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. but fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain: and fast his blood was flowing, and he was sore in pain, and heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows: and oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose. never, i ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place: but his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, and our good father tiber bare bravely up his chin. "curse on him!" quoth false sextus; "will not the villain drown? but for this stay, ere close of day we should have sack'd the town!" "heaven help him!" quoth lars porsena, "and bring him safe to shore; for such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." and now he feels the bottom; now on dry earth he stands; now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands; and now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, he enters through the river-gate, borne by the joyous crowd. they gave him of the corn-land, that was of public right, as much as two strong oxen could plough from morn till night; and they made a molten image, and set it up on high, and there it stands unto this day to witness if i lie. it stands in the comitium, plain for all folk to see; horatius in his harness, halting upon one knee: and underneath is written, in letters all of gold, how valiantly he kept the bridge in the brave days of old. and still his name sounds stirring unto the men of rome, as the trumpet-blast that cries to them to charge the volscian home; and wives still pray to juno for boys with hearts as bold as his who kept the bridge so well in the brave days of old. and in the nights of winter, when the cold north-winds blow, and the long howling of the wolves is heard amidst the snow; when round the lonely cottage roars loud the tempest's din, and the good logs of algidus roar louder yet within; when the oldest cask is open'd, and the largest lamp is lit; when the chestnuts glow in the embers, and the kid turns on the spit; when young and old in circle around the firebrands close; when the girls are weaving baskets, and the lads are shaping bows; when the goodman mends his armor, and trims his helmet's plume; when the goodwife's shuttle merrily goes flashing through the loom; with weeping and with laughter still is the story told, how well horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old. footnotes: [l] for the sake of space a change has been made from the usual form of the poem. lii. the raven. edgar allan poe.-- - . once upon a midnight dreary, while i ponder'd, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,-- while i nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. "'tis some visitor," i mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber-door,-- only this, and nothing more." ah! distinctly i remember, it was in the bleak december, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. eagerly i wish'd the morrow: vainly i had sought to borrow from my books surcease of sorrow,--sorrow for the lost lenore; for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name lenore, nameless here forevermore. and the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrill'd me--fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before; so that now, to still the beating of my heart, i stood repeating, "'tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door,-- some late visitor, entreating entrance at my chamber-door; this it is, and nothing more." presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, "sir," said i, "or madam, truly your forgiveness i implore; but the fact is, i was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, that i scarce was sure i heard you";--here i open'd wide the door;-- darkness there, and nothing more. deep into that darkness peering, long i stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word "lenore?" this i whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word "lenore!" merely this, and nothing more. back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, soon again i heard a tapping, something louder than before. "surely," said i, "surely that is something at my window-lattice; let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore,-- let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore:-- 'tis the wind, and nothing more." open here i flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, in there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopp'd or stay'd he, but, with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber-door; perch'd upon a bust of pallas just above my chamber-door;-- perch'd, and sat, and nothing more. then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," i said, "art sure no craven, ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore;-- tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore." quoth the raven, "nevermore." much i marvell'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore; for we can not help agreeing that no living human being ever yet was bless'd with seeing bird above his chamber-door,-- bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door, with such name as "nevermore." but the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. nothing further then he utter'd, not a feather then he flutter'd, till i scarcely more than mutter'd, "other friends have flown before: on the morrow _he_ will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." then the bird said, "nevermore." startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "doubtless," said i, "what it utters is its only stock and store, caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster follow'd fast, and follow'd faster, till his songs one burden bore,-- till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, of--'never--nevermore.'" but the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, straight i wheel'd a cushion'd seat in front of bird, and bust, and door; then, upon the velvet sinking, i betook myself to linking fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-- what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore-- meant in croaking "nevermore." this i sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing to the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burn'd into my bosom's core: this and more i sat divining, with my head at ease reclining on the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er; but whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'er, _she_ shall press--ah! nevermore. then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer swung by seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "wretch," i cried, "thy god hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee-- respite, respite and nepenthe from thy memories of lenore! quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost lenore!" quoth the raven, "nevermore." "prophet!" said i, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil! whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore, desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted, on this home by horror haunted,--tell me truly, i implore, is there--_is_ there balm in gilead? tell me--tell me, i implore!" quoth the raven, "nevermore." "prophet!" said i, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil! by that heaven that bends above us, by that god we both adore, tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant aidenn, it shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name lenore,-- clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name lenore." quoth the raven, "nevermore." "be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" i shriek'd, upstarting,-- "get thee back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore! leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" quoth the raven, "nevermore." and the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on the pallid bust of pallas, just above my chamber-door; and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted--nevermore! liii. david swan--a fantasy. nathaniel hawthorne.-- - . _from_ "twice-told tales." we can be but partially acquainted even with the events which actually influence our course through life, and our final destiny. there are innumerable other events, if such they may be called, which come close upon us, yet pass away without actual results, or even betraying their near approach by the reflection of any light or shadow across our minds. could we know all the vicissitudes of our fortunes, life would be too full of hope and fear, exultation or disappointment, to afford us a single hour of true serenity. this idea may be illustrated by a page from the secret history of david swan. we have nothing to do with david until we find him, at the age of twenty, on the high road from his native place to the city of boston, where his uncle, a small dealer in the grocery line, was to take him behind the counter. be it enough to say, that he was a native of new hampshire, born of respectable parents, and had received an ordinary school education, with a classic finish by a year at gilmanton academy. after journeying on foot from sunrise till nearly noon of a summer's day, his weariness and the increasing heat determined him to sit down in the first convenient shade, and await the coming up of the stage-coach. as if planted on purpose for him, there soon appeared a little tuft of maples, with a delightful recess in the midst, and such a fresh bubbling spring, that it seemed never to have sparkled for any wayfarer but david swan. virgin or not, he kissed it with his thirsty lips, and then flung himself along the brink, pillowing his head upon some shirts and a pair of pantaloons, tied up in a striped cotton handkerchief. the sunbeams could not reach him; the dust did not yet rise from the road, after the heavy rain of yesterday; and his grassy lair suited the young man better than a bed of down. the spring murmured drowsily beside him; the branches waved dreamily across the blue sky overhead; and a deep sleep, perchance hiding dreams within its depths, fell upon david swan. but we are to relate events which he did not dream of. while he lay sound asleep in the shade, other people were wide-awake, and passed to an fro, afoot, on horseback, and in all sorts of vehicles, along the sunny road by his bed-chamber. some looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, and knew not that he was there; some merely glanced that way, without admitting the slumberer among their busy thoughts; some laughed to see how soundly he slept; and several, whose hearts were brimming full of scorn, ejected their venomous superfluity upon david swan. a middle-aged widow, when nobody else was near, thrust her head a little way into the recess, and vowed that the young fellow looked charming in his sleep. a temperance lecturer saw him, and wrought poor david into the texture of his evening's discourse, as an awful instance of dead-drunkenness by the road-side. but censure, praise, merriment, scorn, and indifference, were all one, or rather all nothing, to david swan. he had slept only a few moments when a brown carriage, drawn by a handsome pair of horses, bowled easily along, and was brought to a stand-still nearly in front of david's resting-place. a linch-pin had fallen out, and permitted one of the wheels to slide off. the damage was slight, and occasioned merely a momentary alarm to an elderly merchant and his wife, who were returning to boston in the carriage. while the coachman and a servant were replacing the wheel, the lady and gentleman sheltered themselves beneath the maple-trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain, and david swan asleep beside it. impressed with the awe which the humblest sleeper usually sheds around him, the merchant trod as lightly as the gout would allow; and his spouse took good heed not to rustle her silk gown, lest david should start up, all of a sudden. "how soundly he sleeps!" whispered the old gentleman. "from what a depth he draws that easy breath! such sleep as that, brought on without an opiate, would be worth more to me than half my income, for it would suppose health and an untroubled mind." "and youth besides," said the lady. "healthy and quiet age does not sleep thus. our slumber is no more like his than our wakefulness." the longer they looked, the more did this elderly couple feel interested in the unknown youth, to whom the wayside and the maple shade were as a secret chamber, with the rich gloom of damask curtains brooding over him. perceiving that a stray sunbeam glimmered down upon his face, the lady contrived to twist a branch aside, so as to intercept it. and having done this little act of kindness, she began to feel like a mother to him. "providence seems to have laid him here," whispered she to her husband, "and to have brought us hither to find him, after our disappointment in our cousin's son. methinks i can see a likeness to our departed henry. shall we waken him?" "to what purpose?" said the merchant, hesitating. "we know nothing of the youth's character." "that open countenance!" replied his wife, in the same hushed voice, yet earnestly. "this innocent sleep!" while these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart did not throb, nor his breath become agitated, nor his features betray the least token of interest. yet fortune was bending over him, just ready to let fall a burthen of gold. the old merchant had lost his only son, and had no heir to his wealth, except a distant relative, with whose conduct he was dissatisfied. in such cases, people sometimes do stranger things than to act the magician, and awaken a young man to splendor, who fell asleep in poverty. "shall we not waken him?" repeated the lady, persuasively. "the coach is ready, sir," said the servant, behind. the old couple started, reddened, and hurried away, mutually wondering that they should ever have dreamed of doing anything so very ridiculous. the merchant threw himself back in the carriage, and occupied his mind with the plan of a magnificent asylum for unfortunate men of business. meanwhile, david swan enjoyed his nap. the carriage could not have gone above a mile or two, when a pretty young girl came along with a tripping pace, which showed precisely how her little heart was dancing in her bosom. perhaps it was this merry kind of motion that caused--is there any harm in saying it?--her garter to slip its knot. conscious that the silken girth, if silk it were, was relaxing its hold, she turned aside into the shelter of the maple-trees, and there found a young man asleep by the spring! blushing as red as any rose, that she should have intruded into a gentleman's bed-chamber, and for such a purpose, too, she was about to make her escape on tiptoe. but there was peril near the sleeper. a monster of a bee had been wandering overhead--buzz, buzz, buzz--now among the leaves, now flashing through the strips of sunshine, and now lost in the dark shade, till finally he appeared to be settling on the eyelid of david swan. the sting of a bee is sometimes deadly. as free-hearted as she was innocent, the girl attacked the intruder with her handkerchief, brushed him soundly, and drove him from the maple shade. how sweet a picture! this good deed accomplished, with quickened breath, and a deeper blush, she stole a glance at the youthful stranger, for whom she had been battling with a dragon in the air. "he is handsome!" thought she, and blushed redder yet. how could it be that no dream of bliss grew so strong within him, that, shattered by its very strength, it should part asunder, and allow him to perceive the girl among its phantoms? why, at least, did no smile of welcome brighten upon his face? she was come, the maid whose soul, according to the old and beautiful idea, had been severed from his own, and whom, in all his vague but passionate desires, he yearned to meet. her only could he love with a perfect love--him only could she receive into the depths of her heart--and now her image was faintly blushing in the fountain by his side; should it pass away, its happy lustre would never gleam upon his life again. "how sound he sleeps!" murmured the girl. she departed, but did not trip along the road so lightly as when she came. now, this girl's father was a thriving country merchant in the neighborhood, and happened, at that identical time, to be looking out for just such a young man as david swan. had david formed a wayside acquaintance with the daughter, he would have become the father's clerk, and all else in natural succession. so here, again, had good fortune--the best of fortunes--stolen so near, that her garments brushed against him; and he knew nothing of the matter. the girl was hardly out of sight, when two men turned aside beneath the maple shade. both had dark faces, set off by cloth caps, which were drawn down aslant over their brows. their dresses were shabby, yet had a certain smartness. these were a couple of rascals, who got their living by whatever the devil sent them, and now, in the interim of other business, had staked the joint profits of their next piece of villainy on a game of cards, which was to have been decided here under the trees. but, finding david asleep by the spring, one of the rogues whispered to his fellow-- "hist!--do you see that bundle under his head?" the other villain nodded, winked, and leered. "i'll bet you a horn of brandy," said the first, "that the chap has either a pocket-book or a snug little hoard of small change, stowed away amongst his shirts. and if not there, we shall find it in his pantaloons' pocket." "but how if he wakes?" said the other. his companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to the handle of a dirk, and nodded. "so be it!" muttered the second villain. they approached the unconscious david, and, while one pointed the dagger towards his heart, the other began to search the bundle beneath his head. their two faces, grim, wrinkled, and ghastly with guilt and fear, bent over their victim, looking horribly enough to be mistaken for fiends, should he suddenly awake. nay, had the villains glanced aside into the spring, even they would hardly have known themselves, as reflected there. but david swan had never worn a more tranquil aspect, even when asleep on his mother's breast. "i must take away the bundle," whispered one. "if he stirs, i'll strike," muttered the other. but, at this moment, a dog, scenting along the ground, came in beneath the maple-trees, and gazed alternately at each of these wicked men, and then at the quiet sleeper. he then lapped out of the fountain. "pshaw!" said one villain. "we can do nothing now. the dog's master must be close behind." "let's take a drink, and be off," said the other. the man with the dagger thrust back the weapon into his bosom, and drew forth a pocket-pistol, but not of that kind which kills by a single discharge. it was a flask of liquor, with a block-tin tumbler screwed upon the mouth. each drank a comfortable dram, and left the spot, with so many jests, and such laughter at their unaccomplished wickedness, that they might be said to have gone on their way rejoicing. in a few hours they had forgotten the whole affair, nor once imagined that the recording angel had written down the crime of murder against their souls, in letters as durable as eternity. as for david swan, he still slept quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of death when it hung over him, nor of the glow of renewed life when that shadow was withdrawn. he slept, but no longer so quietly as at first. an hour's repose had snatched from his elastic frame the weariness with which many hours of toil had burthened it. now he stirred--now moved his lips, without a sound--now talked in an inward tone to the noonday spectres of his dream. but a noise of wheels came rattling louder and louder along the road, until it dashed through the dispersing mist of david's slumber--and there was the stage-coach. he started up, with all his ideas about him. "hallo, driver! take a passenger?" shouted he. "room on top!" answered the driver. up mounted david, and bowled away merrily towards boston, without so much as a parting glance at that fountain of dreamlike vicissitude. he knew not that a phantom of wealth had thrown a golden hue upon its waters, nor that one of love had sighed softly to their murmur, nor that one of death had threatened to crimson them with his blood--all, in the brief hour since he lay down to sleep. sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of the strange things that almost happen. does it not argue a superintending providence, that, while viewless and unexpected events thrust themselves continually athwart our path, there should still be regularity enough in mortal life, to render foresight even partially available? liv. my kate. elizabeth barrett browning.-- - . she was not as pretty as women i know, and yet all your best made of sunshine and snow drop to shade, melt to nought in the long-trodden ways, while she's still remember'd on warm and cold days-- my kate. her air had a meaning, her movements a grace; you turn'd from the fairest to gaze on her face: and when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, you saw as distinctly her soul and her truth-- my kate. such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, you look'd at her silence and fancied she spoke: when she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone, though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone-- my kate. i doubt if she said to you much that could act as a thought or suggestion: she did not attract in the sense of the brilliant or wise: i infer 'twas her thinking of others, made you think of her-- my kate. she never found fault with you, never implied your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole town the children were gladder that pull'd at her gown-- my kate. none knelt at her feet confess'd lovers in thrall; they knelt more to god than they used,--that was all; if you praised her as charming, some ask'd what you meant, but the charm of her presence was felt when she went-- my kate. the weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude, she took as she found them, and did them all good: it always was so with her: see what you have! she has made the grass greener even here ... with her grave-- my kate. my dear one!--when thou wast alive with the rest, i held thee the sweetest and lov'd thee the best: and now thou art dead, shall i not take thy part as thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet heart-- my kate? lv. a dead rose. mrs. browning. o rose, who dares to name thee? no longer roseate now, nor soft nor sweet, but pale and hard and dry as stubble wheat,-- kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee. the breeze that used to blow thee between the hedgerow thorns, and take away an odor up the lane to last all day,-- if breathing now, unsweeten'd would forego thee. the sun that used to smite thee, and mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn till beam appear'd to bloom, and flower to burn,-- if shining now, with not a hue would light thee. the dew that used to wet thee, and, white first, grow incarnadined because it lay upon thee where the crimson was,-- if dropping now, would darken where it met thee. the fly that 'lit upon thee to stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet along thy leafs pure edges after heat,-- if 'lighting now, would coldly overrun thee. the bee that once did suck thee, and build thy perfumed ambers up his hive, and swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,-- if passing now, would blindly overlook thee. the heart doth recognize thee, alone, alone! the heart doth smell thee sweet, doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, perceiving all those changes that disguise thee. yes, and the heart doth owe thee more love, dead rose, than to any roses bold which julia wears at dances, smiling cold:-- lie still upon this heart which breaks below thee! lvi. to the evening wind. william cullen bryant.-- - . spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou that cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; thou hast been out upon the deep at play, riding all day the wild blue waves till now, roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, and swelling the white sail. i welcome thee to the scorch'd land, thou wanderer of the sea. nor i alone;--a thousand bosoms round inhale thee in the fulness of delight; and languid forms rise up, and pulses bound livelier at coming of the wind of night; and languishing to hear thy grateful sound, lies the vast inland stretch'd beyond the sight. go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, god's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth! go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse the wide old wood from his majestic rest, summoning from the innumerable boughs the strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast; pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows the shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, and where the o'er-shadowing branches sweep the grass. the faint old man shall lean his silver head to feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, and dry the moisten'd curls that overspread his temples, while his breathing grows more deep; and they who stand about the sick man's bed shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, and softly part his curtains to allow thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. go,--but the circle of eternal change, which is the life of nature, shall restore, with sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore; and, listening to thy murmur, he shall dream he hears the rustling leaf and running stream. lvii.--death of the protector.[m] thomas carlyle.-- - . _from_ oliver cromwell's letters and speeches. and so we have now nothing more;--and oliver has nothing more. his speakings, and also his actings, all his manifold strugglings, more or less victorious, to utter the great god's-message that was in him,--have here what we call ended. this summer of , likewise victorious after struggle, is his last in our world of time. thenceforth he enters the eternities; and rests upon his arms _there_. oliver's look was yet strong; and young for his years, which were fifty-nine last april. the "three-score and ten years," the psalmist's limit, which probably was often in oliver's thoughts and in those of others there, might have been anticipated for him: ten years more of life;--which, we may compute, would have given another history to all the centuries of england. but it was not to be so, it was to be otherwise. oliver's health, as we might observe, was but uncertain in late times; often "indisposed" the spring before last. his course of life had not been favorable to health! "a burden too heavy for man!" as he himself, with a sigh, would sometimes say. incessant toil; inconceivable labor, of head and heart and hand; toil, peril, and sorrow manifold, continued for near twenty years now, had done their part: those robust life-energies, it afterwards appeared, had been gradually eaten out. like a tower strong to the eye, but with its foundations undermined; which has not long to stand; the fall of which, on any shock, may be sudden.-- the manzinis and ducs de crequi, with their splendors, and congratulations about dunkirk, interesting to the street-populations and general public, had not yet withdrawn, when at hampton court there had begun a private scene, of much deeper and quite opposite interest there. the lady claypole, oliver's favorite daughter, a favorite of all the world, had fallen sick we know not when; lay sick now,--to death, as it proved. her disease was of a nature, the painfullest and most harassing to mind and sense, it is understood, that falls to the lot of a human creature. hampton court we can fancy once more, in those july days, a house of sorrow; pale death knocking there, as at the door of the meanest hut. "she had great sufferings, great exercises of spirit." yes:--and in the depths of the old centuries, we see a pale anxious mother, anxious husband, anxious weeping sisters, a poor young frances weeping anew in her weeds. "for the last fourteen days" his highness had been by her bedside at hampton court, unable to attend to any public business whatever. be still, my child; trust thou yet in god: in the waves of the dark river, there too is he a god of help!--on the th day of august she lay dead; at rest forever. my young, my beautiful, my brave! she is taken from me; i am left bereaved of her. the lord giveth, and the lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the lord!--... in the same dark days, occurred george fox's third and last interview with oliver.--.... george dates nothing; and his facts everywhere lie round him like the leather-parings of his old shop: but we judge it may have been about the time when the manzinis and the ducs de crequi were parading in their gilt coaches, that george and two friends "going out of town," on a summer day, "two of hacker's men" had met them,--taken them, brought them to the mews. "prisoners there awhile:"--but the lord's power was over hacker's men; they had to let us go. whereupon: "the same day, taking boat i went down" (_up_) "to kingston, and from thence to hampton court, to speak with the protector about the sufferings of friends. i met him riding into hampton-court park; and before i came to him, as he rode at the head of his lifeguard, i saw and felt a waft" (_whiff_) "of death go forth against him."----or in favor of him, george? his life, if thou knew it, has not been a merry thing for this man, now or heretofore! i fancy he has been looking, this long while, to give it up, whenever the commander-in-chief required. to quit his laborious sentry-post; honorably lay-up his arms, and be gone to his rest:--all eternity to rest in, o george! was thy own life merry, for example, in the hollow of the tree; clad permanently in leather? and does kingly purple, and governing refractory worlds instead of stitching coarse shoes, make it merrier? the waft of death is not against _him_, i think,--perhaps against thee, and me, and others, o george, when the nell-gwynn defender and two centuries of all-victorious cant have come in upon us! my unfortunate george----"a waft of death go forth against him; and when i came to him, he looked like a dead man. after i had laid the sufferings of friends before him, and had warned him according as i was moved to speak to him, he bade me come to his house. so i returned to kingston; and, the next day, went up to hampton court to speak farther with him. but when i came, harvey, who was one that waited on him, told me the doctors were not willing that i should speak with him. so i passed away, and never saw him more." friday the th of august , this was probably the day on which george fox saw oliver riding into hampton park with his guards, for the last time. that friday, as we find, his highness seemed much better: but on the morrow a sad change had taken place; feverish symptoms, for which the doctors rigorously prescribed quiet. saturday to tuesday the symptoms continued ever worsening: a kind of tertian ague, "bastard tertian" as the old doctors name it; for which it was ordered that his highness should return to whitehall, as to a more favorable air in that complaint. on tuesday accordingly he quitted hampton court;--never to see it more. "his time was come," says harvey; "and neither prayers nor tears could prevail with god to lengthen out his life and continue him longer to us. prayers abundantly and incessantly poured out on his behalf, both publicly and privately, as was observed, in a more than ordinary way. besides many a secret sigh,--secret and unheard by men, yet like the cry of moses, more loud, and strongly laying hold on god, than many spoken supplications. all which,--the hearts of god's people being thus mightily stirred up,--did seem to beget confidence in some, and hopes in all; yea some thoughts in himself, that god would restore him." "prayers public and private:" they are worth imagining to ourselves. meetings of preachers, chaplains, and godly persons; "owen, goodwin, sterry, with a company of others, in an adjoining room"; in whitehall, and elsewhere over religious london and england, fervent outpourings of many a loyal heart. for there were hearts to whom the nobleness of this man was known; and his worth to the puritan cause was evident. prayers,--strange enough to us; in a dialect fallen obsolete, forgotten now. authentic wrestlings of ancient human souls,--who were alive then, with their affections, awestruck pieties; with their human wishes, risen to be _transcendent_, hoping to prevail with the inexorable. all swallowed now in the depths of dark time; which is full of such, since the beginning!--truly it is a great scene of world-history, this in old whitehall: oliver cromwell drawing nigh to his end. the exit of oliver cromwell and of english puritanism; a great light, one of our few authentic solar luminaries, going down now amid the clouds of death. like the setting of a great victorious summer sun; its course now finished. "_so stirbt ein held_," says schiller, "so dies a hero! sight worthy to be worshipped!"--he died, this hero oliver, in resignation to god; as the brave have all done. "we could not be more desirous he should abide," says the pious harvey, "than he was content and willing to be gone." the struggle lasted, amid hope and fear, for ten days.... on monday august th, there roared and howled all day a mighty storm of wind.... it was on this stormy monday, while rocking winds, heard in the sickroom and everywhere, were piping aloud, that thurloe and an official person entered to enquire, who, in case of the worst, was to be his highness's successor? the successor is named in a sealed paper already drawn-up, above a year ago, at hampton court; now lying in such and such a place. the paper was sent for, searched for; it could never be found. richard's is the name understood to have been written in that paper: not a good name; but in fact one does not know. in ten years' time, had ten years more been granted, richard might have become a fitter man; might have been cancelled, if palpably unfit. or perhaps it was fleetwood's name,--and the paper, by certain parties, was stolen? none knows. on the thursday night following, "and not till then," his highness is understood to have formally named "richard",--or perhaps it might only be some heavy-laden "yes, yes!" spoken, out of the thick death-slumbers, in answer to thurloe's _question_ "richard?" the thing is a little uncertain. it was, once more, a matter of much moment;--giving color probably to all the subsequent centuries of england, this answer!--... thursday night the writer of our old pamphlet [harvey] was himself in attendance on his highness; and has preserved a trait or two; with which let us hasten to conclude. tomorrow is september third, always kept as a thanksgiving day, since the victories of dunbar and worcester. the wearied one, "that very night before the lord took him to his everlasting rest," was heard thus, with oppressed voice, speaking: "'truly god is good; indeed he is; he will not'----then his speech failed him, but as i apprehended, it was, 'he will not leave me.' this saying, 'god is good,' he frequently used all along; and would speak it with much cheerfulness, and fervor of spirit, in the midst of his pains.--again he said: 'i would be willing to live to be farther serviceable to god and his people: but my work is done. yet god will be with his people.' "he was very restless most part of the night, speaking often to himself. and there being something to drink offered him, he was desired to take the same, and endeavor to sleep.--unto which he answered: 'it is not my design to drink or sleep; but my design is, to make what haste i can to be gone.'-- "afterwards, towards morning, he used divers holy expressions, implying much inward consolation and peace; among the rest he spake some exceeding self-debasing words, _annihilating_ and judging himself. and truly it was observed, that a public spirit to god's cause did breathe in him,--as in his lifetime, so now to his very last." when the morrow's sun rose, oliver was speechless; between three and four in the afternoon, he lay dead. friday rd september . "the consternation and astonishment of all people," writes fauconberg, "are inexpressible; their hearts seem as if sunk within them. my poor wife,--i know not what on earth to do with her. when seemingly quieted, she bursts out again into a passion that tears her very heart in pieces."--husht, poor weeping mary! here is a life-battle right nobly done. seest thou not, "the storm is changed into a calm, at his command and will; so that the waves which raged before now quiet are and still! "then are _they_ glad,--because at rest and quiet now they be: so to the haven he them brings which they desired to see." "blessed are the dead that die in the lord;" blessed are the valiant that have lived in the lord. "amen, saith the spirit,"--amen. "they do rest from their labors, and their works follow them." "their works follow them." as, i think, this oliver cromwell's works have done and are still doing! we have had our "revolutions of eighty-eight," officially called "glorious"; and other revolutions not yet called glorious; and somewhat has been gained for poor mankind. men's ears are not now slit-off by rash officiality; officiality will, for long henceforth, be more cautious about men's ears. the tyrannous star-chambers, branding-irons, chimerical kings and surplices at all-hallowtide, they are gone, or with immense velocity going. oliver's works do follow him!--the works of a man, bury them under what guano-mountains and obscene owl-droppings you will, do not perish, cannot perish. what of heroism, what of eternal light was in a man and his life, is with very great exactness added to the eternities; remains forever a new divine portion of the sum of things; and no owl's voice, this way or that, in the least avails in the matter.--but we have to end here. oliver is gone; and with him england's puritanism, laboriously built together by this man, and made a thing far-shining, miraculous to its own century, and memorable to all the centuries, soon goes. puritanism, without its king, is _kingless_, anarchic; falls into dislocation, self-collision; staggers, plunges into ever deeper anarchy; king, defender of the puritan faith there can now none be found;--and nothing is left but to recall the old disowned defender with the remnants of his four surplices, and two centuries of _hypocrisis_ (or play-acting _not_ so-called), and put-up with all that, the best we may. the genius of england no longer soars sunward, world-defiant, like an eagle through the storms, "mewing her mighty youth," as john milton saw her do: the genius of england, much liker a greedy ostrich intent on provender and a whole skin mainly, stands with its _other_ extremity sunward; with its ostrich-head stuck into the readiest bush, of old church-tippets, king-cloaks, or what other "sheltering fallacy" there may be, and _so_ awaits the issue. the issue has been slow; but it is now seen to have been inevitable. no ostrich, intent on gross terrene provender, and sticking its head into fallacies, but will be awakened one day,--in a terrible _à-posteriori_ manner, if not otherwise!----awake before it come to that; gods and men bid us awake! the voices of our fathers, with thousand-fold stern monition to one and all, bid us awake. footnotes: [m] the author's use of capital letters and punctuation marks has been retained. lviii. each and all. ralph waldo emerson.-- - . little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloak'd clown of thee from the hill-top looking down; the heifer that lows in the upland farm, far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; the sexton, tolling his bell at noon, deems not that great napoleon stops his horse, and lists with delight, while his files sweep round yon alpine height; nor knowest thou what argument thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. all are needed by each one-- nothing is fair or good alone. i thought the sparrow's note from heaven, singing at dawn on the alder bough; i brought him home in his nest, at even, he sings the song, but it pleases not now; for i did not bring home the river and sky; he sang to my ear--they sang to my eye. the delicate shells lay on the shore; the bubbles of the latest wave fresh pearls to their enamel gave, and the bellowing of the savage sea greeted their safe escape to me. i wiped away the weeds and foam-- i fetch'd my sea-born treasures home; but the poor unsightly, noisome things had left their beauty on the shore, with the sun and the sand, and the wild uproar. the lover watch'd his graceful maid, as 'mid the virgin train she stray'd; nor knew her beauty's best attire was woven still by the snow-white choir. at last she came to his hermitage, like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; the gay enchantment was undone-- a gentle wife, but fairy none. then i said, "i covet truth; beauty is unripe childhoods cheat-- i leave it behind with the games of youth." as i spoke, beneath my feet the ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, running over the club-moss burrs; i inhaled the violet's breath; around me stood the oaks and firs; pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground; over me soar'd the eternal sky, full of light and of deity; again i saw, again i heard, the rolling river, the morning bird; beauty through my senses stole-- i yielded myself to the perfect whole. lix. waterloo. charles james lever.-- - . _from_ charles o'malley. "this is the officer that i spoke of," said an aid-de-camp, as he rode up to where i was standing, bare-headed and without a sword. "he has just made his escape from the french lines, and will be able to give your lordship some information." the handsome features and gorgeous costume of lord uxbridge were known to me; but i was not aware, till afterwards, that a soldierlike, resolute looking officer beside him, was general graham. it was the latter who first addressed me. "are you aware, sir," said he, "if grouchy's force is arrived?" "they had not: on the contrary, shortly before i escaped, an aid-de-camp was despatched to gembloux, to hasten his coming. and the troops, for they must be troops, debouching from the wood yonder--they seem to form a junction with the corps to the right--they are the prussians. they arrived there before noon from st. lambert, and are part of bülow's corps. count löbau and his division of ten thousand men were despatched, about an hour since, to hold them in check." "this is great news," said lord uxbridge. "fitzroy must know it at once." so saying he dashed spurs into his horse, and soon disappeared amid the crowd on the hill top. "you had better see the duke, sir," said graham: "your information is too important to be delayed. captain calvert, let this officer have a horse; his own is too tired to go much further." "and a cap, i beg of you," added i, in an under tone; "for i have already found a sabre." by a slight circuitous route, we reached the road upon which a mass of dismounted artillery-carts, baggage-wagons, and tumbrils, were heaped together as a barricade against the attack of the french dragoons, who more than once had penetrated to the very crest of our position. close to this, and on a little rising ground, from which a view of the entire field extended from hougoumont to the far left, the duke of wellington stood, surrounded by his staff. his eye was bent upon the valley before him, where the advancing columns of ney's attack still pressed onwards; while the fire of sixty great guns poured death and carnage into his lines. the second belgian division, routed and broken, had fallen back upon the twenty-seventh regiment, who had merely time to throw themselves into square, when milhaud's cuirassiers, armed with a terrible long straight sword, came sweeping down upon them. a line of impassable bayonets, a living _chevaux-de-frise_ of the best blood of britain, stood firm and motionless before the shock: the french _mitraille_ played mercilessly on the ranks; but the chasms were filled up like magic, and in vain the bold horsemen of gaul galloped round the bristling files. at length the word "fire!" was heard within the square, and as the bullets at pistol range rattled upon them, the cuirass afforded them no defence against the deadly volley. men and horses rolled indiscriminately upon the earth: then would come a charge of our dashing squadrons, who, riding recklessly upon the foe, were, in their turn, to be repulsed by numbers, when fresh attacks would pour down upon our unshaken infantry. "that column yonder is wavering: why does he not bring up his supporting squadrons?" inquired the duke, pointing to a belgian regiment of light dragoons, who were formed in the same brigade with the seventh hussars. "he refuses to oppose his light cavalry to cuirassiers, my lord," said an aid-de-camp, who had just returned from the division in question. "tell him to march his men off the ground," said the duke, with a quiet and impassive tone. in less than ten minutes the regiment was seen to defile from the mass, and take the road to brussels, to increase the panic of that city, by circulating and strengthening the report, that the english were beaten,--and napoleon in full march upon the capital. "what's ney's force? can you guess, sir?" said lord wellington turning to me. "about twelve thousand men, my lord." "are the guard among them?" "no, sir; the guard are in reserve above la belle alliance." "in what part of the field is buonaparte?" "nearly opposite to where we stand." "i told you, gentlemen, hougoumont never was the great attack. the battle must be decided here," pointing, as he spoke, to the plain beneath us, where still ney poured on his devoted columns, where yet the french cavalry rode down upon our firm squares. as he spoke an aid-de-camp rode up from the valley. "the ninety-second requires support, my lord: they cannot maintain their positions half an hour longer, without it." "have they given way, sir?" "no----" "well, then, they must stand where they are. i hear cannon towards the left; yonder, near frischermont." at this moment the light cavalry swept past the base of the hill on which we stood, hotly followed by the french heavy cuirassier brigade. three of our guns were taken; and the cheering of the french infantry, as they advanced to the charge, presaged their hope of victory. "do it, then," said the duke, in reply to some whispered question of lord uxbridge; and shortly after the heavy trot of advancing squadrons was heard behind. they were the life guards and the blues, who, with the first dragoon guards and the enniskilleners, were formed into close column. "i know the ground, my lord," said i to lord uxbridge. "come along, sir, come along," said he, as he threw his hussar jacket loosely behind him, to give freedom to his sword-arm.--"forward, my men, forward; but steady, hold your horses in hand; threes about, and together charge." "charge!" he shouted; while, as the word flew from squadron to squadron, each horseman bent upon his saddle, and that mighty mass, as though instinct with but one spirit, dashed like a thunder-bolt upon the column beneath them. the french, blown and exhausted, inferior beside in weight both of man and horse, offered but a short resistance. as the tall corn bends beneath the sweeping hurricane, wave succeeding wave, so did the steel-clad squadrons of france fall before the nervous arm of britain's cavalry. onward they went, carrying death and ruin before them, and never stayed their course, until the guns were recaptured, and the cuirassiers, repulsed, disordered, and broken, had retired beneath the protection of their artillery. there was, as a brilliant and eloquent writer on the subject mentions, a terrible sameness in the whole of this battle. incessant charges of cavalry upon the squares of our infantry, whose sole manoeuvre consisted in either deploying into line to resist the attack of infantry, or falling back into square when the cavalry advanced--performing those two evolutions under the devastating fire of artillery, before the unflinching heroism of that veteran infantry whose glories had been reaped upon the blood-stained fields of austerlitz, marengo, and wagram--or opposing an unbroken front to the whirlwind swoop of infuriated cavalry;--such were the enduring and devoted services demanded from the english troops, and such they failed not to render. once or twice had temper nearly failed them, and the cry ran through the ranks, "are we never to move forward?--only let us at them!" but the word was not yet spoken which was to undam the pent-up torrent, and bear down with unrelenting vengeance upon the now exulting columns of the enemy. it was six o'clock: the battle had continued with unchanged fortune for three hours. the french, masters of la haye sainte, could never advance further into our position. they had gained the orchard of hougoumont, but the château was still held by the british guards, although its blazing roof and crumbling walls made its occupation rather the desperate stand of unflinching valor than the maintenance of an important position. the smoke which hung upon the field rolled in slow and heavy masses back upon the french lines, and gradually discovered to our view the entire of the army. we quickly perceived that a change was taking place in their position. the troops which on their left stretched far beyond hougoumont, were now moved nearer to the centre. the attack upon the château seemed less vigorously supported, while the oblique direction of their right wing, which, pivoting upon planchenoit, opposed a face to the prussians,--all denoted a change in their order of battle. it was now the hour when napoleon was at last convinced that nothing but the carnage he could no longer support could destroy the unyielding ranks of british infantry; that although hougoumont had been partially, la haye sainte, completely, won; that although upon the right the farm-houses papelotte and la haye were nearly surrounded by his troops, which with any other army must prove the forerunner of defeat: yet still the victory was beyond his grasp. the bold stratagems, whose success the experience of a life had proved, were here to be found powerless. the decisive manoeuvre of carrying one important point of the enemy's lines, of turning him upon the flank, or piercing him through the centre, were here found impracticable. he might launch his avalanche of grape-shot, he might pour down his crashing columns of cavalry, he might send forth the iron storm of his brave infantry; but, though death in every shape heralded their approach, still were others found to fill the fallen ranks, and feed with their heart's blood the unslaked thirst for slaughter. well might the gallant leader of this gallant host, as he watched the reckless onslaught of the untiring enemy, and looked upon the unflinching few, who, bearing the proud badge of britain, alone sustained the fight, well might he exclaim, "night, or blücher!" it was now seven o'clock, when a dark mass was seen to form upon the heights above the french centre, and divide into three gigantic columns, of which the right occupied the brussels road. these were the reserves, consisting of the old and young guards, and amounting to twelve thousand--the _élite_ of the french army--reserved by the emperor for a great _coup-de-main_. these veterans of a hundred battles had been stationed, from the beginning of the day, inactive spectators of the fight; their hour was now come, and, with a shout of "_vive l'empereur!_" which rose triumphantly over the din and crash of battle, they began their march. meanwhile, aids-de-camp galloped along the lines, announcing the arrival of grouchy, to reanimate the drooping spirits of the men; for, at last, a doubt of victory was breaking upon the minds of those who never before, in the most adverse hour of fortune, deemed _his_ star could set that led them on to glory. "they are coming: the attack will be made on the centre, my lord," said lord fitzroy somerset, as he directed his glass upon the column. scarcely had he spoke when the telescope fell from his hand, as his arm, shattered by a french bullet, fell motionless to his side. "i see it," was the cool reply of the duke, as he ordered the guards to deploy into line, and lie down behind the ridge, which now the french artillery had found the range of, and were laboring at with their guns. in front of them the fifty-second, seventy-first, and ninety-fifth were formed; the artillery, stationed above and partly upon the road, loaded with grape, and waited but the word to open. it was an awful, a dreadful moment: the prussian cannon thundered on our left; but so desperate was the french resistance, they made but little progress: the dark columns of the guard had now commenced the ascent, and the artillery ceased their fire as the bayonets of the grenadiers showed themselves upon the slope. then began that tremendous cheer from right to left of our line which those who heard never can forget. it was the impatient, long-restrained burst of unslaked vengeance. with the instinct which valor teaches, they knew the hour of trial was come; and that wild cry flew from rank to rank, echoing from the blood-stained walls of hougoumont to the far-off valley of la papelotte. "they come! they come!" was the cry; and the shout of "_vive l'empereur!_" mingled with the outburst of the british line. under an overwhelming shower of grape, to which succeeded a charge of cavalry of the imperial guard, the head of ney's column fired its volley and advanced with the bayonet. the british artillery now opened at half range, and although the plunging fire scathed and devastated the dark ranks of the guards, on they came,--ney himself, on foot, at their head. twice the leading division of that gallant column turned completely round, as the withering fire wasted and consumed them; but they were resolved to win. already they had gained the crest of the hill, and the first line of the british were falling back before them. the artillery closes up; the flanking fire from the guns upon the road opens upon them; the head of their column breaks like a shell; the duke seizes the moment, and advances on foot towards the ridge. "up, guards, and at them!" he cried. the hour of triumph and vengeance had arrived. in a moment the guards were on their feet; one volley was poured in; the bayonets were brought to the charge; they closed upon the enemy: then was seen the most dreadful struggle that the history of all war can present. furious with long restrained passion, the guards rushed upon the leading divisions; the seventy-first, and ninety-fifth, and twenty-sixth overlapped them on the flanks. their generals fell thickly on every side; michel, jamier, and mallet are killed: friant lies wounded upon the ground; ney, his dress pierced and ragged with balls, shouts still to advance; but the leading files waver; they fall back; the supporting divisions thicken; confusion, panic succeeds; the british press down; the cavalry come galloping up to their assistance; and, at last, pell-mell, overwhelmed and beaten, the french fall back upon the old guard. this was the decisive moment of the day;--the duke closed his glass, as he said: "the field is won. order the whole line to advance." on they came, four deep, and poured like a torrent from the height. "let the life guards charge them," said the duke; but every aid-de-camp on his staff was wounded, and i myself brought the order to lord uxbridge. lord uxbridge had already anticipated his orders, and bore down with four regiments of heavy cavalry upon the french centre. the prussian artillery thundered upon their flank, and at their rear. the british bayonet was in their front; while a panic fear spread through their ranks, and the cry "_sauve qui peut!_" resounded on all sides. in vain ney, the bravest of the brave; in vain soult, bertrand, gourgaud, and labedoyère, burst from the broken disorganized mass, and called on them to stand fast. a battalion of the old guard, with cambronne at their head, alone obeyed the summons: forming into square, they stood between the pursuers and their prey, offering themselves a sacrifice to the tarnished honor of their arms: to the order to surrender, they answered with a cry of defiance; and, as our cavalry, flushed and elated with victory, rode round their bristling ranks, no quailing look, no craven spirit was there. the emperor himself endeavored to repair the disaster; he rode with lightening speed hither and thither, commanding, ordering, nay imploring too; but already the night was falling, the confusion became each moment more inextricable, and the effort was a fruitless one. a regiment of the guards, and two batteries were in reserve behind planchenoit; he threw them rapidly into position; but the overwhelming impulse of flight drove the mass upon them, and they were carried away upon the torrent of the beaten army. no sooner did the emperor see this his last hope desert him, than he dismounted from his horse, and, drawing his sword, threw himself into a square, which the first regiment of chasseurs of the old guard had formed with a remnant of the battalion; jerome followed him, as he called out: "you are right, brother: here should perish all who bear the name of buonaparte." the same moment the prussian light artillery rend the ranks asunder, and the cavalry charge down upon the scattered fragments. a few of his staff, who never left him, place the emperor upon a horse,--and fly. * * * * * _wellington, thy great work is but begun! with quick seed his end is rife whose long tale of conquering strife shows no triumph like his life lost and won._ dante gabriel rossetti.-- - . _on wellington's funeral, nov. th, ._ lx. the diver. edward bulwer, lord lytton.-- - . _translated from the german of schiller_. "o where is the knight or the squire so bold as to dive to the howling charybdis below?-- i cast in the whirlpool a goblet of gold, and o'er it already the dark waters flow; whoever to me may the goblet bring, shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king." he spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep, that, rugged and hoary, hung over the verge of the endless and measureless world of the deep, swirl'd into the maelstrom that madden'd the surge. "and where is the diver so stout to go-- i ask ye again--to the deep below?" and the knights and the squires that gather'd around, stood silent--and fix'd on the ocean their eyes; they look'd on the dismal and savage profound, and the peril chill'd back every thought of the prize. and thrice spoke the monarch: "the cup to win, is there never a wight who will venture in?" and all as before heard in silence the king, till a youth with an aspect unfearing but gentle, 'mid the tremulous squires stepp'd out from the ring, unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle; and the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder, on the stately boy cast their looks of wonder. as he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave one glance on the gulf of that merciless main, lo! the wave that for ever devours the wave, casts roaringly up the charybdis again: and, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom, rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom. and it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, as when fire is with water commix'd and contending, and the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars, and flood upon flood hurries on, never ending; and it never _will_ rest, nor from travail be free, like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea. yet, at length, comes a lull o'er the mighty commotion, and dark through the whiteness, and still through the swell, the whirlpool cleaves downward and downward in ocean a yawning abyss, like the pathway to hell; the stiller and darker the farther it goes, suck'd into that smoothness the breakers repose. the youth gave his trust to his maker! before that path through the riven abyss closed again, hark! a shriek from the gazers that circle the shore,-- and, behold! he is whirl'd in the grasp of the main! and o'er him the breakers mysteriously roll'd, and the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold. all was still on the height, save the murmur that went from the grave of the deep, sounding hollow and fell, or save when the tremulous, sighing lament thrill'd from lip unto lip, "gallant youth, fare thee well!" more hollow and more wails the deep on the ear,-- more dread and more dread grows suspense in its fear. --if thou shouldst in those waters thy diadem fling, and cry, "who may find it shall win it and wear"; god wot, though the prize were the crown of a king, a crown at such hazard were valued too dear. for never shall lips of the living reveal what the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal. oh, many a bark, to that breast grappled fast, has gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave; again, crash'd together the keel and the mast, to be seen toss'd aloft in the glee of the wave!-- like the growth of a storm ever louder and clearer, grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer. and it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, as when fire is with water commix'd and contending; and the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars, and flood upon flood hurries on, never ending, and as with the swell of the far thunder-boom, rushes roaringly forth from the heart of the gloom. and, lo! from the heart of that far-floating gloom, like the wing of the cygnet--what gleams on the sea? lo! an arm and a neck glancing up from the tomb! steering stalwart and shoreward: o joy, it is he! the left hand is lifted in triumph; behold, it waves as a trophy the goblet of gold! and he breathèd deep, and he breathèd long, and he greeted the heavenly light of the day. they gaze on each other,--they shout as they throng, "he lives--lo, the ocean has render'd its prey! and safe from the whirlpool, and free from the grave, comes back to the daylight the soul of the brave!" and he comes, with the crowd in their clamor and glee; and the goblet his daring has won from the water he lifts to the king as he sinks on his knee and the king from her maidens has beckon'd his daughter. she pours to the boy the bright wine which they bring, and thus spoke the diver; "long life to the king! "happy they whom the rose-hues of daylight rejoice, the air and the sky that to mortals are given! may the horror below nevermore find a voice,-- nor man stretch too far the wide mercy of heaven! nevermore,--nevermore may he lift from the sight the veil which is woven with terror and night! "quick brightening like lightning the ocean rush'd o'er me, wild floating, borne down fathom-deep from the day; till a torrent rush'd out on the torrents that bore me, and doubled the tempest that whirl'd me away. vain, vain was my struggle,--the circle had won me, round and round in its dance the mad element spun me. "from the deep then i call'd upon god, and he heard me; in the dread of my need, he vouchsafed to mine eye a rock jutting out from the grave that interr'd me; i sprung there, i clung there,--and death pass'd me by. and, lo! where the goblet gleam'd through the abyss, by a coral reef saved from the far fathomless. "below, at the foot of that precipice drear, spread the gloomy and purple and pathless obscure! a silence of horror that slept on the ear, that the eye more appall'd might the horror endure; salamander, snake, dragon--vast reptiles that dwell in the deep--coil'd about the grim jaws of their hell. "dark crawl'd, glided dark, the unspeakable swarms, clump'd together in masses, misshapen and vast; here clung and here bristled the fashionless forms; here the dark-moving bulk of the hammer-fish pass'd; and, with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion, went the terrible shark,--the hyena of ocean. "there i hung, and the awe gather'd icily o'er me, so far from the earth, where man's help there was none! the one human thing, with the goblins before me-- alone--in a loneness so ghastly--alone! deep under the reach of the sweet living breath, and begirt with the broods of the desert of death. "methought, as i gazed through the darkness, that now it saw--a dread hundred-limb'd creature--its prey! and darted, devouring; i sprang from the bough of the coral, and swept on the horrible way; and the whirl of the mighty wave seized me once more, it seized me to save me, and dash to the shore." on the youth gazed the monarch, and marvell'd: quoth he, "bold diver, the goblet i promised is thine; and this ring i will give, a fresh guerdon to thee-- never jewels more precious shone up from the mine-- if thou'lt bring me fresh tidings, and venture again, to say what lies hid in the _innermost_ main." then out spake the daughter in tender emotion: "ah! father, my father, what more can there rest? enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean: he has serv'd thee as none would, thyself hast confest. if nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire, let thy knights put to shame the exploit of the squire!" the king seized the goblet, he swung it on high, and whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide; "but bring back that goblet again to my eye, and i'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side; and thine arms shall embrace as thy bride, i decree, the maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee." and heaven, as he listen'd, spoke out from the space, and the hope that makes heroes shot flame from his eyes; he gazed on the blush in that beautiful face-- it pales--at the feet of her father she lies! how priceless the guerdon!--a moment--a breath-- and headlong he plunges to life and to death! they hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell, their coming the thunder-sound heralds along! fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell. they come, the wild waters, in tumult and throng, roaring up to the cliff,--roaring back as before, but no wave ever brings the lost youth to the shore! lxi. the plague of locusts. cardinal newman.-- - _from_ callista. juba's finger was directed to a spot where, amid the thick foliage, the gleam of a pool or of a marsh was visible. the various waters round about, issuing from the gravel, or drained from the nightly damps, had run into a hollow, filled with the decaying vegetation of former years. its banks were bordered with a deep, broad layer of mud, a transition substance between the rich vegetable matter which it once had been, and the multitudinous world of insect life which it was becoming. a cloud or mist at this time was hanging over it, high in air. a harsh and shrill sound, a whizzing or a chirping, proceeded from that cloud to the ear of the attentive listener. what these indications portended was plain.... the plague of locusts, one of the most awful visitations to which the countries included in the roman empire were exposed, extended from the atlantic to ethiopia, from arabia to india, and from the nile and red sea to greece and the north of asia minor. instances are recorded in history of clouds of the devastating insect crossing the black sea to poland, and the mediterranean to lombardy. it is as numerous in its species as it is wide in its range of territory. brood follows brood, with a sort of family likeness, yet with distinct attributes. it wakens into existence and activity as early as the month of march; but instances are not wanting, as in our present history, of its appearance as late as june. even one flight comprises myriads upon myriads passing imagination, to which the drops of rain or the sands of the sea are the only fit comparison; and hence it is almost a proverbial mode of expression in the east, by way of describing a vast invading army, to liken it to the locusts. so dense are they, when upon the wing, that it is no exaggeration to say that they hide the sun, from which circumstance indeed their name in arabic is derived. and so ubiquitous are they when they have alighted on the earth, that they simply cover or clothe its surface. this last characteristic is stated in the sacred account of the plagues of egypt, where their faculty of devastation is also mentioned. the corrupting fly and the bruising and prostrating hail preceded them in that series of visitations, but _they_ came to do the work of ruin more thoroughly. for not only the crops and fruits, but the foliage of the forest itself, nay, the small twigs and the bark of the trees are the victims of their curious and energetic rapacity. they have been known even to gnaw the door-posts of the houses. nor do they execute their task in so slovenly a way, that, as they have succeeded other plagues, so they may have successors themselves. they take pains to spoil what they leave. like the harpies, they smear every thing that they touch with a miserable slime, which has the effect of a virus in corroding, or as some say, in scorching and burning. and then, perhaps, as if all this were little, when they can do nothing else, they die; as if out of sheer malevolence to man, for the poisonous elements of their nature are then let loose and dispersed abroad, and create a pestilence; and they manage to destroy many more by their death than in their life. such are the locusts. and now they are rushing upon a considerable tract of that beautiful region of which we have spoken with such admiration. the swarm to which juba pointed grew and grew till it became a compact body, as much as a furlong square; yet it was but the vanguard of a series of similar hosts, formed one after another out of the hot mould or sand, rising into the air like clouds, enlarging into a dusky canopy, and then discharged against the fruitful plain. at length the huge innumerous mass was put into motion, and began its career, darkening the face of day. as became an instrument of divine power, it seemed to have no volition of its own; it was set off, it drifted, with the wind, and thus made northwards, straight for sicca. thus they advanced, host after host, for a time wafted on the air, and gradually declining to the earth, while fresh broods were carried over the first, and neared the earth, after a longer flight, in their turn. for twelve miles did they extend from front to rear, and their whizzing and hissing could be heard for six miles on every side of them. the bright sun, though hidden by them, illumined their bodies, and was reflected from their quivering wings; and as they heavily fell earthward, they seemed like the innumerable flakes of a yellow-colored snow. and like snow did they descend, a living carpet, or rather pall, upon fields, crops, gardens, copses, groves, orchards, vineyards, olive woods, orangeries, palm plantations, and the deep forests, sparing nothing within their reach, and where there was nothing to devour, lying helpless in drifts, or crawling forward obstinately, as they best might, with the hope of prey. they could spare their hundred thousand soldiers twice or thrice over, and not miss them; their masses filled the bottoms of the ravines and hollow ways, impeding the traveller as he rode forward on his journey and trampled by thousands under his horse-hoofs. in vain was all this overthrow and waste by the roadside, in vain their loss in river, pool, and watercourse. the poor peasants hastily dug pits and trenches as their enemy came on; in vain they filled them from the wells or with lighted stubble. heavily and thickly did the locusts fall; they were lavish of their lives; they choked the flame and the water, which destroyed them the while, and the vast living hostile armament still moved on. they moved right on like soldiers in their ranks, stopping at nothing, and straggling for nothing; they carried a broad furrow or wheal all across the country, black and loathsome, while it was as green and smiling on each side of them and in front, as it had been before they came. before them, in the language of prophets, was a paradise, and behind them a desert. they are daunted by nothing they surmount walls and hedges, and enter enclosed gardens or inhabited houses. a rare and experimental vineyard has been planted in a sheltered grove. the high winds of africa will not commonly allow the light trellice or the slim pole; but here the lofty poplar of campania has been possible, on which the vine plant mounts so many yards into the air, that the poor grape-gatherers bargain for a funeral pile and a tomb as one of the conditions of their engagement. the locusts have done what the winds and lightning could not do, and the whole promise of the vintage, leaves and all, is gone, and the slender stems are left bare. there is another yard, less uncommon, but still tended with more than common care; each plant is kept within due bounds by a circular trench round it, and by upright canes on which it is to trail; in an hour the solicitude and long toil of the vine-dresser are lost, and his pride humbled. there is a smiling farm; another sort of vine, of remarkable character, is found against the farmhouse. this vine springs from one root, and has clothed and matted with its many branches the four walls. the whole of it is covered thick with long clusters, which another month will ripen. on every grape and leaf there is a locust. into the dry caves and pits, carefully strewed with straw, the harvest-men have (safely, as they thought just now) been lodging the far-famed african wheat. one grain or root shoots up into ten, twenty, fifty, eighty, nay, three or four hundred stalks: sometimes the stalks have two ears apiece, and these shoot into a number of lesser ones. these stores are intended for the roman populace, but the locusts have been beforehand with them. the small patches of ground belonging to the poor peasants up and down the country, for raising the turnips, garlic, barley, water-melons, on which they live, are the prey of these glutton invaders as much as the choicest vines and olives. nor have they any reverence for the villa of the civic decurion or the roman official. the neatly arranged kitchen garden, with its cherries, plums, peaches, and apricots, is a waste; as the slaves sit round, in the kitchen in the first court, at their coarse evening meal, the room is filled with the invading force, and news comes to them that the enemy has fallen upon the apples and pears in the basement, and is at the same time plundering and sacking the preserves of quince and pomegranate, and revelling in the jars of precious oil of cyprus and mendes in the store-rooms. they come up to the walls of sicca, and are flung against them into the ditch. not a moment's hesitation or delay; they recover their footing, they climb up the wood or stucco, they surmount the parapet, or they have entered in at the windows, filling the apartments, and the most private and luxurious chambers, not one or two, like stragglers at forage or rioters after a victory, but in order of battle, and with the array of an army. choice plants or flowers about the _impluvia_ and _xysti_, for ornament or refreshment, myrtles, oranges, pomegranates, the rose and the carnation, have disappeared. they dim the bright marbles of the walls and the gilding of the ceilings. they enter the triclinium in the midst of the banquet; they crawl over the viands and spoil what they do not devour. unrelaxed by success and by enjoyment, onward they go; a secret mysterious instinct keeps them together, as if they had a king over them. they move along the floor in so strange an order that they seem to be a tessellated pavement themselves, and to be the artificial embellishment of the place; so true are their lines, and so perfect is the pattern they describe. onward they go, to the market, to the temple sacrifices, to the bakers' stores, to the cookshops, to the confectioners, to the druggists; nothing comes amiss to them; wherever man has aught to eat or drink, there are they, reckless of death, strong of appetite, certain of conquest.... another and a still worse calamity. the invaders, as we have already hinted, could be more terrible still in their overthrow than in their ravages. the inhabitants of the country had attempted, where they could, to destroy them by fire and water. it would seem as if the malignant animals had resolved that the sufferers should have the benefit of this policy to the full; for they had not got more than twenty miles beyond sicca when they suddenly sickened and died. when they thus had done all the mischief they could by their living, when they thus had made their foul maws the grave of every living thing, next they died themselves, and made the desolated land their own grave. they took from it its hundred forms and varieties of beautiful life, and left it their own fetid and poisonous carcases in payment. it was a sudden catastrophe; they seemed making for the mediterranean, as if, like other great conquerors, they had other worlds to subdue beyond it; but, whether they were overgorged, or struck by some atmospheric change, or that their time was come and they paid the debt of nature, so it was that suddenly they fell, and their glory came to nought, and all was vanity to them as to others, and "their stench rose up, and their corruption rose up, because they had done proudly." the hideous swarms lay dead in the moist steaming underwoods, in the green swamps, in the sheltered valleys, in the ditches and furrows of the fields, amid the monuments of their own prowess, the ruined crops and the dishonored vineyards. a poisonous element, issuing from their remains, mingled with the atmosphere, and corrupted it. the dismayed peasant found that a plague had begun; a new visitation, not confined to the territory which the enemy had made its own, but extending far and wide, as the atmosphere extends, in all directions. their daily toil, no longer claimed by the fruits of the earth, which have ceased to exist, is now devoted to the object of ridding themselves of the deadly legacy which they have received in their stead. in vain; it is their last toil; they are digging pits, they are raising piles, for their own corpses, as well as for the bodies of their enemies. invader and victim lie in the same grave, burn in the same heap; they sicken while they work, and the pestilence spreads. lxii. the cane-bottom'd chair. william makepeace thackeray.-- - . in tatter'd old slippers that toast at the bars, and a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, away from the world and its toils and its cares, i've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. to mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, but the fire there is bright and the air rather pure; and the view i behold on a sunshiny day is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. this snug little chamber is cramm'd in all nooks with worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, and foolish old odds and foolish old ends, crack'd bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends. old armor, prints, pictures, pipes, china, (all crack'd,) old rickety tables, and chairs broken-back'd; a twopenny treasury, wondrous to see; what matter? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. no better divan need the sultan require, than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire; and 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get from the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. that praying-rug came from a turcoman's camp; by tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp; a mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn: 'tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. long, long through the hours, and the night, and the chimes, here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times; as we sit in a fog made of rich latakie this chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. but of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest, there's one that i love and i cherish the best; for the finest of couches that's padded with hair i never would change thee, my cane-bottom'd chair. 'tis a bandy-legg'd, high-shoulder'd, worm-eaten seat, with a creaking old back, and twisted old feet; but since the fair morning when fanny sat there, i bless thee, and love thee, old cane-bottom'd chair. if chairs have but feeling, in holding such charms, a thrill must have pass'd through your wither'd old arms! i look'd, and i long'd, and i wish'd in despair; i wish'd myself turn'd to a cane-bottom'd chair. it was but a moment she sat in this place, she'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile on her face! a smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, and she sat there, and bloom'd in my cane-bottom'd chair. and so i have valued my chair ever since, like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince; saint fanny, my patroness sweet i declare, the queen of my heart and my cane-bottom'd chair. when the candles burn low, and the company's gone, in the silence of night as i sit here alone-- i sit here alone, but we yet are a pair-- my fanny i see in my cane-bottom'd chair. she comes from the past and revisits my room; she looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom; so smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, and yonder she sits in my cane-bottom'd chair. lxiii. the reconciliation.[n] thackeray. there was scarce a score of persons in the cathedral beside the dean and some of his clergy, and the choristers, young and old, that performed the beautiful evening prayer. but mr. tusher was one of the officiants, and read from the eagle in an authoritative voice, and a great black periwig; and in the stalls, still in her black widow's hood, sat esmond's dear mistress, her son by her side, very much grown, and indeed a noble-looking youth, with his mother's eyes, and his father's curling brown hair, that fell over his _point de venise_--a pretty picture such as vandyke might have painted. mons. rigaud's portrait of my lord viscount, done at paris afterwards, gives but a french version of his manly, frank english face. when he looked up there were two sapphire beams out of his eyes such as no painter's palette has the color to match, i think. on this day there was not much chance of seeing that particular beauty of my young lord's countenance; for the truth is, he kept his eyes shut for the most part, and, the anthem being rather long, was asleep. but the music ceasing, my lord woke up, looking about him, and his eyes lighting on mr. esmond, who was sitting opposite him, gazing with no small tenderness and melancholy upon two persons who had so much of his heart for so many years, lord castlewood, with a start; pulled at his mother's sleeve (her face had scarce been lifted from her book), and said, "look, mother!" so loud, that esmond could hear on the other side of the church, and the old dean on his throned stall. lady castlewood looked for an instant as her son bade her, and held up a warning finger to frank; esmond felt his whole face flush, and his heart throbbing, as that dear lady beheld him once more. the rest of the prayers were speedily over; mr. esmond did not hear them; nor did his mistress, very likely, whose hood went more closely over her face, and who never lifted her head again until the service was over, the blessing given, and mr. dean, and his procession of ecclesiastics, out of the inner chapel. young castlewood came clambering over the stalls before the clergy were fairly gone, and running up to esmond, eagerly embraced him. "my dear, dearest old harry!" he said, "are you come back? have you been to the wars? you'll take me with you when you go again? why didn't you write to us? come to mother." mr. esmond could hardly say more than a "god bless you, my boy," for his heart was very full and grateful at all this tenderness on the lad's part; and he was as much moved at seeing frank as he was fearful about that other interview which was now to take place: for he knew not if the widow would reject him as she had done so cruelly a year ago. "it was kind of you to come back to us, henry," lady esmond said. "i thought you might come." "we read of the fleet coming to portsmouth. why did you not come from portsmouth?" frank asked, or my lord viscount, as he now must be called. esmond had thought of that too. he would have given one of his eyes so that he might see his dear friends again once more; but believing that his mistress had forbidden him her house, he had obeyed her, and remained at a distance. "you had but to ask, and you knew i would be here," he said. she gave him her hand, her little fair hand: there was only her marriage ring on it. the quarrel was all over. the year of grief and estrangement was passed. they never had been separated. his mistress had never been out of his mind all that time. no, not once. no, not in the prison; nor in the camp; nor on shore before the enemy; nor at sea under the stars of solemn midnight; nor as he watched the glorious rising of the dawn: not even at the table, where he sat carousing with friends, or at the theatre yonder, where he tried to fancy that other eyes were brighter than hers. brighter eyes there might be, and faces more beautiful, but none so dear--no voice so sweet as that of his beloved mistress, who had been sister, mother, goddess to him during his youth--goddess now no more, for he knew of her weaknesses; and by thought, by suffering, and that experience it brings, was older now than she; but more fondly cherished as woman perhaps than ever she had been adored as divinity. what is it? where lies it? the secret which makes one little hand the dearest of all? who ever can unriddle that mystery? here she was, her son by his side, his dear boy. here she was, weeping and happy. she took his hand in both hers; he felt her tears. it was a rapture of reconciliation.... "and harry's coming home to supper. huzzay! huzzay!" cries my lord. "mother, i shall run home and bid beatrix put her ribbons on. beatrix is a maid of honor, harry. such a fine set-up minx!" "your heart was never in the church, harry," the widow said, in her sweet low tone, as they walked away together. (now, it seemed they had never been parted, and again, as if they had been ages asunder.) "i always thought you had no vocation that way; and that 'twas a pity to shut you out from the world. you would but have pined and chafed at castlewood: and 'tis better you should make a name for yourself. i often said so to my dear lord. how he loved you! 'twas my lord that made you stay with us." "i asked no better than to stay near you always," said mr. esmond. "but to go was best, harry. when the world cannot give peace, you will know where to find it; but one of your strong imagination and eager desires must try the world first before he tires of it. 'twas not to be thought of, or if it once was, it was only by my selfishness, that you should remain as chaplain to a country gentleman and tutor to a little boy. you are of the blood of the esmonds, kinsman; and that was always wild in youth. look at francis. he is but fifteen, and i scarce can keep him in my nest. his talk is all of war and pleasure, and he longs to serve in the next campaign. perhaps he and the young lord churchill shall go the next. lord marlborough has been good to us. you know how kind they were in my misfortune. and so was your--your father's widow. no one knows how good the world is, till grief comes to try us. 'tis through my lady marlborough's goodness that beatrix hath her place at court; and frank is under my lord chamberlain. and the dowager lady, your father's widow, has promised to provide for you--has she not?" esmond said, "yes. as far as present favor went, lady castlewood was very good to him. and should her mind change," he added gaily, "as ladies' minds will, i am strong enough to bear my own burden, and make my way somehow. not by the sword very likely. thousands have a better genius for that than i, but there are many ways in which a young man of good parts and education can get on in the world; and i am pretty sure, one way or other, of promotion!" indeed, he had found patrons already in the army, and amongst persons very able to serve him, too; and told his mistress of the flattering aspect of fortune. they walked as though they had never been parted, slowly, with the grey twilight closing round them. "and now we are drawing near to home," she continued, "i knew you would come, harry, if--if it was but to forgive me for having spoken unjustly to you after that horrid--horrid misfortune. i was half frantic with grief then when i saw you. and i know now--they have told me. that wretch, whose name i can never mention, even has said it: how you tried to avert the quarrel, and would have taken it on yourself, my poor child: but it was god's will that i should be punished, and that my dear lord should fall." "he gave me his blessing on his death-bed," esmond said. "thank god for that legacy!" "amen, amen! dear henry," said the lady, pressing his arm. "i knew it. mr. atterbury, of st. bride's, who was called to him, told me so. and i thanked god, too, and in my prayers ever since remembered it." "you had spared me many a bitter night, had you told me sooner," mr. esmond said. "i know it, i know it," she answered, in a tone of such sweet humility, as made esmond repent that he should ever have dared to reproach her. "i know how wicked my heart has been; and i have suffered too, my dear. but i knew you would come back--i own that. and to-day, henry, in the anthem, when they sang it, 'when the lord turned the captivity of zion, we were like them that dream,' i thought yes, like them that dream--them that dream. and then it went, 'they that sow in tears shall reap in joy; and he that goeth forth and weepeth, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him;' i looked up from the book and saw you. i was not surprised when i saw you. i knew you would come, my dear, and saw the gold sunshine round your head." she smiled an almost wild smile as she looked up at him. the moon was up by this time, glittering keen in the frosty sky. he could see, for the first time now clearly, her sweet careworn face. "do you know what day it is?" she continued. "it is the th day of december--it is your birthday! but last year we did not drink it--no, no. my lord was cold, and my harry was likely to die: and my brain was in a fever; and we had no wine. but now--now you are come again, bringing your sheaves with you, my dear." she burst into a wild flood of weeping as she spoke; she laughed and sobbed on the young man's heart, crying out wildly, "bringing your sheaves with you--your sheaves with you!" as he had sometimes felt, gazing up from the deck at midnight into the boundless starlit depths overhead, in a rapture of devout wonder at that endless brightness and beauty--in some such a way now, the depth of this pure devotion quite smote upon him, and filled his heart with thanksgiving. gracious god, who was he, weak and friendless creature, that such a love should be poured out upon him? not in vain--not in vain has he lived--hard and thankless should he be to think so--that has such a treasure given him. what is ambition compared to that, but selfish vanity? to be rich, to be famous? what do these profit a year hence, when other names sound louder than yours, when you lie hidden away under the ground, along with idle titles engraven on your coffin? but only true love lives after you--follows your memory with secret blessing--or precedes you, and intercedes for you. _non omnis moriar_--if dying, i yet live in a tender heart or two; nor am lost and hopeless living, if a sainted departed soul still loves and prays for me. footnotes: [n] _from "the history of henry esmond, esq., a colonel in the service of her majesty queen anne. written by himself."_ the late lord castlewood had been killed in a duel, and young esmond, who had lived in his house as a dependant (reputed to have been illegitimately related to a former viscount of castlewood), devotedly attending him at his death-bed, received from the dying man confession and proof that he, the supposed obscure orphan, was the true inheritor, and in justice ought to have been the possessor, of the castlewood titles and estates. but esmond, for the love he had borne his patron, and from devotion to lady castlewood, who had much befriended him, immediately destroyed the proofs which were given him of his honorable parentage, and ever afterwards kept his claim a secret. after the duel, while esmond was in prison, lady castlewood visited him, and in the wildness of her grief for her murdered husband, reproached her loyal kinsman for not having saved her lord's life, or avenged his death. in the estrangement which these reproaches occasioned, esmond sought his fortune abroad in war; but subsequently, desiring to learn of the welfare of his mistress and her family, whose happiness he prized more than his own, he returned to england, and went to winchester, near which was walcote, lady castlewood's home. the family were attending service in the cathedral, and there the reconciliation took place.--esmond had formerly been promised the living of walcote, but the vacancy occurring while the estrangement continued. lady castlewood had given it to one mr. tusher. lxiv. the island of the scots. (december, .) william edmondstoune aytoun.-- - . the rhine is running deep and red, the island lies before,-- "now is there one of all the host will dare to venture o'er? for not alone the river's sweep might make a brave man quail; the foe are on the further side, their shot comes fast as hail. god help us, if the middle isle we may not hope to win! now is there any of the host will dare to venture in?" "the ford is deep, the banks are steep, the island-shore lies wide; nor man nor horse could stem its force, or reach the further side. see there! amidst the willow-boughs the serried bayonets gleam; they've flung their bridge,--they've won the isle; the foe have cross'd the stream! their volley flashes sharp and strong,--by all the saints! i trow there never yet was soldier born could force that passage now!" so spoke the bold french mareschal with him who led the van, whilst rough and red before their view the turbid river ran. nor bridge nor boat had they to cross the wild and swollen rhine, and thundering on the other bank far stretch'd the german line. hard by there stood a swarthy man was leaning on his sword, and a sadden'd smile lit up his face as he heard the captain's word. "i've seen a wilder stream ere now than that which rushes there; i've stemm'd a heavier torrent yet and never thought to dare. if german steel be sharp and keen, is ours not strong and true? there may be danger in the deed, but there is honor too." the old lord in his saddle turn'd, and hastily he said, "hath bold duguesclin's fiery heart awaken'd from the dead? thou art the leader of the scots,--now well and sure i know, that gentle blood in dangerous hour ne'er yet ran cold nor slow, and i have seen ye in the fight do all that mortal may: if honor is the boon ye seek, it may be won this day,-- the prize is in the middle isle, there lies the adventurous way, and armies twain are on the plain, the daring deed to see,-- now ask thy gallant company if they will follow thee!" right gladsome look'd the captain then, and nothing did he say, but he turn'd him to his little band,--o, few, i ween, were they! the relics of the bravest force that ever fought in fray. no one of all that company but bore a gentle name, not one whose fathers had not stood in scotland's fields of fame. all they had march'd with great dundee to where he fought and fell, and in the deadly battle-strife had venged their leader well: and they had bent the knee to earth when every eye was dim, as o'er their hero's buried corpse they sang the funeral hymn; and they had trod the pass once more, and stoop'd on either side to pluck the heather from the spot where he had dropp'd and died; and they had bound it next their hearts, and ta'en a last farewell of scottish earth and scottish sky, where scotland's glory fell. then went they forth to foreign lands like bent and broken men, who leave their dearest hope behind, and may not turn again. "the stream," he said, "is broad and deep, and stubborn is the foe,-- yon island-strength is guarded well,--say, brothers, will ye go? from home and kin for many a year our steps have wander'd wide, and never may our bones be laid our fathers' graves beside. no children have we to lament, no wives to wail our fall; the traitor's and the spoiler's hand have reft our hearths of all. but we have hearts, and we have arms, as strong to will and dare as when our ancient banners flew within the northern air. come, brothers! let me name a spell shall rouse your souls again, and send the old blood bounding free through pulse and heart and vein. call back the days of bygone years,--be young and strong once more; think yonder stream, so stark and red, is one we've cross'd before. rise, hill and glen! rise, crag and wood! rise up on either hand,-- again upon the garry's banks, on scottish soil we stand! again i see the tartans wave, again the trumpets ring; again i hear our leader's call: 'upon them for the king!' stay'd we behind that glorious day for roaring flood or linn? the soul of græme is with us still,--now, brothers, will ye in?" no stay,--no pause. with one accord, they grasp'd each other's hand, then plunged into the angry flood, that bold and dauntless band. high flew the spray above their heads, yet onward still they bore, midst cheer, and shout, and answering yell, and shot, and cannon-roar,-- "now, by the holy cross! i swear, since earth and sea began, was never such a daring deed essay'd by mortal man!" thick blew the smoke across the stream, and faster flash'd the flame: the water plash'd in hissing jets as ball and bullet came. yet onwards push'd the cavaliers all stern and undismay'd, with thousand armèd foes before, and none behind to aid. once, as they near'd the middle stream, so strong the torrent swept, that scarce that long and living wall their dangerous footing kept. then rose a warning cry behind, a joyous shout before: "the current's strong,--the way is long,--they'll never reach the shore! see, see! they stagger in the midst, they waver in their line! fire on the madmen! break their ranks, and whelm them in the rhine!" have you seen the tall trees swaying when the blast is sounding shrill, and the whirlwind reels in fury down the gorges of the hill? how they toss their mighty branches struggling with the tempest's shock; how they keep their place of vantage, cleaving firmly to the rock? even so the scottish warriors held their own against the river; though the water flash'd around them, not an eye was seen to quiver; though the shot flew sharp and deadly, not a man relax'd his hold; for their hearts were big and thrilling with the mighty thoughts of old. one word was spoke among them, and through the ranks it spread,-- "remember our dead claverhouse!" was all the captain said. then, sternly bending forward, they wrestled on a while, until they clear'd the heavy stream, then rush'd towards the isle. the german heart is stout and true, the german arm is strong; the german foot goes seldom back where armèd foemen throng. but never had they faced in field so stern a charge before, and never had they felt the sweep of scotland's broad claymore. not fiercer pours the avalanche adown the steep incline, that rises o'er the parent-springs of rough and rapid rhine,-- scarce swifter shoots the bolt from heaven than came the scottish band right up against the guarded trench, and o'er it sword in hand. in vain their leaders forward press,--they meet the deadly brand! o lonely island of the rhine,--where seed was never sown, what harvest lay upon thy sands, by those strong reapers thrown? what saw the winter moon that night, as, struggling through the rain, she pour'd a wan and fitful light on marsh, and stream, and plain? a dreary spot with corpses strewn, and bayonets glistening round; a broken bridge, a stranded boat, a bare and batter'd mound; and one huge watch-fire's kindled pile, that sent its quivering glare to tell the leaders of the host the conquering scots were there! and did they twine the laurel-wreath, for those who fought so well? and did they honor those who liv'd, and weep for those who fell? what meed of thanks was given to them let agèd annals tell. why should they bring the laurel-wreath,--why crown the cup with wine? it was not frenchmen's blood that flow'd so freely on the rhine,-- a stranger band of beggar'd men had done the venturous deed: the glory was to france alone, the danger was their meed. and what cared they for idle thanks from foreign prince and peer? what virtue had such honey'd words the exiled heart to cheer? what matter'd it that men should vaunt and loud and fondly swear, that higher feat of chivalry was never wrought elsewhere? they bore within their breasts the grief that fame can never heal,-- the deep, unutterable woe which none save exiles feel. their hearts were yearning for the land they ne'er might see again,-- for scotland's high and heather'd hills, for mountain, loch and glen-- for those who haply lay at rest beyond the distant sea, beneath the green and daisied turf where they would gladly be! long years went by. the lonely isle in rhine's tempestuous flood has ta'en another name from those who bought it with their blood: and, though the legend does not live,--for legends lightly die-- the peasant, as he sees the stream in winter rolling by, and foaming o'er its channel-bed between him and the spot won by the warriors of the sword, stills calls that deep and dangerous ford the passage of the scot. * * * * * _sacrifice and self-devotion hallow earth and fill the skies._ lord houghton.-- - . lxv. the gambling party. earl of beaconsfield.-- - . _from_ the young duke. the young duke had accepted the invitation of the baron de berghem for to-morrow, and accordingly, himself, lords castlefort and dice, and temple grace assembled in brunswick terrace at the usual hour. the dinner was studiously plain, and very little wine was drunk; yet everything was perfect. tom cogit stepped in to carve in his usual silent manner. he always came in and went out of a room without anyone observing him. he winked familiarly to temple grace, but scarcely presumed to bow to the duke. he was very busy about the wine, and dressed the wild fowl in a manner quite unparalleled. he took particular care to send a most perfect portion to the young duke, and he did this, as he paid all attentions to influential strangers, with the most marked consciousness of the sufferance which permitted his presence: never addressing his grace, but audibly whispering to the servant, "take this to the duke"; or asking the attendant, "whether his grace would try the hermitage?" after dinner, with the exception of cogit, who was busied in compounding some wonderful liquid for the future refreshment, they sat down to _écarté_. without having exchanged a word upon the subject, there seemed a general understanding among all the parties that to-night was to be a pitched battle, and they began at once, briskly. yet, in spite of their universal determination, midnight arrived without anything decisive. another hour passed over, and then tom cogit kept touching the baron's elbow and whispering in a voice which everybody could understand. all this meant that supper was ready. it was brought into the room. gaming has one advantage, it gives you an appetite; that is to say, so long as you have a chance remaining. the duke had thousands; for at present his resources were unimpared, and he was exhausted by the constant attention and anxiety of five hours. he passed over the delicacies and went to the side-table, and began cutting himself some cold roast beef. tom cogit ran up, not to his grace, but to the baron, to announce the shocking fact that the duke of st. james was enduring great trouble; and then the baron asked his grace to permit mr. cogit to serve him. our hero devoured: we use the word advisedly, as fools say in the house of commons: he devoured the roast beef, and rejecting the hermitage with disgust, asked for porter. they set to again fresh as eagles. at six o'clock accounts were so complicated that they stopped to make up their books. each played with his memoranda and pencil at his side. nothing fatal had yet happened. the duke owed lord dice about five thousand pounds, and temple grace owed him as many hundreds. lord castlefort also was his debtor to the tune of seven hundred and fifty, and the baron was in his books, but slightly. every half-hour they had a new pack of cards, and threw the used one on the floor. all this time tom cogit did nothing but snuff the candles, stir the fire, bring them a new pack, and occasionally make a tumbler for them. at eight o'clock the duke's situation was worsened. the run was greatly against him, and perhaps his losses were doubled. he pulled up again the next hour or two; but nevertheless, at ten o'clock, owed every one something. no one offered to give over; and everyone, perhaps, felt that his object was not obtained. they made their toilets and went down-stairs to breakfast. in the meantime the shutters were opened, the room aired, and in less than an hour they were at it again. they played till dinner-time without intermission; and though the duke made some desperate efforts, and some successful ones, his losses were, nevertheless, trebled. yet he ate an excellent dinner and was not at all depressed; because the more he lost, the more his courage and his resources seemed to expand. at first he had limited himself to ten thousand; after breakfast it was to have been twenty thousand; then thirty thousand was the ultimatum; and now he dismissed all thoughts of limits from his mind, and was determined to risk or gain everything. at midnight, he had lost forty-eight thousand pounds. affairs now began to be serious. his supper was not so hearty. while the rest were eating, he walked about the room, and began to limit his ambition to recovery, and not to gain. when you play to win back, the fun is over: there is nothing to recompense you for your bodily tortures and your degraded feelings; and the very best result that can happen, while it has no charms, seems to your cowed mind impossible. on they played, and the duke lost more. his mind was jaded. he floundered, he made desperate efforts, but plunged deeper in the slough. feeling that, to regain his ground, each card must tell, he acted on each as if it must win, and the consequences of this insanity (for a gamester at such a crisis is really insane) were, that his losses were prodigious. another morning came, and there they sat, ankle-deep in cards. no attempt at breakfast now, no affectation of making a toilet or airing the room. the atmosphere was hot, to be sure, but it well became such a hell. there they sat, in total, in positive forgetfulness of everything but the hot game they were hunting down. there was not a man in the room, except tom cogit, who could have told you the name of the town in which they were living. there they sat, almost breathless, watching every turn with the fell look in their cannibal eyes which showed their total inability to sympathize with their fellow-beings. all forms of society had been long forgotten. there was no snuff-box handed about now, for courtesy, admiration, or a pinch; no affectation of occasionally making a remark upon any other topic but the all-engrossing one. lord castlefort rested with his arms on the table: a false tooth had got unhinged. his lordship, who, at any other time, would have been most annoyed, coolly put it in his pocket. his cheeks had fallen, and he looked twenty years older. lord dice had torn off his cravat, and his hair hung down over his callous, bloodless cheeks, straight as silk. temple grace looked as if he were blighted by lightning; and his deep blue eyes gleamed like a hyena's. the baron was least changed. tom cogit, who smelt that the crisis was at hand, was as quiet as a bribed rat. on they played till six o'clock in the evening, and then they agreed to desist till after dinner. lord dice threw himself on a sofa. lord castlefort breathed with difficulty. the rest walked about. while they were resting on their oars, the young duke roughly made up his accounts. he found that he was minus about one hundred thousand pounds. immense as this loss was, he was more struck, more appalled, let us say, at the strangeness of the surrounding scene, than even by his own ruin. as he looked upon his fellow gamesters, he seemed, for the first time in his life, to gaze upon some of those hideous demons of whom he had read. he looked in the mirror at himself. a blight seemed to have fallen over his beauty, and his presence seemed accursed. he had pursued a dissipated, even more than a dissipated career. many were the nights that had been spent by him not on his couch; great had been the exhaustion that he had often experienced; haggard had sometimes even been the lustre of his youth. but when had been marked upon his brow this harrowing care? when had his features before been stamped with this anxiety, this anguish, this baffled desire, this strange unearthly scowl, which made him even tremble? what! was it possible? it could not be, that in time he was to be like those awful, those unearthly, those unhallowed things that were around him. he felt as if he had fallen from his state, as if he had dishonored his ancestry, as if he had betrayed his trust. he felt a criminal. in the darkness of his meditations a flash burst from his lurid mind, a celestial light appeared to dissipate this thickening gloom, and his soul felt as if it were bathed with the softening radiancy. he thought of may dacre, he thought of everything that was pure, and holy, and beautiful, and luminous, and calm. it was the innate virtue of the man that made this appeal to his corrupted nature. his losses seemed nothing; his dukedom would be too slight a ransom for freedom from these ghouls, and for the breath of the sweet air. he advanced to the baron, and expressed his desire to play no more. there was an immediate stir. all jumped up, and now the deed was done. cant, in spite of their exhaustion, assumed her reign. they begged him to have his revenge, were quite annoyed at the result, had no doubt he would recover if he proceeded. without noticing their remarks, he seated himself at the table, and wrote cheques for their respective amounts, tom cogit jumping up and bringing him the inkstand. lord castlefort, in the most affectionate manner, pocketed the draft; at the same time recommending the duke not to be in a hurry, but to send it when he was cool. lord dice received his with a bow, temple grace with a sigh, the baron with an avowal of his readiness always to give him his revenge. the duke, though sick at heart, would not leave the room with any evidence of a broken spirit; and when lord castlefort again repeated, "pay us when we meet again," he said, "i think it very improbable that we shall meet again, my lord. i wished to know what gaming was. i had heard a great deal about it. it is not so very disgusting; but i am a young man, and cannot play tricks with my complexion." he reached his house. he gave orders for himself not to be disturbed, and he went to bed; but in vain he tried to sleep. what rack exceeds the torture of an excited brain and an exhausted body? his hands and feet were like ice, his brow like fire; his ears rung with supernatural roaring; a nausea had seized upon him, and death he would have welcomed. in vain, in vain he courted repose; in vain, in vain he had recourse to every expedient to wile himself to slumber. each minute he started from his pillow with some phrase which reminded him of his late fearful society. hour after hour moved on with its leaden pace; each hour he heard strike, and each hour seemed an age. each hour was only a signal to cast off some covering, or shift his position. it was, at length, morning. with a feeling that he should go mad if he remained any longer in bed, he rose, and paced his chamber. the air refreshed him. he threw himself on the floor; the cold crept over his senses, and he slept. lxvi. the pickwickians disport themselves on ice.[o] charles dickens.-- - . _from_ the posthumous papers of the pickwick club. "now," said wardle, after a substantial lunch had been done ample justice to; "what say you to an hour on the ice? we shall have plenty of time." "capital!" said mr. benjamin allen. "prime!" ejaculated mr. bob sawyer. "you skate, of course, winkle?" said wardle. "ye-yes; oh, yes," replied mr. winkle. "i--i--am _rather_ out of practice." "oh, _do_ skate, mr. winkle," said arabella. "i like to see it so much." "oh, it is _so_ graceful," said another young lady. a third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was "swan-like." "i should be very happy, i'm sure," said mr. winkle, reddening; "but i have no skates." this objection was at once over-ruled. trundle had a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more down stairs: whereat mr. winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable. old wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boy and mr. weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had fallen on it during the night, mr. bob sawyer adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to mr. winkle 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 old wardle and benjamin allen, assisted by the aforesaid bob sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they called a reel. all this time, mr. winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting his skates on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of mr. snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a hindoo. at length, however, with the assistance of mr. weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled on, and mr. winkle was raised to his feet. "now, then, sir," said sam, in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, and show 'em how to do it." "stop, sam, stop!" said mr. winkle, trembling violently, and clutching hold of sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "how slippery it is, sam!" "not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied mr. weller. "hold up, sir!" this last observation of mr. weller's bore reference to a demonstration mr. winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice. "these--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, sam?" inquired mr. winkle, staggering. "i'm afeerd there's a orkard gen'l'm'n in 'em, sir," replied sam. "now, winkle," cried mr. pickwick, quite unconscious that there was anything the matter. "come; the ladies are all anxiety." "yes, yes," replied mr. winkle, with a ghastly smile. "i'm coming." "just a goin' to begin," said sam, 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 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 un-swan-like manner, when mr. pickwick most innocently shouted from the opposite bank: "sam!" "sir?" "here. i want you." "let go, sir," said sam. "don't you hear the governor a callin'? let go, sir." with a violent effort, mr. weller disengaged himself from the grasp of the agonized pickwickian, and, in so doing, administered a considerable impetus to the unhappy mr. winkle. with an accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when mr. bob sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. mr. winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily down. mr. pickwick ran to the spot. bob sawyer had risen to his feet, but mr. winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, in skates. he was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance. "are you hurt?" inquired mr. benjamin allen, with great anxiety. "not much," said mr. winkle, rubbing his back very hard. "i wish you'd let me bleed you," said mr. benjamin, with great eagerness. "no, thank you," replied mr. winkle hurriedly. "i really think you had better," said allen. "thank you," replied mr. winkle; "i'd rather not." "what do _you_ think, mr. pickwick?" inquired bob sawyer. mr. pickwick was excited and indignant. he beckoned to mr. weller, and said in a stern voice, "take his skates off." "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 will speak plainer, if you wish it. an impostor, sir." with these 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 denominated "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 a nice warm exercise that, doesn't it?" he inquired of wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, by reason of the indefatigable manner in which he had converted his legs into a pair of compasses, and drawn complicated problems on the ice. "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, baulked himself 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 bilin', 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 on 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 upon the average 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 males turned pale, and the females fainted, mr. snodgrass and mr. winkle grasped each other by the hand, and gazed at the spot where their leader had gone down, with frenzied eagerness: while mr. tupman, by way of rendering the promptest assistance, and at the same time conveying to any persons who might be within hearing, the clearest possible notion of the catastrophe, ran off across the country at his utmost speed, screaming "fire!" with all his might. it was at this moment, when old wardle and sam weller were approaching the hole with cautious steps, and mr. benjamin allen was holding a hurried consultation with mr. bob sawyer on the advisability of bleeding the company generally, as an improving little bit of professional practice--it was at this very moment, 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. the adjuration was rather unnecessary; the probability being, that if mr. pickwick had declined to keep himself up for anybody else's sake, it would have occurred to him that he might as well do so, for his own. "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 accuracy 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. "dear old thing!" said arabella. "let me wrap this shawl round you, mr. pickwick." "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 phenomenon 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 sam weller, he kept at the very top of his speed until he reached the door of manor farm, where mr. tupman had arrived some five minutes before, and had frightened the old lady into palpitations of the heart by impressing her with the unalterable conviction that the kitchen chimney was on fire--a calamity which always presented itself in glowing colors to the old lady's mind, when anybody about her evinced the smallest agitation. mr. pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in bed. sam weller lighted a blazing fire in his room, and took up his dinner, and afterwards a great rejoicing was held in honor of his safety. footnotes: [o] mr. pickwick, a benevolent, simple-minded old gentleman, is the founder of the pickwick club. he and three other members, mr. winkle, mr. snodgrass, and mr. tupman, form the corresponding society of the club, and they travel over england together, meeting with many laughable adventures. they are accompanied by samuel weller, mr. pickwick's servant, an inimitable compound of cool impudence, quaint humor, and fidelity. the pickwickians have accepted the invitation of mr. wardle, of manor farm, dingley dell, to be present at the marriage of his daughter, isabella, to mr. trundle. among the guests are also mr. bob sawyer and mr. benjamin allen, two medical students, and mr. allen's sister, arabella. other members of mr. wardle's household are mr. wardle's mother, the "old lady" of manor farm, his daughter, emily, and joe, a servant lad, known as the "fat boy." the wedding takes place on the twenty-third of december, and then follow the christmas festivities, of which the skating forms a part. lxvii. the hanging of the crane. henry wadsworth longfellow.-- - . i. the lights are out, and gone are all the guests that thronging came with merriment and jests to celebrate the hanging of the crane in the new house,--into the night are gone; but still the fire upon the hearth burns on, and i alone remain. o fortunate, o happy day, when a new household finds its place among the myriad homes of earth, like a new star just sprung to birth, and roll'd on its harmonious way into the boundless realms of space! so said the guests in speech and song, as in the chimney, burning bright, we hung the iron crane to-night, and merry was the feast and long. ii. and now i sit and muse on what may be, and in my vision see, or seem to see, through floating vapors interfused with light, shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade, as shadows passing into deeper shade sink and elude the sight. for two alone, there in the hall, is spread the table round and small; upon the polish'd silver shine the evening lamps, but, more divine, the light of love shines over all; of love, that says not mine and thine, but ours, for ours is thine and mine. they want no guests, to come between their tender glances like a screen, and tell them tales of land and sea, and whatsoever may betide the great, forgotten world outside; they want no guests; they needs must be each other's own best company. iii. the picture fades; as at a village fair a showman's views, dissolving into air, again appear transfigured on the screen, so in my fancy this; and now once more, in part transfigured, through the open door appears the selfsame scene. seated, i see the two again, but not alone; they entertain a little angel unaware, with face as round as is the moon; a royal guest with flaxen hair, who, throned upon his lofty chair, drums on the table with his spoon, then drops it careless on the floor, to grasp at things unseen before. are these celestial manners? these the ways that win, the arts that please? ah yes; consider well the guest, and whatsoe'er he does seems best; he ruleth by the right divine of helplessness, so lately born in purple chambers of the morn, as sovereign over thee and thine. he speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes; the golden silence of the greek, the gravest wisdom of the wise, not spoken in language, but in looks more legible than printed books, as if he could but would not speak. and now, o monarch absolute, thy power is put to proof; for, lo! resistless, fathomless, and slow, the nurse comes rustling like the sea, and pushes back thy chair and thee, and so good night to king canute. iv. as one who walking in a forest sees a lovely landscape through the parted trees, then sees it not, for boughs that intervene; or, as we see the moon sometimes reveal'd through drifting clouds, and then again conceal'd, so i behold the scene. there are two guests at table now; the king, deposed and older grown, no longer occupies the throne,-- the crown is on his sister's brow; a princess from the fairy isles, the very pattern girl of girls, all cover'd and embower'd in curls, rose-tinted from the isle of flowers, and sailing with soft, silken sails from far-off dreamland into ours. above their bowls with rims of blue four azure eyes of deeper hue are looking, dreamy with delight; limpid as planets that emerge above the ocean's rounded verge, soft-shining through the summer night. steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see beyond the horizon of their bowls; nor care they for the world that rolls with all its freight of troubled souls into the days that are to be. v. again the tossing boughs shut out the scene, again the drifting vapors intervene, and the moon's pallid disk is hidden quite: and now i see the table wider grown, as round a pebble into water thrown dilates a ring of light. i see the table wider grown, i see it garlanded with guests, as if fair ariadne's crown out of the sky had fallen down; maidens within whose tender breasts a thousand restless hopes and fears, forth reaching to the coming years, flutter awhile, then quiet lie, like timid birds that fain would fly, but do not dare to leave their nests;-- and youths, who in their strength elate challenge the van and front of fate, eager as champions to be in the divine knight-errantry of youth, that travels sea and land seeking adventures, or pursues, through cities, and through solitudes frequented by the lyric muse, the phantom with the beckoning hand, that still allures and still eludes. o sweet illusions of the brain! o sudden thrills of fire and frost! the world is bright while ye remain, and dark and dead when ye are lost! vi. the meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still, quickens its current as it nears the mill; and so the stream of time that lingereth in level places, and so dull appears, runs with a swifter current as it nears the gloomy mills of death. and now, like the magician's scroll, that in the owner's keeping shrinks with every wish he speaks or thinks, till the last wish consumes the whole, the table dwindles, and again i see the two alone remain. the crown of stars is broken in parts; its jewels, brighter than the day, have one by one been stolen away to shine in other homes and hearts. one is a wanderer now afar in ceylon or in zanzibar, or sunny regions of cathay; and one is in the boisterous camp mid clink of arms and horses' tramp, and battle's terrible array. i see the patient mother read, with aching heart, of wrecks that float disabled on those seas remote, or of some great heroic deed on battle-fields, where thousands bleed to lift one hero into fame. anxious she bends her graceful head above these chronicles of pain, and trembles with a secret dread lest there among the drown'd or slain she find the one belovèd name. vii. after a day of cloud and wind and rain sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, and, touching all the darksome woods with light. smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing, then like a ruby from the horizon's ring drops down into the night. what see i now? the night is fair, the storm of grief, the clouds of care, the wind, the rain, have pass'd away; the lamps are lit, the fires burn bright, the house is full of life and light: it is the golden wedding day. the guests come thronging in once more, quick footsteps sound along the floor, the trooping children crowd the stair, and in and out and everywhere flashes along the corridor the sunshine of their golden hair. on the round table in the hall another ariadne's crown out of the sky hath fallen down; more than one monarch of the moon is drumming with his silver spoon; the light of love shines over all. o fortunate, o happy day! the people sing, the people say. the ancient bridegroom and the bride, smiling contented and serene, upon the blithe, bewildering scene, behold, well pleas'd, on every side their forms and features multiplied, as the reflection of a light between two burnish'd mirrors gleams, or lamps upon a bridge at night stretch on and on before the sight, till the long vista endless seems. lxviii. earthworms. charles darwin-- - . _from_ the formation of vegetable mould through the action of worms. worms have played a more important part in the history of the world than most persons would at first suppose. in almost all humid countries they are extraordinarily numerous, and for their size possess great muscular power. in many parts of england a weight of more than ten tons of dry earth annually passes through their bodies and is brought to the surface on each acre of land; so that the whole superficial bed of vegetable mould passes through their bodies in the course of every few years. from the collapsing of the old burrows the mould is in constant though slow movement, and the particles composing it are thus rubbed together. by these means fresh surfaces are continually exposed to the action of the carbonic acid in the soil, and of the humus-acids which appear to be still more efficient in the decomposition of rocks. the generation of the humus-acids is probably hastened during the digestion of the many half-decayed leaves which worms consume. thus the particles of earth, forming the superficial mould, are subjected to conditions eminently favorable for their decomposition and disintegration. moreover, the particles of the softer rocks suffer some amount of mechanical trituration in the muscular gizzards of worms, in which small stones serve as mill-stones.... archæologists ought to be grateful to worms, as they protect and preserve for an indefinitely long period every object, not liable to decay, which is dropped on the surface of the land, by burying it beneath their castings. thus, also, many elegant and curious tesselated pavements and other ancient remains have been preserved; though no doubt the worms have in these cases been largely aided by earth washed and blown from the adjoining land, especially when cultivated. the old tesselated pavements have, however, often suffered by having subsided unequally from being unequally undermined by the worms. even old massive walls may be undermined and subside; and no building is in this respect safe, unless the foundations lie six or seven feet beneath the surface, at a depth at which worms cannot work. it is probable that many monoliths and some old walls have fallen down from having been undermined by worms. worms prepare the ground in an excellent manner for the growth of fibrous-rooted plants and for seedlings of all kinds. they periodically expose the mould to the air, and sift it so that no stones larger than the particles which they can swallow are left in it. they mingle the whole intimately together, like a gardener who prepares fine soil for his choicest plants. in this state it is well fitted to retain moisture and to absorb all soluble substances, as well as for the process of nitrification. the bones of dead animals, the harder parts of insects, the shells of land-molluscs, leaves, twigs, etc., are before long all buried beneath the accumulated castings of worms, and are thus brought in a more or less decayed state within reach of the roots of plants. worms likewise drag an infinite number of dead leaves and other parts of plants into their burrows, partly for the sake of plugging them up and partly as food. the leaves which are dragged into the burrows as food, after being torn into the finest shreds, partially digested, and saturated with the intestinal secretions, are commingled with much earth. this earth forms the dark-colored, rich humus which almost everywhere covers the surface of the land with a fairly well-defined layer or mantle. von hensen placed two worms in a vessel eighteen inches in diameter, which was filled with sand, on which fallen leaves were strewed; and these were soon dragged into their burrows to a depth of three inches. after about six weeks an almost uniform layer of sand, a centimetre (. inch) in thickness, was converted into humus by having passed through the alimentary canals of these two worms. it is believed by some persons that worm-burrows, which often penetrate the ground almost perpendicularly to a depth of five or six feet, materially aid in its drainage; notwithstanding that the viscid castings piled over the mouths of the burrows prevent or check the rain-water directly entering them. they allow the air to penetrate deeply into the ground. they also greatly facilitate the downward passage of roots of moderate size; and these will be nourished by the humus with which the burrows are lined. many seeds owe their germination to having been covered by castings; and others buried to a considerable depth beneath accumulated castings lie dormant, until at some future time they are accidentally uncovered and germinate. worms are poorly provided with sense-organs, for they cannot be said to see, although they can just distinguish between light and darkness; they are completely deaf, and have only a feeble power of smell; the sense of touch alone is well developed. they can therefore learn little about the outside world, and it is surprising that they should exhibit some skill in lining their burrows with their castings and with leaves, and in the case of some species in piling up their castings into tower-like constructions. but it is far more surprising that they should apparently exhibit some degree of intelligence instead of a mere blind instinctive impulse, in their manner of plugging up the mouths of their burrows. they act in nearly the same manner as would a man, who had to close a cylindrical tube with different kinds of leaves, petioles, triangles of paper, etc., for they commonly seize such objects by their pointed ends. but with thin objects a certain number are drawn in by their broader ends. they do not act in the same unvarying manner in all cases, as do most of the lower animals; for instance, they do not drag in leaves by their foot-stalks, unless the basal part of the blade is as narrow as the apex, or narrower than it. when we behold a wide, turf-covered expanse, we should remember that its smoothness, on which so much of its beauty depends, is mainly due to all the inequalities having been slowly levelled by worms. it is a marvellous reflection that the whole of the superficial mould over any such expanse has passed, and will again pass, every few years, through the bodies of worms. the plough is one of the most ancient and most valuable of man's inventions; but long before he existed the land was in fact regularly ploughed, and still continues to be thus ploughed by earth-worms. it may be doubted whether there are many other animals which have played so important a part in the history of the world, as have these lowly organized creatures. lxix. "as ships, becalmed at eve." arthur hugh clough.-- - . as ships, becalm'd at eve, that lay with canvas drooping, side by side, two towers of sail at dawn of day are scarce long leagues apart descried; when fell the night, upsprung the breeze, and all the darkling hours they plied, nor dreamt but each the self-same seas by each was cleaving, side by side: e'en so--but why the tale reveal of those, whom year by year unchanged, brief absence join'd anew to feel, astounded, soul from soul estranged? at dead of night their sails were fill'd, and onward each rejoicing steer'd-- ah, neither blame, for neither will'd, or wist, what first with dawn appear'd! to veer, how vain! on, onward strain, brave barks! in light, in darkness too, through winds and tides one compass guides-- to that, and your own selves, be true. but o blithe breeze! and o great seas, though ne'er, that earliest parting past, on your wide plain they join again, together lead them home at last. one port, methought, alike they sought, one purpose hold where'er they fare,-- o bounding breeze, o rushing seas! at last, at last, unite them there. lxx. duty. arthur hugh clough. duty--that's to say, complying with whate'er's expected here; on your unknown cousin's dying, straight be ready with the tear; upon etiquette relying, unto usage nought denying, lend your waist to be embraced, blush not even, never fear; claims of kith and kin connection, claims of manners honor still, ready money of affection pay, whoever drew the bill. with the form conforming duly, senseless what it meaneth truly, go to church--the world require you, to balls--the world require you too, and marry--papa and mamma desire you, and your sisters and schoolfellows do. duty--'tis to take on trust what things are good, and right, and just; and whether indeed they be or be not, try not, test not, feel not, see not: 'tis walk and dance, sit down and rise by leading, opening ne'er your eyes; stunt sturdy limbs that nature gave, and be drawn in a bath chair along to the grave. 'tis the stern and prompt suppressing, as an obvious deadly sin, all the questing and the guessing of the soul's own soul within: 'tis the coward acquiescence in a destiny's behest, to a shade by terror made, sacrificing, aye, the essence of all that's truest, noblest, best: 'tis the blind non-recognition or of goodness, truth, or beauty, save by precept and submission; moral blank, and moral void, life at very birth destroy'd. atrophy, exinanition! duty! yea, by duty's prime condition pure nonentity of duty! lxxi. sonnets. charles heavysege.-- - . i. the day was lingering in the pale north-west, and night was hanging o'er my head,-- night where a myriad stars were spread; while down in the east, where the light was least, seem'd the home of the quiet dead. and, as i gazed on the field sublime, to watch the bright, pulsating stars, adown the deep where the angels sleep came drawn the golden chime of those great spheres that sound the years for the horologe of time. millenniums numberless they told, millenniums a million-fold from the ancient hour of prime. ii. the stars are glittering in the frosty sky, frequent as pebbles on a broad sea-coast; and o'er the vault the cloud-like galaxy has marshall'd its innumerable host. alive all heaven seems! with wondrous glow tenfold refulgent every star appears, as if some wide, celestial gale did blow, and thrice illume the ever-kindled spheres. orbs, with glad orbs rejoicing, burning, beam, ray-crown'd, with lambent lustre in their zones, till o'er the blue, bespangled spaces seem angels and great archangels on their thrones; a host divine, whose eyes are sparkling gems, and forms more bright than diamond diadems. iii. hush'd in a calm beyond mine utterance, see in the western sky the evening spread; suspended in its pale, serene expanse, like scatter'd flames, the glowing cloudlets red. clear are those clouds; and that pure sky's profound, transparent as a lake of hyaline; nor motion, nor the faintest breath of sound, disturbs the steadfast beauty of the scene. far o'er the vault, the winnow'd welkin wide, from the bronzed east unto the whiten'd west, moor'd, seem, in their sweet, tranquil, roseate pride, those clouds the fabled islands of the blest;-- the lands where pious spirits breathe in joy, and love and worship all their hours employ. lxxii. doctor arnold at rugby. arthur penrhyn stanley.-- - . with his usual and undoubting confidence in what he believed to be a general law of providence, he based his whole management of the school on his early-formed and yearly-increasing conviction that what he had to look for, both intellectually and morally, was not performance but promise; that the very freedom and independence of school life, which in itself he thought so dangerous, might be made the best preparation for christian manhood; and he did not hesitate to apply to his scholars the principle which seemed to him to have been adopted in the training of the childhood of the human race itself. he shrunk from pressing on the conscience of boys rules of action which he felt they were not yet able to bear, and from enforcing actions which, though right in themselves, would in boys be performed from wrong motives. keenly as he felt the risk and fatal consequences of the failure of this trial, still it was his great, sometimes his only support to believe that "the character is braced amid such scenes to a greater beauty and firmness than it ever can attain without enduring and witnessing them. our work here would be absolutely unendurable if we did not bear in mind that we should look forward as well as backward--if we did not remember that the victory of fallen man lies not in innocence but in tried virtue." "i hold fast," he said, "to the great truth, that 'blessed is he that overcometh;'" and he writes in : "of all the painful things connected with my employment, nothing is equal to the grief of seeing a boy come to school innocent and promising, and tracing the corruption of his character from the influence of the temptations around him, in the very place which ought to have strengthened and improved it. but in most cases those who come with a character of positive good are benefited; it is the neutral and indecisive characters which are apt to be decided for evil by schools, as they would be in fact by any other temptation." but this very feeling led him with the greater eagerness to catch at every means by which the trial might be shortened or alleviated. "can the change from childhood to manhood be hastened, without prematurely exhausting the faculties of body or mind?" was one of the chief questions on which his mind was constantly at work, and which in the judgment of some he was disposed to answer too readily in the affirmative. it was with the elder boys, of course, that he chiefly acted on this principle, but with all above the very young ones he trusted to it more or less. firmly as he believed that _a_ time of trial was inevitable, he believed no less firmly that it might be passed at public schools sooner than under other circumstances; and, in proportion as he disliked the assumption of a false manliness in boys, was his desire to cultivate in them true manliness, as the only step to something higher, and to dwell on earnest principle and moral thoughtfulness, as the great and distinguishing mark between good and evil. hence his wish that as much as possible should be done _by_ the boys, and nothing _for_ them; hence arose his practice, in which his own delicacy of feeling and uprightness of purpose powerfully assisted him, of treating the boys as gentlemen and reasonable beings, of making them respect themselves by the mere respect he showed to them; of showing that he appealed and trusted to their own common sense and conscience. lying, for example, to the masters, he made a great moral offence: placing implicit confidence in a boy's assertion, and then, if a falsehood was discovered, punishing it severely,--in the upper part of the school, when persisted in, with expulsion. even with the lower forms he never seemed to be on the watch for boys; and in the higher forms any attempt at further proof of an assertion was immediately checked: "if you say so, that is quite enough--_of course_ i believe your word;" and there grew up in consequence a general feeling that "it was a shame to tell arnold a lie--he always believes one." perhaps the liveliest representation of this general spirit, as distinguished from its exemplification in particular parts of the discipline and instruction, would be formed by recalling his manner, as he appeared in the great school, where the boys used to meet when the whole school was assembled collectively, and not in its different forms or classes. then, whether on his usual entrance every morning to prayers before the first lesson, or on the more special emergencies which might require his presence, he seemed to stand before them, not merely as the head-master, but as the representative of the school. there he spoke to them as members together with himself of the same great institution, whose character and reputation they had to sustain as well as he. he would dwell on the satisfaction he had in being head of a society, where noble and honorable feelings were encouraged, or on the disgrace which he felt in hearing of acts of disorder or violence, such as in the humbler ranks of life would render them amenable to the laws of their country; or again, on the trust which he placed in their honor as gentlemen, and the baseness of any instance in which it was abused. "is this a christian school?" he indignantly asked at the end of one of those addresses, in which he had spoken of an extensive display of bad feeling amongst the boys; and then added,--"i cannot remain here if all this is to be carried on by constraint and force; if i am to be here as a jailer, i will resign my office at once." and few scenes can be recorded more characteristic of him than on one of these occasions, when, in consequence of a disturbance, he had been obliged to send away several boys, and when in the midst of the general spirit of discontent which this excited, he stood in his place before the assembled school and said: "it is _not_ necessary that this should be a school of three hundred, or one hundred, or of fifty boys; but it _is_ necessary that it should be a school of christian gentlemen." lxxiii. ode to the north-east wind. charles kingsley.-- - . welcome, wild north-easter! shame it is to see odes to every zephyr; ne'er a verse to thee. welcome, black north-easter! o'er the german foam; o'er the danish moorlands, from thy frozen home. tired we are of summer, tired of gaudy glare, showers soft and steaming, hot and breathless air. tired of listless dreaming through the lazy day: jovial wind of winter turns us out to play! sweep the golden reed-beds; crisp the lazy dyke; hunger into madness every plunging pike. fill the lake with wild-fowl; fill the marsh with snipe; while on dreary moorlands lonely curlew pipe. through the black fir-forest thunder harsh and dry, shattering down the snow-flakes off the curdled sky. hark! the brave north-easter! breast-high lies the scent, on by holt and headland, over heath and bent. chime, ye dappled darlings, through the sleet and snow. who can over-ride you? let the horses go! chime, ye dappled darlings, down the roaring blast; you shall see a fox die ere an hour be past. go! and rest to-morrow, hunting in your dreams, while our skates are ringing o'er the frozen streams. let the luscious south-wind breathe in lovers' sighs, while the lazy gallants bask in ladies' eyes. what does he but soften heart alike and pen? 'tis the hard grey weather breeds hard english men. what's the soft south-wester? 'tis the ladies' breeze, bringing home their true-loves out of all the seas. but the black north-easter, through the snow-storm hurl'd, drives our english hearts of oak seaward round the world. come, as came our fathers, heralded by thee, conquering from the eastward, lords by land and sea. come; and strong within us stir the vikings' blood, bracing brain and sinew; blow, thou wind of god! lxxiv. from "the mill on the floss." george eliot.-- - . the next morning maggie was trotting with her own fishing-rod in one hand and a handle of the basket in the other, stepping always, by a peculiar gift, in the muddiest places, and looking darkly radiant from under her beaver bonnet because tom was good to her. she had told tom, however, that she should like him to put the worms on the hook for her, although she accepted his word when he assured her that worms couldn't feel (it was tom's private opinion that it didn't much matter if they did). he knew all about worms, and fish, and those things; and what birds were mischievous, and how padlocks opened, and which way the handles of the gates were to be lifted. maggie thought this sort of knowledge was very wonderful--much more difficult than remembering what was in the books; and she was rather in awe of tom's superiority, for he was the only person who called her knowledge "stuff," and did not feel surprised at her cleverness. tom, indeed, was of opinion that maggie was a silly little thing; all girls were silly; they couldn't throw a stone so as to hit anything, couldn't do anything with a pocket-knife, and were frightened at frogs. still, he was very fond of his sister, and meant always to take care of her, make her his housekeeper, and punish her when she did wrong. they were on their way to the round pool--that wonderful pool, which the floods had made a long while ago. no one knew how deep it was; and it was mysterious, too, that it should be almost a perfect round, framed in with willows and tall reeds, so that the water was only to be seen when you got close to the brink. the sight of the old favorite spot always heightened tom's good-humor, and he spoke to maggie in the most amiable whispers, as he opened the precious basket and prepared their tackle. he threw her line for her, and put the rod into her hand. maggie thought it probable that the small fish would come to her hook, and the large ones to tom's. but she had forgotten all about the fish, and was looking dreamily at the glassy water, when tom said, in a loud whisper, "look! look, maggie!" and came running to prevent her from snatching her line away. maggie was frightened lest she had been doing something wrong, as usual, but presently tom drew out her line and brought a large tench bouncing on the grass. tom was excited. "o magsie! you little duck! empty the basket." maggie was not conscious of unusual merit, but it was enough that tom called her magsie, and was pleased with her. there was nothing to mar her delight in the whispers and the dreamy silences, when she listened to the light dipping sounds of the rising fish, and the gentle rustling, as if the willows, and the reeds, and the water had their happy whisperings also. maggie thought it would make a very nice heaven to sit by the pool in that way, and never be scolded. she never knew she had a bite till tom told her, but she liked fishing very much. it was one of their happy mornings. they trotted along and sat down together, with no thought that life would ever change much for them: they would only get bigger and not go to school, and it would always be like the holidays; they would always live together and be fond of each other. and the mill with its booming--the great chestnut-tree under which they played at houses--their own little river, the ripple, where the banks seemed like home, and tom was always seeing the water-rats, while maggie gathered the purple plumy tops of the reeds, which she forgot and dropped afterward--above all, the great floss, along which they wandered with a sense of travel, to see the rushing spring-tide, the awful eagre, come up like a hungry monster, or to see the great ash which had once wailed and groaned like a man--these things would always be just the same to them. tom thought people were at a disadvantage who lived on any other spot of the globe; and maggie, when she read about christiana passing "the river over which there is no bridge," always saw the floss between the green pastures by the great ash. life did change for tom and maggie; and yet they were not wrong in believing that the thoughts and loves of these first years would always make part of their lives. we could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it--if it were not the earth where the same flowers come up again every spring that we used to gather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ourselves on the grass--the same hips and haws on the autumn hedgerows--the same red-breasts that we used to call "god's birds," because they did no harm to the precious crops. what novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known, and _loved_ because it is known? the wood i walk in on this mild may day, with the young yellow-brown foliage of the oaks between me and the blue sky, the white star-flowers, and the blue-eyed speedwell, and the ground-ivy at my feet--what grove of tropic palms, what strange ferns or splendid broad-petaled blossoms, could ever thrill such deep and delicate fibres within me as this home-scene? these familiar flowers, these well-remembered bird-notes, this sky with its fitful brightness, these furrowed and grassy fields, each with a sort of personality given to it by the capricious hedgerows--such things as these are the mother tongue of our imagination, the language that is laden with all the subtle inextricable associations the fleeting hours of our childhood left behind them. our delight in the sunshine on the deep-bladed grass to-day might be no more than the faint perception of wearied souls, if it were not for the sunshine and the grass in the far-off years, which still live in us, and transform our perception into love. lxxv. the cloud confines. dante gabriel rossetti.-- - . the day is dark and the night to him that would search their heart; no lips of cloud that will part nor morning song in the light: only, gazing alone, to him wild shadows are shown, deep under deep unknown and height above unknown height. still we say as we go,-- "strange to think by the way, whatever there is to know, that shall we know one day." the past is over and fled; named new, we name it the old; thereof some tale hath been told, but no word comes from the dead; whether at all they be, or whether as bond or free, or whether they too were we, or by what spell they have sped. still we say as we go,-- "strange to think by the way, whatever there is to know, that shall we know one day." what of the heart of hate that beats in thy breast, o time?-- red strife from the furthest prime, and anguish of fierce debate; war that shatters her slain, and peace that grinds them as grain, and eyes fix'd ever in vain on the pitiless eyes of fate. still we say as we go,-- "strange to think by the way, whatever there is to know, that shall we know one day." what of the heart of love that bleeds in thy breast, o man?-- thy kisses snatch'd 'neath the ban of fangs that mock them above; thy bells prolong'd unto knells, thy hope that a breath dispels, thy bitter forlorn farewells and the empty echoes thereof? still we say as we go,-- "strange to think by the way, whatever there is to know, that shall we know one day." the sky leans dumb on the sea, aweary with all its wings; and oh! the song the sea sings is dark everlastingly. our past is clean forgot, our present is and is not, our future's a seal'd seedplot, and what betwixt them are we?-- we who say as we go,-- "strange to think by the way, whatever there is to know, that shall we know one day." lxxvi. barbara frietchie. john greenleaf whittier.-- - up from the meadows rich with corn, clear in the cool september morn, the cluster'd spires of frederick stand green-wall'd by the hills of maryland. round about them orchards sweep, apple and peach tree fruited deep,-- fair as a garden of the lord to the eyes of the famish'd rebel horde, on that pleasant morn of the early fall when lee march'd over the mountain wall,-- over the mountains winding down, horse and foot, into frederick town. forty flags with their silver stars, forty flags with their crimson bars, flapp'd in the morning wind: the sun of noon look'd down, and saw not one. up rose old barbara frietchie then, bow'd with her fourscore years and ten; bravest of all in frederick town, she took up the flag the men haul'd down; in her attic-window the staff she set, to show that one heart was loyal yet. up the street came the rebel tread, stonewall jackson riding ahead. under his slouch'd hat left and right he glanced: the old flag met his sight. "halt!"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast "fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast. it shiver'd the window, pane and sash; it rent the banner with seam and gash. quick, as it fell, from the broken staff dame barbara snatch'd the silken scarf; she lean'd far out on the window-sill, and shook it forth with a royal will. "shoot, if you must, this old grey head, but spare your country's flag!" she said. a shade of sadness, a blush of shame, over the face of the leader came; the nobler nature within him stirr'd to life at that woman's deed and word: "who touches a hair of yon grey head, dies like a dog! march on!" he said. all day long through frederick street sounded the tread of marching feet: all day long that free flag toss'd over the heads of the rebel host. ever its torn folds rose and fell on the loyal winds that lov'd it well; and through the hill-gaps sunset light shone over it with a warm good-night. barbara frietchie's work is o'er, and the rebel rides on his raids no more honor to her! and let a tear fall, for her sake, on stonewall's bier. over barbara frietchie's grave, flag of freedom and union, wave! peace and order and beauty draw round thy symbol of light and law; and ever the stars above look down on thy stars below in frederick town! lxxvii. contentment. oliver wendell holmes.-- - _"man wants but little here below."_ little i ask; my wants are few; i only wish a hut of stone, (a _very plain_ brown stone will do,) that i may call my own;-- and close at hand is such a one, in yonder street that fronts the sun. plain food is quite enough for me; three courses are as good as ten;-- if nature can subsist on three, thank heaven for three. amen! i always thought cold victual nice;-- my _choice_ would be vanilla-ice. i care not much for gold or land;-- give me a mortgage here and there,-- some good bank-stock,--some note of hand, or trifling railroad share,-- i only ask that fortune send a _little_ more than i shall spend. honors are silly toys, i know, and titles are but empty names; i would, _perhaps_, be plenipo,-- but only near st. james; i'm very sure i should not care to fill our gubernator's chair. jewels are baubles; 'tis a sin to care for such unfruitful things;-- one good-sized diamond in a pin,-- some, _not so large_, in rings,-- a ruby, and a pearl, or so, will do for me;--i laugh at show. my dame should dress in cheap attire; (good, heavy silks are never dear;)-- i own perhaps i _might_ desire some shawls of true cashmere,-- some marrowy crapes of china silk, like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. i would not have the horse i drive so fast that folks must stop and stare; an easy gait--two, forty-five-- suits me; i do not care,-- perhaps for just a _single spurt_, some seconds less would do no hurt. of pictures i should like to own titians and raphaels three or four,-- i love so much their style and tone,-- one turner, and no more, (a landscape,--foreground golden dirt,-- the sunshine painted with a squirt.) of books but few,--some fifty score for daily use, and bound for wear; the rest upon an upper floor;-- some _little_ luxury _there_ of red morocco's gilded gleam, and vellum rich as country cream. busts, cameos, gems,--such things as these, which others often show for pride, _i_ value for their power to please, and selfish churls deride;-- _one_ stradivarius, i confess, _two_ meerschaums, i would fain possess. wealth's wasteful tricks i will not learn, nor ape the glittering upstart fool;-- shall not carv'd tables serve my turn, but _all_ must be of buhl? give grasping pomp its double share,-- i ask but _one_ recumbent chair. thus humble let me live and die, nor long for midas' golden touch; if heaven more generous gifts deny, i shall not miss them _much_,-- too grateful for the blessing lent of simple tastes and mind content. * * * * * _flower in the crannied wall, i pluck you out of the crannies;-- hold you here, root and all, in my hand, little flower--but if i could understand what you are, root and all, and all in all, i should know what god and man is._ tennyson. lxxviii. the british constitution. the right hon. william ewart gladstone.-- - _from_ kin beyond sea. the constitution has not been the offspring of the thought of man. the cabinet, and all the present relations of the constitutional powers in this country, have grown into their present dimensions, and settled into their present places, not as the fruit of a philosophy, not in the effort to give effect to an abstract principle; but by the silent action of forces, invisible and insensible, the structure has come up into the view of all the world. it is, perhaps, the most conspicuous object on the wide political horizon; but it has thus risen, without noise, like the temple of jerusalem. "no workman steel, no ponderous hammers rung; like some tall palm the stately fabric sprung." when men repeat the proverb which teaches us that "marriages are made in heaven," what they mean is that, in the most fundamental of all social operations, the building up of the family, the issues involved in the nuptial contract, lie beyond the best exercise of human thought, and the unseen forces of providential government make good the defect in our imperfect capacity. even so would it seem to have been in that curious marriage of competing influences and powers, which brings about the composite harmony of the british constitution. more, it must be admitted, than any other, it leaves open doors which lead into blind alleys; for it presumes, more boldly than any other, the good sense and good faith of those who work it. if, unhappily, these personages meet together, on the great arena of a nation's fortunes, as jockeys meet upon a racecourse, each to urge to the uttermost, as against the others, the power of the animal he rides; or as counsel in a court, each to procure the victory of his client, without respect to any other interest or right: then this boasted constitution of ours is neither more nor less than a heap of absurdities. the undoubted competency of each reaches even to the paralysis or destruction of the rest. the house of commons is entitled to refuse every shilling of the supplies. that house, and also the house of lords, is entitled to refuse its assent to every bill presented to it. the crown is entitled to make a thousand peers to-day, and as many to-morrow: it may dissolve all and every parliament before it proceeds to business; may pardon the most atrocious crimes; may declare war against all the world; may conclude treaties involving unlimited responsibilities, and even vast expenditure, without the consent, nay without the knowledge, of parliament, and this not merely in support or in development, but in reversal, of policy already known to and sanctioned by the nation. but the assumption is that the depositaries of power will all respect one another; will evince a consciousness that they are working in a common interest for a common end; that they will be possessed, together with not less than an average intelligence, of not less than an average sense of equity and of the public interest and rights. when these reasonable expectations fail, then, it must be admitted, the british constitution will be in danger. apart from such contingencies, the offspring only of folly or of crime, this constitution is peculiarly liable to subtle change. not only in the long-run, as man changes between youth and age, but also, like the human body, with a quotidian life, a periodical recurrence of ebbing and flowing tides. its old particles daily run to waste, and give place to new. what is hoped among us is, that which has usually been found, that evils will become palpable before they have grown to be intolerable.... meantime, we of this island are not great political philosophers; and we contend with an earnest, but disproportioned, vehemence about changes which are palpable, such as the extension of the suffrage, or the redistribution of parliamentary seats, neglecting wholly other processes of change which work beneath the surface, and in the dark, but which are even more fertile of great organic results. the modern english character reflects the english constitution in this, that it abounds in paradox; that it possesses every strength, but holds it tainted with every weakness; that it seems alternately both to rise above and to fall below the standard of average humanity; that there is no allegation of praise or blame which, in some one of the aspects of its many-sided formation, it does not deserve; that only in the midst of much default, and much transgression, the people of this united kingdom either have heretofore established, or will hereafter establish, their title to be reckoned among the children of men, for the eldest born of an imperial race. * * * * * _it fortifies my soul to know that, though i perish, truth is so: that, howsoe'er i stray and range, whate'er i do, thou dost not change. i steadier step when i recall that, if i slip thou dost not fall._ arthur hugh clough. lxxix. the lord of burleigh. lord tennyson.-- - in her ear he whispers gayly, "if my heart by signs can tell, maiden, i have watch'd thee daily, and i think thou lov'st me well." she replies, in accents fainter, "there is none i love like thee." he is but a landscape-painter, and a village maiden she. he to lips, that fondly falter, presses his without reproof: leads her to the village altar, and they leave her father's roof. "i can make no marriage present; little can i give my wife. love will make our cottage pleasant, and i love thee more than life." they by parks and lodges going see the lordly castles stand: summer woods, about them blowing, made a murmur in the land. from deep thought himself he rouses says to her that loves him well, "let us see these handsome houses where the wealthy nobles dwell." so she goes by him attended, hears him lovingly converse, sees whatever fair and splendid lay betwixt his home and hers; parks with oak and chestnut shady, parks and order'd gardens great, ancient homes of lord and lady, built for pleasure and for state. all he shows her makes him dearer: evermore she seems to gaze on that cottage growing nearer, where they twain will spend their days. o but she will love him truly! he shall have a cheerful home; she will order all things duly, when beneath his roof they come. thus her heart rejoices greatly, till a gateway she discerns with armorial bearings stately, and beneath the gate she turns; sees a mansion more majestic than all those she saw before: many a gallant gay domestic bows before him at the door. and they speak in gentle murmur, when they answer to his call, while he treads with footsteps firmer, leading on from hall to hall. and, while now she wonders blindly, nor the meaning can divine, proudly turns he round and kindly, "all of this is mine and thine." here he lives in state and bounty, lord of burleigh, fair and free, not a lord in all the county is so great a lord as he. all at once the color flushes her sweet face from brow to chin: as it were with shame she blushes, and her spirit changed within. then her countenance all over pale again as death did prove; but he clasp'd her like a lover, and he cheer'd her soul with love. so she strove against her weakness, tho' at times her spirits sank: shaped her heart with woman's meekness to all duties of her rank: and a gentle consort made he, and her gentle mind was such that she grew a noble lady, and the people lov'd her much. but a trouble weigh'd upon her, and perplex'd her, night and morn, with the burden of an honor unto which she was not born. faint she grew, and ever fainter, as she murmur'd, "o, that he were once more that landscape-painter, which did win my heart from me!" so she droop'd and droop'd before him, fading slowly from his side: three fair children first she bore him, then before her time she died. weeping, weeping late and early, walking up and pacing down, deeply mourn'd the lord of burleigh, burleigh-house by stamford-town. and he came to look upon her, and he look'd at her and said, "bring the dress and put it on her, that she wore when she was wed." then her people, softly treading, bore to earth her body, drest in the dress that she was wed in, that her spirit might have rest. * * * * * _and yet, dear heart! remembering thee, am i not richer than of old?_ whittier. lxxx. "break, break, break." lord tennyson. break, break, break, on thy cold gray stones, o sea! and i would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me. o well for the fisherman's boy, that he shouts with his sister at play! o well for the sailor lad, that he sings in his boat on the bay! and the stately ships go on to their haven under the hill; but o for the touch of a vanish'd hand, and the sound of a voice that is still! break, break, break, at the foot of thy crags, o sea! but the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me. lxxxi. the "revenge." a ballad of the fleet, . lord tennyson. at flores in the azores sir richard grenville lay, and a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came flying from far away: "spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!" then sware lord thomas howard: "'fore god i am no coward! but i cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, and the half my men are sick. i must fly, but follow quick. we are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?" then spake sir richard grenville: "i know you are no coward; you fly them for a moment to fight with them again. but i've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. i should count myself the coward if i left them, my lord howard, to these inquisition dogs and the devildoms of spain." so lord howard past away with five ships of war that day, till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; but sir richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land very carefully and slow, men of bideford in devon, and we laid them on the ballast down below; for we brought them all aboard, and they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to spain, to the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the lord. he had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight, and he sail'd away from flores till the spaniard came in sight, with his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow. "shall we fight or shall we fly? good sir richard, let us know, for to fight is but to die! there'll be little of us left by the time the sun be set." and sir richard said again: "we be all good englishmen. let us bang these dogs of seville, the children of the devil, for i never turn'd my back upon don or devil yet." sir richard spoke, and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so the little "revenge" ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, with her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; for half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, and the little "revenge" ran on thro' the long sea-lane between. thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and laugh'd, thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft running on and on, till delay'd by their mountain-like "san philip" that, of fifteen hundred tons, and up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd. and while now the great "san philip" hung above us like a cloud whence the thunderbolt will fall long and loud, four galleons drew away from the spanish fleet that day, and two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, and the battle-thunder broke from them all. but anon the great "san philip," she bethought herself and went, having that within her womb that had left her ill-content; and the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand, for a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers, and a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears when he leaps from the water to the land. and the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, but never a moment ceas'd the fight of the one and the fifty-three. ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came, ship after ship, the whole night long, with their battle-thunder and flame; ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame; for some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could fight us no more-- god of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before? for he said, "fight on! fight on!" tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; and it chanced that, when half of the summer night was gone, with a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, but a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, and himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, and he said, "fight on! fight on!" and the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, and the spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; but they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that we still could sting, so they watch'd what the end would be. and we had not fought them in vain, but in perilous plight were we, seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, and half of the rest of us maim'd for life in the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; and the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold, and the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent; and the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; but sir richard cried in his english pride, "we have fought such a fight for a day and a night as may never be fought again! we have won great glory, my men! and a day less or more at sea or shore, we die--does it matter when? sink me the ship, master gunner--sink her, split her in twain! fall into the hands of god, not into the hands of spain!" and the gunner said, "ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: "we have children, we have wives, and the lord hath spared our lives. we will make the spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go; we shall live to fight again, and to strike another blow." and the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. and the stately spanish men to their flagship bore him then, where they laid him by the mast, old sir richard caught at last, and they prais'd him to his face with their courtly foreign grace; but he rose upon their decks, and he cried: "i have fought for queen and faith like a valiant man and true; i have only done my duty as a man is bound to do: with a joyful spirit i, sir richard grenville, die!" and he fell upon their decks, and he died. and they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, and had holden the power and glory of spain so cheap, that he dared her with one little ship and his english few; was he devil or man? he was devil for aught they knew, but they sank his body with honor down into the deep, and they mann'd the "revenge" with a swarthier alien crew, and away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own; when a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep, and the water began to heave and the weather to moan, and or ever that evening ended a great gale blew, and a wave like the wave that is rais'd by an earthquake grew, till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, and the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of spain, and the little "revenge" herself went down by the island crags to be lost evermore in the main. * * * * * _there is no land like england, where'er the light of day be; there are no hearts like english hearts, such hearts of oak as they be._ tennyson. lxxxii. hervÉ riel. robert browning.-- - on the sea and at the hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, did the english fight the french,--woe to france! and, the thirty-first of may, helter-skelter through the blue, like a crowd of frighten'd porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, came crowding ship on ship to st. malo on the rance, with the english fleet in view. 'twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; first and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, damfreville; close on him fled, great and small, twenty-two good ships in all; and they signall'd to the place "help the winners of a race! get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick;--or, quicker still, here's the english can and will!" then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board: "why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laugh'd they: "rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarr'd and scored, shall the _formidable_ here with her twelve and eighty guns think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, and with flow at full beside? now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. reach the mooring? rather say, while rock stands or water runs, not a ship will leave the bay!" then was call'd a council straight. brief and bitter the debate: "here's the english at our heels; would you have them take in tow all that's left us of the fleet, link'd together stern and bow, for a prize to plymouth sound? better run the ships aground!" (ended damfreville his speech.) not a minute more to wait! "let the captains all and each shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! france must undergo her fate. "give the word!" but no such word was ever spoke or heard; for up stood, for out stepp'd, for in struck, amid all these,-- a captain? a lieutenant? a mate,--first, second, third? no such man of mark, and meet with his betters to compete! but a simple breton sailor press'd by tourville for the fleet, a poor coasting-pilot he,--hervé riel, the croisickese. and "what mockery or malice have we here?" cries hervé riel: "are you mad, you malouins? are you cowards, fools, or rogues? talk to me of rocks and shoals?--me, who took the soundings, tell on my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell 'twixt the offing here and grève where the river disembogues? are you bought by english gold? is it love the lying's for? morn and eve, night and day, have i piloted your bay, enter'd free and anchor'd fast at the foot of solidor. burn the fleet and ruin france? that were worse than fifty hogues! sirs, they know i speak the truth! sirs, believe me there's a way! only let me lead the line, have the biggest ship to steer, get this _formidable_ clear, make the others follow mine, and i lead them, most and least, by a passage i know well, right to solidor past grève, and there lay them safe and sound; and if one ship misbehave,-- keel so much as grate the ground,-- why, i've nothing but my life,--here's my head!" cries hervé riel. not a minute more to wait. "steer us in, then, small and great! take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. captains, give the sailor place! he is admiral, in brief. still the north-wind, by god's grace! see the noble fellow's face as the big ship, with a bound, clears the entry like a hound, keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! see, safe through shoal and rock, how they follow in a flock! not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, not a spar that comes to grief! the peril, see, is past! all are harbor'd to the last! and just as hervé riel hollas "anchor!"--sure as fate up the english come,--too late! so, the storm subsides to calm: they see the green trees wave on the heights o'erlooking grève. hearts that bled are stanch'd with balm. "just our rapture to enhance, let the english rake the bay, gnash their teeth and glare askance as they cannonade away! 'neath rampired solidor pleasant riding on the rance!" now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! out burst all with one accord, "this is paradise for hell! let france, let france's king, thank the man that did the thing!" what a shout, and all one word, "hervé riel!" as he stepp'd in front once more, not a symptom of surprise in the frank blue breton eyes,-- just the same man as before. then said damfreville, "my friend, i must speak out at the end, though i find the speaking hard. praise is deeper than the lips; you have saved the king his ships, you must name your own reward. 'faith our sun was near eclipse! demand whate'er you will, france remains your debtor still. ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not damfreville." then a beam of fun outbroke on the bearded mouth that spoke, as the honest heart laugh'd through those frank eyes of breton blue: "since i needs must say my say, since on board the duty's done, and from malo roads to croisic point, what is it but a run?-- since 'tis ask and have, i may,-- since the others go ashore,-- come! a good whole holiday! leave to go and see my wife, whom i call the belle aurore!" that he ask'd and that he got,--nothing more. name and deed alike are lost: not a pillar nor a post in his croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; not a head in white and black on a single fishing smack, in memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack all that france saved from the fight whence england bore the bell. go to paris: rank on rank search the heroes flung pell-mell on the louvre, face and flank! you shall look long enough ere you come to hervé riel. so, for better and for worse, hervé riel, accept my verse! in my verse, hervé riel, do thou once more save the squadron, honor france, love thy wife the belle aurore! * * * * * _the summum pulchrum rests in heaven above; do thou, as best thou may'st, thy duty do: amid the things allow'd thee live and love, some day thou shalt it view._ arthur hugh clough. lxxxiii. sonnet. president wilson.-- - great things were ne'er begotten in an hour; ephemerons in birth, are such in life; and he who dareth, in the noble strife of intellects, to cope for real power,-- such as god giveth as his rarest dower of mastery, to the few with greatness rife,-- must, ere the morning mists have ceased to lower till the long shadows of the night arrive, stand in the arena. laurels that are won, pluck'd from green boughs, soon wither; those that last are gather'd patiently, when sultry noon and summer's fiery glare in vain are past. life is the hour of labor; on earth's breast serene and undisturb'd shall be thy rest. lxxxiv. our ideal. president wilson. did ever on painter's canvas live the power of his fancy's dream? did ever poet's pen achieve fruition of his theme? did marble ever take the life that the sculptor's soul conceiv'd? or ambition win in passion's strife what its glowing hopes believ'd? did ever racer's eager feet rest as he reach'd the goal, finding the prize achiev'd was meet to satisfy his soul? lxxxv. from the apology of socrates. benjamin jowett.-- - _from_ the dialogues of plato. not much time will be gained, o athenians, in return for the evil name which you will get from the detractors of the city, who will say that you killed socrates, a wise man; for they will call me wise, even although i am not wise, when they want to reproach you. if you had waited a little while, your desire would have been fulfilled in the course of nature. for i am far advanced in years, as you may perceive, and not far from death. i am speaking now only to those of you who have condemned me to death. and i have another thing to say to them: you think that i was convicted through deficiency of words--i mean, that if i had thought fit to leave nothing undone, nothing unsaid, i might have gained an acquittal. not so; the deficiency which led to my conviction was not of words--certainly not. but i had not the boldness or impudence or inclination to address you as you would have liked me to address you, weeping and wailing and lamenting, and saying and doing many things which you have been accustomed to hear from others, and which, as i say, are unworthy of me. but i thought that i ought not to do anything common or mean in the hour of danger: nor do i now repent of the manner of my defense, and i would rather die having spoken after my manner, than speak in your manner and live. for neither in war nor yet at law ought any man to use every way of escaping death. for often in battle there is no doubt that if a man will throw away his arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death; and in other dangers there are other ways of escaping death, if a man is willing to say and do anything. the difficulty, my friends, is not in avoiding death, but in avoiding unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death. i am old and move slowly, and the slower runner has overtaken me, and my accusers are keen and quick, and the faster runner, who is unrighteousness, has overtaken them. and now i depart hence, condemned by you to suffer the penalty of death, and they too go their ways, condemned by the truth to suffer the penalty of villainy and wrong; and i must abide by my award--let them abide by theirs. i suppose that these things may be regarded as fated,--and i think that they are well. and now, o men who have condemned me, i would fain prophesy to you; for i am about to die, and that is the hour in which men are gifted with prophetic power. and i prophesy to you who are my murderers, that immediately after my death punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you. me you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your lives. but that will not be as you suppose: far otherwise. for i say that there will be more accusers of you than there are now; accusers whom hitherto i have restrained: and as they are younger they will be more severe with you, and you will be more offended at them. for if you think that by killing men you can avoid the accuser censuring your lives, you are mistaken; that is not a way of escape which is either possible or honorable; the easiest and the noblest way is not to be crushing others, but to be improving yourselves. this is the prophecy which i utter before my departure to the judges who have condemned me. friends, who would have acquitted me, i would like also to talk with you about this thing which has happened, while the magistrates are busy, and before i go to the place at which i must die. stay then a while, for we may as well talk with one another while there is time. you are my friends, and i should like to show you the meaning of this event which has happened to me. o my judges--for you i may truly call judges--i should like to tell you of a wonderful circumstance. hitherto the familiar oracle within me has constantly been in the habit of opposing me even about trifles, if i was going to make a slip or error about anything; and now as you see there has come upon me that which may be thought, and is generally believed to be, the last and worst evil. but the oracle made no sign of opposition, either as i was leaving my house and going out in the morning, or when i was going up into this court, or while i was speaking, at anything which i was going to say; and yet i have often been stopped in the middle of a speech, but now in nothing i either said or did touching this matter has the oracle opposed me. what do i take to be the explanation of this? i will tell you. i regard this as a proof that what has happened to me is a good, and that those of us who think that death is an evil are in error. this is a great proof to me of what i am saying, for the customary sign would surely have opposed me had i been going to evil and not to good. let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is great reason to hope that death is a good, for one of two things: either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another. now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by the sight of dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. for if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare with this the other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life better and more pleasantly than this one, i think that any man, i will not say a private man, but even the great king will not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. now if death is like this, i say that to die is gain; for eternity is then only a single night. but if death is the journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead are, what good, o my friends and judges, can be greater than this? if indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is delivered from the professors of justice in this world, and finds the true judges who are said to give judgment there, minos and rhadamanthus, and, Æacus, and triptolemus, and other sons of god who were righteous in their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. what would not a man give if he might converse with orpheus and musæus and hesiod and homer? nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. i, too, shall have a wonderful interest in a place where i can converse with palamedes, and ajax the son of telamon, and other heroes of old, who have suffered death through an unjust judgment; and there will be no small pleasure, as i think, in comparing my own sufferings with theirs. above all, i shall be able to continue my search into true and false knowledge; as in this world, so also in that; i shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise, and is not. what would not a man give, o judges, to be able to examine the leader of the great trojan expedition; or odysseus or sisyphus, or numberless others, men and women too? what infinite delight would there be in conversing with them and asking them questions! for in that world they do not put a man to death for this; certainly not. for besides being happier in that world than in this, they will be immortal, if what is said is true. wherefore, o judges, be of good cheer about death, and know this of a truth--that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. he and his are not neglected by the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance. but i see clearly that to die and be released was better for me; and therefore the oracle gave no sign. for which reason, also, i am not angry with my accusers or my condemners; they have done me no harm, although neither of them meant to do me any good; and for this i may gently blame them. still i have a favor to ask of them. when my sons are grown up, i would ask you, o my friends, to punish them, and i would have you trouble them, as i have troubled you, if they seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue; or if they pretend to be something when they are really nothing,--then reprove them, as i have reproved you, for not caring about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they are something when they are really nothing. and if you do this, i and my sons will have received justice at your hands. the hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways--i to die, and you to live. which is better god only knows. * * * * * _be of good cheer then, my dear crito, and say that you are burying my body only._ _socrates, in the_ phÆdo.--plato. lxxxvi. the empire of the cÆsars. james anthony froude.-- - _from_ cÆsar. of cæsar it may be said that he came into the world at a special time and for a special object. the old religions were dead, from the pillars of hercules to the euphrates and the nile, and the principles on which human society had been constructed were dead also. there remained of spiritual conviction only the common and human sense of justice and morality; and out of this sense some ordered system of government had to be constructed, under which quiet men could live, and labor, and eat the fruit of their industry. under a rule of this material kind there can be no enthusiasm, no chivalry, no saintly aspirations, no patriotism of the heroic type. it was not to last forever. a new life was about to dawn for mankind. poetry, and faith, and devotion were to spring again out of the seeds which were sleeping in the heart of humanity. but the life which is to endure grows slowly; and as the soil must be prepared before the wheat can be sown, so before the kingdom of heaven could throw up its shoots there was needed a kingdom of this world where the nations were neither torn in pieces by violence nor were rushing after false ideals and spurious ambitions. such a kingdom was the empire of the cæsars--a kingdom where peaceful men could work, think, and speak as they pleased, and travel freely among provinces ruled for the most part by gallios who protected life and property, and forbade fanatics to tear each other in pieces for their religious opinions. "it is not lawful for us to put any man to death," was the complaint of the jewish priests to the roman governor. had europe and asia been covered with independent nations, each with a local religion represented in its ruling powers, christianity must have been stifled in its cradle. if st. paul had escaped the sanhedrim at jerusalem, he would have been torn to pieces by the silversmiths at ephesus. the appeal to cæsar's judgment-seat was the shield of his mission, and alone made possible his success. lxxxvii. of the mystery of life. john ruskin-- - _from_ sesame and lilies. and now, returning to the broader question what these arts and labors of life have to teach us of its mystery, this is the first of their lessons--that the more beautiful the art, the more it is essentially the work of people who _feel themselves wrong_;--who are striving for the fulfilment of a law, and the grasp of a loveliness, which they have not yet attained, which they feel even farther and farther from attaining, the more they strive for it. and yet, in still deeper sense, it is the work of people who know also that they are right. the very sense of inevitable error from their purpose marks the perfectness of that purpose, and the continued sense of failure arises from the continued opening of the eyes more clearly to all the sacredest laws of truth. this is one lesson. the second is a very plain, and greatly precious one, namely:--that whenever the arts and labors of life are fulfilled in this spirit of striving against misrule, and doing whatever we have to do, honorably and perfectly, they invariably bring happiness, as much as seems possible to the nature of man. in all other paths, by which that happiness is pursued, there is disappointment, or destruction: for ambition and for passion there is no rest--no fruition; the fairest pleasures of youth perish in a darkness greater than their past light; and the loftiest and purest love too often does but inflame the cloud of life with endless fire of pain. but, ascending from lowest to highest, through every scale of human industry, that industry worthily followed, gives peace. ask the laborer in the field, at the forge, or in the mine; ask the patient, delicate-fingered artisan, or the strong-armed, fiery-hearted worker in bronze, and in marble, and with the colors of light; and none of these, who are true workmen, will ever tell you, that they have found the law of heaven an unkind one--that in the sweat of their face they should eat bread, till they return to the ground; nor that they ever found it an unrewarded obedience, if, indeed, it was rendered faithfully to the command--"whatsoever thy hand findeth to do--do it with thy might." these are the two great and constant lessons which our laborers teach us of the mystery of life. but there is another, and a sadder one, which they cannot teach us, which we must read on their tombstones. "do it with thy might." there have been myriads upon myriads of human creatures who have obeyed this law--who have put every breath and nerve of their being into its toil--who have devoted every hour, and exhausted every faculty--who have bequeathed their unaccomplished thoughts at death--who being dead, have yet spoken, by majesty of memory, and strength of example. and, at last, what has all this "might" of humanity accomplished, in six thousand years of labor and sorrow? what has it _done_? take the three chief occupations and arts of men, one by one, and count their achievements. begin with the first--the lord of them all--agriculture. six thousand years have passed since we were set to till the ground, from which we were taken. how much of it is tilled? how much of that which is, wisely or well? in the very centre and chief garden of europe--where the two forms of parent christianity have had their fortresses--where the noble catholics of the forest cantons, and the noble protestants of the vaudois valleys, have maintained, for dateless ages, their faiths and liberties--there the unchecked alpine rivers yet run wild in devastation: and the marshes, which a few hundred men could redeem with a year's labor, still blast their helpless inhabitants into fevered idiotism. that is so, in the centre of europe! while, on the near coast of africa, once the garden of the hesperides, an arab woman, but a few sunsets since, ate her child, for famine. and, with all the treasures of the east at our feet, we, in our own dominion, could not find a few grains of rice, for a people that asked of us no more; but stood by, and saw five hundred thousand of them perish of hunger. then, after agriculture, the art of kings, take the next head of human arts--weaving; the art of queens, honored of all noble heathen women, in the person of their virgin goddess--honored of all hebrew women, by the word of their wisest king--"she layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff; she stretcheth out her hand to the poor. she is not afraid of the snow for her household, for all her household are clothed with scarlet. she maketh herself covering of tapestry, her clothing is silk and purple. she maketh fine linen, and selleth it, and delivereth girdles to the merchant." what have we done in all these thousands of years with this bright art of greek maid and christian matron? six thousand years of weaving, and have we learned to weave? might not every naked wall have been purple with tapestry, and every feeble breast fenced with sweet colors from the cold? what have we done? our fingers are too few, it seems, to twist together some poor covering for our bodies. we set our streams to work for us, and choke the air with fire, to turn our spinning-wheels,--and--_are we yet clothed_? are not the streets of the capitals of europe foul with the sale of cast clouts and rotten rags? is not the beauty of your sweet children left in wretchedness of disgrace, while, with better honor, nature clothes the brood of the bird in its nest, and the suckling of the wolf in her den? and does not every winter's snow robe what you have not robed, and shroud what you have not shrouded; and every winter's wind bear up to heaven its wasted souls, to witness against you hereafter, by the voice of their christ,--"i was naked, and ye clothed me not"? lastly--take the art of building--the strongest-proudest--most orderly--most enduring of the arts of man, that of which the produce is in the surest manner accumulative, and need not perish, or be replaced; but if once well done will stand more strongly than the unbalanced rocks--more prevalently than the crumbling hills. the art which is associated with all civic pride and sacred principle; with which men record their power--satisfy their enthusiasm--make sure their defence--define and make dear their habitation. and, in six thousand years of building, what have we done? of the greater part of all that skill and strength, _no_ vestige is left, but fallen stones, that encumber the fields and impede the streams. but from this waste of disorder, and of time, and of rage, what _is_ left to us? constructive and progressive creatures, that we are, with ruling brains, and forming hands; capable of fellowship, and thirsting for fame, can we not contend, in comfort, with the insects of the forest, or, in achievement, with the worm of the sea? the white surf rages in vain against the ramparts built by poor atoms of scarcely nascent life; but only ridges of formless ruin mark the places where once dwelt our noblest multitudes. the ant and the moth have cells for each of their young, but our little ones lie in festering heaps, in homes that consume them like graves; and night by night, from the corners of our streets, rises up the cry of the homeless--"i was a stranger, and ye took me not in." must it be always thus? is our life forever to be without profit--without possession? shall the strength of its generations be as barren as death; or cast away their labor, as the wild fig-tree casts her untimely figs? is it all a dream then--the desire of the eyes and the pride of life--or, if it be, might we not live in nobler dream than this? the poets and prophets, the wise men, and the scribes, though they have told us nothing about a life to come, have told us much about the life that is now. they have had--they also,--their dreams, and we have laughed at them. they have dreamed of mercy, and of justice; they have dreamed of peace and good-will; they have dreamed of labor undisappointed, and of rest undisturbed; they have dreamed of fulness in harvest, and overflowing in store; they have dreamed of wisdom in council, and of providence in law; of gladness of parents, and strength of children, and glory of gray hairs. and at these visions of theirs we have mocked, and held them for idle and vain, unreal and unaccomplishable. what have we accomplished with our realities? is this what has come of our worldly wisdom, tried against their folly? this our mightiest possible, against their impotent ideal? or have we only wandered among the spectra of a baser felicity, and chased phantoms of the tombs, instead of visions of the almighty; and walked after the imaginations of our evil hearts, instead of after the counsels of eternity, until our lives--not in the likeness of the cloud of heaven, but of the smoke of hell--have become "as a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away"? _does_ it vanish then? are you sure of that?--sure, that the nothingness of the grave will be a rest from this troubled nothingness; and that the coiling shadow, which disquiets itself in vain, cannot change into the smoke of the torment that ascends forever? will any answer that they _are_ sure of it, and that there is no fear, nor hope, nor desire, nor labor, whither they go? be it so; will you not, then, make as sure of the life, that now is, as you are of the death that is to come? your hearts are wholly in this world--will you not give them to it wisely, as well as perfectly? and see, first of all, that you _have_ hearts, and sound hearts, too, to give. because you have no heaven to look for, is that any reason that you should remain ignorant of this wonderful and infinite earth, which is firmly and instantly given you in possession? although your days are numbered, and the following darkness sure, is it necessary that you should share the degradation of the brute, because you are condemned to its mortality; or live the life of the moth, and of the worm, because you are to companion them in the dust? not so; we may have but a few thousands of days to spend, perhaps hundreds only--perhaps tens; nay, the longest of our time and best, looked back on, will be but as a moment, as the twinkling of an eye; still, we are men, not insects; we are living spirits, not passing clouds. "he maketh the winds his messengers; the momentary fire, his minister;" and shall we do less than _these_? let us do the work of men while we bear the form of them; and, as we snatch our narrow portion of time out of eternity, snatch also our narrow inheritance of passion out of immortality--even though our lives _be_ as a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. but there are some of you who believe not this--who think this cloud of life has no such close--that it is to float, revealed and illumined, upon the floor of heaven, in the day when he cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see him. some day, you believe, within these five, or ten, or twenty years, for every one of us the judgment will be set, and the books opened. if that be true, far more than that must be true. is there but one day of judgment? why, for us every day is a day of judgment--every day is a dies iræ, and writes its irrevocable verdict in the flame of its west. think you that judgment waits till the doors of the grave are opened? it waits at the doors of your houses--it waits at the corners of your streets; we are in the midst of judgment--the insects that we crush are our judges--the moments we fret away are our judges--the elements that feed us, judge, as they minister--and the pleasures that deceive us, judge as they indulge. let us, for our lives, do the work of men while we bear the form of them, if indeed those lives are _not_ as a vapor, and do _not_ vanish away. lxxxviii. the robin. james russell lowell.-- - _from_ my garden acquaintance. the return of the robin is commonly announced by the newspapers, like that of eminent or notorious people to a watering-place, as the first authentic notification of spring. and such his appearance in the orchard and garden undoubtedly is. but, in spite of his name of migratory thrush, he stays with us all winter, and i have seen him when the thermometer marked degrees below zero of fahrenheit, armed impregnably within, like emerson's titmouse, and as cheerful as he. the robin has a bad reputation among people who do not value themselves less for being fond of cherries. there is, i admit, a spice of vulgarity in him, and his song is rather of the bloomfield sort, too largely ballasted with prose. his ethics are of the poor richard school, and the main chance which calls forth all his energy is altogether of the belly. he never has those fine intervals of lunacy into which his cousins, the catbird and the mavis, are apt to fall. but for a' that and twice as muckle 's a' that, i would not exchange him for all the cherries that ever came out of asia minor. with whatever faults, he has not wholly forfeited that superiority which belongs to the children of nature. he has a finer taste in fruit than could be distilled from many successive committees of the horticultural society, and he eats with a relishing gulp not inferior to dr. johnson's. he feels and freely exercises his right of eminent domain. his is the earliest mess of green peas; his all the mulberries i had fancied mine. but if he get also the lion's share of the raspberries, he is a great planter, and sows those wild ones in the woods, that solace the pedestrian and give a momentary calm even to the jaded victims of the white hills. he keeps a strict eye over one's fruit, and knows to a shade of purple when your grapes have cooked long enough in the sun. during a severe drought a few years ago, the robins wholly vanished from my garden. i neither saw nor heard one for three weeks. meanwhile a small foreign grape-vine, rather shy of bearing, seemed to find the dusty air congenial, and, dreaming perhaps of its sweet argos across the sea, decked itself, with a score or so of fair bunches. i watched them from day to day till they should have secreted sugar enough from the sunbeams, and at last made up my mind that i would celebrate my vintage the next morning. but the robins too had somehow kept note of them. they must have sent out spies, as did the jews into the promised land, before i was stirring. when i went with my basket, at least a dozen of these winged vintagers bustled out from among the leaves, and alighting on the nearest trees interchanged some shrill remarks about me of a derogatory nature. they had fairly sacked the vine. not wellington's veterans made cleaner work of a spanish town; not federals or confederates were ever more impartial in the confiscation of neutral chickens. i was keeping my grapes a secret to surprise the fair fidele with, but the robins made them a profounder secret to her than i had meant. the tattered remnant of a single bunch was all my harvest-home. how paltry it looked at the bottom of my basket,--as if a humming-bird had laid her egg in an eagle's nest! i could not help laughing; and the robins seemed to join heartily in the merriment. there was a native grape-vine close by, blue with its less refined abundance, but my cunning thieves preferred the foreign flavor. could i tax them with want of taste? the robins are not good solo singers, but their chorus, as, like primitive fire-worshippers, they hail the return of light and warmth to the world, is unrivalled. there are a hundred singing like one. they are noisy enough then, and sing, as poets should, with no afterthought. but when they come after cherries to the tree near my window, they muffle their voices, and their faint _pip, pip, pop_! sounds far away at the bottom of the garden, where they know i shall not suspect them of robbing the great black-walnut of its bitter-rinded store.[p] they are feathered pecksniffs, to be sure, but then how brightly their breasts, that look rather shabby in the sunlight, shine in a rainy day against the dark green of the fringe-tree! after they have pinched and shaken all the life out of an earthworm, as italian cooks pound all the spirit out of a steak, and then gulped him, they stand up in honest self-confidence, expand their red waistcoats with the virtuous air of a lobby member, and outface you with an eye that calmly challenges inquiry. "do _i_ look like a bird that knows the flavor of raw vermin? i throw myself upon a jury of my peers. ask any robin if he ever ate anything less ascetic than the frugal berry of the juniper, and he will answer that his vow forbids him." can such an open bosom cover such depravity? alas, yes! i have no doubt his breast was redder at that very moment with the blood of my raspberries. on the whole, he is a doubtful friend in the garden. he makes his dessert of all kinds of berries, and is not averse from early pears. but when we remember how omnivorous he is, eating his own weight in an incredibly short time, and that nature seems exhaustless in her invention of new insects hostile to vegetation, perhaps we may reckon that he does more good than harm. for my own part, i would rather have his cheerfulness and kind neighborhood than many berries. footnotes: [p] the screech-owl, whose cry, despite his ill name, is one of the sweetest sounds in nature, softens his voice in the same way with the most beguiling mockery of distance.--author's note. lxxxix. the old cradle. frederick locker.-- - and this was your cradle? why, surely, my jenny, such cosy dimensions go clearly to show you were an exceedingly small pickaninny some nineteen or twenty short summers ago. your baby-days flow'd in a much-troubled channel; i see you, as then, in your impotent strife, a tight little bundle of wailing and flannel, perplex'd with the newly-found fardel of life. to hint at an infantile frailty's a scandal; let bygones be bygones, for somebody knows it was bliss such a baby to dance and to dandle,-- your cheeks were so dimpled, so rosy your toes. ay, here is your cradle; and hope, a bright spirit, with love now is watching beside it, i know. they guard the wee nest it was yours to inherit some nineteen or twenty short summers ago. it is hope gilds the future, love welcomes it smiling, thus wags this old world, therefore stay not to ask, "my future bids fair, is my future beguiling?" if mask'd, still it pleases--then raise not its mask. is life a poor coil some would gladly be doffing? he is riding post-haste who their wrongs will adjust; for at most 'tis a footstep from cradle to coffin-- from a spoonful of pap to a mouthful of dust. then smile as your future is smiling, my jenny; i see you, except for those infantine woes, little changed since you were but a small pickaninny-- your cheeks were so dimpled, so rosy your toes! ay, here is your cradle, much, much to my liking, though nineteen or twenty long winters have sped. hark! as i'm talking there's six o'clock striking,-- it is time jenny's baby should be in its bed. xc. rugby chapel. november, . matthew arnold.-- - coldly, sadly descends the autumn-evening. the field strewn with its dank yellow drifts of wither'd leaves, and the elms, fade into dimness apace, silent;--hardly a shout from a few boys late at their play! the lights come out in the street, in the school-room windows--but cold, solemn, unlighted, austere, through the gathering darkness, arise the chapel-walls, in whose bound thou, my father! art laid. there thou dost lie, in the gloom of the autumn evening. but ah! that word, _gloom_, to my mind brings thee back in the light of thy radiant vigor again: in the gloom of november we pass'd days not dark at thy side; seasons impair'd not the ray of thy buoyant cheerfulness clear. such thou wast! and i stand in the autumn evening, and think of bygone autumns with thee. fifteen years have gone round since thou arosest to tread, in the summer-morning, the road of death, at a call unforeseen, sudden. for fifteen years, we who till then in thy shade rested as under the boughs of a mighty oak, have endured sunshine and rain as we might, bare, unshaded, alone, lacking the shelter of thee. o strong soul, by what shore tarriest thou now? for that force, surely, has not been left vain! somewhere, surely, afar, in the sounding labor-house vast of being, is practis'd that strength, zealous, beneficent, firm! yes, in some far-shining sphere, conscious or not of the past, still thou performest the word of the spirit in whom thou dost live-- prompt, unwearied, as here! still thou upraisest with zeal the humble good from the ground, sternly repressest the bad! still, like a trumpet, dost rouse those who with half-open eyes tread the border-land dim 'twixt vice and virtue; reviv'st, succorest!--this was thy work. this was thy life upon earth. what is the course of the life of mortal men on the earth?-- most men eddy about here and there--eat and drink, chatter and love and hate, gather and squander, are rais'd aloft, are hurl'd in the dust, striving blindly, achieving nothing; and then they die-- perish--and no one asks who or what they have been, more than he asks what waves, in the moonlit solitudes mild of the midmost ocean, have swell'd, foam'd for a moment, and gone. and there are some, whom a thirst ardent, unquenchable, fires, not with the crowd to be spent, not without aim to go round in an eddy of purposeless dust effort unmeaning and vain. ah yes! some of us strive not without action to die fruitless, but something to snatch from dull oblivion, nor all glut the devouring grave! we, we have chosen our path-- path to a clear-purpos'd goal, path of advance!--but it leads a long, steep journey, through sunk gorges, o'er mountains in snow. cheerful, with friends, we set forth-- then, on the height, comes the storm. thunder crashes from rock to rock, the cataracts reply; lightnings dazzle our eyes; roaring torrents have breach'd the track, the stream-bed descends in the place where the wayfarer once planted his footstep--the spray boils o'er its borders! aloft the unseen snow-beds dislodge their hanging ruin!--alas, havoc is made in our train! friends, who set forth at our side, falter, are lost in the storm. we, we only are left!-- with frowning foreheads, with lips sternly compress'd, we strain on on--and at nightfall at last come to the end of our way, to the lonely inn 'mid the rocks; where the gaunt and taciturn host stands on the threshold, the wind shaking his thin white hairs-- holds his lantern to scan our storm-beat figures, and asks: whom in our party we bring? whom we have left in the snow? sadly we answer: we bring only ourselves! we lost sight of the rest in the storm. hardly ourselves we fought through, stripp'd, without friends, as we are. friends, companions, and train, the avalanche swept from our side. but thou would'st not _alone_ be saved, my father! _alone_ conquer and come to thy goal, leaving the rest in the wild. we were weary; and we fearful, and we in our march fain to drop down and to die. still thou turnedst, and still beckonedst the trembler, and still gavest the weary thy hand. if, in the paths of the world, stones might have wounded thy feet, toil or dejection have tried thy spirit, of that we saw nothing--to us thou wast still cheerful, and helpful, and firm! therefore to thee it was given many to save with thyself; and, at the end of thy day, o faithful shepherd! to come, bringing thy sheep in thy hand, and through thee i believe in the noble and great who are gone; pure souls honor'd and blest by former ages, who else-- such, so soulless, so poor, is the race of men whom i see-- seem'd but a dream of the heart, seem'd but a cry of desire. yes! i believe that there liv'd others like thee in the past, not like the men of the crowd who all round me to-day bluster or cringe, and make life hideous, and arid, and vile; but souls temper'd with fire, fervent, heroic, and good, helpers and friends of mankind. servants of god!--or sons shall i not call you? because not as servants ye knew your father's innermost mind, his, who unwillingly sees one of his little ones lost-- yours is the praise, if mankind hath not as yet in its march fainted, and fallen, and died! see! in the rocks of the world marches the host of mankind, a feeble, wavering line. where are they tending?--a god marshall'd them, gave them their goal.-- ah, but the way is so long! years they have been in the wild! sore thirst plagues them, the rocks, rising all round, overawe; factions divide them, their host threatens to break, to dissolve.-- ah, keep, keep them combined! else, of the myriads who fill that army, not one shall arrive; sole they shall stray; on the rocks batter forever in vain, die one by one in the waste. then, in such hour of need of your fainting, dispirited race, ye, like angels, appear, radiant with ardor divine. beacons of hope, ye appear! languor is not in your heart, weakness is not in your word, weariness not on your brow. ye alight in our van! at your voice, panic, despair, flee away. ye move through the ranks, recall the stragglers, refresh the outworn, praise, re-inspire the brave. order, courage, return; eyes rekindling, and prayers, follow your steps as ye go. ye fill up the gaps in our files, strengthen the wavering line, stablish, continue our march, on, to the bound of the waste, on, to the city of god. * * * * * _what know we greater than the soul? on god and godlike men we build our trust._ tennyson. xci. in the orillia woods. charles sangster.-- - my footsteps press where, centuries ago, the red men fought and conquer'd; lost and won. whole tribes and races, gone like last year's snow, have found the eternal hunting-grounds, and run the fiery gauntlet of their active days, till few are left to tell the mournful tale: and these inspire us with such wild amaze they seem like spectres passing down a vale steep'd in uncertain moonlight, on their way towards some bourn where darkness blinds the day, and night is wrapp'd in mystery profound. we cannot lift the mantle of the past: we seem to wander over hallow'd ground: we scan the trail of thought, but all is overcast. there was a time--and that is all we know! no record lives of their ensanguin'd deeds: the past seems palsied with some giant blow, and grows the more obscure on what it feeds. a rotted fragment of a human leaf; a few stray skulls; a heap of human bones! these are the records--the traditions brief-- 'twere easier far to read the speechless stones. the fierce ojibwas, with tornado force, striking white terror to the hearts of braves! the mighty hurons, rolling on their course, compact and steady as the ocean waves! the fiery iroquois, a warrior host! who were they?--whence?--and why? no human tongue can boast! xcii. morals and character in the eighteenth century. goldwin smith.-- - _from_ cowper. the world into which cowper came was one very adverse to him, and at the same time very much in need of him. it was a world from which the spirit of poetry seemed to have fled. there could be no stronger proof of this than the occupation of the throne of spenser, shakespeare, and milton, by the arch-versifier pope. the revolution of was glorious, but unlike the puritan revolution which it followed, and in the political sphere partly ratified, it was profoundly prosaic. spiritual religion, the source of puritan grandeur and of the poetry of milton, was almost extinct; there was not much more of it among the nonconformists, who had now become to a great extent mere whigs, with a decided unitarian tendency. the church was little better than a political force cultivated and manipulated by political leaders for their own purposes. the bishops were either politicians, or theological polemics collecting trophies of victory over free-thinkers as titles to higher preferment. the inferior clergy as a body were far nearer in character to trulliber than to dr. primrose; coarse, sordid, neglectful of their duties, shamelessly addicted to sinecurism and pluralities, fanatics in their toryism and in attachment to their corporate privileges, cold, rationalistic, and almost heathen in their preachings, if they preached at all. the society of the day is mirrored in the pictures of hogarth in the works of fielding and smollett; hard and heartless polish was the best of it; and not a little of it was _marriage à la mode_. chesterfield, with his soulless culture, his court graces, and his fashionable immoralities, was about the highest type of an english gentleman; but the wilkeses, potters, and sandwiches, whose mania for vice culminated in the hell-fire club, were more numerous than the chesterfields. among the country squires, for one allworthy, or sir roger de coverley, there were many westerns. among the common people religion was almost extinct, and assuredly no new morality or sentiment, such as positivists now promise, had taken its place. sometimes the rustic thought for himself, and scepticism took formal possession of his mind; but as we see from one of cowper's letters, it was a coarse scepticism which desired to be buried with its hounds. ignorance and brutality reigned in the cottage. drunkenness reigned in palace and cottage alike. gambling, cock-fighting, and bull-fighting were the amusements of the people. political life, which, if it had been pure and vigorous, might have made up for the absence of spiritual influences, was corrupt from the top of the scale to the bottom: its effect on national character is portrayed in hogarth's _election_. that property had its duties as well as its rights, nobody had yet ventured to say or think. the duty of a gentleman towards his own class was to pay his debts of honor, and to fight a duel whenever he was challenged by one of his own order; towards the lower class his duty was none. though the forms of government were elective, and cowper gives us a description of the candidate at election time obsequiously soliciting votes, society was intensely aristocratic, and each rank was divided from that below it by a sharp line which precluded brotherhood or sympathy. says the duchess of buckingham to lady huntingdon, who had asked her to come and hear whitefield, "i thank your ladyship for the information concerning the methodist preachers; their doctrines are most repulsive, and strongly tinctured with disrespect towards their superiors, in perpetually endeavoring to level all ranks and do away with all distinctions. it is monstrous to be told you have a heart as sinful as the common wretches that crawl on the earth. this is highly offensive and insulting; and i cannot but wonder that your ladyship should relish any sentiments so much at variance with high rank and good breeding. i shall be most happy to come and hear your favorite preacher." her grace's sentiments towards the common wretches that crawl on the earth were shared, we may be sure, by her grace's waiting-maid. of humanity there was as little as there was of religion. it was the age of the criminal law which hanged men for petty thefts, of life-long imprisonment for debt, of the stocks and the pillory, of a temple bar garnished with the heads of traitors, of the unreformed prison system, of the press-gang, of unrestrained tyranny and savagery at public schools. that the slave trade was iniquitous hardly any one suspected; even men who deemed themselves religious took part in it without scruple. but a change was at hand, and a still mightier change was in prospect. at the time of cowper's birth, john wesley was twenty-eight, and whitefield was seventeen. with them the revival of religion, was at hand. johnson, the moral reformer, was twenty-two. howard was born, and in less than a generation wilberforce was to come. * * * * * _that is best blood that hath most iron in 't to edge resolve with, pouring without stint for what makes manhood dear._ james russell lowell. xciii. a liberal education. thomas henry huxley.-- - _from_ lay sermons, addresses, and reviews. suppose it were perfectly certain that the life and fortune of every one of us would, one day or other, depend upon his winning or losing a game at chess. don't you think that we should all consider it to be a primary duty to learn at least the names and the moves of the pieces; to have a notion of a gambit, and a keen eye for all the means of giving and getting out of check? do you not think that we should look with a disapprobation amounting to scorn, upon the father who allowed his son, or the state which allowed its members, to grow up without knowing a pawn from a knight? yet it is a very plain and elementary truth, that the life, the fortune, and the happiness of every one of us, and, more or less, of those who are connected with us, do depend upon our knowing something of the rules of a game infinitely more difficult and complicated than chess. it is a game which has been played for untold ages, every man and woman of us being one of the two players in a game of his or her own. the chess-board is the world, the pieces are the phenomena of the universe, the rules of the game are what we call the laws of nature. the player on the other side is hidden from us. we know that his play is always fair, just, and patient. but also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance. to the man who plays well, the highest stakes are paid, with that sort of overflowing generosity with which the strong shows delight in strength. and one who plays ill is checkmated--without haste, but without remorse. my metaphor will remind some of you of the famous picture in which retzsch has depicted satan playing at chess with man for his soul. substitute for the mocking fiend in that picture, a calm, strong angel, who is playing for love, as we say, and would rather lose than win--and i should accept it as an image of human life. well, what i mean by education, is learning the rules of this mighty game. in other words, education is the instruction of the intellect in the laws of nature, under which name i include not merely things and their forces, but men and their ways; and the fashioning of the affections and of the will into an earnest and loving desire to move in harmony with those laws. for me, education means neither more nor less than this. anything which professes to call itself education must be tried by this standard, and if it fails to stand the test, i will not call it education, whatever may be the force of authority, or of numbers, upon the other side. it is important to remember that, in strictness, there is no such thing as an uneducated man. take an extreme case. suppose that an adult man, in the full vigor of his faculties, could be suddenly placed in the world, as adam is said to have been, and then left to do as he best might. how long would he be left uneducated? not five minutes. nature would begin to teach him, through the eye, the ear, the touch, the properties of objects. pain and pleasure would be at his elbow telling him to do this and avoid that; and by slow degrees the man would receive an education, which, if narrow, would be thorough, real, and adequate to his circumstances, though there would be no extras and very few accomplishments. and if to this solitary man entered a second adam, or, better still, an eve, a new and greater world, that of social and moral phenomena, would be revealed. joys and woes, compared with which all others might seem but faint shadows, would spring from the new relations. happiness and sorrow would take the place of the coarser monitors, pleasure and pain; but conduct would still be shaped by the observation of the natural consequences of actions; or, in other words, by the laws of the nature of man. to every one of us the world was once as fresh and new as to adam. and then, long before we were susceptible of any other mode of instruction, nature took us in hand, and every minute of waking life brought its educational influence, shaping our actions into rough accordance with nature's laws, so that we might not be ended untimely by too gross disobedience. nor should i speak of this process of education as past for any one, be he as old as he may. for every man, the world is as fresh as it was at the first day, and as full of untold novelties for him who has the eyes to see them. and nature is still continuing her patient education of us in that great university, the universe, of which we are all members--nature having no test-acts. those who take honors in nature's university, who learn the laws which govern men and things, and obey them, are the really great and successful men in this world. the great mass of mankind are the "poll," who pick up just enough to get through without much discredit. those who won't learn at all are plucked; and then you can't come up again. nature's pluck means extermination. thus the question of compulsory education is settled so far as nature is concerned. her bill on that question was framed and passed long ago. but, like all compulsory legislation, that of nature is harsh and wasteful in its operation. ignorance is visited as sharply as wilful disobedience--incapacity meets with the same punishment as crime. nature's discipline is not even a word and a blow, and the blow first; but the blow without the word. it is left to you to find out why your ears are boxed. the object of what we commonly call education--that education in which man intervenes and which i shall distinguish as artificial education--is to make good these defects in nature's methods; to prepare the child to receive nature's education, neither incapably nor ignorantly, nor with wilful disobedience; and to understand the preliminary symptoms of her displeasure, without waiting for the box on the ear. in short, all artificial education ought to be an anticipation of natural education. and a liberal education is an artificial education, which has not only prepared a man to escape the great evils of disobedience to natural laws, but has trained him to appreciate and to seize upon the rewards which nature scatters with as free a hand as her penalties. that man, i think, has had a liberal education, who has been so trained in youth that his body is the ready servant of his will, and does with ease and pleasure all the work that, as a mechanism, it is capable of; whose intellect is a clear, cold, logic engine, with all its parts of equal strength, and in smooth working order; ready, like a steam engine, to be turned to any kind of work, and spin the gossamers as well as forge the anchors of the mind; whose mind is stored with a knowledge of the great and fundamental truths of nature and of the laws of her operations; one, who, no stunted ascetic, is full of life and fire, but whose passions are trained to come to heel by a vigorous will, the servant of a tender conscience; who has learned to love all beauty, whether of nature or of art, to hate all vileness, and to respect others as himself. such an one and no other, i conceive, has had a liberal education; for he is, as completely as a man can be, in harmony with nature. he will make the best of her, and she of him. they will get on together rarely; she as his ever beneficent mother; he as her mouth-piece, her conscious self, her minister and interpreter. xciv. too late. dinah maria mulock craik.-- - could ye come back to me, douglas, douglas, in the old likeness that i knew, i would be so faithful, so loving, douglas, douglas, douglas, tender and true. never a scornful word should grieve ye, i'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do,-- sweet as your smile on me shone ever, douglas, douglas, tender and true. o to call back the days that are not! my eyes were blinded, your words were few; do you know the truth now up in heaven, douglas, douglas, tender and true? i never was worthy of you, douglas, not half worthy the like of you; now all men beside seem to me like shadows,-- i love _you_, douglas, tender and true. stretch out your hand to me, douglas, douglas, drop forgiveness from heaven like dew, as i lay my heart on your dead heart, douglas, douglas, douglas, tender and true. xcv. amor mundi. christina georgina rossetti.-- - "o where are you going with your love-locks flowing, on the west wind blowing along this valley track?" "the down-hill path is easy, come with me an it please ye, we shall escape the up-hill by never turning back." so they two went together in glowing august weather, the honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; and dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seem'd to float on the air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. "oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven, where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?" "oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous, an undecipher'd solemn signal of help or hurt." "oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, their scent comes rich and sickly?" "a scaled and hooded worm." "oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale i quake to follow?" "oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term." "turn again, o my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest: this beaten way thou beatest, i fear is hell's own track." "nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting: this down-hill path is easy, but there's no turning back." xcvi. toujours amour. edmund clarence stedman.-- - prithee tell me, dimple-chin, at what age does love begin? your blue eyes have scarcely seen summers three, my fairy queen, but a miracle of sweets, soft approaches, sly retreats, show the little archer there, hidden in your pretty hair; when didst learn a heart to win? prithee tell me, dimple-chin! "oh!" the rosy lips reply, "i can't tell you if i try. tis so long i can't remember: ask some younger lass than i." tell, o tell me, grizzled-face, do your heart and head keep pace? when does hoary love expire, when do frosts put out the fire? can its embers burn below all that chill december snow? care you still soft hands to press, bonny heads to smooth and bless? when does love give up the chase? tell, o tell me, grizzled-face! "ah!" the wise old lips reply, "youth may pass and strength may die; but of love i can't foretoken: ask some older sage than i!" xcvii. england. thomas bailey aldrich.-- - while men pay reverence to mighty things, they must revere thee, thou blue-cinctured isle of england--not to-day, but this long while in the front of nations, mother of great kings, soldiers, and poets. round thee the sea flings his steel-bright arm, and shields thee from the guile and hurt of france. secure, with august smile, thou sittest, and the east its tribute brings. some say thy old-time power is on the wane, thy moon of grandeur fill'd, contracts at length-- they see it darkening down from less to less. let but a hostile hand make threat again, and they shall see thee in thy ancient strength, each iron sinew quivering, lioness! * * * * * _such kings of shreds have woo'd and won her, such crafty knaves her laurel own'd, it has become almost an honor not to be crown'd._ thomas bailey aldrich. _on popularity._ xcviii. rococo. thomas bailey aldrich. by studying my lady's eyes i've grown so learnèd day by day, so machiavelian in this wise, that when i send her flowers, i say to each small flower (no matter what, geranium, pink, or tuberose, syringa, or forget-me-not, or violet) before it goes: "be not triumphant, little flower, when on her haughty heart you lie, but modestly enjoy your hour: she'll weary of you by-and-by." xcix. kings of men. john reade.-- - as hills seem alps, when veil'd in misty shroud, some men seem kings, through mists of ignorance; must we have darkness, then, and cloud on cloud, to give our hills and pigmy kings a chance? must we conspire to curse the humbling light, lest some one, at whose feet our fathers bow'd, should suddenly appear, full length, in sight, scaring to laughter the adoring crowd? oh, no! god send us light!--who loses then? the king of slaves and not the king of men. true kings are kings for ever, crown'd of god, the king of kings,--we need not fear for them. 'tis only the usurper's diadem that shakes at touch of light, revealing fraud. c. thalatta! thalatta! john reade. in my ear is the moan of the pines--in my heart is the song of the sea, and i feel his salt breath on my face as he showers his kisses on me, and i hear the wild scream of the gulls, as they answer the call of the tide, and i watch the fair sails as they glisten like gems on the breast of a bride. from the rock where i stand to the sun is a pathway of sapphire and gold, like a waif of those patmian visions that wrapt the lone seer of old, and it seems to my soul like an omen that calls me far over the sea-- but i think of a little white cottage and one that is dearest to me. westward ho! far away to the east is a cottage that looks to the shore,-- though each drop in the sea were a tear, as it was, i can see it no more; for the heart of its pride with the flowers of the "vale of the shadow" reclines, and--hush'd is the song of the sea and hoarse is the moan of the pines. ci. the forsaken garden. algernon charles swinburne.-- - in a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, at the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, wall'd round with rocks as an inland island, the ghost of a garden fronts the sea. a girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses the steep square slope of the blossomless bed where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses now lie dead. the fields fall southward, abrupt and broken, to the low last edge of the long lone land. if a step should sound or a word be spoken, would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand? so long have the gray bare walks lain guestless, through branches and briers if a man make way, he shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless night and day. the dense hard passage is blind and stifled, that crawls by a track none turn to climb to the strait waste place that the years have rifled of all but the thorns that are touch'd not of time. the thorns he spares when the rose is taken; the rocks are left when he wastes the plain. the wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken, these remain. not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls not; as the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry; from the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not, could she call, there were never a rose to reply. over the meadows that blossom and wither rings but the note of sea-bird's song; only the sun and the rain come hither all year long. the sun burns sere and the rain dishevels one gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath. only the wind here hovers and revels in a round where life seems barren as death. here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, haply, of lovers none ever will know, whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping years ago. heart handfast in heart as they stood, "look thither," did he whisper? "look forth from the flowers to the sea; for the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither, and men that love lightly may die--but we?" and the same wind sang and the same waves whiten'd, and or ever the garden's last petals were shed, in the lips that had whisper'd, the eyes that had lighten'd, love was dead. or they lov'd their life through, and then went whither? and were one to the end--but what end who knows? love deep as the sea as a rose must wither, as the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose. shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them? what love was ever as deep as a grave? they are loveless now as the grass above them or the wave. all are at one now, roses and lovers, not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea. not a breath of the time that has been hovers in the air now soft with a summer to be. not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep, when as they that are free now of weeping and laughter we shall sleep. here death may deal not again for ever; here change may come not till all change end. from the graves they have made they shall rise up never, who have left nought living to ravage and rend. earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing, when the sun and the rain live, these shall be; till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing roll the sea. till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble the fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink, here now in his triumph where all things falter, stretch'd out on the spoils that his own hand spread, as a god self-slain on his own strange altar, death lies dead. cii. a ballad to queen elizabeth of the spanish armada. (ballade.) austin dobson.-- - king philip had vaunted his claims; he had sworn for a year he would sack us; with an army of heathenish names he was coming to fagot and stack us; like the thieves of the sea he would track us, and shatter our ships on the main; but we had bold neptune to back us,-- and where are the galleons of spain? his carackes were christen'd of dames to the kirtles whereof he would tack us; with his saints and his gilded stern-frames, he had thought like an egg-shell to crack us; now howard may get to his flaccus, and drake to his devon again, and hawkins bowl rubbers to bacchus,-- for where are the galleons of spain? let his majesty hang to st. james the axe that he whetted to hack us; he must play at some lustier games or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us; to his mines of peru he would pack us to tug at his bullet and chain; alas! that his greatness should lack us!-- but where are the galleons of spain? envoy. gloriana!--the don may attack us whenever his stomach be fain; he must reach us before he can rack us, ... and where are the galleons of spain? * * * * * _he lives not best who dreads the coming pain and shunneth each delight desirable:_ flee thou extremes, _this word alone is plain, of all that god hath given to man to spell!_ andrew lang.-- . _from sonnets from the antique._ ciii. circe. (triolet.) austin dobson. in the school of coquettes madame rose is a scholar:-- o, they fish with all nets in the school of coquettes! when her brooch she forgets 'tis to show her new collar; in the school of coquettes madame rose is a scholar! civ. scenes from "tecumseh."[q] charles mair.-- - scene.--tecumseh's _cabin_. _enter_ iena. _iena._ 'tis night, and mamatee is absent still! why should this sorrow weigh upon my heart, and other lonely things on earth have rest? oh, could i be with them! the lily shone all day upon the stream, and now it sleeps under the wave in peace--in cradle soft which sorrow soon may fashion for my grave. ye shadows which do creep into my thoughts-- ye curtains of despair! what is my fault, that ye should hide the happy earth from me? once i had joy of it, when tender spring, mother of beauty, hid me in her leaves; when summer led me by the shores of song, and forests and far-sounding cataracts melted my soul with music. i have heard the rough chill harpings of dismantled woods, when fall had stripp'd them, and have felt a joy deeper than ear could lend unto the heart; and when the winter from his mountains wild look'd down on death, and, in the frosty sky, the very stars seem'd hung with icicles, then came a sense of beauty calm and cold, that wean'd me from myself, yet knit me still with kindred bonds to nature. all is past, and he--who won from me such love for him, and he--my valiant uncle and my friend, comes not to lift the cloud that drapes my soul, and shield me from the fiendish prophet's power. _enter_ mamatee. give me his answer in his very words! _mamatee._ there is a black storm raging in his mind-- his eye darts lightning like the angry cloud which hangs in woven darkness o'er the earth. brief is his answer--you must go to him. the long-knife's camp-fires gleam among the oaks which dot yon western hill. a thousand men are sleeping there cajoled to fatal dreams by promises the prophet breaks to-night. hark! 'tis the war-song. _iena._ dares the prophet now betray tecumseh's trust, and break his faith? _mamatee._ he dares do anything will feed ambition. his dancing braves are frenzied by his tongue, which prophesies revenge and victory. before the break of day he will surprise the long-knife's camp, and hang our people's fate upon a single onset. _iena._ should he fail? _mamatee._ then all will fail;--tecumseh's scheme will fail.[r] _iena._ it shall not! let us go to him at once! _mamatee._ and risk your life? _iena._ risk hovers everywhere when night and man combine for darksome deeds. i'll go to him, and argue on my knees-- yea, yield my hand--would i could give my heart to stay his purpose and this act of ruin. _mamatee._ he is not in the mood for argument. rash girl! they die who would oppose him now. _iena._ such death were sweet as life--i go! but, first-- great spirit! i commit my soul to thee. [_kneels._ scene.--_an open space in the forest near the prophet's town. a fire of billets burning. war-cries are heard from the town._ _enter the_ prophet. _prophet._ my spells do work apace! shout yourselves hoarse, ye howling ministers by whom i climb! for this i've wrought until my weary tongue, blister'd with incantation, flags in speech, and half declines its office. every brave inflamed by charms and oracles, is now a vengeful serpent, who will glide ere morn to sting the long-knife's sleeping camp to death. why should i hesitate? my promises! my duty to tecumseh! what are these compared with duty here? where i perceive a near advantage, there my duty lies; consideration strong which overweighs all other reason. here is harrison-- trepann'd to dangerous lodgment for the night-- each deep ravine which grooves the prairie's breast a channel of approach; each winding creek a screen for creeping death. revenge is sick to think of such advantage flung aside. for what? to let tecumseh's greatness grow, who gathers his rich harvest of renown out of the very fields that i have sown! by manitou, i will endure no more! nor, in the rising flood of our affairs, fish like an osprey for this eagle longer. but, soft! it is the midnight hour when comes tarhay to claim his bride. [_calls._] tarhay! tarhay! _enter_ tarhay _with several braves._ _tarhay._ tarhay is here! _prophet._ the long-knives die to-night. the spirits which do minister to me have breathed this utterance within my ear. you know my sacred office cuts me off from the immediate leadership in fight. my nobler work is in the spirit-world, and thence come promises which make us strong. near to the foe i'll keep the magic bowl, whilst you, tarhay, shall lead our warriors on. _tarhay._ i'll lead them; they are wild with eagerness. but fill my cold and empty cabin first with light and heat! you know i love your niece, and have the promise of her hand to-night. _prophet._ she shall be yours! [_to the braves._] go bring her here at once-- but, look! fulfilment of my promise comes in her own person. _enter_ iena _and_ mamatee. welcome, my sweet niece! you have forstall'd my message by these braves, and come unbidden to your wedding-place. _iena._ uncle! you know my heart is far away-- _prophet._ but still your hand is here! this little hand! [_pulling her forward._ _iena._ dare you enforce a weak and helpless girl, who thought to move you by her misery? stand back! i have a message for you too. what means the war-like song, the dance of braves, and bustle in our town? _prophet._ it means that we attack the foe to-night. _iena._ and risk our all? o that tecumseh knew! his soul would rush in arms to intercept you. what! break faith, and on the hazard of a doubtful strife, stake his great enterprise and all our lives! the dying curses of a ruin'd race will wither up your wicked heart for this! _prophet._ false girl! your heart is with our foes; your hand i mean to turn to better use. _iena._ oh, could it turn you from your mad intent how freely would i give it! drop this scheme, dismiss your frenzied warriors to their beds; and, if contented with my hand, tarhay can have it here. _tarhay._ i love you, iena! _iena._ then must you love what i do! love our race! 'tis this love nerves tecumseh to unite its scatter'd tribes--his fruit of noble toil, which you would snatch unripen'd from his hand, and feed to sour ambition. touch it not-- oh, touch it not, tarhay! and though my heart breaks for it, i am yours. _prophet._ his anyway, or i am not the prophet! _tarhay._ for my part i have no leaning to this rash attempt, since iena consents to be my wife. _prophet._ shall i be thwarted by a yearning fool! [_aside._ this soft, sleek girl, to outward seeming good, i know to be a very fiend beneath-- whose sly affections centre on herself, and feed the gliding snake within her heart. _tarhay._ i cannot think her so-- _mamatee._ she is not so! there is the snake that creeps among our race; whose venom'd fangs would bile into our lives, and poison all our hopes. _prophet._ she is the head-- the very neck of danger to me here, which i must break at once! [_aside._] tarhay--attend! i can see dreadful visions in the air; i can dream awful dreams of life and fate; i can bring darkness on the heavy earth; i can fetch shadows from our fathers' graves, and spectres from the sepulchres of hell. who dares dispute with me, disputes with death! dost hear, tarhay? [tarhay _and braves cower before the_ prophet. _tarhay._ i hear, and will obey. spare me! spare me! _prophet._ as for this foolish girl, the hand she offers you on one condition, i give to you upon a better one; and, since she has no mind to give her heart-- which, rest assured, is in her body still-- there,--take it at my hands! [_flings_ iena _violently towards_ tarhay, _into whose arms she falls fainting, and is then borne away by_ mamatee. [_to_ tarhay.] go bring the braves to view the mystic torch and belt of sacred beans grown from my flesh-- one touch of it makes them invulnerable-- then creep, like stealthy panthers, on the foe! scene.--_morning. the field of tippecanoe after the battle. the ground strewn with dead soldiers and warriors._ _enter_ harrison, _officers and soldiers, and_ barron. _harrison._ a costly triumph reckon'd by our slain! look how some lie still clench'd with savages in all-embracing death, their bloody hands glued in each other's hair! make burial straight of all alike in deep and common graves: their quarrel now is ended. _ st officer._ i have heard the red man fears our steel--'twas not so here; from the first shots, which drove our pickets in, till daylight dawn'd, they rush'd upon our lines, and flung themselves upon our bayonet points in frenzied recklessness of bravery. _barron._ they trusted in the prophet's rites and spells, which promis'd them immunity from death. all night he sat on yon safe eminence, howling his songs of war and mystery, then fled, at dawn, in fear of his own braves. _enter an_ aide. _harrison._ what tidings bring you from the prophet's town? _aide._ the wretched women with their children fly to distant forests for concealment. in their village is no living thing save mice which scamper'd as we oped each cabin door. their pots still simmer'd on the vacant hearths, standing in dusty silence and desertion. naught else we saw, save that their granaries were cramm'd with needful corn. _harrison._ go bring it all-- then burn their village down! [_exit_ aide. _ nd officer._ this victory will shake tecumseh's project to the base. were i the prophet i should drown myself rather than meet him. _barron._ we have news of him-- our scouts report him near in heavy force. _harrison._ 'twill melt, or draw across the british line, and wait for war. but double the night watch, lest he should strike, and give an instant care to all our wounded men: to-morrow's sun must light us on our backward march for home. thence rumor's tongue will spread so proud a story new england will grow envious of our glory; and, greedy for renown so long abhorr'd, will on old england draw the tardy sword! scene.--_the ruins of the prophet's town._ _enter the_ prophet, _who gloomily surveys the place._ _prophet._ our people scatter'd, and our town in ashes! to think these hands could work such madness here-- this envious head devise this misery! tecumseh, had not my ambition drawn such sharp and fell destruction on our race you might have smiled at me! for i have match'd my cunning 'gainst your wisdom, and have dragg'd myself and all into a sea of ruin. _enter_ tecumseh. _tecumseh._ devil! i have discover'd you at last! you sum of treacheries, whose wolfish fangs have torn our people's flesh--you shall not live! [_the_ prophet _retreats facing and followed by_ tecumseh. _prophet._ nay--strike me not! i can explain it all! it was a woman touch'd the magic bowl, and broke the brooding spell. _tecumseh._ impostor! slave! why should i spare you? [_lifts his hand as if to strike._ _prophet._ stay, stay, touch me not! one mother bore us in the self-same hour. _tecumseh._ then good and evil came to light together. go to the corn-dance, change your name to villain! away! your presence tempts my soul to mischief. [_exit the_ prophet _hastily._ would that i were a woman, and could weep, and slake hot rage with tears! o spiteful fortune, to lure me to the limit of my dreams, then turn and crowd the ruin of my toil into the narrow compass of a night! my brother's deep disgrace--myself the scorn of envious harriers and thieves of fame, who fain would rob me of the lawful meed of faithful services and duties done-- oh, i could bear it all! but to behold our ruin'd people hunted to their graves-- to see the long-knife triumph in their shame-- this is the burning shaft, the poison'd wound that rankles in my soul! but, why despair? all is not lost--the english are our friends. my spirit rises--manhood bear me up! i'll haste to malden, join my force to theirs, and fall with double fury on our foes. farewell ye plains and forests, but rejoice! ye yet shall echo to tecumseh's voice. _enter_ lefroy. _lefroy._ what tidings have you glean'd of iena? _tecumseh._ my brother meant to wed her to tarhay-- the chief who led his warriors to ruin; but, in the gloom and tumult of the night, she fled into the forest all alone. _lefroy._ alone! in the wide forest all alone! angels are with her now, for she is dead. _tecumseh._ you know her to be skilful with the bow. 'tis certain she would strike for some great lake-- erie or michigan. at the detroit are people of our nation, and perchance she fled for shelter there. i go at once to join the british force. [_exit_ tecumseh. _lefroy._ but yesterday i climb'd to heaven upon the shining stairs of love and hope, and here am quite cast down. my little flower amidst a weedy world, where art thou now? in deepest forest shade? or onward, where the sumach stands array'd in autumn splendor, its alluring form fruited, yet odious with the hidden worm? or, farther, by some still sequester'd lake, loon-haunted, where the sinewy panthers slake their noon-day thirst, and never voice is heard joyous of singing waters, breeze or bird, save their wild wailings.--[_a halloo without._] 'tis tecumseh calls! oh iena! if dead, where'er thou art-- thy saddest grave will be this ruin'd heart! [_exit._ footnotes: [q] these scenes are enacted at the "prophet's town," an indian village, situated at the junction of the tippecanoe river with the wabash, the latter a tributary of the ohio. tecumseh is gone on a mission to the southern indians to induce them to unite in a confederation of all the indian tribes, leaving his brother, the prophet, in charge of the tribes already assembled, having strictly enjoined upon him not to quarrel with the americans, or long-knives, as the indians called them, during his absence. general harrison, governor of indiana, and commander of the american forces, having learned of tecumseh's plans, marches to attack the prophet; but the latter, pretending to be friendly, sends out some chiefs to meet harrison. by the advice of these chiefs, the americans encamp on an elevated plateau, near the prophet's town,--"a very fitting place," to the mind of harrison's officers, but to the practised eye of harrison himself, also well fitted for a night attack by the indians. he, therefore, very wisely makes all necessary preparations for defence against any sudden attack. tecumseh has left behind him, under the protection of the prophet, his wife, mamatee, and his niece, iena. he is accompanied on his mission by lefroy, an english poet-artist, "enamoured of indian life, and in love with iena." the prophet, who is hostile to lefroy, intends to marry iena to tarhay, one of his chiefs, but mamatee has gone to intercede with her brother-in-law for iena, and, if possible, to turn him from his purpose. [r] tecumseh had long foreseen that nothing but combination could prevent the encroachments of the whites upon the ohio, and had long been successfully endeavoring to bring about a union of the tribes who inhabited its valley. the fort wayne treaties gave a wider scope to his design, and he now originated his great scheme of a federation of the entire red race. in pursuance of this object, his exertions, hitherto very arduous, became almost superhuman. he made repeated journeys, and visited almost every tribe from the gulf of mexico to the great lakes, and even north of them, and far to the west of the mississippi. in order to further his scheme he took advantage of his brother's growing reputation as a prophet, and allowed him to gain a powerful hold upon the superstitious minds of his people by his preaching and predictions. the prophet professed to have obtained from the great spirit a magic bowl, which possessed miraculous qualities; also a mystic torch, presumably from nanabush, the keeper of the sacred fire. he asserted that a certain belt, said to make those invulnerable who touched it whilst in his hands, was composed of beans which had grown from his flesh; and this belt was circulated far and wide by indian runners, finding its way even to the red river of the north. these, coupled with his oratory and mummeries, greatly enhanced an influence which was possibly added to by a gloomy and saturnine countenance, made more forbidding still by the loss of an eye. unfortunately for tecumseh's enterprise, the prophet was more bent upon personal notoriety than upon the welfare of his people; and, whilst professing the latter, indulged his ambition, in tecumseh's absence, by a precipitate attack upon harrison's force on the tippecanoe. his defeat discredited his assumption of supernatural powers, led to distrust and defection, and wrecked tecumseh's plan of independent action. but the protection of his people was tecumseh's sole ambition; and, true statesman that he was, he joined the british at amherstburg (fort malden), in upper canada, with a large force, and in the summer of began that series of services to the british interest which has made his name a household word in canada, and endeared him to the canadian heart.--_from_ author's note. cv. the return of the swallows. edmund william gosse.-- - "out in the meadows the young grass springs, shivering with sap," said the larks, "and we shoot into air with our strong young wings spirally up over level and lea; come, o swallows, and fly with us now that horizons are luminous! evening and morning the world of light, spreading and kindling, is infinite!" far away, by the sea in the south, the hills of olive and slopes of fern whiten and glow in the sun's long drouth, under the heavens that beam and burn; and all the swallows were gather'd there flitting about in the fragrant air, and heard no sound from the larks, but flew flashing under the blinding blue. out of the depths of their soft rich throats languidly fluted the thrushes, and said: "musical thought in the mild air floats, spring is coming and winter is dead! come, o swallows, and stir the air, for the buds are all bursting unaware, and the drooping eaves and the elm-trees long to hear the sound of your low sweet song." over the roofs of the white algiers, flashingly shadowing the bright bazaar, flitted the swallows, and not one hears the call of the thrushes from far, from far; sigh'd the thrushes; then, all at once, broke out singing the old sweet tones, singing the bridal of sap and shoot, the tree's slow life between root and fruit. but just when the dingles of april flowers shine with the earliest daffodils, when, before sunrise, the cold clear hours gleam with a promise that noon fulfils,-- deep in the leafage the cuckoo cried, perch'd on a spray by a rivulet-side, "swallows, o swallows, come back again to swoop and herald the april rain." and something awoke in the slumbering heart of the alien birds in their african air, and they paused, and alighted, and twitter'd apart, and met in the broad white dreamy square; and the sad slave woman, who lifted up from the fountain her broad-lipp'd earthen cup, said to herself, with a weary sigh, "to-morrow the swallows will northward fly!" cvi. dawn angels. a. mary f. robinson.-- - all night i watch'd, awake, for morning: at last the east grew all aflame, the birds for welcome sang, or warning, and with their singing morning came. along the gold-green heavens drifted pale wandering souls that shun the light, whose cloudy pinions, torn and rifted, had beat the bars of heaven all night. these cluster'd round the moon; but higher a troop of shining spirits went, who were not made of wind or fire, but some divine dream-element. some held the light, while those remaining shook out their harvest-color'd wings, a faint unusual music raining (whose sound was light) on earthly things. they sang, and as a mighty river their voices wash'd the night away: from east to west ran one white shiver, and waxen strong their song was day. cvii. le roi est mort. a. mary f. robinson. and shall i weep that love's no more, and magnify his reign? sure never mortal man before would have his grief again. farewell the long-continued ache, the days a-dream, the nights awake, i will rejoice and merry make, and never more complain. king love is dead and gone for aye, who ruled with might and main, for with a bitter word one day, i found my tyrant slain, and he in heathenesse was bred, nor ever was baptized, 'tis said, nor is of any creed, and dead can never rise again. cviii. to winter. charles g. d. roberts.-- - ruling with an iron hand o'er the intermediate land 'twixt the plains of rich completeness, and the realms of budding sweetness, winter! from thy crystal throne, with a keenness all thy own dartest thou, through gleaming air, o'er the glorious barren glare of thy sunlit wildernesses, thine undazzled level glances, where thy minions' silver tresses stream among their icy lances; while thy universal breathing, frozen to a radiant swathing for the trees, their bareness hides, and upon their sunward sides shines and flushes rosily to the chill pink morning sky. skilful artists thou employest, and in chastest beauty joyest-- forms most delicate, pure, and clear, frost-caught starbeams fallen sheer in the night, and woven here in jewel-fretted tapestries. but what magic melodies, as in the bord'ring realms are throbbing, hast thou, winter?--liquid sobbing brooks, and brawling waterfalls, whose responsive-voicèd calls clothe with harmony the hills, gurgling meadow-threading rills, lakelets' lisping wavelets lapping round a flock of wild ducks napping, and the rapturous-noted wooings, and the molten-throated cooings, of the amorous multitudes flashing through the dusky woods, when a veering wind hath blown a glare of sudden daylight down?-- naught of these!--and fewer notes hath the wind alone that floats over naked trees and snows; half its minstrelsy it owes to its orchestra of leaves. ay! weak the meshes music weaves for thy snarèd soul's delight, 'less, when thou dost lie at night 'neath the star-sown heavens bright, to thy sin-unchokèd ears some dim harmonies may pierce from the high-consulting spheres: 'less the silent sunrise sing like a vibrant silver string when its prison'd splendors first o'er the crusted snow-fields burst. but thy days the silence keep, save for grosbeaks' feeble cheep, or for snow-birds' busy twitter when thy breath is very bitter. so my spirit often acheth for the melodies it lacketh 'neath thy sway, or cannot hear for its mortal-cloakèd ear. and full thirstily it longeth for the beauty that belongeth to the autumn's ripe fulfilling;-- heapèd orchard-baskets spilling 'neath the laughter-shaken trees; fields of buckwheat full of bees, girt with ancient groves of fir shod with berried juniper; beech-nuts mid their russet leaves; heavy-headed nodding sheaves; clumps of luscious blackberries; purple-cluster'd traceries of the cottage climbing-vines; scarlet-fruited eglantines; maple forests all aflame when thy sharp-tongued legates came. ruler with an iron hand o'er an intermediate land! glad am i thy realm is border'd by the plains more richly order'd,-- stock'd with sweeter-glowing forms,-- where the prison'd brightness warms in lush crimsons through the leaves, and a gorgeous legend weaves. cix. abigail becker. (_off long point island, lake erie, november th, ._) amanda t. jones. the wind, the wind where erie plunged, blew, blew nor'-east from land to land; the wandering schooner dipp'd and lunged,-- long point was close at hand. long point--a swampy island-slant, where, busy in their grassy homes, woodcock and snipe the hollows haunt, and musk-rats build their domes; where gulls and eagles rest at need, where either side, by lake or sound, kingfishers, cranes, and divers feed, and mallard ducks abound. the lowering night shut out the sight: careen'd the vessel, pitch'd and veer'd,-- raved, raved the wind with main and might; the sunken reef she near'd. she pounded over, lurch'd, and sank; between two sand-bars settling fast, her leaky hull the waters drank, and she had sail'd her last. into the rigging, quick as thought, captain and mate and sailors sprung, clamber'd for life, some vantage caught, and there all night they swung. and it was cold--oh, it was cold! the pinching cold was like a vise: spoondrift flew freezing,--fold on fold it coated them with ice. now when the dawn began to break, light up the sand-path drench'd and brown, to fill her bucket from the lake, came mother becker down. from where her cabin crown'd the bank came abigail becker tall and strong: she dipp'd, and lo! a broken plank came rocking close along! she pois'd her glass with anxious ken: the schooner's top she spied from far, and there she counted seven men that clung to mast and spar. and oh, the gale! the rout and roar! the blinding drift, the mounting wave, a good half-mile from wreck to shore, with seven men to save! sped mother becker: "children! wake! a ship's gone down! they're needing me! your father's off on shore; the lake is just a raging sea! "get wood, cook fish, make ready all." she snatch'd her stores, she fled with haste, in cotton gown and tatter'd shawl, barefoot across the waste, through sinking sands, through quaggy lands, and nearer, nearer, full in view, went shouting through her hollow'd hands: "courage! we'll get you through!" ran to and fro, made cheery signs, her bonfire lighted, steeped her tea, brought drift-wood, watch'd canadian lines her husband's boat to see. cold, cold it was--oh, it was cold! the bitter cold made watching vain: with ice the channel laboring roll'd,-- no skiff could stand the strain. on all that isle, from outer swell to strait between the landings shut, was never place where man might dwell, save trapper becker's hut. and it was twelve and one and two, and it was three o'clock and more. she call'd: "come on! there's nought to do, but leap and swim ashore!" blew, blew the gale; they did not hear: she waded in the shallow sea; she waved her hands, made signals clear, "swim! swim, and trust to me!" "my men," the captain cried, "i'll try: the woman's judgment may be right; for, swim or sink, seven men must die if here we swing to-night." far out he mark'd the gathering surge; across the bar he watch'd it pour, let go, and on its topmost verge came riding in to shore. it struck the breaker's foamy track,-- majestic wave on wave uphurl'd, went grandly toppling, tumbling back, as loath to flood the world. there blindly whirling, shorn of strength, the captain drifted, sure to drown; dragg'd seaward half a cable's length, like sinking lead went down. ah, well for him that on the strand had mother becker waited long! and well for him her grasping hand and grappling arm were strong! and well for him that wind and sun, and daily toil for scanty gains, had made such daring blood to run within such generous veins! for what to do but plunge and swim? out on the sinking billow cast, she toil'd, she dived, she groped for him, she found and clutch'd him fast. she climb'd the reef, she brought him up, she laid him gasping on the sands; built high the fire and fill'd the cup,-- stood up and waved her hands! oh, life is dear! the mate leap'd in. "i know," the captain said, "right well, not twice can any woman win a soul from yonder hell. "i'll start and meet him in the wave." "keep back!" she bade: "what strength have you? and i shall have you both to save,-- must work to pull you through!" but out he went. up shallow sweeps raced the long white-caps, comb on comb: the wind, the wind that lash'd the deeps, far, far it blew the foam. the frozen foam went scudding by,-- before the wind, a seething throng, the waves, the waves came towering high, they flung the mate along. the waves came towering high and white. they burst in clouds of flying spray: there mate and captain sank from sight, and, clinching, roll'd away. oh, mother becker, seas are dread, their treacherous paths are deep and blind! but widows twain shall mourn their dead if thou art slow to find. she sought them near, she sought them far, three fathoms down she gripp'd them tight; with both together up the bar she stagger'd into sight. beside the fire her burdens fell: she paus'd the cheering draught to pour, then waved her hands: "all's well! all's well! come on! swim! swim ashore!" sure, life is dear, and men are brave: they came,--they dropp'd from mast and spar; and who but she could breast the wave, and dive beyond the bar? dark grew the sky from east to west, and darker, darker grew the world: each man from off the breaker's crest to gloomier deeps was hurl'd. and still the gale went shrieking on, and still the wrecking fury grew; and still the woman, worn and wan, those gates of death went through,-- as christ were walking on the waves, and heavenly radiance shone about,-- all fearless trod that gulf of graves and bore the sailors out. down came the night, but far and bright, despite the wind and flying foam, the bonfire flamed to give them light to trapper becker's home. oh, safety after wreck is sweet! and sweet is rest in hut or hall: one story life and death repeat,-- god's mercy over all. * * * * * next day men heard, put out from shore, cross'd channel-ice, burst in to find seven gallant fellows sick and sore, a tender nurse and kind; shook hands, wept, laugh'd, were crazy-glad; cried: "never yet, on land or sea, poor dying, drowning sailors had a better friend than she. "billows may tumble, winds may roar, strong hands the wreck'd from death may snatch: but never, never, nevermore this deed shall mortal match!" dear mother becker dropp'd her head, she blush'd as girls when lovers woo: "i have not done a thing," she said, "more than i ought to do." the end. +------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's notes: | +------------------------------------------+ | non-ascii diacritical marks represented | | as follows: | |------------------------------------------| | | | [=a] a macron [)a] a breve | | [=e] e macron [)e] e breve | | [=i] i macron [)i] i breve | | [=o] o macron [)o] o breve | | [=u] u macron [)u] u breve | | | | [a:] two dots under a | | [.a] dot over a | +------------------------------------------+ [illustration: one flag one fleet one throne the union jack] the ontario readers third book authorized by the minister of education the price of this book to the purchaser is not the total cost. during the present period of abnormal and fluctuating trade conditions, an additional sum, which may vary from time to time, is paid to the publisher by the department of education. entered, according to act of the parliament of canada, in the year , in the office of the minister of agriculture by the minister of education for ontario. toronto: the t. eaton co limited acknowledgements the minister of education is indebted to rudyard kipling, henry newbolt, beckles willson, e. b. osborn, f. t. bullen, flora annie steel; charles g. d. roberts, w. wilfred campbell, ethelwyn wetherald, jean blewett, robert reid, "ralph connor," john waugh, s. t. wood; henry van dyke, elizabeth stuart phelps ward, and richard watson gilder for special permission to reproduce, in this reader, selections from their writings. he is indebted to lord tennyson for special permission to reproduce the poems from the works of alfred, lord tennyson; to lloyd osbourne for permission to reproduce the selection from the works of robert louis stevenson; and to j. f. edgar for permission to reproduce one of sir james d. edgar's poems. he is also indebted to macmillan & co., limited, for special permission, to reproduce selections from the works of alfred, lord tennyson, rudyard kipling, and flora annie steel; to smith, elder & co., for the extract from f. t. bullen's "the cruise of the cachalot"; to elkin mathews for henry newbolt's poem from "the island race"; to sampson low, marston & company for the extract from r. d. blackmore's "lorna doone"; to thomas nelson & sons for the extract from w. f. collier's "history of the british empire"; to chatto and windus for the extract from e. b. osborn's "greater canada"; to houghton mifflin company for "the chase" from charles dudley warner's "a-hunting of the deer," "mary elizabeth" by mrs. phelps ward, and the poems by celia thaxter and by richard watson gilder; to the century company for jacob a. riis' "the story of a fire" from "_the century magazine_"; to the copp clark co., limited, for the selections from charles g. d. roberts' works; to the westminster co., limited, for the extract from "ralph connor's" "the man from glengarry." the minister is grateful to these authors and publishers and to others, not mentioned here, through whose courtesy he has been able to include in this reader so many copyright selections. toronto, may, . contents page _to-day_ _thomas carlyle_ fortune and the beggar _ivan kirloff_ _the lark and the rook_ _unknown_ the pickwick club on the ice _charles dickens_ _tubal cain_ _charles mackay_ professor frog's lecture _m. a. l. lane_ _a song for april_ _charles g. d. roberts_ how the crickets brought good fortune _p. j. stahl_ _the battle of blenheim_ _robert southey_ the ride for life _"ralph connor"_ _iagoo, the boaster_ _henry w. longfellow_ the story of a fire _jacob a. riis_ _the quest_ _eudora s. bumstead_ the jackal and the partridge _flora annie steel_ _hide and seek_ _henry van dyke_ the burning of the "goliath" _dean stanley_ _hearts of oak_ _david garrick_ _a wet sheet and a flowing sea_ _allan cunningham_ the talents _bible_ _a farewell_ _charles kingsley_ _an apple orchard in the spring_ _william martin_ the bluejay _"mark twain"_ _a canadian camping song_ _sir james david edgar_ the argonauts _john waugh_ _the minstrel-boy_ _thomas moore_ mary elizabeth _elizabeth stuart phelps ward_ _the frost_ _hannah flagg gould_ _corn-fields_ _mary howitt_ south-west wind, esq. _john ruskin_ _the meeting of the waters_ _thomas moore_ love _bible_ _the robin's song_ _unknown_ work or play _"mark twain"_ _burial of sir john moore_ _charles wolfe_ the whistle _benjamin franklin_ _a canadian boat song_ _thomas moore_ the little hero of haarlem _sharpe's london magazine_ _father william_ _"lewis carroll"_ david and goliath _bible_ _charge of the light brigade_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ maggie tulliver _george eliot_ _the corn song_ _john g. whittier_ sports in norman england _william fitzstephen_ _a song of canada_ _robert reid_ a mad tea party _"lewis carroll"_ _the slave's dream_ _henry w. longfellow_ the chase _charles dudley warner_ _the inchcape rock_ _robert southey_ a rough ride _richard d. blackmore_ _the arab and his steed_ _the honourable mrs. norton_ _the poet's song_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ adventure with a whale _frank t. bullen_ _the maple_ _h. f. darnell_ damon and pythias _charlotte m. yonge_ _the wreck of the orpheus_ _c. a. l._ _the tide river_ _charles kingsley_ wisdom the supreme prize _bible_ _the orchard_ _jean blewett_ inspired by the snow _samuel t. wood_ _the squirrel_ _william cowper_ _soldier, rest_ _sir walter scott_ fishing _thomas hughes_ _the fountain_ _james russell lowell_ _break, break, break_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ the bed of procrustes _charles kingsley_ _"bob white"_ _george cooper_ radisson and the indians _beckles willson_ _the brook_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ "do seek their meat from god" _charles g. d. roberts_ _a song of the sea_ _"barry cornwall"_ little daffydowndilly _nathaniel hawthorne_ _the sandpiper_ _celia thaxter_ from "the sermon on the mount" _bible_ _the legend of saint christopher_ _helen hunt jackson_ william tell and his son _chamber's "tracts"_ _a midsummer song_ _richard watson gilder_ the relief of lucknow _"letter from an officer's wife"_ _the song in camp_ _bayard taylor_ _afterglow_ _william wilfred campbell_ king richard and saladin _sir walter scott_ _england's dead_ _felicia hemans_ _hohenlinden_ _thomas campbell_ the dream of the oak tree _hans christian andersen_ a prayer _robert louis stevenson_ _the death of the flowers_ _william cullen bryant_ _'tis the last rose of summer_ _thomas moore_ a roman's honour _charlotte m. yonge_ _the fighting téméraire_ _henry newbolt_ don quixote's fight with the windmills _miguel de cervantes_ _the romance of the swan's nest_ _elizabeth barrett browning_ moonlight sonata _unknown_ _the red-winged blackbird_ _ethelwyn wetherald_ _to the cuckoo_ _john logan_ the story of a stone _d. b._ _the snow-storm_ _john g. whittier_ the heroine of verchères _francis parkman_ _jacques cartier_ _thomas d'arcy m'gee_ ants and their slaves _jules michelet_ _lead, kindly light_ _john henry newman_ the jolly sandboys _charles dickens_ _the gladness of nature_ _william cullen bryant_ old english life _william f. collier_ _puck's song_ _rudyard kipling_ the battle of queenston heights _unknown_ _the bugle song_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ charity _bible_ _a christmas carol_ _james russell lowell_ the barren lands _e. b. osborn_ _a spring morning_ _william wordsworth_ _crossing the bar_ _alfred, lord tennyson_ empire day i want you to remember what empire day means. empire day is the festival on which every british subject should reverently remember that the british empire stands out before the whole world as the fearless champion of freedom, fair play and equal rights; that its watchwords are responsibility, duty, sympathy and self-sacrifice, and that a special responsibility rests with you individually to be true to the traditions and to the mission of your race. i also want you to remember that one day canada will become, if her people are faithful to their high british traditions, the most powerful of all the self-governing nations, not excluding the people of the united kingdom, which make up the british empire, and that it rests with each one of you individually to do your utmost by your own conduct and example to make canada not only the most powerful, but the noblest of all the self-governing nations that are proud to owe allegiance to the king. earl grey. governor-general of canada third reader to-day so here hath been dawning another blue day; think, wilt thou let it slip useless away? out of eternity this new day is born; into eternity at night will return. behold it aforetime no eye ever did; so soon it forever from all eyes is hid. here hath been dawning another blue day; think, wilt thou let it slip useless away? carlyle fortune and the beggar one day a ragged beggar was creeping along from house to house. he carried an old wallet in his hand, and was asking at every door for a few cents to buy something to eat. as he was grumbling at his lot, he kept wondering why it was that folks who had so much money were never satisfied but were always wanting more. "here," said he, "is the master of this house--i know him well. he was always a good business man, and he made himself wondrously rich a long time ago. had he been wise he would have stopped then. he would have turned over his business to some one else, and then he could have spent the rest of his life in ease. but what did he do instead? he built ships and sent them to sea to trade with foreign lands. he thought he would get mountains of gold. "but there were great storms on the water; his ships were wrecked, and his riches were swallowed up by the waves. now all his hopes lie at the bottom of the sea, and his great wealth has vanished. "there are many such cases. men seem to be never satisfied unless they gain the whole world. "as for me, if i had only enough to eat and to wear, i would not want anything more." just at that moment fortune came down the street. she saw the beggar and stopped. she said to him: "listen! i have long wished to help you. hold your wallet and i will pour this gold into it, but only on this condition: all that falls into the wallet shall be pure gold; but every piece that falls upon the ground shall become dust. do you understand?" "oh, yes, i understand," said the beggar. "then have a care," said fortune. "your wallet is old, so do not load it too heavily." the beggar was so glad that he could hardly wait. he quickly opened his wallet, and a stream of yellow dollars poured into it. the wallet grew heavy. "is that enough?" asked fortune. "not yet." "isn't it cracking?" "never fear." the beggar's hands began to tremble. ah, if the golden stream would only pour for ever! "you are the richest man in the world now!" "just a little more, add just a handful or two." "there, it's full. the wallet will burst." "but it will hold a little, just a little more!" another piece was added, and the wallet split. the treasure fell upon the ground and was turned to dust. fortune had vanished. the beggar had now nothing but his empty wallet, and it was torn from top to bottom. he was as poor as before. ivan kirloff the lark and the rook "good-night, sir rook!" said a little lark, "the daylight fades; it will soon be dark; i've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray; i've sung my hymn to the parting day; so now i haste to my quiet nook in yon dewy meadow--good-night, sir rook!" "good-night, poor lark," said his titled friend with a haughty toss and a distant bend; "i also go to my rest profound, but not to sleep on the cold, damp ground. the fittest place for a bird like me is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree. "i opened my eyes at peep of day and saw you taking your upward way, dreaming your fond romantic dreams, an ugly speck in the sun's bright beams, soaring too high to be seen or heard; and i said to myself: 'what a foolish bird!' "i trod the park with a princely air; i filled my crop with the richest fare; i cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew, and i made more noise in the world than you! the sun shone forth on my ebon wing; i looked and wondered--good-night, poor thing!" "good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice, "i see no cause to repent my choice; you build your nest in the lofty pine, but is your slumber more sweet than mine? you make more noise in the world than i, but whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?" unknown what stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted? thrice is he armed, that hath his quarrel just; and he but naked, though locked up in steel, whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. shakespeare the pickwick club on the ice "you skate, of course, winkle?" said wardle. "ye-yes; oh, yes," replied mr. winkle. "i--i--am _rather_ out of practice." "oh, _do_ skate, mr. winkle," said arabella. "i like to see it so much." "oh, it is _so_ graceful," said another young lady. a third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was "swan-like." "i should be very happy, i'm sure," said mr. winkle, reddening; "but i have no skates." this objection was at once overruled. trundle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs, whereat mr. winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable. old wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boy and mr. weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had fallen on it during the night, mr. bob sawyer adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to mr. winkle seemed perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of mr. pickwick, mr. tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm, when old wardle and benjamin allen, assisted by the aforesaid bob sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they called a reel. all this time, mr. winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting his skates on with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of mr. snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a hindoo. at length, however, with the assistance of mr. weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled on, and mr. winkle was raised to his feet. "now, then, sir," said sam in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, and show 'em how to do it." "stop, sam, stop," said mr. winkle, trembling violently, and clutching hold of sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "how slippery it is, sam!" "not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied mr. weller. "hold up, sir." this last observation of mr. weller's bore reference to a demonstration mr. winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet into the air and dash the back of his head on the ice. "these--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, sam?" inquired mr. winkle, staggering. "i'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'lm'n in 'em, sir," replied sam. "now, winkle," cried mr. pickwick, quite unconscious that there was anything the matter. "come, the ladies are all anxiety." "yes, yes," replied mr. winkle, with a ghastly smile. "i'm coming." "just a goin' to begin," said sam, endeavouring to disengage himself. "now, sir, start off." "stop an instant, sam," gasped mr. winkle, clinging most affectionately to mr. weller. "i find i've a couple of coats at home that i don't want, sam. you may have them, sam." "thank'ee, sir," replied mr. weller. "never mind touching your hat, sam," said mr. winkle, hastily. "you needn't take your hand away to do that. i meant to have given you five shillings this morning for a christmas-box, sam. i'll give it to you this afternoon, sam." "you're wery good, sir," replied mr. weller. "just hold me at first, sam; will you?" said mr. winkle. "there--that's right. i shall soon get into the way of it, sam. not too fast, sam; not too fast." mr. winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up, was being assisted over the ice by mr. weller, in a very singular and un-swan-like manner, when mr. pickwick most innocently shouted from the opposite bank-- "sam!" "sir?" said mr. weller. "here. i want you." "let go, sir," said sam. "don't you hear the governor a-callin'? let go, sir!" with a violent effort, mr. weller disengaged himself from the grasp of the agonized pickwickian; and, in so doing, administered a considerable impetus to the unhappy mr. winkle. with an accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when mr. bob sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. mr. winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily down. mr. pickwick ran to the spot. bob sawyer had risen to his feet, but mr. winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind in skates. he was seated on the ice making spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance. "are you hurt?" inquired mr. benjamin allen, with great anxiety. "not much," said mr. winkle, rubbing his back very hard. "i wish you'd let me bleed you," said mr. benjamin, with great eagerness. "no, thank you," replied mr. winkle hurriedly. "i really think you had better," said allen. "thank you," replied mr. winkle "i'd rather not." "what do _you_ think, mr. pickwick?" inquired bob sawyer. mr. pickwick was excited and indignant. he beckoned to mr. weller, and said in a stern voice: "take his skates off." the command was not to be resisted. mr. winkle allowed sam to obey it in silence. "lift him up," said mr. pickwick. sam assisted him to rise. mr. pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and uttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone these remarkable words: "you're a humbug, sir." "a what?" said mr. winkle, starting. "a humbug, sir. i will speak plainer, if you wish it. an impostor, sir." with these words, mr. pickwick turned slowly on his heel and rejoined his friends. dickens: "the pickwick papers." tubal cain old tubal cain was a man of might, in the days when earth was young; by the fierce red light of his furnace bright, the strokes of his hammer rung: and he lifted high his brawny hand on the iron glowing clear, till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, as he fashioned the sword and spear. and he sang--"hurrah for my handiwork! hurrah for the spear and sword! hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, for he shall be king and lord!" to tubal cain came many a one, as he wrought by his roaring fire; and each one prayed for a strong steel blade, as the crown of his desire; and he made them weapons sharp and strong, till they shouted loud for glee; and they gave him gifts of pearls and gold, and spoils of the forest free. and they sang--"hurrah for tubal cain, who hath given us strength anew! hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire, and hurrah for the metal true!" but a sudden change came o'er his heart, ere the setting of the sun; and tubal cain was filled with pain for the evil he had done: he saw that men, with rage and hate, made war upon their kind, that the land was red with the blood they shed, in their lust for carnage blind. and he said--"alas! that i ever made, or that skill of mine should plan, the spear and the sword for men whose joy is to slay their fellow-man!" and for many a day old tubal cain sat brooding o'er his woe; and his hand forbore to smite the ore, and his furnace smouldered low. but he rose at last with a cheerful face, and a bright courageous eye, and bared his strong right arm for work, while the quick flames mounted high. and he sang--"hurrah for my handiwork!" and the red sparks lit the air; "not alone for the blade was the bright steel made," and he fashioned the first ploughshare. and men, taught wisdom from the past, in friendship joined their hands; hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, and ploughed the willing lands: and sang--"hurrah for tubal cain! our stanch good friend is he; and for the ploughshare and the plough, to him our praise shall be. but while oppression lifts its head, or a tyrant would be lord; though we may thank him for the plough, we'll not forget the sword!" charles mackay professor frog's lecture bobby was not quite sure that he was awake, but when he opened his eyes there was the blue sky, with the soft, white clouds drifting across it, the big pine waving its spicy branches over his head, and beyond, the glint of sunshine on the waters of the pond. presently bobby heard voices talking softly. "this is a good specimen," said one voice. "see how stout and strong he looks!" "i wonder who that is, and what he has found," thought bobby. "i wish it wasn't such hard work to keep my eyes open." he made a great effort, however, and raised his heavy lids. at first he could see nothing. then he caught a glimpse of a mossy log, with a row of frogs and toads sitting upon it. they were looking solemnly at him. bobby felt a little uncomfortable under that steady gaze. "the toads are making their spring visit to the pond to lay their eggs," thought the boy. "i forgot that they were due this week." "he must have done a good deal of mischief in his day," said an old bull-frog, gravely. a chill crept over bobby. "in his day."--what did that mean? a toad hopped out from the line and came so close to bobby that he could have touched her but for the strange spell which held him fast. "yes," said she; "this is one of the species. we are very fortunate to have caught him. now we shall be ready to listen to professor rana's remarks." still bobby could not move. what were they going to do? in a moment there was a rustling among the dry leaves and dozens of frogs and toads were seen hurrying towards the pine tree. among them was a ponderous frog, carrying a roll of manuscript under his arm. he wore huge goggles, and looked so wise that bobby did not dare to laugh. "i am very sleepy," murmured a portly toad near bobby's left ear. "i laid over eight thousand eggs last night, and i have a long journey before me. but i must stay to hear this. we may never have such a chance again." "ladies and gentlemen," began the professor, in a sonorous tone that was easily heard for several feet, "this is a specimen of the creature known to us as the human tadpole. you will kindly observe his long legs. they were doubtless given to him for the purpose of protection. being possessed of a most mischievous and reckless spirit, the species is always getting into difficulties, and would probably become extinct if it had not the power to run away." "nonsense!" said bobby under his breath. there was a murmur of interest and curiosity among the crowd. bobby felt his legs twitch nervously, but his power over them was gone. "otherwise," went on the lecturer, "he is not at all adapted to his surroundings. observe how carefully we are dressed. the frogs have the green and brown tints of their homes by the water-side. the toads look like lumps of dirt, so that they may not be too readily snapped up by birds of prey. but the boy--to call him by his scientific name--has no such protection. look at this red shirt and these white trousers, and this hat as big as a trout pool! could anything be more ridiculous? even a giraffe does not look so absurd as this." a red flush mounted to bobby's freckled cheeks, but this time he did not try to speak. "now," said the professor, "as far as we have been able to learn, the human tadpole is absolutely useless. we are, therefore, doing no harm in experimenting upon this specimen. there are plenty of them, and this one will not be a serious loss." "stop!" said bobby, so unexpectedly that everybody jumped. "what are you going to do with me?" "you will be so kind as to lie still," said the professor severely. "at present you are only a specimen." there was no help for it. bobby found it impossible to move hand or foot. he could wriggle a little,--but that was all. "not only is the boy entirely useless," went on the professor, "but he is often what might be called a pest, even to his own kind. he is endured in the world for what he may become when he is full-grown, and even then he is sometimes disappointing. you are familiar with many of his objectionable ways towards the animal world, but i am sure you would be surprised if you knew what a care and trouble he frequently is to his own people. he can be trusted to do few kinds of work. it is difficult to keep him clean. he doesn't know how to get his own dinner. he has a genius for making weaker things miserable. he likes fishing, and he longs for a gun; he collects birds' eggs; he puts butterflies on pins; he teases his little sisters." "why isn't the species exterminated?" asked another frog angrily. then the toad near bobby's ear spoke timidly: "i think you are a little unjust, professor. i have known boys who were comparatively harmless." "it is true there may be a few, mrs. bufo," said the professor with great politeness, "but as a class they may be fairly set down as of very doubtful value. speak up, tadpole, and say if i have made any false statements so far." bobby fairly shouted in his eagerness to be heard. "we do work," he said. "we have to go to school every day." "what a help that must be to your parents and to the world at large!" said the frog with sarcasm. "i am surprised that we never see the results of such hard labour. do you know how useful even our smallest tadpoles are? without them this pond would be no longer beautiful, but foul and ill-smelling. as for what we do when we are grown up, modesty forbids me to praise the frogs, but you know what a toad is worth to mankind?" "no," said bobby. "about two cents, i guess." bobby didn't intend to be rude. he thought this a liberal valuation. "twenty dollars a year, as estimated by the department of agriculture!" cried the frog triumphantly. "what do you think of that?" "i should like to know why," said bobby, looking as if he thought professor rana was making fun of him. "what are the greatest enemies of mankind?" asked the professor, peering over his goggles at poor bobby. "tigers," said bobby, promptly; "or wolves." "wrong," said the lecturer. "insects. insects destroy property on this continent to the amount of over four hundred million dollars annually. insects destroy the crops upon which man depends for his food. going to school hasn't made you very wise, has it? well, the toads are insect destroyers. that's their business. if the state only knew enough to make use of them, millions of dollars might be saved every year. does it seem to you that the human animal is so clever as it might be, when it allows such numbers of toads to be destroyed?" "it's a shame!" chimed in a voice from the front seats. "we keep out of the way as much as we can; we eat every kind of troublesome worm and insect,--the cutworm, canker-worm, tent caterpillar, army-worm, rose-beetle, and the common house-fly; we ask for no wages or food or care,--and what do we get in return? not even protection and common kindness. if we had places where we could live in safety, who could tell the amount of good we might do? yet i would not have this poor boy hurt if a word of mine could prevent it." "this is a scientific meeting," observed the professor; "and benevolent sentiments are quite out of place. we will now proceed to notice the delicate nervous system of the creature. stand closer, my friends, if you please." "nervous system, indeed!" said bobby. "boys don't have such silly things as nerves!" suddenly bobby felt a multitude of tiny pin pricks over the entire surface of his body. the suffering was not intense, but the irritation made him squirm and wince. he could not discover the cause of his discomfort, but at the professor's command it suddenly ceased. "that will do," said the frog. "each hair on his head is also connected with a nerve. pull his hair, please!" "oh, don't!" said bobby. "that hurts!" nobody listened to him. it did hurt, more than you would think, for tiny hands were pulling each hair separately. when the ordeal was over, bobby heard a faint noise in the grass as if some very small creatures were scurrying away, but he could see nothing. he was winking his eyes desperately to keep from crying. "the assistants may go now," said the professor; and the sound of little feet died away in the distance. "how interesting this is!" murmured a plain-looking toad who had been watching the experiments attentively. "i think it's mean," protested poor bobby, "to keep a fellow fastened up like this, and then torment him." "does it hurt as much as being skinned, or having your legs cut off?" demanded the professor. "or should you prefer to be stepped on, or burned up in a rubbish pile?" asked mrs. bufo. "how should you like to be stoned or kicked, for a change?" said another toad sharply. "perhaps you would choose a fish-hook in the corner of your mouth?" said a voice from the pond. "or one run the entire length of your body?" came a murmur from the ground under bobby's head. "wait a minute," said the professor, more gently. "we will give you a chance to defend yourself. it is not customary to inquire into the moral character of specimens, but we do not wish to be unjust. perhaps you can explain why you made a bonfire the very week after the toads came out of their winter-quarters. dozens of lives were destroyed before that fire was put out." "i forgot about the toads," began bobby. "carelessness!" said the professor. "now you may tell us why you like to throw stones at us." "to see you jump," said bobby, honestly. "thoughtlessness!" said the professor. "that's worse." "why do you kick us, instead of lifting us gently when we are in your way?" inquired a toad in a stern voice. "because you will give me warts if i touch you," said bobby, pleased to think that he had a good reason at last. "ignorance!" cried the professor. "the toad is absolutely harmless. it has about it a liquid that might cause pain to a cut finger or a sensitive tissue like that of the mouth or eye, but the old story that a toad is poisonous is a silly fable." "will you tell me, please," asked a toad in a plaintive voice, "if you are the boy who, last year, carried home some of my babies in a tin pail and let them die?" "i'm afraid i am," said bobby, sorrowfully. "do explain why you dislike us!" said mrs. bufo in such a frank fashion that bobby felt that he must tell the truth. "i suppose it's your looks," said the boy, unable to frame his answer in more polite terms. "well, upon my word!" interrupted the professor. "i thought better of a boy than that. so you prefer boys with pretty faces and soft, curling hair, and nice clothes, to those who can climb and jump and who are not afraid of a day's tramp in the woods." "of course i don't," said indignant bobby. "i hate boys who are always thinking about their clothes." "oh, you do!" said the frog. "now answer me a few more questions. have you ever stolen birds' eggs?" "yes," said truthful bobby. "have you collected butterflies?" "yes," said bobby. "have you taken nuts from the squirrels' cupboards?" "yes," said bobby. "do you think we ought to have a very friendly feeling towards you?" went on the questioner. "no," said bobby; "i don't." "we have shown that you are not only useless, but careless and thoughtless and ignorant," said the frog. "is there any very good reason why we should let you go?" poor bobby racked his brains to think of something that should appeal to his captors. "i have a right to live, haven't i?" he said at last. "because you are so pretty?" suggested the professor, and bobby's eyes fell with shame. "any better right than we have?" came a chorus of voices. bobby was silent. he felt very helpless and insignificant. there was a long pause. then the frog professor smiled broadly at bobby. "come," he said; "i like you. you are not afraid to be honest, and that's something." "if you will let me go," said bobby, "i'll see that the boys don't hurt you any more." "i felt pretty sure that we'd converted you," said the professor; "and i'm going to let you go back and preach to the heathen, as the grown people say. you can see for yourself how much harm a boy can do if he doesn't think." bobby felt that he was free, and scrambled to his feet, rubbing first one arm and then the other to take the prickly feeling out of them. the frogs had vanished; there was only the blue sky, the waving pine tree, and the quiet pond. "well!" said bobby with a long breath of amazement. "kerjunk!" came the warning voice of a frog, somewhere near the water's edge. "yes sir, i'll remember," said bobby in the meekest of meek tones. m. a. l. lane a song for april list! list! the buds confer. this noonday they've had news of her; the south bank has had views of her; the thorn shall exact his dues of her; the willows adream by the freshet stream shall ask what boon they choose of her. up! up! the world's astir; the would-be green has word of her; root and germ have heard of her, coming to break their sleep and wake their hearts with every bird of her. see! see! how swift concur sun, wind, and rain at the name of her, a-wondering what became of her; the fields flower at the flame of her; the glad air sings with dancing wings and the silvery shrill acclaim of her. charles g. d. roberts [illustration: alexandra the queen mother] how the crickets brought good fortune my friend jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cake which he had fancied in passing. he intended it for a child whose appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him. he thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. while he waited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in poor but perfectly clean clothes, entered the baker's shop. [illustration: university of toronto] "ma'am," said he to the baker's wife, "mother sent me for a loaf of bread." the woman took from the shelf a four-pound loaf, the best one she could find, and put it into the arms of the little boy. my friend jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face of the little fellow. it contrasted strongly with the round, open countenance of the large loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care. "have you any money?" said the baker's wife. the little boy's eyes grew sad. "no, ma'am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; "but mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about it to-morrow." "run along," said the good woman; "carry your bread home, child." "thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow. my friend jacques came forward for his money. he had put his purchase into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child with the big loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way home, standing stock-still behind him. "what are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, whom she also had thought to be fairly off. "don't you like the bread?" "oh, yes, ma'am!" said the child. "well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. if you wait any longer, she will think you are playing by the way, and you will get a scolding." the child did not seem to hear. something else absorbed his attention. the baker's wife went up to him and gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. "what are you thinking about?" said she. "ma'am," said the little boy, "what is that that sings?" "there is no singing," said she. "yes!" cried the little fellow. "hear it! queek, queek, queek, queek!" my friend and the woman both listened, but they could hear nothing, unless it was the song of the crickets, frequent guests in bakers houses. "it is a little bird," said the dear little fellow; "or perhaps the bread sings when it bakes, as apples do?" "no, indeed, little goosey!" said the baker's wife; "those are crickets. they sing in the bake-house because we are lighting the oven, and they like to see the fire." "crickets!" said the child; "are they really crickets?" "yes, to be sure," said she, good-humouredly. the child's face lighted up. "ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, "i would like it very much if you would give me a cricket." "a cricket," said the baker's wife, smiling; "what in the world would you do with a cricket, my little friend? i would gladly give you all there are in the house, to get rid of them, they run about so." "o, ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please!" said the child, clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. "they say that crickets bring good luck into houses; and perhaps if we had one at home, mother, who has so much trouble, wouldn't cry any more." "why does your poor mamma cry?" said my friend, who could no longer help joining in the conversation. "on account of her bills, sir," said the little fellow. "father is dead, and mother works very hard, but she cannot pay them all." my friend took the child, and with him the large loaf, into his arms, and i really believe he kissed them both. meanwhile the baker's wife, who did not dare to touch a cricket herself, had gone into the bake-house. she made her husband catch four, and put them into a box with holes in the cover, so that they might breathe. she gave the box to the child, who went away perfectly happy. when he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave each other a good squeeze of the hand. "poor little fellow!" said they both together. then she took down her account-book, and, finding the page where the mother's charges were written, made a great dash all down the page, and then wrote at the bottom, "paid." meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper all the money in his pockets, where fortunately he had quite a sum that day, and had begged the good wife to send it at once to the mother of the little cricket-boy, with her bill receipted, and a note, in which he told her that she had a son who would one day be her pride and joy. they gave it to a baker's boy with long legs, and told him to make haste. the child, with his big loaf, his four crickets, and his little short legs, could not run very fast, so that when he reached home, he found his mother, for the first time in many weeks, with her eyes raised from her work, and a smile of peace and happiness upon her lips. the boy believed that it was the arrival of his four little black things which had worked this miracle, and i do not think he was mistaken. without the crickets, and his good little heart, would this happy change have taken place in his mother's fortunes? p. j. stahl the battle of blenheim it was a summer evening, old kaspar's work was done, and he before his cottage door was sitting in the sun, and by him sported on the green his little grandchild wilhelmine. she saw her brother peterkin roll something large and round, which he beside the rivulet in playing there had found: he came to ask what he had found, that was so large, and smooth, and round. old kaspar took it from the boy, who stood expectant by: and then the old man shook his head, and, with a natural sigh, "'tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "who fell in the great victory. "i find them in the garden, for there's many here about; and often when i go to plough, the ploughshare turns them out! for many thousand men," said he, "were slain in that great victory." "now tell me what 'twas all about," young peterkin, he cries; and little wilhelmine looks up with wonder-waiting eyes; "now tell us all about the war, and what they fought each other for." "it was the english," kaspar cried, "who put the french to rout; but what they fought each other for, i could not well make out; but everybody said," quoth he, "that 'twas a famous victory. "my father lived at blenheim then, yon little stream hard by; they burnt his dwelling to the ground, and he was forced to fly; so with his wife and child he fled, nor had he where to rest his head. "they say it was a shocking sight after the field was won; for many thousand bodies here lay rotting in the sun; but things like that, you know, must be after a famous victory. "great praise the duke of marlbro' won, and our good prince eugene." "why 'twas a very wicked thing!" said little wilhelmine. "nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "it was a famous victory. "and everybody praised the duke who this great fight did win." "but what good came of it at last?" quoth little peterkin. "why, that i cannot tell," said he, "but 'twas a famous victory." southey the ride for life away off towards the swamp, which they were avoiding, the long, heart-chilling cry of a mother-wolf quavered on the still night air. in spite of herself, mrs. murray shivered, and the boys looked at each other. "there is only one," said ranald in a low voice to don, but they both knew that where the she-wolf is there is a pack not far off. "and we will be through the bush in five minutes." "come, ranald! come away, you can talk to don any time. good-night, don." and so saying she headed her pony toward the clearing and was off at a gallop, and ranald, shaking his head at his friend, ejaculated: "man alive! what do you think of that?" and was off after the pony. together they entered the bush. the road was well beaten and the horses were keen to go, so that before many minutes were over they were half through the bush. ranald's spirits rose and he began to take some interest in his companion's observations upon the beauty of the lights and shadows falling across their path. "look at that very dark shadow from the spruce there, ranald," she cried, pointing to a deep, black turn in the road. for answer there came from behind them the long, mournful hunting-cry of the wolf. he was on their track. immediately it was answered by a chorus of howls from the bush on the swamp side, but still far away. there was no need of command; the pony sprang forward with a snort and the colt followed, and after a few minutes' running, passed her. "whow-oo-oo-oo-ow," rose the long cry of the pursuer, summoning help, and drawing nearer. "whw-ee-wow," came the shorter, sharper answer from the swamp, but much nearer than before and more in front. they were trying to head off their prey. ranald tugged at his colt till he got him back with the pony. "it is a good road," he said, quietly; "you can let the pony go. i will follow you." he swung in behind the pony, who was now running for dear life and snorting with terror at every jump. "god preserve us!" said ranald to himself. he had caught sight of a dark form as it darted through the gleam of light in front. "what did you say, ranald?" the voice was quiet and clear. "it is a great pony to run," said ranald, ashamed of himself. "is she not?" ranald glanced over his shoulder. down the road, running with silent, awful swiftness, he saw the long, low body of the leading wolf flashing through the bars of moonlight across the road, and the pack following hard. "let her go, mrs. murray," cried ranald. "whip her and never stop." but there was no need; the pony was wild with fear, and was doing her best running. ranald meantime was gradually holding in the colt, and the pony drew away rapidly. but as rapidly the wolves were closing in behind him. they were not more than a hundred yards away, and gaining every second. ranald, remembering the suspicious nature of the brutes, loosened his coat and dropped it on the road; with a chorus of yelps they paused, then threw themselves upon it, and in another minute took up the chase. but now the clearing was in sight. the pony was far ahead, and ranald shook out his colt with a yell. he was none too soon, for the pursuing pack, now uttering short, shrill yelps, were close at the colt's heels. lizette, fleet as the wind, could not shake them off. closer and ever closer they came, snapping and snarling. ranald could see them over his shoulder. a hundred yards more and he would reach his own back lane. the leader of the pack seemed to feel that his chances were slipping swiftly away. with a spurt he gained upon lizette, reached the saddle-girths, gathered himself into two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's throat. instinctively ranald stood up in his stirrups, and kicking his foot free, caught the wolf under the jaw. the brute fell with a howl under the colt's feet, and next moment they were in the lane and safe. the savage brutes, discouraged by their leader's fall, slowed down their fierce pursuit, and hearing the deep bay of the macdonalds' great deer-hound, bugle, up at the house, they paused, sniffed the air a few minutes, then turned and swiftly and silently slid into the dark shadows. ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare enter the lane, checked the colt, and wheeling, watched them disappear. "i'll have some of your hides some day," he cried, shaking his fist after them. he hated to be made to run. he had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard something tearing down the lane to meet him. the colt snorted, swerved, and then dropping his ears, stood still. it was bugle, and after him came mrs. murray on the pony. "oh, ranald!" she panted, "thank god you are safe. i was afraid you--you--" her voice broke in sobs. her hood had fallen back from her white face, and her eyes were shining like two stars. she laid her hand on ranald's arm, and her voice grew steady as she said: "thank god, my boy, and thank you with all my heart. you risked your life for mine. you are a brave fellow! i can never forget this!" "oh, pshaw!" said ranald, awkwardly. "you are better stuff than i am. you came back with bugle. and i knew liz could beat the pony." then they walked their horses quietly to the stable, and nothing more was said by either of them; but from that hour ranald had a friend ready to offer life for him, though he did not know it then nor till years afterward. ralph connor: "the man from glengarry." greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. st. john, xv. iagoo, the boaster and iagoo, the great boaster, he the marvellous story-teller, he the friend of old nokomis, saw in all the eyes around him, saw in all their looks and gestures, that the wedding guests assembled, longed to hear his pleasant stories, his immeasurable falsehoods. very boastful was iagoo; never heard he an adventure but himself had met a greater; never any deed of daring but himself had done a bolder; never any marvellous story but himself could tell a stranger. would you listen to his boasting, would you only give him credence, no one ever shot an arrow half so far and high as he had; ever caught so many fishes, ever killed so many reindeer, ever trapped so many beaver! none could run so fast as he could, none could dive so deep as he could, none could swim so far as he could; none had made so many journeys, none had seen so many wonders, as this wonderful iagoo, as this marvellous story-teller! thus his name became a by-word and a jest among the people; and whene'er a boastful hunter praised his own address too highly, or a warrior, home returning, talked too much of his achievements, all his hearers cried: "iagoo! here's iagoo come among us!" longfellow: "hiawatha." the story of a fire thirteen years have passed since, but it is all to me as if it had happened yesterday,--the clanging of the fire-bells, the hoarse shouts of the firemen, the wild rush and terror of the streets; then the great hush that fell upon the crowd; the sea of upturned faces with the fire glow upon it; and up there, against the background of black smoke that poured from roof to attic, the boy clinging to the narrow ledge, so far up that it seemed humanly impossible that help could ever come. but even then it was coming. up from the street, while the crew of the truck company were labouring with the heavy extension ladder that at its longest stretch was many feet too short, crept four men upon long, slender poles with cross-bars, iron-hooked at the end. standing in one window, they reached up and thrust the hook through the next one above, then mounted a story higher. again the crash of glass, and again the dizzy ascent. straight up the wall they crept, looking like human flies on the ceiling, and clinging as close, never resting, reaching one recess only to set out for the next; nearer and nearer in the race for life, until but a single span separated the foremost from the boy. and now the iron hook fell at his feet, and the fireman stood upon the step with the rescued lad in his arms, just as the pent-up flames burst lurid from the attic window, reaching with impotent fury for their prey. the next moment they were safe upon the great ladder waiting to receive them below. then such a shout went up! men fell on each other's necks, and cried and laughed at once. strangers slapped one another on the back with glistening faces, shook hands, and behaved generally like men gone suddenly mad. women wept in the street. the driver of a car stalled in the crowd, who had stood through it all speechless, clutching the reins, whipped his horses into a gallop and drove away, yelling like a comanche, to relieve his feelings. the boy and his rescuer were carried across the street without anyone knowing how. policemen forgot their dignity and shouted with the rest. fire, peril, terror, and loss were alike forgotten in the one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. fireman john binns was made captain of his crew, and the bennett medal was pinned on his coat on the next parade day. jacob a. riis whene'er a noble deed is wrought, whene'er is spoken a noble thought, our hearts in glad surprise to higher levels rise. longfellow the quest there once was a restless boy who dwelt in a home by the sea, where the water danced for joy, and the wind was glad and free; but he said: "good mother, o let me go! for the dullest place in the world, i know, is this little brown house, this old brown house, under the apple tree. "i will travel east and west; the loveliest homes i'll see; and when i have found the best, dear mother, i'll come for thee. i'll come for thee in a year and a day, and joyfully then we'll haste away from this little brown house, this old brown house, under the apple tree." so he travelled here and there, but never content was he, though he saw in lands most fair the costliest homes there be. he something missed from the sea or sky, till he turned again with a wistful sigh to the little brown house, the old brown house, under the apple tree. then the mother saw and smiled, while her heart grew glad and free. "hast thou chosen a home, my child? ah, where shall we dwell?" quoth she. and he said: "sweet mother, from east to west, the loveliest home, and the dearest and best, is a little brown house, an old brown house, under an apple tree." eudora s. bumstead the jackal and the partridge a jackal and a partridge swore eternal friendship; but the jackal was very exacting and jealous. "you don't do half as much for me as i do for you," he used to say, "and yet you talk a great deal of your friendship. now my idea of a friend is one who is able to make me laugh or cry, give me a good meal, or save my life if need be. you couldn't do that!" "let us see," answered the partridge; "follow me at a little distance, and if i don't make you laugh soon you may eat me!" so she flew on till she met two travellers trudging along, one behind the other. they were both foot-sore and weary, and the first carried his bundle on a stick over his shoulder, while the second had his shoes in his hand. lightly as a feather the partridge settled on the first traveller's stick. he, none the wiser, trudged on; but the second traveller, seeing the bird sitting so tamely just in front of his nose, said to himself: "what a chance for a supper!" and immediately flung his shoes at it, they being ready to hand. whereupon the partridge flew away, and the shoes knocked off the first traveller's turban. "what a plague do you mean?" cried he, angrily turning on his companion. "why did you throw your shoes at my head?" "brother!" replied the other, mildly, "do not be vexed. i didn't throw them at you, but at a partridge that was sitting on your stick." "on my stick! do you take me for a fool?" shouted the injured man, in a great rage. "don't tell me such cock-and-bull stories. first you insult me, and then you lie like a coward; but i'll teach you manners!" then he fell upon his fellow-traveller without more ado, and they fought until they could not see out of their eyes, till their noses were bleeding, their clothes in rags, and the jackal had nearly died of laughing. "are you satisfied?" asked the partridge of her friend. "well," answered the jackal, "you have certainly made me laugh, but i doubt if you could make me cry. it is easy enough to be a buffoon; it is more difficult to excite the higher emotions." "let us see," retorted the partridge, somewhat piqued; "there is a huntsman with his dogs coming along the road. just creep into that hollow tree and watch me; if you don't weep scalding tears, you must have no feeling in you!" the jackal did as he was bid, and watched the partridge, who began fluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when she flew to the hollow tree where the jackal was hidden. of course the dogs smelled him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that the huntsman came up and, seeing what it was, dragged the jackal out by the tail. whereupon the dogs worried him to their hearts' content, and finally left him for dead. by and by he opened his eyes--for he was only foxing--and saw the partridge sitting on a branch above him. "did you cry?" she asked anxiously. "did i rouse your higher emo--" "be quiet, will you!" snarled the jackal; "i'm half-dead with fear!" so there the jackal lay for some time, getting the better of his bruises, and meanwhile he became hungry. "now is the time for friendship!" said he to the partridge. "get me a good dinner, and i will acknowledge you are a true friend." "very well!" replied the partridge; "only watch me, and help yourself when the time comes." just then a troop of women came by, carrying their husbands' dinners to the harvest-field. the partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and began fluttering along from bush to bush as if she were wounded. "a wounded bird!--a wounded bird!" cried the women; "we can easily catch it!" whereupon they set off in pursuit, but the cunning partridge played a thousand tricks, till they became so excited over the chase that they put their bundles on the ground in order to pursue it more nimbly. the jackal, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, crept up, and made off with a good dinner. "are you satisfied now?" asked the partridge. "well," returned the jackal, "i confess you have given me a very good dinner; you have also made me laugh--and cry--ahem! but, after all, the great test of friendship is beyond you--you couldn't save my life!" "perhaps not," acquiesced the partridge, mournfully. "i am so small and weak. but it grows late--we should be going home; and as it is a long way round by the ford, let us go across the river. my friend, the crocodile, will carry us over." accordingly, they set off for the river, and the crocodile kindly consented to carry them across; so they sat on his broad back, and he ferried them over. but just as they were in the middle of the stream the partridge remarked: "i believe the crocodile intends to play us a trick. how awkward if he were to drop you into the water!" "awkward for you, too!" replied the jackal, turning pale. "not at all! not at all! i have wings, you haven't." on this the jackal shivered and shook with fear, and when the crocodile, in a grewsome growl, remarked that he was hungry and wanted a good meal, the wretched creature hadn't a word to say. "pooh!" cried the partridge, airily, "don't try tricks on us--i should fly away, and as for my friend, the jackal, you couldn't hurt _him_. he is not such a fool as to take his life with him on these little excursions; he leaves it at home locked up in the cupboard." "is that a fact?" asked the crocodile, surprised. "certainly!" retorted the partridge. "try to eat him if you like, but you will only tire yourself to no purpose." "dear me! how very odd!" gasped the crocodile; and he was so taken aback that he carried the jackal safe to shore. "well, are you satisfied now?" asked the partridge. "my dear madam!" quoth the jackal, "you have made me laugh, you have made me cry, you have given me a good dinner, and you have saved my life; but upon my honour i think you are too clever for a friend: so, good-bye!" and the jackal never went near the partridge again. flora annie steel: "tales from the punjab." hide and seek all the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, all the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill; through the noonday silence, down the woods of june, hark! a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune. "hide and seek! "when i speak, "you must answer me: "call again, "merry men, "coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" now i hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass: hidden in my leafy nook, shall i let him pass? just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns, leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns. "hold him fast, "caught at last! "now you're it, you see. "hide your eye, "till i cry, "coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" long ago he left me, long and long ago: now i wander through the world and seek him high and low; hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,-- ah, if i could hear his voice, i soon should find his face. far away, many a day, where can barney be? answer, dear, don't you hear? "coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy, flowers he loved to pick for me, 'mind me of my boy. surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh; love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die. heart be glad, the little lad will call some day to thee: "father dear, "heaven is here, "coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" henry van dyke the burning of the "goliath" (owing to the excellent discipline which captain bourchier had established, and to the courage of the boys, only twelve lives were lost out of the crew of five hundred). let me give you an example of self-denial which comes from near home. i will speak to you of what has been done by little boys of seven, of eight, of twelve, of thirteen;--little english boys, and english boys with very few advantages of birth; not brought up, as most of you are, in quiet, orderly homes, but taken from the london workhouses. i will speak to you of what such little boys have done, not fifteen hundred, or even two hundred years ago, but last week--last wednesday, on the river thames. do you know of whom i am thinking? i am thinking of the little boys, nearly five hundred, who were taken from different workhouses in london, and put to school to be trained as sailors on board the ship which was called after the name of the giant whom david slew--the training-ship goliath. about eight o'clock on wednesday morning that great ship suddenly caught fire, from the upsetting of a can of oil in the lamp-room. it was hardly daylight. in a very few minutes the ship was on fire from one end to the other, and the fire-bell rang to call the boys to their posts. what did they do? think of the sudden surprise, the sudden danger--the flames rushing all around them, and the dark, cold water below them! did they cry, or scream, or fly about in confusion? no; they ran each to his proper place. they had been trained to do that--they knew that it was their duty; and no one forgot himself; no one lost his presence of mind. they all, as the captain said: "behaved like men." then, when it was found impossible to save the ship, those who could swim jumped into the water by order of the captain, and swam for their lives. some, also at his command, got into a boat; and then, when the sheets of flame and the clouds of smoke came pouring out of the ship, the smaller boys for a moment were frightened, and wanted to push away. but there was one among them--the little mate: his name was william bolton: we are proud that he came from westminster: a quiet boy, much loved by his comrades--who had the sense and courage to say: "no; we must stay and help those that are still in the ship." he kept the barge alongside the ship as long as possible, and was thus the means of saving more than one hundred lives! there were others who were still in the ship while the flames went on spreading. they were standing by the good captain, who had been so kind to them all, and whom they all loved so much. in that dreadful crisis they thought more of him than of themselves. one threw his arms round his neck and said: "you'll be burnt, captain;" and another said: "save yourself before the rest." but the captain gave them the best of all lessons for that moment. he said: "that's not the way at sea, my boys." he meant to say--and they quite understood what he meant--that the way at sea is to prepare for danger beforehand, to meet it manfully when it comes, and to look at the safety, not of oneself, but of others. the captain had not only learned that good old way himself, but he also knew how to teach it to the boys under his charge. dean stanley hearts of oak come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer, to add something more to this wonderful year, to honour we call you, not press you like slaves, for who are so free as the sons of the waves? hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, we always are ready, steady, boys, steady, we'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. still britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea, her standard be justice, her watchword "be free;" then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king. hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, we always are ready, steady, boys, steady, we'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. david garrick a wet sheet and a flowing sea a wet sheet and a flowing sea, a wind that follows fast, and fills the white and rustling sail, and bends the gallant mast; and bends the gallant mast, my boys, while, like the eagle free, away the good ship flies, and leaves old england on the lee! "o for a soft and gentle wind!" i heard a fair one cry; but give to me the snoring breeze and white waves heaving high; and white waves heaving high, my boys, the good ship tight and free,-- the world of waters is our home, and merry men are we. there's tempest in yon hornèd moon, and lightning in yon cloud; and hark the music, mariners, the wind is piping loud! the wind is piping loud, my boys, the lightning flashes free,-- while the hollow oak our palace is, our heritage the sea. allan cunningham the talents the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. and unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey. then he that had received the five talents went and traded with the same, and made them other five talents. and likewise he that had received two, he also gained other two. but he that had received one went and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money. after a long time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them. and so he that had received five talents came and brought other five talents saying, "lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, i have gained beside them five talents more." his lord said unto him, "well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, i will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." he also that had received two talents came and said, "lord, thou deliveredst unto me two talents: behold, i have gained two other talents beside them." his lord said unto him, "well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, i will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." then he which had received the one talent came and said, "lord, i knew thee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strawed; and i was afraid, and went and hid thy talent in the earth: lo, there thou hast that is thine." his lord answered and said unto him, "thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that i reap where i sowed not, and gather where i have not strawed: thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers, and then at my coming i should have received mine own with usury. take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him which hath ten talents. for unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath. and cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." st. matthew, xxv. - a farewell my fairest child, i have no song to give you; no lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; yet, ere we part, one lesson i can leave you for every day. i'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down, to earn yourself a purer poet's laurel than shakespeare's crown. be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; do noble things, not dream them, all day long: and so make life, death, and that vast forever, one grand, sweet song. kingsley an apple orchard in the spring have you seen an apple orchard in the spring? in the spring? an english apple orchard in the spring? when the spreading trees are hoary with their wealth of promised glory, and the mavis sings its story, in the spring. have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring? in the spring? and caught their subtle odours in the spring? pink buds pouting at the light, crumpled petals baby white just to touch them a delight-- in the spring. have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring? in the spring? beneath the apple blossoms in the spring? when the pink cascades are falling, and the silver brooklets brawling, and the cuckoo bird soft calling, in the spring. if you have not, then you know not, in the spring, in the spring, half the colour, beauty, wonder of the spring, no sweet sight can i remember half so precious, half so tender, as the apple blossoms render, in the spring. william martin the bluejay said jim baker: "there's more to a bluejay than to any other creature. he has more kinds of feeling than any other creature; and mind you, whatever a bluejay feels, he can put into words. no common words either, but out-and-out book-talk. you never see a jay at a loss for a word. "you may call a jay a bird. well, so he is, because he has feathers on him. otherwise, he is just as human as you are. "yes, sir; a jay is everything that a man is. a jay can laugh, a jay can gossip, a jay can feel ashamed, just as well as you do, maybe better. and there's another thing: in good, clean, out-and-out scolding, a bluejay can beat anything alive. "seven years ago the last man about here but me moved away. there stands his house--a log house with just one big room and no more: no ceiling, nothing between the rafters and the floor. "well, one sunday morning i was sitting out here in front of my cabin, with my cat, taking the sun, when a bluejay flew down on that house with an acorn in his mouth. "'hello,' says he, 'i reckon here's something.' when he spoke, the acorn fell out of his mouth and rolled down on the roof. he didn't care; his mind was on the thing he had found. "it was a knot-hole in the roof. he cocked his head to one side, shut one eye, and put the other to the hole, like a 'possum looking down a jug.' "then he looked up, gave a wink or two with his wings, and says: 'it looks like a hole, it's placed like a hole--and--if i don't think it is a hole!' "then he cocked his head down and took another look. he looked up with joy, this time winked his wings and his tail both, and says: 'if i ain't in luck! why it's an elegant hole!' "so he flew down and got that acorn and dropped it in, and was tilting his head back with a smile when a queer look of surprise came over his face. then he says: 'why, i didn't hear it fall.' "he cocked his eye at the hole again and took a long look; rose up and shook his head; went to the other side of the hole and took another look from that side; shook his head again. no use. "so after thinking awhile, he says: 'i reckon it's all right. i'll try it, anyway.' "so he flew off and brought another acorn and dropped it in, and tried to get his eye to the hole quick enough to see what became of it. he was too late. he got another acorn and tried to see where it went, but he couldn't. "he says: 'well, i never saw such a hole as this before. i reckon it's a new kind.' then he got angry and walked up and down the roof. i never saw a bird take on so. "when he got through, he looked in the hole for half a minute; then he says: 'well, you're a long hole, and a deep hole, and a queer hole, but i have started to fill you, and i'll do it if it takes a hundred years.' "and with that away he went. for two hours and a half you never saw a bird work so hard. he did not stop to look in any more, but just threw acorns in and went for more. "well, at last he could hardly flap his wings he was so tired out. so he bent down for a look. he looked up, pale with rage. he says: 'i've put in enough acorns to keep the family thirty years, and i can't see a sign of them.' "another jay was going by and heard him. so he stopped to ask what was the matter. our jay told him the whole story. then he went and looked down the hole and came back and said: 'how many tons did you put in there?' 'not less than two,' said our jay. "the other jay looked again, but could not make it out; so he gave a yell and three more jays came. they all talked at once for awhile, and then called in more jays. "pretty soon the air was blue with jays, and every jay put his eye to the hole and told what he thought. they looked the house all over, too. the door was partly open, and at last one old jay happened to look in. there lay the acorns all over the floor. "he flapped his wings and gave a yell: 'come here, everybody! ha! ha! he's been trying to fill a house with acorns!' "as each jay took a look, the fun of the thing struck him, and how he did laugh. and for an hour after they roosted on the housetop and trees, and laughed like human beings. it isn't any use to tell me a bluejay hasn't any fun in him. i know better." samuel l. clemens (mark twain) a canadian camping song a white tent pitched by a glassy lake, well under a shady tree, or by rippling rills from the grand old hills, is the summer home for me. i fear no blaze of the noontide rays, for the woodland glades are mine, the fragrant air, and that perfume rare, the odour of forest pine. a cooling plunge at the break of day, a paddle, a row, or sail, with always a fish for a mid-day dish, and plenty of adam's ale. with rod or gun, or in hammock swung, we glide through the pleasant days; when darkness falls on our canvas walls, we kindle the camp fire's blaze. from out the gloom sails the silv'ry moon, o'er forests dark and still, now far, now near, ever sad and clear, comes the plaint of the whip-poor-will; with song and laugh, and with kindly chaff, we startle the birds above, then rest tired heads on our cedar beds, to dream of the ones we love. sir j. d. edgar: "this canada of ours." the argonauts now, when the building of the ship argo was finished, the fifty heroes came to look upon her, and joy filled their hearts. "surely," said they, "this is the greatest ship that ever sailed the sea." so eager were they to make trial of the long oars that some, leaping on the shoulders of their comrades and grasping the shrouds, clambered over the bulwarks upon the thwarts and drew the rest in after them. orpheus, upon the mighty shoulders of jason the leader of the expedition, seized hold of the arm of the azure-eyed goddess, the figure-head of the ship, and, as he climbed on board, her whisper reached his ear. "orpheus, sing me something." this was the song: "how sweet upon the surge to ride, and leap from wave to wave, while oars flash fast above the tide and lordly tempests rave. how sweet it is across the main, in wonder-land to roam, to win rich treasure, endless fame, and earn a welcome home." then the good ship argo stirred in all her timbers and longing for the restless sea came upon her and she rushed headlong down the grooves till the lips of the goddess tasted the salt sea spray. many a day they sailed through laughing seas and ever they spoke together of the glory of the golden fleece which they hoped to bring home from far off colchis. when they were come to the land of colchis, king Æetes summoned them to his palace. beside him was seated his daughter, the beautiful witch maiden, medea. she looked upon the greeks and upon jason, fairest and noblest of them all, and her spirit leaped forth to meet his. and knowing what lay before them, "surely," she thought, "it were an evil thing that men so bold and comely should perish." when jason demanded the golden fleece, the rage of the king rushed up like a whirlwind, but he curbed his speech and spake a fair word. "choose ye now him who is boldest among you and let him perform the labours i shall set." that night medea stole from the palace to warn the hero of the toils and dangers that awaited him,--to tame a span of brazen-footed fire-breathing bulls, with them to plough four acres of unbroken land in the field of ares, to sow the tilth with serpents' teeth, to slay its crop of warriors, to cross a river, and climb a lofty wall, to snatch the fleece from a tree round which lay coiled the sleepless dragon. "how can these things be accomplished and that before the setting of another sun?" but jason used flattering words, singing the song of chiron: "no river so deep but an arm may swim, no wall so steep but a foot may climb, no dragon so dread but a sword may slay, no fiend so fierce but your charms may stay." medea, seeing that he knew not fear, gave him a magic ointment which should give him the strength of seven men and protect him from fire and steel. all the people assembled at sunrise in the field of ares. when the fire-breathing bulls saw jason standing in the middle of the field, fury shot from their eyes. fierce was their onset and the multitude waited breathless to see what the end would be. as the bulls came on with lowered heads, and tails in air, jason leaped nimbly to one side, and the monsters shot past him with bellowings that shook the earth. they turned and jason poised for the leap. as they passed a second time, he grasped the nearest by the horn and lightly vaulted upon its back. the bull, unused to the burden, sank cowering to the ground. jason patted its neck caressing it, and gladly it shared the yoke with its fellow. when the ground was ploughed and sown with the teeth of the serpent, a thousand warriors sprang full-armed from the brown earth. then king Æetes greatly rejoiced, but medea, trembling at the sight, laid a spell upon them that they might not clearly distinguish friend from foe. one among them came forth and jason advanced to meet him, walking with a halt. his adversary laughed aloud, but jason with a mighty bound sprang upon the shoulders of his enemy and bore him helmetless to the ground. the hero quickly replaced the fallen helmet with his own, giving a golden helmet for a brazen. the other rose and fled back among his fellows who, thinking it was jason come among them, fell upon and slew him and strove with each other for the golden helmet until all were slain but one who, wounded unto death, rose up from the fray and shouting "victory" sank upon knee and elbow never to rise again. the rest of the task was quickly accomplished, for medea by her spells cast a deep sleep upon the dragon. so the golden fleece was won and brought once more to iolchos with a prize still more precious, for jason bore home with him medea, the beautiful witch maiden, who became his bride and ruled with him, let us hope, many happy years. john waugh in the elder days of art, builders wrought with greatest care each minute and unseen part; for the gods see everywhere. let us do our work as well, both the unseen and the seen; make the house, where gods may dwell, beautiful, entire and clean. longfellow the minstrel-boy the minstrel-boy to the war is gone, in the ranks of death you'll find him; his father's sword he has girded on, and his wild harp slung behind him. "land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "tho' all the world betrays thee, _one_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, _one_ faithful harp shall praise thee!" the minstrel fell! but the foeman's chain could not bring his proud soul under; the harp he loved ne'er spoke again, for he tore its chords asunder; and said: "no chains shall sully thee, thou soul of love and bravery! thy songs were made for the pure and free, they shall never sound in slavery." moore once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, in the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side; then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. lowell mary elizabeth mary elizabeth was a little girl with a long name. she was poor, she was sick, she was ragged, she was dirty, she was cold, she was hungry, she was frightened. she had no home, she had no mother, she had no father. she had no supper, she had had no dinner, she had had no breakfast. she had no place to go and nobody to care where she went. in fact, mary elizabeth had not much of anything but a short pink calico dress, a little red cotton-and-wool shawl, and her long name. besides this, she had a pair of old rubbers, too large for her. she was walking up washington street. it was late in the afternoon of a bitter january day. "god made so many people," thought mary elizabeth, "he must have made so many suppers. seems as if there'd ought to be one for one extry little girl." but she thought this in a gentle way. she was a very gentle little girl. all girls who hadn't anything were not like mary elizabeth. * * * * * so now she was shuffling up washington street, not knowing exactly what to do next,--peeping into people's faces, timidly looking away from them, heart-sick (for a very little girl can be very heart-sick), colder, she thought, every minute, and hungrier each hour than she was the hour before. the child left washington street at last, where everybody had homes and suppers without one extra one to spare for a little girl, and turned into a short, bright, showy street, where stood a great hotel. whether the door-keeper was away, or busy, or sick, or careless, or whether the head-waiter at the dining-room was so tall that he couldn't see so short a beggar, or whether the clerk at the desk was so noisy that he couldn't hear so still a beggar, or however it was, mary elizabeth did get in; by the door-keeper, past the head-waiter, under the shadow of the clerk, over the smooth, slippery marble floor the child crept on. she came to the office door and stood still. she looked around her with wide eyes. she had never seen a place like that. lights flashed over it, many and bright. gentlemen sat in it smoking and reading. they were all warm. not one of them looked as if he had had no dinner and no breakfast and no supper. "how many extry suppers," thought the little girl, "it must ha' taken to feed 'em all. i guess maybe there'll be one for me in here." mary elizabeth stood in the middle of it, in her pink calico dress and red plaid shawl. the shawl was tied over her head and about her neck with a ragged tippet. her bare feet showed in the old rubbers. she began to shuffle about the room, holding out one purple little hand. one or two of the gentlemen laughed; some frowned; more did nothing at all; most did not notice, or did not seem to notice, the child. one said: "what's the matter here?" mary elizabeth shuffled on. she went from one to the other, less timidly; a kind of desperation had taken possession of her. the odours from the dining-room came in, of strong, hot coffee, and strange roast meats. mary elizabeth thought of jo. it seemed to her she was so hungry that, if she could not get a supper, she should jump up and run and rush about and snatch something and steal like jo. she held out her hand, but only said: "i'm hungry!" a gentleman called her. he was the gentleman who had asked: "what's the matter here?" he called her in behind his daily paper which was big enough to hide three of mary elizabeth, and when he saw that nobody was looking he gave her a five-cent piece in a hurry, as if he had committed a sin, and said quickly: "there, there, child! go now, go!" then he began to read his newspaper quite hard and fast and to look severe, as one does who never gives anything to beggars, as a matter of principle. but nobody else gave anything to mary elizabeth. she shuffled from one to another, hopelessly. every gentleman shook his head. one called for a waiter to put her out. this frightened her and she stood still. over by a window, in a lonely corner of the great room, a young man was sitting apart from the others. he sat with his elbows on the table and his face buried in his arms. he was a well-dressed young man, with brown, curling hair. mary elizabeth wondered why he looked so miserable and why he sat alone. she thought, perhaps, that if he weren't so happy as the other gentlemen, he would be more sorry for cold and hungry girls. she hesitated, then walked along and directly up to him. one or two gentlemen laid down their papers and watched this; they smiled and nodded to each other. the child did not see them to wonder why. she went up and put her hand upon the young man's arm. he started. the brown, curly head lifted itself from the shelter of his arms; a young face looked sharply at the beggar girl,--a beautiful young face it might have been. it was haggard now and dreadful to look at,--bloated and badly marked with the unmistakable marks of a wicked week's debauch. he roughly said: "what do you want?" "i'm hungry," said mary elizabeth. "i can't help that. go away." "i haven't had anything to eat for a whole day--a whole day!" repeated the child. her lip quivered. but she spoke distinctly. her voice sounded through the room. one gentleman after another laid down his paper or his pipe. several were watching this little scene. "go away!" repeated the young man, irritably. "don't bother me. i haven't had anything to eat for three days!" his face went down into his arms again. mary elizabeth stood staring at the brown, curling hair. she stood perfectly still for some moments. she evidently was greatly puzzled. she walked away a little distance, then stopped and thought it over. and now paper after paper and pipe after cigar went down. every gentleman in the room began to look on. the young man with the beautiful brown curls, and dissipated, disgraced, and hidden face was not stiller than the rest. the little figure in the pink calico and the red shawl and big rubbers stood for a moment silent among them all. the waiter came to take her out but the gentlemen motioned him away. mary elizabeth turned her five-cent piece over and over in her purple hand. her hand shook. the tears came. the smell of the dinner from the dining-room grew savoury and strong. the child put the piece of money to her lips as if she could have eaten it, then turned and, without further hesitation, went back. she touched the young man--on the bright hair this time--with her trembling little hand. the room was so still now that what she said rang out to the corridor, where the waiters stood, with the clerk behind looking over the desk to see. "i'm sorry you are so hungry. if you haven't had anything for three days, you must be hungrier than me. i've got five cents. a gentleman gave it me. i wish you would take it. i've only gone one day. you can get some supper with it, and--maybe--i--can get some somewheres! i wish you'd please to take it!" mary elizabeth stood quite still, holding out her five-cent piece. she did not understand the stir that went all over the bright room. she did not see that some of the gentlemen coughed and wiped their spectacles. she did not know why the brown curls before her came up with such a start, nor why the young man's wasted face flushed red and hot with a noble shame. she did not in the least understand why he flung the five-cent piece upon the table, and, snatching her in his arms, held her fast and hid his face on her plaid shawl and sobbed. nor did she seem to know what could be the reason that nobody seemed amused to see this gentleman cry. the gentleman who had given her the money came up, and some more came up, and they gathered around, and she in the midst of them, and they all spoke kindly, and the young man with the bad face that might have been so beautiful stood up, still clinging to her, and said aloud: "she's shamed me before you all, and she's shamed me to myself! i'll learn a lesson from this beggar, so help me god!" so then he took the child upon his knee, and the gentlemen came up to listen, and the young man asked her what her name was. "mary elizabeth, sir." "names used to mean things--in the bible--when i was as little as you. i read the bible then. does mary elizabeth mean angel of rebuke?" "sir?" "where do you live, mary elizabeth?" "nowhere, sir." "where do you sleep?" "in mrs. o'flynn's shed, sir. it's too cold for the cows. she's so kind, she lets us stay." "whom do you stay with?" "nobody, only jo." "is jo your brother?" "no, sir. jo is a girl. i haven't got only jo." "what does jo do for a living?" "she--gets it, sir." "and what do you do?" "i beg. it's better than to--get it, sir, i think." "where's your mother?" "dead." "what did she die of?" "drink, sir," said mary elizabeth, in her distinct and gentle tone. "ah--well. and your father?" "he is dead. he died in prison." "what sent him to prison?" "drink, sir." "oh!" "i had a brother once," continued mary elizabeth, who grew quite eloquent with so large an audience, "but he died, too." "i do want my supper," she added, after a pause, speaking in a whisper, as if to jo or to herself, "and jo'll be wondering for me." "wait, then," said the young man. "i'll see if i can't beg enough to get you your supper." "i thought there must be an extry one among so many folks!" cried mary elizabeth; for now, she thought, she should get back her five cents. and, truly, the young man put the five cents into his hat, to begin with. then he took out his purse, and put in something that made less noise than the five-cent piece and something more and more and more. then he passed around the great room, walking still unsteadily, and the gentleman who gave the five cents and all the gentlemen put something into the young man's hat. so, when he came back to the table, he emptied the hat and counted the money, and, truly, it was forty dollars. "forty dollars!" mary elizabeth looked frightened. "it's yours," said the young man. "now come to supper. but see! this gentleman who gave you the five-cent piece shall take care of the money for you. you can trust him. he's got a wife, too. but we'll come to supper now." * * * * * so the young man took her by the hand, and the gentleman whose wife knew all about what to do with orphans took her by the other hand, and one or two more gentlemen followed, and they all went into the dining-room, and put mary elizabeth in a chair at a clean white table, and asked her what she wanted for her supper. mary elizabeth said that a little dry toast and a cup of milk would do nicely. so all the gentlemen laughed. and she wondered why. and the young man with the brown curls laughed, too, and began to look quite happy. but he ordered chicken and cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes and celery and rolls and butter and tomatoes and an ice cream and a cup of tea and nuts and raisins and cake and custard and apples and grapes. and mary elizabeth sat in her pink dress and red shawl and ate the whole; and why it didn't kill her nobody knows; but it didn't. the young man with the face that might have been beautiful--that might be yet, one would have thought who had seen him then--stood watching the little girl. "she's preached me the best sermon," he said below his breath, "i ever heard. may god bless her! i wish there were a thousand like her in this selfish world!" and when i heard about it i wished so, too. elizabeth stuart phelps ward oh, there is nothing on earth half so holy as the innocent heart of a child. dickens the frost the frost looked forth, one still clear night, and whispered: "now i shall be out of sight; so through the valley and over the height, in silence i'll take my way: i will not go on like that blustering train, the wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, who make so much bustle and noise in vain, but i'll be as busy as they." then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest; he lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed in diamond beads--and over the breast of the quivering lake he spread a coat of mail, that it need not fear the downward point of many a spear that he hung on its margin, far and near, where a rock could rear its head. he went to the windows of those who slept, and over each pane, like a fairy, crept; wherever he breathed, wherever he stept, by the light of the moon were seen most beautiful things:--there were flowers and trees; there were bevies of birds and swarms of bees: there were cities with temples and towers; and these all pictured in silver sheen. but he did one thing that was hardly fair; he peeped in the cupboard, and finding there that all had forgotten for him to prepare-- "now just to set them a-thinking, i'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, "this costly pitcher i'll burst in three, and the glass of water they've left for me shall 'tchick!' to tell them i'm drinking." h. f. gould corn-fields when on the breath of autumn's breeze, from pastures dry and brown, goes floating, like an idle thought, the fair, white thistle-down,-- oh, then what joy to walk at will upon the golden harvest-hill! what joy in dreaming ease to lie amid a field new shorn; and see all round, on sunlit slopes, the piled-up shocks of corn; and send the fancy wandering o'er all pleasant harvest-fields of yore! i feel the day; i see the field; the quivering of the leaves; and good old jacob, and his house,-- binding the yellow sheaves! and at this very hour i seem to be with joseph in his dream! i see the fields of bethlehem, and reapers many a one bending unto their sickles' stroke, and boaz looking on; and ruth, the moabitess fair, among the gleaners stooping there! again, i see a little child, his mother's sole delight,-- god's living gift of love unto the kind, good shunammite; to mortal pangs i see him yield, and the lad bear him from the field. the sun-bathed quiet of the hills, the fields of galilee, that eighteen hundred years ago were full of corn, i see; and the dear saviour take his way 'mid ripe ears on the sabbath day. oh, golden fields of bending corn, how beautiful they seem! the reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, to me are like a dream; the sunshine, and the very air seem of old time, and take me there! mary howitt south-west wind, esq. treasure valley belonged to three brothers--schwartz, hans, and gluck. the two elder brothers were rich, cruel, quarrelsome men who never gave anything in charity. the youngest brother, gluck, was twelve years old, and kind to everyone. he had to act as cook and servant to his brothers. one cold, wet day the brothers went out, telling gluck to roast a leg of mutton on the spit, let nobody into the house, and let nothing out. after a time some one knocked at the door. gluck went to the window, opened it, and put his head out to see who it was. it was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman. he had a very large nose, slightly brass-coloured; very round and very red cheeks; merry eyes, long hair, and moustaches that curled twice round like a corkscrew on each side of his mouth. he was four feet six inches high, and wore a pointed cap as long as himself. it was decorated with a black feather about three feet long. around his body was folded an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak much too long for him. as he knocked again he caught sight of gluck. "hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer the door; i'm wet, let me in." to do the little gentleman justice, he _was_ wet. his feather hung down between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella; and from the ends of his moustaches the water was running into his waistcoat pockets, and out again like a mill stream. "i beg pardon, sir," said gluck, "i'm very sorry, but i really can't." "can't what?" said the old gentleman. "i can't let you in, sir,--i can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me to death, sir, if i thought of such a thing. what do you want, sir?" "want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly, "i want fire and shelter; and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on the walls, with nobody to feel it. let me in, i say; i only want to warm myself." gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window that he began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned and saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long, bright tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savoury smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should be burning away for nothing. "he does look _very_ wet," said little gluck; "i'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour." round he went to the door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, through the house came a gust of wind that made the old chimneys totter. "that's a good boy," said the little gentleman. "never mind your brothers. i'll talk to them." "pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said gluck. "i can't let you stay till they come; they'd be the death of me." "dear me," said the old gentleman, "i'm very sorry to hear that. how long may i stay?" "only till the mutton's done, sir," replied gluck, "and it's very brown." then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and sat himself down on the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it was a great deal too high for the roof. "you'll soon dry there, sir," said gluck, and sat down again to turn the mutton. but the old gentleman did _not_ dry there, but went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered, and began to look very black and uncomfortable; never was such a cloak; every fold in it ran like a gutter. "i beg pardon, sir," said gluck at length, after watching the water spreading in long quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarter of an hour; "mayn't i take your cloak?" "no, thank you," said the old gentleman. "your cap, sir?" "i am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman, rather gruffly. "but--sir--i'm very sorry," said gluck, hesitatingly; "but--really, sir--you're putting the fire out." "it'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor, dryly. gluck was very much puzzled by the behaviour of his guest; it was such a strange mixture of coolness and humility. he turned away at the string meditatively for another five minutes. "that mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman, at length. "can't you give me a little bit?" "impossible, sir," said gluck. "i'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman; "i've had nothing to eat yesterday, nor to-day. they surely couldn't miss a bit from the knuckle!" he spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted gluck's heart. "they promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "i can give you that, but not a bit more." "that's a good boy," said the old gentleman again. then gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. "i don't care if i do get beaten for it," thought he. just as he had cut a large slice out of the mutton, there came a tremendous rap at the door. the old gentleman jumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm. gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran to open the door. "what did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said schwartz, as he walked in, throwing his umbrella in gluck's face. "ay! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said hans, administering an educational box on the ear, as he followed his brother into the kitchen. "bless my soul!" said schwartz, when he opened the door. "amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off, and was standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible velocity. "who's that?" said schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning to gluck with a fierce frown. "i don't know, indeed, brother," said gluck, in great terror. "how did he get in?" roared schwartz. "my dear brother," said gluck, deprecatingly, "he was so _very_ wet!" the rolling-pin was descending on gluck's head; but at the instant the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with a shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. what was very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out of schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into the corner at the farther end of the room. "who are you, sir?" demanded schwartz, turning upon him. "what's your business?" snarled hans. "i'm a poor, old man, sir," the little gentleman began very modestly, "and i saw your fire through the window, and begged shelter for a quarter of an hour." "have the goodness to walk out again, then," said schwartz. "we've quite enough water in our kitchen, without making it a drying-house." "it is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray hairs." they hung down to his shoulders. "ay!" said hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. walk!" "i'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread before i go?" "bread, indeed!" said schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do with our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?" "why don't you sell your feather?" said hans, sneeringly. "out with you!" "a little bit," said the old gentleman. "be off!" said schwartz. "pray, gentlemen--" "off, and be hanged!" cried hans, seizing him by the collar. but he had no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar, than away he went after the rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corner on the top of it. then schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when away he went after hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the wall as he tumbled into the corner. and so there they lay, all three. then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite direction; continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly about him; clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an additional twist to his corkscrew moustaches, and replied with perfect coolness: "gentlemen, i wish you a very good-morning. at twelve o'clock to-night i'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as i have just experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last i ever pay you." "if i ever catch you here again," muttered schwartz, coming, half-frightened, out of the corner--but before he could finish his sentence, the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a great bang; and past the window, at the same instant, drove a wreath of ragged cloud, that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of shapes; turning over and over in the air, and melting away at last in a gush of rain. "a very pretty business, indeed, mr. gluck!" said schwartz. "dish the mutton, sir. if ever i catch you at such a trick again--bless me, why the mutton's been cut!" "you promised me one slice, brother, you know," said gluck. "oh! and you were cutting it hot, i suppose, and going to catch all the gravy. it'll be long before i promise you such a thing again. leave the room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till i call you." gluck left the room melancholy enough. the brothers ate as much mutton as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get very drunk after dinner. such a night as it was! howling wind and rushing rain, without intermission. the brothers had just sense enough left to put up all the shutters, and double-bar the door, before they went to bed. they usually slept in the same room. as the clock struck twelve, they were both awakened by a tremendous crash. their door burst open with a violence that shook the house from top to bottom. "what's that?" cried schwartz, starting up in his bed. "only i," said the little gentleman. the two brothers sat up on their bolster, and stared into the darkness. the room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its way through a hole in the shutter, they could see, in the midst of it, an enormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old gentleman, cap and all. there was plenty of room for it now, for the roof was off. "sorry to incommode you," said their visitor, ironically. "i'm afraid your beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room; i've left the ceiling on there." they required no second admonition, but rushed into gluck's room, wet through, and in an agony of terror. "you'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called after them. "remember, the _last_ visit." "pray heaven it may be!" said schwartz, shuddering. and the foam globe disappeared. dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of gluck's little window in the morning. the treasure valley was one mass of ruin and desolation. the inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, and left, in their stead, a waste of red sand and gray mud. the two brothers crept, shivering and horror-struck, into the kitchen. the water had gutted the whole first floor: corn, money, almost every movable thing had been swept away, and there was left only a small white card on the kitchen table. on it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters, were engraved the words:-- south-west wind, esquire. ruskin: "the king of the golden river." (adapted) the cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; and, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep. shakespeare the meeting of the waters there is not in the wide world a valley so sweet as that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. yet it _was_ not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'twas _not_ her soft magic of streamlet or hill, oh! no,--it was something more exquisite still. 'twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, and who felt how the best charms of nature improve, when we see them reflected from looks that we love. sweet vale of avoca! how calm could i rest in thy bosom of shade, with the friends i love best, where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, and our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. moore love love your enemies, do good to them which hate you. bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. and as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise. for if ye love them which love you, what thank have ye? for sinners also love those that love them. and if ye do good to them which do good to you, what thank have ye? for sinners also do even the same. and if ye lend to them of whom ye hope to receive, what thank have ye? for sinners also lend to sinners, to receive as much again. but love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil. be ye therefore merciful, as your father also is merciful. judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. for with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again. st. luke, vi. - the robin's song "when the willows gleam along the brooks, and the grass grows green in sunny nooks, in the sunshine and the rain i hear the robin in the lane singing, 'cheerily, cheer up, cheer up; cheerily, cheerily, cheer up.' "but the snow is still along the walls and on the hill. the days are cold, the nights forlorn, for one is here and one is gone. 'tut, tut. cheerily, cheer up, cheer up; cheerily, cheerily, cheer up.' "when spring hopes seem to wane, i hear the joyful strain-- a song at night, a song at morn, a lesson deep to me is borne, hearing, 'cheerily, cheer up, cheer up; cheerily, cheerily, cheer up.'" unknown work or play saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh and brimming with life. there was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. there was cheer in every face, and a spring in every step. the locust trees were in bloom, and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. he surveyed the fence, and the gladness went out of nature, and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. thirty yards of board fence nine feet high! it seemed to him that life was hollow, and existence but a burden. sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. he began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work--the very thought of it burnt him like fire. he got out his worldly wealth and examined it--bits of toys, marbles and trash; enough to buy an exchange of work maybe, but not enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure freedom. so he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. at this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him. nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration. he took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. ben rogers hove in sight presently; the very boy of all boys whose ridicule he had been dreading. ben's gait was the hop, skip, and jump--proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high. he was eating an apple, and giving a long melodious whoop at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding dong dong, ding dong dong, for he was personating a steamboat. tom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamer. ben stared a moment, and then said-- "hi-yi! you're a stump, ain't you!" no answer. tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist; then he gave his brush another gentle sweep, and surveyed the result as before. ben ranged up alongside of him. tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. ben said-- "hello, old chap; you got to work, hey?" "why, it's you, ben! i warn't noticing." "say, i'm going in a-swimming, i am. don't you wish you could? but of course you'd druther work, wouldn't you? 'course you would!" tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said-- "what do you call work?" "why ain't that work?" tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly-- "well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. all i know is, it suits tom sawyer." "oh, come now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?" the brush continued to move. "like it? well, i don't see why i oughtn't to like it. does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?" that put the thing in a new light. ben stopped nibbling his apple. tom swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the effect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again, ben watching every move, and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed. presently he said-- "say, tom, let me whitewash a little." tom considered; was about to consent; but he altered his mind: "no, no; i reckon it wouldn't hardly do, ben. you see, aunt polly's awful particular about this fence--right here on the street, you know--but if it was the back fence i wouldn't mind, and she wouldn't. yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; i reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done." "no--is that so? oh, come now; lemme just try, only just a little. i'd let you, if you was me, tom." "ben, i'd like to, honest injun; but aunt polly--well, jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him. sid wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let sid. now, don't you see how i am fixed? if you was to tackle this fence, and anything was to happen to it--" "oh, shucks; i'll be just as careful. now lemme try. say--i'll give you the core of my apple." "well, here. no, ben; now don't; i'm afeard--" "i'll give you all of it!" tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. and while ben worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. there was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. by the time ben was fagged out, tom had traded the next chance to billy fisher for a kite in good repair; and when he played out, johnny miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with; and so on, and so on, hour after hour. and when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor, poverty-stricken boy in the morning, tom was literally rolling in wealth. he had, besides the things i have mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jew's harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool-cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, a dog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window-sash. he had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company--and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! if he hadn't run out of whitewash, he would have bankrupted every boy in the village. tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world after all. he had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it, namely, that, in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. if he had been a great and wise philosopher, he would have comprehended that work consists of whatever a body is _obliged_ to do, and that play consists of whatever a body is _not_ obliged to do. mark twain: "the adventures of tom sawyer." burial of sir john moore not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, as his corpse to the rampart we hurried; not a soldier discharged his farewell shot o'er the grave where our hero we buried. we buried him darkly at dead of night, the sods with our bayonets turning; by the struggling moon-beam's misty light, and the lantern dimly burning. no useless coffin inclosed his breast, nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; but he lay like a warrior taking his rest, with his martial cloak around him. few and short were the prayers we said, and we spoke not a word of sorrow; but we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, and we bitterly thought of the morrow. we thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, and smoothed down his lonely pillow, that the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, and we far away on the billow. lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, and o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,-- but little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, in the grave where a briton has laid him. but half of our heavy task was done when the clock struck the hour for retiring; and we heard the distant and random gun that the foe was sullenly firing. slowly and sadly we laid him down from the field of his fame fresh and gory; we carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, but we left him alone with his glory. c. wolfe the whistle when i was a boy of seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled my pocket with coppers. i went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children, and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that i met by the way in the hands of another boy, i voluntarily offered and gave all my money for one. i then came home, and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. my brothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain i had made, told me i had given four times as much for it as it was worth; put me in mind what good things i might have bought with the rest of the money; and laughed at me so much for my folly, that i cried with vexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure. this, however, was afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing in my mind; so that often, when i was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, i said to myself: "don't give too much for the whistle;" and i saved my money. as i grew up, came into the world, and observed the actions of men, i thought i met with many, very many, who gave too much for the whistle. when i saw any one fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in politics, neglecting his own affairs and ruining them by that neglect, "he pays, indeed," said i, "too much for his whistle." if i saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine horses, all above his fortune, for which he contracted debts and ended his career in poverty, "alas!" said i, "he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle." in short, i believed that a great part of the miseries of mankind were brought upon them by the false estimates they had made of the value of things, and by their giving too much for their whistles. benjamin franklin a canadian boat song faintly as tolls the evening chime our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. soon as the woods on shore look dim, we'll sing at st. ann's our parting hymn. row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. why should we yet our sail unfurl? there is not a breath the blue wave to curl; but, when the wind blows off the shore, oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. utawas' tide! this trembling moon shall see us float over thy surges soon. saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. moore the little hero of haarlem at an early period in the history of holland, a boy was born in haarlem, a town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, but happily still more so for its manufactures and inventions in peace. his father was a sluicer--that is, one whose employment it was to open and shut the sluices or large oak gates which, placed at certain regular distances, close the entrances of the canals, and secure holland from the danger to which it seems exposed, of finding itself under water, rather than above it. when water is wanted, the sluicer raises the sluices more or less, as required, as the cook turns the cock of a fountain, and closes them again carefully at night; otherwise the water would flow into the canals, then overflow them, and inundate the whole country; so that even the little children in holland are fully aware of the importance of a punctual discharge of the sluicer's duties. the boy was about eight years old when, one day, he asked permission to take some cakes to a poor blind man, who lived at the other side of the dike. his father gave him leave, but charged him not to stay too late. the child promised, and set off on his little journey. the blind man thankfully partook of his young friend's cakes, and the boy, mindful of his father's orders, did not wait, as usual, to hear one of the old man's stories, but as soon as he had seen him eat one muffin, took leave of him to return home. as he went along by the canals, then quite full, for it was in october, and the autumn rains had swelled the waters,--the boy now stooped to pull the little blue flowers which his mother loved so well, now, in childish gaiety, hummed some merry song. the road gradually became more solitary, and soon neither the joyous shout of the villager returning to his cottage home, nor the rough voice of the carter grumbling at his lazy horses, was any longer to be heard. the little fellow now perceived that the blue of the flowers in his hands was scarcely distinguishable from the green of the surrounding herbage, and he looked up in some dismay. the night was falling; not, however, a dark, winter night, but one of those beautiful, clear, moonlight nights, in which every object is perceptible, though not as distinctly as by day. the child thought of his father, of his injunction, and was preparing to quit the ravine in which he was almost buried, and to regain the beach, when suddenly a slight noise, like the trickling of water upon pebbles, attracted his attention. he was near one of the large sluices, and he now carefully examined it, and soon discovered a hole in the wood, through which the water was flowing. with the instant perception which every child in holland would have, the boy saw that the water must soon enlarge the hole through which it was now only dropping, and that utter and general ruin would be the consequence of the inundation of the country that must follow. to see, to throw away the flowers, to climb from stone to stone till he reached the hole, and to put his finger into it, was the work of a moment, and to his delight he found that he had succeeded in stopping the flow of the water. this was all very well for a little while, and the child thought only of the success of his device. but the night was closing in, and with the night came the cold. the little boy looked around in vain. no one came. he shouted--he called loudly--no one answered. he resolved to stay there all night, but alas! the cold was becoming every moment more biting, and the poor finger fixed in the hole began to feel benumbed, and the numbness soon extended to the hand, and thence throughout the whole arm. the pain became still greater, still harder to bear, but yet the boy moved not. tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his father, of his mother, of his little bed, where he might now be sleeping so soundly; but still the little fellow stirred not, for he knew that did he remove the small slender finger which he had opposed to the escape of the water, not only would he himself be drowned, but his father, his brothers, his neighbours--nay, the whole village. we know not what faltering of purpose, what momentary failures of courage there might have been during that long and terrible night; but certain it is, that at daybreak he was found in the same painful position by a clergyman returning from attendance on a deathbed, who, as he advanced, thought he heard groans, and bending over the dike, discovered a child seated on a stone, writhing from pain, and with pale face and tearful eyes. "in the name of wonder, boy," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there?" "i am hindering the water from running out," was the answer, in perfect simplicity, of the child, who, during that whole night, had been evincing such heroic fortitude and undaunted courage. the muse of history has handed down to posterity many a warrior, the destroyer of thousands of his fellow-men--but she has left us in ignorance of the name of this real little hero of haarlem. sharpe's london magazine dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, are a substantial world, both pure and good. wordsworth father william "repeat 'you are old, father william,'" said the caterpillar. alice folded her hands, and began:-- "you are old, father william," the young man said, "and your hair has become very white; and yet you incessantly stand on your head-- do you think, at your age, it is right?" "in my youth," father william replied to his son, "i feared it might injure the brain; but now that i'm perfectly sure i have none, why, i do it again and again." "you are old," said the youth, "as i mentioned before, and have grown most uncommonly fat; yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door-- pray, what is the reason of that?" "in my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks, "i kept all my limbs very supple by the use of this ointment--one shilling the box-- allow me to sell you a couple." "you are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak for anything tougher than suet; yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak. pray, how did you manage to do it?" "in my youth," said his father, "i took to the law, and argued each case with my wife; and the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, has lasted the rest of my life." "you are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose that your eye was as steady as ever; yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- what made you so awfully clever?" "i have answered three questions, and that is enough," said his father; "don't give yourself airs! do you think i can listen all day to such stuff? be off, or i'll kick you down-stairs!" "that is not said right," said the caterpillar. "not _quite_ right, i'm afraid," said alice timidly; "some of the words have got altered." "it is wrong from beginning to end," said the caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes. lewis carroll: "the adventures of alice in wonderland." david and goliath now the philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and saul and the men of israel were gathered together, and pitched by the valley of elah, and set the battle in array against the philistines. and the philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and israel stood on a mountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them. and there went out a champion out of the camp of the philistines, named goliath, of gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. and he had an helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. and he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders. and the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went before him. and he stood and cried unto the armies of israel, and said unto them, why are ye come out to set your battle in array? am not i a philistine, and ye servants to saul? choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me. if he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your servants: but if i prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us. and the philistine said, i defy the armies of israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together. when saul and all israel heard those words of the philistine, they were dismayed, and greatly afraid. and david rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took, and went, as jesse had commanded him; and he came to the trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted for the battle. for israel and the philistines had put the battle in array, army against army. and david left his carriage in the hand of the keeper of the carriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted his brethren. and as he talked with them, behold, there came up the champion, the philistine of gath, goliath by name, out of the armies of the philistines, and spake according to the same words: and david heard them. and all the men of israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, and were sore afraid. and the men of israel said, have ye seen this man that is come up? surely to defy israel is he come up: and it shall be, that the man who killeth him, the king will enrich him with great riches, and will give him his daughter, and make his father's house free in israel. and david spake to the men that stood by him, saying, what shall be done to the man that killeth this philistine, and taketh away the reproach from israel? for who is this philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living god? and the people answered him after this manner, saying, so shall it be done to the man that killeth him. and when the words were heard which david spake, they rehearsed them before saul: and he sent for him. and david said to saul, let no man's heart fail because of him; thy servant will go and fight with this philistine. and saul said to david, thou art not able to go against this philistine to fight with him: for thou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth. and david said unto saul, thy servant kept his father's sheep, and there came a lion, and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock: and i went out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth: and when he arose against me, i caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. thy servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living god. david said moreover, the lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this philistine. and saul said unto david, go, and the lord be with thee. and saul armed david with his armour, and he put a helmet of brass upon his head; also he armed him with a coat of mail. and david girded his sword upon his armour, and he assayed to go; for he had not proved it. and david said unto saul, i cannot go with these; for i have not proved them. and david put them off him. and he took his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling was in his hand: and he drew near to the philistine. and the philistine came on and drew near unto david; and the man that bare the shield went before him. and when the philistine looked about, and saw david, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance. and the philistine said unto david, am i a dog, that thou comest to me with staves? and the philistine cursed david by his gods. and the philistine said to david, come to me, and i will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field. then said david to the philistine, thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but i come to thee in the name of the lord of hosts, the god of the armies of israel, whom thou hast defied. this day will the lord deliver thee into mine hand; and i will smite thee, and take thine head from thee; and i will give the carcases of the host of the philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a god in israel. and all this assembly shall know that the lord saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the lord's, and he will give you into our hands. and it came to pass, when the philistine arose, and came and drew nigh to meet david, that david hasted, and ran toward the army to meet the philistine. and david put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth. so david prevailed over the philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of david. therefore david ran, and stood upon the philistine, and took his sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off his head therewith. and when the philistines saw their champion was dead, they fled. i. samuel, xvii. [illustration: at the end of the meal] the charge of the light brigade half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of death rode the six hundred. "forward, the light brigade! charge for the guns!" he said: into the valley of death rode the six hundred. "forward, the light brigade!" was there a man dismay'd? not tho' the soldier knew some one had blunder'd: their's not to make reply, their's not to reason why, their's but to do and die: into the valley of death rode the six hundred. cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them volley'd and thunder'd; storm'd at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell rode the six hundred. flash'd all their sabres bare, flash'd as they turn'd in air sabring the gunners there, charging an army, while all the world wonder'd: plunged in the battery-smoke right thro' the line they broke; cossack and russian reel'd from the sabre-stroke shatter'd and sunder'd. then they rode back, but not not the six hundred. cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon behind them volley'd and thunder'd; storm'd at with shot and shell, while horse and hero fell, they that had fought so well came thro' the jaws of death, back from the mouth of hell, all that was left of them, left of six hundred. when can their glory fade? o the wild charge they made! all the world wonder'd. honour the charge they made! honour the light brigade, noble six hundred! tennyson maggie tulliver maggie and tom came in from the garden with their father and their uncle glegg. maggie had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and, coming in with her hair rough as well as out of curl, rushed at once to lucy. the contrast between the two cousins was like the contrast between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten. lucy put up the neatest little rosebud mouth to be kissed: everything about her was neat. "heyday!" said aunt glegg, with loud emphasis. "do little boys and girls come into a room without taking notice of their uncles and aunts? that wasn't the way when i was a little girl." "go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears," said mrs. tulliver. she wanted to whisper to maggie a command to go and have her hair brushed. "well, and how do you do? and i hope you're good children, are you?" said aunt glegg, in the same loud, emphatic way. "look up, tom, look up. look at me now. put your hair behind your ears, maggie, and keep your frock on your shoulder." aunt glegg always spoke to them in this loud, emphatic way, as if she considered them deaf. "well, my dears," said aunt pullet, "you grow wonderfully fast,--i doubt they'll outgrow their strength. i think the girl has too much hair. i'd have it thinned and cut shorter, sister, if i were you; it isn't good for her health. it's that makes her skin so brown,--don't you think so, sister deane?" "i can't say, i'm sure, sister," said mrs. deane, shutting her lips close and looking at maggie. "no, no," said mr. tulliver, "the child's healthy enough: there's nothing ails her. there's red wheat as well as white, for that matter, and some like the dark grain best. but it would be as well if bessie would have the child's hair cut so it would lie smooth." "maggie," said mrs. tulliver, beckoning maggie to her, and whispering in her ear, "go and get your hair brushed,--do, for shame! i told you not to come in without going to martha first; you know i did." "tom, come out with me," whispered maggie, pulling his sleeve as she passed him; and tom followed willingly enough. "come upstairs with me, tom," she whispered, when they were outside the door. "there's something i want to do before dinner." "there's no time to play at anything before dinner," said tom. "oh, yes, there is time for this--_do_ come, tom." tom followed maggie upstairs into her mother's room, and saw her go at once to a drawer from which she took out a large pair of scissors. "what are they for, maggie?" said tom, feeling his curiosity awakened. maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straight across the middle of her forehead. "oh, my buttons, maggie, you'll catch it!" exclaimed tom; "you'd better not cut any more off." snip! went the great scissors again while tom was speaking; and he could hardly help feeling it was rather good fun--maggie looking so queer. "here, tom, cut it behind for me," said maggie, excited by her own daring, and anxious to finish the deed. "you'll catch it, you know," said tom, hesitating a little as he took the scissors. "never mind--make haste!" said maggie, giving a little stamp with her foot. her cheeks were quite flushed. the black locks were so thick,--nothing could be more tempting to a lad who had already tasted the forbidden pleasure of cutting the pony's mane. one delicious grinding snip, and then another and another, and the hinder locks fell heavily on the floor. maggie stood cropped in a jagged, uneven manner, but with a sense of clearness and freedom, as if she had emerged from a wood into the open plain. "oh, maggie," said tom, jumping round her and slapping his knees as he laughed; "oh, my buttons, what a queer thing you look! look at yourself in the glass." maggie felt an unexpected pang. she had thought beforehand chiefly of her own deliverance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks about it, and something also of the triumph she should have over her mother and her aunts by this very decided course of action. she didn't want her hair to look pretty--that was out of the question--she only wanted people to think her a clever little girl and not to find fault with her. but now, when tom began to laugh at her, the affair had quite a new aspect. she looked in the glass, and still tom laughed and clapped his hands, and maggie's flushed cheeks began to pale, and her lips to tremble a little. "oh, maggie, you'll have to go down to dinner directly," said tom. "oh, my!" "don't laugh at me, tom," said maggie, in a passionate tone, and with an outburst of angry tears, stamping, and giving him a push. "now, then, spitfire!" said tom. "what did you cut it off for, then? i shall go down: i can smell the dinner going in." tom hurried down-stairs and left poor maggie. as she stood crying before the glass, she felt it impossible that she should go down to dinner and endure the severe eyes and severe words of her aunts, while tom, and lucy, and martha, who waited at table, and perhaps her father and her uncles, would laugh at her. if tom had laughed at her, of course every one else would; and, if she had only let her hair alone, she could have sat with tom and lucy, and had the apricot pudding and the custard! what could she do but sob? "miss maggie, you're to come down this minute," said kezia, entering the room hurriedly. "what have you been a-doing? i never saw such a fright!" "don't, kezia," said maggie, angrily. "go away!" "but i tell you, you're to come down, miss, this minute: your mother says so," said kezia, going up to maggie and taking her by the hand to raise her from the floor. "get away, kezia; i don't want any dinner," said maggie, resisting kezia's arm. "i shan't come." "oh, well, i can't stay. i've got to wait at dinner," said kezia, going out again. "maggie, you little silly," said tom, peeping into the room ten minutes after, "why don't you come and have your dinner? there's lots o' goodies, and mother says you're to come. what are you crying for?" oh, it was dreadful! tom was so hard and unconcerned; if _he_ had been crying on the floor, maggie would have cried, too. and there was the dinner, so nice; and she was _so_ hungry. it was very bitter. but tom was not altogether hard. he went and put his head near her, and said, in a lower, comforting tone: "won't you come, then, maggie? shall i bring you a bit of pudding when i've had mine--and a custard and things?" "ye-e-es," said maggie, beginning to feel life a little more tolerable. "very well," said tom, going away. but he turned again at the door and said: "but you'd better come, you know. there's the dessert, you know." maggie's tears had ceased, and she looked reflective as tom left her. his good nature had taken off the keenest edge of her suffering. slowly she rose from among her scattered locks, and slowly she made her way down-stairs. then she stood leaning with one shoulder against the frame of the dining-parlour door, peeping in when it was ajar. she saw tom and lucy with an empty chair between them, and there were the custards on a side-table--it was too much. she slipped in and went towards the empty chair. but she had no sooner sat down than she repented, and wished herself back again. mrs. tulliver gave a little scream as she saw her, and dropped the large gravy-spoon into the dish with the most serious results to the tablecloth. mrs. tulliver's scream made all eyes turn towards the same point as her own, and maggie's cheeks and ears began to burn, while uncle glegg, a kind-looking, white-haired old gentleman, said: "heyday! what little girl's this? why, i don't know her. is it some little girl you've picked up in the road, kezia?" "why, she's gone and cut her hair herself," said mr. tulliver in an undertone to mr. deane, laughing with much enjoyment. "why, little miss, you've made yourself look very funny," said uncle pullet. "fie, for shame!" said aunt glegg, in her severest tone of reproof. "little girls that cut their own hair should be whipped and fed on bread and water, not come and sit down with their aunts and uncles." "aye, aye," said uncle glegg, meaning to give a playful turn, "she must be sent to jail, i think, and they'll cut the rest of her hair off there, and make it all even." "she's more like a gypsy than ever," said aunt pullet in a pitying tone. "she's a naughty child, that'll break her mother's heart," said mrs. tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. maggie seemed to be listening to a chorus of reproach and derision. her first flush came from anger. tom thought she was braving it out, supported by the recent appearance of the pudding and custard. he whispered: "oh, my! maggie, i told you you'd catch it." he meant to be friendly, but maggie felt convinced that tom was rejoicing in her ignominy. her feeble power of defiance left her in an instant, her heart swelled, and, getting up from her chair, she ran to her father, hid her face on his shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing. "come, come," said her father, soothingly, putting his arm round her, "never mind; give over crying: father'll take your part." delicious words of tenderness! maggie never forgot any of these moments when her father "took her part"; she kept them in her heart, and thought of them long years after, when every one else said that her father had done very ill by his children. george eliot: "the mill on the floss." (adapted) the corn song heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! heap high the golden corn! no richer gift has autumn poured from out her lavish horn! let other lands, exulting, glean the apple from the pine, the orange from its glossy green, the cluster from the vine; we better love the hardy gift our rugged vales bestow, to cheer us when the storm shall drift our harvest-fields with snow. through vales of grass and meads of flowers, our ploughs their furrows made, while on the hills the sun and showers of changeful april played. we dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, beneath the sun of may, and frightened from our sprouting grain the robber crows away. all through the long, bright days of june its leaves grew green and fair, and waved in hot midsummer's noon its soft and yellow hair. and now, with autumn's moon-lit eves, its harvest-time has come, we pluck away the frosted leaves, and bear the treasure home. there, richer than the fabled gift apollo showered of old, fair hands the broken grain shall sift, and knead its meal of gold. let vapid idlers loll in silk around their costly board; give us the bowl of samp and milk, by homespun beauty poured! where'er the wide old kitchen hearth sends up its smoky curls, who will not thank the kindly earth, and bless our farmer girls! whittier sports in norman england after dinner all the youth of the city go into the field of the suburbs, and address themselves to the famous game of football. the scholars of each school have their peculiar ball; and the particular trades have, most of them, theirs. the elders of the city, the fathers of the parties, and the rich and wealthy, come to the field on horseback, in order to behold the exercises of the youth, and in appearance are themselves as youthful as the youngest; seeming to be revived at the sight of so much agility, and in a participation of the diversion of their festive sons. at easter the diversion is prosecuted on the water; a target is strongly fastened to a trunk or mast fixed in the middle of the river, and a youngster standing upright in the stern of a boat, made to move as fast as the oars and current can carry it, is to strike the target with his lance; and if, in hitting it, he breaks his lance and keeps his place in the boat, he gains his point and triumphs; but if it happens the lance is not shivered by the force of the blow, he is, of course, tumbled into the water, and away goes his vessel without him. however, a couple of boats full of young men are placed one on each side of the target, so as to be ready to take up the unsuccessful adventurer the moment he emerges from the stream and comes fairly to the surface. the bridge and the balconies on the banks are filled with spectators, whose business is to laugh. on holidays, in summer, the pastime of the youth is to exercise themselves in archery, in running, leaping, wrestling, casting of stones, and flinging to certain distances, and, lastly, with bucklers. in the winter holidays when that vast lake which waters the walls of the city towards the north is hard frozen, the youth, in great numbers, go to divert themselves on the ice. some, taking a small run, place their feet at the proper distance, and are carried, sliding sideways, a great way; others will make a large cake of ice, and seating one of their companions upon it, they take hold of one another's hands, and draw him along: when it sometimes happens that, moving so swiftly on so slippery a plain, they all fall down headlong. others there are who are still more expert in these amusements on the ice; they place certain bones, the leg bones of some animal, under the soles of their feet by tying them round their ankles, and, then, taking a pole shod with iron into their hands, they push themselves forward by striking it against the ice, and are carried along with a velocity equal to the flight of a bird, or a bolt discharged from a cross-bow. sometimes two of them thus furnished agree to start opposite one to another, at a great distance; they meet, elevate their poles, attack and strike each other, when one or both of them fall, and not without some bodily hurt; and even after their fall they shall be carried a good distance from each other by the rapidity of the motion. very often the leg or the arm of the party that falls, if he chances to light upon them, is broken; but youth is an age ambitious of glory, fond and covetous of victory, and that in future time it may acquit itself boldly and valiantly in real engagements, it will run these hazards in sham ones. hawking and hunting were sports only for persons of quality, and woe be to the unhappy man of the lower orders who indulged in either of these sports. if caught he would be severely punished and might have his eyes put out. [illustration: in the highlands of ontario] after breakfast, knights with their ladies ride out, each bearing upon his wrist a falcon with scarlet hood and collar of gold. as they near the river a heron, who had been fishing for his breakfast among the reeds near the bank, hears them and spreading his wings flies upward. a knight slips the hood from the falcon's head and next instant he sees the heron. away he darts, while knights and ladies rein in their horses and watch. up, and up, he goes until he passes the heron and still he flies higher. next instant he turns and, with a terrible swoop downwards, pounces upon the heron and kills it. the knight sounds his whistle and instantly the falcon turns and darts back to him for the dainty food which is given as a reward for his good hunting. then he is chained and hooded again till another bird rises. so the morning passes, and many a bird do the falcons bring down before the knights and ladies return to the castle for "noon-meat." william fitzstephen (adapted) and he that doth the ravens feed, yea, providently caters for the sparrow, be comfort to my age! shakespeare a song of canada sing me a song of the great dominion! soul-felt words for a patriot's ear! ring out boldly the well-turned measure, voicing your notes that the world may hear; here is no starveling--heaven-forsaken-- shrinking aside where the nations throng; proud as the proudest moves she among them-- worthy is she of a noble song! sing me the might of her giant mountains, baring their brows in the dazzling blue; changeless alone, where all else changes, emblems of all that is grand and true: free, as the eagles around them soaring; fair, as they rose from their maker's hand: shout, till the snow-caps catch the chorus-- the white-topp'd peaks of our mountain land. sing me the calm of her tranquil forests, silence eternal, and peace profound, in whose great heart's deep recesses breaks no tempest, and comes no sound; face to face with the deathlike stillness, here, if at all, man's soul might quail: nay! 'tis the love of that great peace leads us thither, where solace will never fail! sing me the pride of her stately rivers, cleaving their way to the far-off sea; glory of strength in their deep-mouth'd music-- glory of mirth in their tameless glee. hark! 'tis the roar of the tumbling rapids; deep unto deep through the dead night calls; truly, i hear but the voice of freedom shouting her name from her fortress walls! sing me the joy of her fertile prairies, league upon league of the golden grain: comfort, housed in the smiling homestead-- plenty, throned on the lumbering wain. land of contentment! may no strife vex you, never war's flag on your plains be unfurl'd; only the blessings of mankind reach you-- finding the food for a hungry world! sing me the charm of her blazing camp fires; sing me the quiet of her happy homes, whether afar 'neath the forest arches, or in the shade of the city's domes; sing me her life, her loves, her labours; all of a mother a son would hear; for when a lov'd one's praise is sounding, sweet are the strains to the lover's ear. sing me the worth of each canadian, roamer in wilderness--toiler in town-- search earth over you'll find none stancher, whether his hands be white or brown; come of a right good stock to start with, best of the world's blood in each vein; lords of ourselves, and slaves to no one, for us or from us, you'll find we're--men! sing me the song, then; sing it bravely; put your soul in the words you sing; sing me the praise of this glorious country-- clear on the ear let the deep notes ring. here is no starveling--heaven-forsaken-- crouching apart where the nations throng; proud as the proudest moves she among them-- well is she worthy a noble song! robert reid a mad tea party there was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the march hare and the hatter were having tea at it: a dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. "very uncomfortable for the dormouse," thought alice; "only, as it's asleep, i suppose it doesn't mind." the table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: "no room! no room!" they cried out when they saw alice coming. "there's _plenty_ of room!" said alice, indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. "your hair wants cutting," said the hatter. he had been looking at alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech. "you should learn not to make personal remarks," alice said with some severity: "it's very rude." the hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he _said_ was: "why is a raven like a writing-desk?" "come, we shall have some fun now!" thought alice. "i'm glad they've begun asking riddles--i believe i can guess that," she added aloud. "do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?" said the march hare. "exactly so," said alice. "then you should say what you mean," the march hare went on. "i do," alice hastily replied; "at least--at least i mean what i say--that's the same thing, you know." "not the same thing a bit!" said the hatter. "why, you might just as well say that 'i see what i eat' is the same thing as 'i eat what i see'!" "you might just as well say," added the march hare, "that 'i like what i get' is the same thing as 'i get what i like'!" "you might just as well say," added the dormouse, who seemed to be talking in its sleep, "that 'i breathe when i sleep' is the same thing as 'i sleep when i breathe'!" "it _is_ the same thing with you," said the hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much. "have you guessed the riddle yet?" the hatter said, turning to alice again. "no, i give it up," alice replied: "what's the answer?" "i haven't the slightest idea," said the hatter. "nor i," said the march hare. alice sighed wearily. "i think you might do something better with the time," she said, "than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answers." "suppose we change the subject," the march hare interrupted, yawning. "i'm getting tired of this. i vote the young lady tells us a story." "i'm afraid i don't know one," said alice, rather alarmed at the proposal. "then the dormouse shall!" they both cried. "wake up, dormouse!" and they pinched it on both sides at once. the dormouse slowly opened its eyes. "i wasn't asleep," it said in a hoarse, feeble voice, "i heard every word you fellows were saying." "tell us a story!" said the march hare. "yes, please do!" pleaded alice. "and be quick about it," added the hatter, "or you'll be asleep again before it's done." "once upon a time there were three little sisters," the dormouse began in a great hurry, "and their names were elsie, lacie, and tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well--" "what did they live on?" said alice, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking. "they lived on treacle," said the dormouse, after thinking a minute or two. "they couldn't have done that, you know," alice gently remarked: "they'd have been ill." "so they were," said the dormouse, "_very_ ill." alice tried a little to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary way of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: "but why did they live at the bottom of a well?" "take some more tea," the march hare said to alice, very earnestly. "i've had nothing yet," alice replied in an offended tone, "so i can't take more." "you mean you can't take _less_," said the hatter: "it's very easy to take _more_ than nothing." "nobody asked _your_ opinion," said alice. "who's making personal remarks now?" the hatter asked triumphantly. alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the dormouse, and repeated her question. "why did they live at the bottom of a well?" the dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said: "it was a treacle-well." "there's no such thing!" alice was beginning very angrily, but the hatter and the march hare went "sh! sh!" and the dormouse sulkily remarked: "if you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story for yourself." "no, please go on!" alice said, very humbly, "i won't interrupt you again. i dare say there may be _one_." "one, indeed!" said the dormouse, indignantly. however it consented to go on. "and so these three little sisters--they were learning to draw, you know--" "what did they draw?" said alice, quite forgetting her promise. "treacle," said the dormouse, without considering at all this time. "i want a clean cup," interrupted the hatter, "let's all move one place on." he moved as he spoke, and the dormouse followed him: the march hare moved into the dormouse's place, and alice, rather unwillingly, took the place of the march hare. the hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change: and alice was a good deal worse off than before, as the march hare had just upset the milk jug into his plate. alice did not wish to offend the dormouse again, so she began very cautiously: "but i don't understand. where did they draw the treacle from?" "you can draw water out of a water-well," said the hatter; "so i should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh stupid?" "but they were _in_ the well," alice said to the dormouse, not choosing to notice this last remark. "of course they were," said the dormouse,--"well in." this answer so confused poor alice, that she let the dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it. "they were learning to draw," the dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; "and they drew all manner of things--everything that begins with an m--" "why with an m?" said alice. "why not?" said the march hare. alice was silent. the dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a doze, but, on being pinched by the hatter, it woke up again with a little shriek, and went on, "--that begins with an m, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness--you know you say things are 'much of a muchness'--did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?" "really, now you ask me," said alice, very much confused, "i don't think--" "then you shouldn't talk," said the hatter. this piece of rudeness was more than alice could bear: she got up in great disgust, and walked off: the dormouse fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her: the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the dormouse into the teapot. lewis carroll: "the adventures of alice in wonderland." the slave's dream beside the ungathered rice he lay, his sickle in his hand; his breast was bare, his matted hair was buried in the sand. again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, he saw his native land. wide through the landscape of his dreams the lordly niger flowed; beneath the palm trees on the plain once more a king he strode; and heard the tinkling caravans descend the mountain road. he saw once more his dark-eyed queen among her children stand; they clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, they held him by the hand!-- a tear burst from the sleeper's lids and fell into the sand. and then at furious speed he rode along the niger's bank; his bridle-reins were golden chains, and, with a martial clank, at each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel smiting his stallion's flank. before him, like a blood-red flag, the bright flamingoes flew; from morn till night he followed their flight, o'er plains where the tamarind grew, till he saw the roofs of caffre huts, and the ocean rose to view. at night he heard the lion roar, and the hyena scream, and the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds, beside some hidden stream; and it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, through the triumph of his dream. the forests, with their myriad tongues, shouted of liberty; and the blast of the desert cried aloud, with a voice so wild and free, that he started in his sleep and smiled at their tempestuous glee. he did not feel the driver's whip, nor the burning heat of day; for death had illumined the land of sleep, and his lifeless body lay a worn-out fetter, that the soul had broken and thrown away! longfellow reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man. histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtle; logic and rhetoric, able to contend. bacon the chase early one august morning a doe was feeding on basin mountain. the sole companion of the doe was her only child, a charming little fawn, whose brown coat was just beginning to be mottled with beautiful spots. the buck, his father, had been that night on a long tramp across the mountain to clear pond, and had not yet returned. he went to feed on the lily pads there. the doe was daintily cropping tender leaves and turning from time to time to regard her offspring. the fawn had taken his morning meal and now lay curled up on a bed of moss. if the mother stepped a pace or two farther away in feeding, the fawn made a half-movement, as if to rise and follow her. if, in alarm, he uttered a plaintive cry, she bounded to him at once. it was a pretty picture,--maternal love on the one part, and happy trust on the other. the doe lifted her head with a quick motion. had she heard something? probably it was only the south wind in the balsams. there was silence all about in the forest. with an affectionate glance at her fawn, she continued picking up her breakfast. but suddenly she started, head erect, eyes dilated, a tremor in her limbs. she turned her head to the south; she listened intently. there was a sound, a distinct, prolonged note, pervading the woods. it was repeated. the doe had no doubt now. it was the baying of a hound--far off, at the foot of the mountain. time enough to fly; time enough to put miles between her and the hound before he should come upon her fresh trail; yes, time enough. but there was the fawn. the cry of the hound was repeated, more distinct this time. the mother bounded away a few paces. the fawn started up with an anxious bleat. the doe turned; she came back; she couldn't leave him. she walked away toward the west, and the little thing skipped after her. it was slow going for the slender legs, over the fallen logs and through the rasping bushes. the doe bounded in advance and waited. the fawn scrambled after her, slipping and tumbling along, and whining a good deal because his mother kept always moving away from him. whenever the fawn caught up, he was quite content to frisk about. he wanted more breakfast, for one thing; and his mother wouldn't stand still. she moved on continually; and his weak legs were tangled in the roots of the narrow deer path. suddenly came a sound that threw the doe into a panic of terror,--a short, sharp yelp, followed by a prolonged howl, caught up and re-echoed by other bayings along the mountain side. the danger was certain now; it was near. she could not crawl on in this way; the dogs would soon be upon them. she turned again for flight. the fawn, scrambling after her, tumbled over, and bleated piteously. flight with the fawn was impossible. the doe returned, stood by him, head erect and nostrils distended. perhaps she was thinking. the fawn lay down contentedly, and the doe licked him for a moment. then, with the swiftness of a bird, she dashed away, and in a moment was lost in the forest. she went in the direction of the hounds. she descended the slope of the mountain until she reached the more open forest of hard wood. she was going due east, when she turned away toward the north, and kept on at a good pace. in five minutes more she heard the sharp yelp of discovery, and then the deep-mouthed howl of pursuit. the hounds had struck her trail where she turned, and the fawn was safe. for the moment fear left her, and she bounded on with the exaltation of triumph. for a quarter of an hour she went on at a slapping pace, clearing the bushes with bound after bound, flying over the fallen logs, pausing neither for brook nor ravine. the baying of the hounds grew fainter behind. after running at high speed perhaps half a mile farther, it occurred to her that it would be safe now to turn to the west, and, by a wide circuit, seek her fawn. but at the moment she heard a sound that chilled her heart. it was the cry of a hound to the west of her. there was nothing to do but to keep on, and on she went, with the noise of the pack behind her. in five minutes more she had passed into a hillside clearing. she heard a tinkle of bells. below her, down the mountain slope, were other clearings broken by patches of woods. a mile or two down lay the valley and the farmhouses. that way also her enemies were. not a merciful heart in all that lovely valley. she hesitated; it was only for an instant. she must cross the slide brook valley, if possible, and gain the mountain opposite. she bounded on; she stopped. what was that? from the valley ahead came the cry of a searching hound. every way was closed but one, and that led straight down the mountain to the cluster of houses. the hunted doe went down "the open," clearing the fences, flying along the stony path. as she approached slide brook, she saw a boy standing by a tree with a raised rifle. the dogs were not in sight, but she could hear them coming down the hill. there was no time for hesitation. with a tremendous burst of speed she cleared the stream, and as she touched the bank heard the "ping" of a rifle bullet in the air above her. the cruel sound gave wings to the poor thing. in a moment more she leaped into the travelled road. women and children ran to the doors and windows; men snatched their rifles. there were twenty people who were just going to shoot her, when the doe leaped the road fence, and went away across a marsh toward the foothills. by this time the dogs, panting and lolling out their tongues, came swinging along, keeping the trail, like stupids, and consequently losing ground when the deer doubled. but when the doe had got into the timber, she heard the savage brutes howling across the meadow. (it is well enough, perhaps, to say that nobody offered to shoot the dogs.) the courage of the panting fugitive was not gone, but the fearful pace at which she had been going told on her. her legs trembled, and her heart beat like a trip-hammer. she slowed her speed, but still fled up the right bank of the stream. the dogs were gaining again, and she crossed the broad, deep brook. the fording of the river threw the hounds off for a time. she used the little respite to push on until the baying was faint in her ears. late in the afternoon she staggered down the shoulder of bartlett, and stood upon the shore of the lake. if she could put that piece of water between her and her pursuers, she would be safe. had she strength to swim it? at her first step into the water she saw a sight that sent her back with a bound. there was a boat mid-lake; two men were in it. one was rowing; the other had a gun in his hand. what should she do? with only a moment's hesitation she plunged into the lake. her tired legs could not propel the tired body rapidly. the doe saw the boat nearing her. she turned to the shore whence she came; the dogs were lapping the water and howling there. she turned again to the centre of the lake. the brave, pretty creature was quite exhausted now. in a moment more the boat was on her, and the man at the oars had leaned over and caught her. "knock her on the head with that paddle!" he shouted to the gentleman in the stern. the gentleman _was_ a gentleman, with a kind face. he took the paddle in his hand. just then the doe turned her head and looked at him with her great appealing eyes. "i can't do it! i can't do it!" and he dropped the paddle. "oh, let her go!" but the guide slung the deer round, and whipped out his hunting-knife. and the gentleman ate that night of the venison. charles dudley warner (adapted) the inchcape rock no stir in the air, no stir in the sea, the ship was as still as she could be; her sails from heaven received no motion, her keel was steady in the ocean. without either sign or sound of their shock, the waves flowed over the inchcape rock; so little they rose, so little they fell, they did not move the inchcape bell. the pious abbot of aberbrothock had placed that bell on the inchcape rock; on a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, and over the waves its warning rung. when the rock was hid by the surge's swell, the mariners heard the warning bell; and then they knew the perilous rock, and blessed the abbot of aberbrothock. the sun in heaven was shining gay; all things were joyful on that day; the sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, and there was joyance in their sound. the buoy of the inchcape bell was seen, a darker speck on the ocean green; sir ralph the rover walked his deck, and he fixed his eye on the darker speck. he felt the cheering power of spring; it made him whistle, it made him sing: his heart was mirthful to excess, but the rover's mirth was wickedness. his eye was on the inchcape float; quoth he: "my men, put out the boat, and row me to the inchcape rock, and i'll plague the abbot of aberbrothock." the boat is lowered, the boatmen row, and to the inchcape rock they go; sir ralph bent over from the boat, and he cut the bell from the inchcape float. down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound, the bubbles rose and burst around; quoth sir ralph: "the next who comes to the rock won't bless the abbot of aberbrothock." sir ralph the rover sailed away; he scoured the seas for many a day; and now, grown rich with plundered store, he steers his course for scotland's shore. so thick a haze o'erspreads the sky they cannot see the sun on high; the wind hath blown a gale all day, at evening it hath died away. on the deck the rover takes his stand; so dark it is, they see no land. quoth sir ralph: "it will be lighter soon, for there is the dawn of the rising moon." "canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? for methinks we should be near the shore." "now where we are i cannot tell, but i wish we could hear the inchcape bell." they hear no sound; the swell is strong; though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock; cried they: "it is the inchcape rock!" sir ralph the rover tore his hair, he cursed himself in his despair: the waves rush in on every side; the ship is sinking beneath the tide. but, even in his dying fear, one dreadful sound could the rover hear,-- a sound as if, with the inchcape bell, the fiends below were ringing his knell. southey a rough ride "well, young ones, what be gaping at?" "your mare," said i, standing stoutly up, being a tall boy now; "i never saw such a beauty, sir. will you let me have a ride on her?" "think thou couldst ride her, lad? she will have no burden but mine. thou couldst never ride her! tut! i would be loath to kill thee." "ride her!" i cried, with the bravest scorn, for she looked so kind and gentle; "there never was a horse upon exmoor but i could tackle in half an hour. only i never ride upon saddle. take those leathers off of her." he looked at me with a dry little whistle, and thrust his hands into his pockets, and so grinned that i could not stand it. and annie laid hold of me in such a way that i was almost mad with her. and he laughed, and approved her for doing so. and the worst of all was--he said nothing. "get away, annie. do you think i'm a fool, good sir? only trust me with her, and i will not override her." "for that i will go bail, my son. she is liker to override thee. but the ground is soft to fall upon after all this rain. now come out into the yard, young man, for the sake of your mother's cabbages. and the mellow strawbed will be softer for thee, since pride must have its fall. i am thy mother's cousin, boy, and i'm going up to the house. tom faggus is my name, as everybody knows, and this is my young mare, winnie." what a fool i must have been not to know it at once! tom faggus, the great highwayman, and his young blood mare, the strawberry. already her fame was noised abroad nearly as much as her master's, and my longing to ride her grew tenfold, but fear came at the back of it. not that i had the smallest fear of what the mare could do to me, by fair play and horse-trickery, but that the glory of sitting upon her seemed to be too great for me; especially as there were rumours abroad that she was not a mare, after all, but a witch. mr. faggus gave his mare a wink, and she walked demurely after him, a bright young thing, flowing over with life, yet dropping her soul to a higher one, and led by love to anything, as the manner is of such creatures, when they know what is best for them. then winnie trod lightly upon the straw, because it had soft muck under it, and her delicate feet came back again. "up for it still, boy, be ye?" tom faggus stopped, and the mare stopped there; and they looked at me provokingly. "is she able to leap, sir? there is good take-off on this side of the brook." mr. faggus laughed very quietly, turning round to winnie so that she might enter into it. and she, for her part, seemed to know exactly where the fun lay. "good tumble-off, you mean, my boy. well, there can be small harm to thee. i am akin to thy family, and know the substance of their skulls." "let me get up," said i, waxing wroth, for reasons i cannot tell you, because they are too manifold; "take off your saddle-bag things. i will try not to squeeze her ribs in, unless she plays nonsense with me." then mr. faggus was up on his mettle at this proud speech of mine, and john fry was running up all the while, and bill dadds, and half a dozen others. tom faggus gave one glance around, and then dropped all regard for me. the high repute of his mare was at stake, and what was my life compared to it? through my defiance, and stupid ways, here was i in a duello, and my legs not come to their strength yet, and my arms as limp as a herring. something of this occurred to him, even in his wrath with me, for he spoke very softly to the filly, who now could scarcely subdue herself; but she drew in her nostrils, and breathed to his breath, and did all she could to answer him. "not too hard, my dear," he said; "let him gently down on the mixen. that will be quite enough." then he turned the saddle off, and i was up in a moment. she began at first so easily, and pricked her ears so lovingly, and minced about as if pleased to find so light a weight upon her, that i thought she knew i could ride a little, and feared to show any capers. "gee wugg, polly!" cried i, for all the men were now looking on, being then at the leaving-off time; "gee wugg, polly, and show what thou be'est made of." with that i plugged my heels into her, and billy dadds flung his hat up. nevertheless, she outraged not, though her eyes were frightening annie, and john fry took a pick to keep him safe; but she curbed to and fro with her strong forearms rising like springs ingathered, waiting and quivering grievously, and beginning to sweat about it. then her master gave a shrill, clear whistle, when her ears were bent towards him, and i felt her form beneath me gathering up like whalebone, and her hind legs coming under her, and i knew that i was in for it. first she reared upright in the air, and struck me full on the nose with her comb, till i bled worse than robin snell made me; and then down with her forefeet deep in the straw, and with her hind feet going to heaven. finding me stick to her still like wax, for my mettle was up as hers was, away she flew with me swifter than ever i went before or since, i trow. she drove full head at the cob wall--"oh, jack, slip off!" screamed annie--then she turned like light, when i thought to crush her, and ground my left knee against it. "dear me!" i cried, for my breeches were broken, and short words went the furthest--"if you kill me, you shall die with me." then she took the courtyard gate at a leap, knocking my words between my teeth, and then right over a quick-set hedge, as if the sky were a breath to her; and away for the water meadows, while i lay on her neck like a child, and wished i had never been born. straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scattering clouds around her, all i knew of the speed we made was the frightful flash of her shoulders, and her mane like trees in a tempest. i felt the earth under us rushing away, and the air left far behind us, and my breath came and went, and i prayed to god, and was sorry to be so late of it. all the long swift while, without power of thought, i clung to her crest and shoulders, and was proud of holding on so long, though sure of being beaten. then in her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at another device for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways across, to and fro, till no breath was left in me. the hazel boughs took me too hard in the face, and the tall dog-briers got hold of me, and the ache of my back was like crimping a fish, till i longed to give it up, thoroughly beaten, and lie there and die in the cresses. but there came a shrill whistle from up the home hill, where the people had hurried to watch us, and the mare stopped as if with a bullet, then set off for home with the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and silently. i never had dreamed of such delicate motion, fluent, and graceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, but swift as the summer lightning. i sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no time left to recover it; and though she rose at our gate like a bird, i tumbled off into the soft mud. "well done, lad," mr. faggus said, good-naturedly; for all were now gathered round me, as i rose from the ground, somewhat tottering, and miry, and crest-fallen, but otherwise none the worse (having fallen upon my head, which is of uncommon substance); "not at all bad work, my boy; we may teach you to ride by and by, i see; i thought not to see you stick on so long--" "i should have stuck on much longer, sir, if her sides had not been wet. she was so slippery--" "boy, thou art right. she hath given many the slip. ha! ha! vex not, jack, that i laugh at thee. she is like a sweetheart to me, and better than any of them be. it would have gone to my heart if thou hadst conquered. none but i can ride my winnie mare." r. d. blackmore: "lorna doone." full many a gem of purest ray serene the dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air. gray the arab and his steed my beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, with thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye; fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy wingèd speed, i may not mount on thee again--thou'rt sold, my arab steed. fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind, the further that thou fliest now, so far am i behind; the stranger hath thy bridle-rein--thy master hath his gold-- fleet-limbed and beautiful! farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold! farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile must roam, to reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home; some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare; the silky mane i braided once must be another's care. the morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee shall i gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be: evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy plain, some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again. yes, thou must go! the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, thy master's home--from all of these my exiled one must fly. thy proud, dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet, and vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet. only in sleep shall i behold that dark eye glancing bright; only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light; and when i raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed, then must i, starting, wake to feel--thou'rt sold, my arab steed! ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide, till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side, and the rich blood that's in thee swells in thy indignant pain, till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each startled vein. will they ill-use thee? if i thought--but no, it cannot be-- thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free. and yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone my lonely heart should yearn, can the hand which casts thee from it now, command thee to return? return! alas! my arab steed! what shall thy master do, when thou who wert his all of joy, hast vanished from his view? when the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears, thy bright form for a moment, like the false mirage appears? slow and unmounted will i roam, with weary step alone, where with fleet step and joyous bound thou oft hast borne me on! and sitting down by that green well, i'll pause and sadly think: it was here he bowed his glossy neck when last i saw him drink! when last i saw thee drink!--away! the fevered dream is o'er; i could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more! they tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong, they tempted me, my beautiful! but i have loved too long. who said that i had given thee up, who said that thou wert sold? 'tis false--'tis false, my arab steed! i fling them back their gold. thus, thus i leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains, away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains! the honourable mrs. norton the poet's song the rain had fallen, the poet arose, he pass'd by the town and out of the street, a light wind blew from the gates of the sun, and waves of shadow went over the wheat, and he sat him down in a lonely place, and chanted a melody loud and sweet, that made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, and the lark drop down at his feet. the swallow stopt as he hunted the fly, the snake slipt under a spray, the wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, and stared, with his foot on the prey, and the nightingale thought, "i have sung many songs, but never a one so gay, for he sings of what the world will be when the years have died away." tennyson never to tire, never to grow cold; to be patient, sympathetic, tender; to look for the budding flower, and the opening heart; to hope always, like god, to love always--this is duty. amiel adventure with a whale i gaily flung myself into my place in the mate's boat one morning, as we were departing in chase of a magnificent cachalot that had been raised just after breakfast. there were no other vessels in sight,--much to our satisfaction,--the wind was light, with a cloudless sky, and the whale was dead to leeward of us. we sped along at a good rate towards our prospective victim, who was, in his leisurely enjoyment of life, calmly lolling on the surface, occasionally lifting his enormous tail out of water and letting it fall flat upon the surface with a boom audible for miles. we were, as usual, first boat; but, much to the mate's annoyance, when we were a short half-mile from the whale our main-sheet parted. it became immediately necessary to roll the sail up, lest its flapping should alarm the watchful monster, and this delayed us sufficiently to allow the other boats to shoot ahead of us. thus the second mate got fast some seconds before we arrived on the scene, seeing which, we furled sail, unshipped the mast, and went in on him with the oars only. at first the proceedings were quite of the usual character, our chief wielding his lance in most brilliant fashion, while not being fast to the animal allowed us much greater freedom in our evolutions; but that fatal habit of the mate's--of allowing his boat to take care of herself so long as he was getting in some good home-thrusts--once more asserted itself. although the whale was exceedingly vigorous, churning the sea into yeasty foam over an enormous area, there we wallowed close to him, right in the middle of the turmoil, actually courting disaster. he had just settled down for a moment, when, glancing over the gunwale, i saw his tail, like a vast shadow, sweeping away from us towards the second mate, who was lying off the other side of him. before i had time to think, the mighty mass of gristle leaped into the sunshine, curved back from us like a huge bow. then with a roar it came at us, released from its tension of heaven knows how many tons. full on the broadside it struck us, sending every soul but me flying out of the wreckage as if fired from catapults. i did not go because my foot was jammed somehow in the well of the boat, but the wrench nearly pulled my thighbone out of its socket. i had hardly released my foot when, towering above me, came the colossal head of the great creature, as he ploughed through the bundle of _débris_ that had just been a boat. there was an appalling roar of water in my ears, and darkness that might be felt all around. yet, in the midst of it all, one thought predominated as clearly as if i had been turning it over in my mind in the quiet of my bunk aboard--"what if he should swallow me?" nor to this day can i understand how i escaped the portals of his gullet, which, of course, gaped wide as a church door. but the agony of holding my breath soon overpowered every other feeling and thought, till just as something was going to snap inside my head, i rose to the surface. i was surrounded by a welter of bloody froth, which, made it impossible for me to see; but oh, the air was sweet! i struck out blindly, instinctively, although i could feel so strong an eddy that voluntary progress was out of the question. my hand touched and clung to a rope, which immediately towed me in some direction--i neither knew nor cared whither. soon the motion ceased, and, with a seaman's instinct, i began to haul myself along by the rope i grasped, although no definite idea was in my mind as to where it was attached. presently i came butt up against something solid, the feel of which gathered all my scattered wits into a compact knob of dread. it was the whale! "any port in a storm," i murmured, beginning to haul away again on my friendly line. by dint of hard work i pulled myself right up the sloping, slippery bank of blubber, until i reached the iron, which, as luck would have it, was planted in that side of the carcass now uppermost. carcass i said--well, certainly i had no idea of there being any life remaining within the vast mass beneath me; yet i had hardly time to take a couple of turns round myself with the rope (or whale-line, as i had proved it to be), when i felt the great animal quiver all over, and begin to forge ahead. i was now composed enough to remember that help could not be far away, and that my rescue, providing that i could keep above water, was but a question of a few minutes. but i was hardly prepared for the whale's next move. being very near his end, the boat, or boats, had drawn off a bit, i supposed, for i could see nothing of them. then i remembered the flurry. almost at the same moment it began; and there was i, who, with fearful admiration had so often watched the titanic convulsions of a dying cachalot, actually involved in them. the turns were off my body, but i was able to twist a couple of turns round my arms, which, in case of his sounding, i could readily let go. then all was lost in roar and rush, as of the heart of some mighty cataract, during which i was sometimes above, sometimes beneath, the water, but always clinging, with every ounce of energy still left, to the line. now, one thought was uppermost--"what if he should breach?" i had seen them do so when in flurry, leaping full twenty feet in the air. then i prayed. quickly as all the preceding changes had passed, came perfect peace. there i lay, still alive, but so weak that, although i could feel the turns slipping off my arms, and knew that i should slide off the slope of the whale's side into the sea if they did, i could make no effort to secure myself. everything then passed away from me, just as if i had gone to sleep. i do not at all understand how i kept my position, nor how long, but i awoke to the blessed sound of voices, and saw the second mate's boat alongside. frank t. bullen: "the cruise of the cachalot." the maple all hail to the broad-leaved maple! with her fair and changeful dress-- a type of our youthful country in its pride and loveliness; whether in spring or summer, or in the dreary fall, 'mid nature's forest children, she's fairest of them all. down sunny slopes and valleys her graceful form is seen, her wide, umbrageous branches the sunburnt reaper screen; 'mid the dark-browed firs and cedars her livelier colours shine, like the dawn of the brighter future on the settler's hut of pine. she crowns the pleasant hilltop, whispers on breezy downs, and casts refreshing shadows o'er the streets of our busy towns; she gladdens the aching eyeball, shelters the weary head, and scatters her crimson glories on the graves of the silent dead. when winter's frosts are yielding to the sun's returning sway, and merry groups are speeding to sugar-woods away; the sweet and welling juices, which form their welcome spoil, tell of the teeming plenty, which here waits honest toil. when sweet-toned spring, soft-breathing, breaks nature's icy sleep, and the forest boughs are swaying like the green waves of the deep; in her fair and budding beauty, a fitting emblem, she, of this our land of promise, of hope, of liberty. and when her leaves, all crimson, droop silently and fall, like drops of life-blood welling from a warrior brave and tall; they tell how fast and freely would her children's blood be shed, ere the soil of our faith and freedom should echo a foeman's tread. then hail to the broad-leaved maple! with her fair and changeful dress-- a type of our youthful country in its pride and loveliness; whether in spring or summer, or in the dreary fall, 'mid nature's forest children, she's fairest of them all. h. f. darnell damon and pythias in syracuse there was so hard a ruler that the people made a plot to drive him out of the city. the plot was discovered, and the king commanded that the leaders should be put to death. one of these, named damon, lived at some distance from syracuse. he asked that before he was put to death he might be allowed to go home to say good-bye to his family, promising that he would then come back to die at the appointed time. the king did not believe that he would keep his word, and said: "i will not let you go unless you find some friend who will come and stay in your place. then, if you are not back on the day set for execution, i shall put your friend to death in your stead." the king thought to himself: "surely no one will ever take the place of a man condemned to death." now, damon had a very dear friend, named pythias, who at once came forward and offered to stay in prison while damon was allowed to go away. the king was very much surprised, but he had given his word; damon was therefore permitted to leave for home, while pythias was shut up in prison. many days passed, the time for the execution was close at hand, and damon had not come back. the king, curious to see how pythias would behave, now that death seemed so near, went to the prison. "your friend will never return," he said to pythias. "you are wrong," was the answer. "damon will be here if he can possibly come. but he has to travel by sea, and the winds have been blowing the wrong way for several days. however, it is much better that i should die than he. i have no wife and no children, and i love my friend so well that it would be easier to die for him than to live without him. so i am hoping and praying that he may be delayed until my head has fallen." the king went away more puzzled than ever. the fatal day arrived but damon had not come. pythias was brought forward and led upon the scaffold. "my prayers are heard," he cried. "i shall be permitted to die for my friend. but mark my words. damon is faithful and true; you will yet have reason to know that he has done his utmost to be here!" just at this moment a man came galloping up at full speed, on a horse covered with foam! it was damon. in an instant he was on the scaffold, and had pythias in his arms. "my beloved friend," he cried, "the gods be praised that you are safe. what agony have i suffered in the fear that my delay was putting your life in danger!" there was no joy in the face of pythias, for he did not care to live if his friend must die. but the king had heard all. at last he was forced to believe in the unselfish friendship of these two. his hard heart melted at the sight, and he set them both free, asking only that they would be his friends, also. charlotte m. yonge honour and shame from no condition rise; act well your part, there all the honour lies. pope the wreck of the orpheus all day, amid the masts and shrouds, they hung above the wave; the sky o'erhead was dark with clouds, and dark beneath, their grave. the water leaped against its prey, breaking with heavy crash, and when some slack'ning hands gave way, they fell with dull, low splash. captain and man ne'er thought to swerve; the boats went to and fro; with cheery face and tranquil nerve, each saw his brother go. each saw his brother go, and knew, as night came swiftly on, that less and less his own chance grew-- night fell, and hope was gone. the saved stood on the steamer's deck, straining their eyes to see their comrades clinging to the wreck upon that surging sea; and still they gazed into the dark till, on their startled ears, there came from that swift-sinking bark a sound of gallant cheers. again, and yet again it rose; then silence round them fell-- silence of death--and each man knows it was a last farewell. no cry of anguish, no wild shriek of men in agony-- no dropping down of watchers weak, weary and glad to die, but death met with three british cheers-- cheers of immortal fame; for us the choking, blinding tears-- for them a glorious name. oh england, while thy sailor-host can live and die like these, be thy broad lands or won or lost, thou'rt mistress of the seas! c. a. l. the tide river clear and cool, clear and cool, by laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; cool and clear, cool and clear, by shining shingle, and foaming weir; under the crag where the ouzel sings, and the ivied wall where the church-bell rings, undefiled, for the undefiled; play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. dank and foul, dank and foul, by the smoky town in its murky cowl; foul and dank, foul and dank, by wharf and sewer and slimy bank; darker and darker the further i go, baser and baser the richer i grow; who dare sport with the sin defiled? shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. strong and free, strong and free, the flood-gates are open, away to the sea; free and strong, free and strong, cleansing my streams as i hurry along to the golden sands, and the leaping bar, and the taintless tide that awaits me afar; as i lose myself in the infinite main, like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again. undefiled, for the undefiled, play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. kingsley the best result of all education is the acquired power of making yourself do what you ought to do, when you ought to do it, whether you like it or not. huxley [illustration: ontario agricultural college] wisdom the supreme prize my son, despise not the chastening of the lord; neither be weary of his reproof: for whom the lord loveth he reproveth; even as a father the son in whom he delighteth. happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth understanding. for the merchandise of it is better than the merchandise of silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold. she is more precious than rubies: and none of the things thou canst desire are to be compared unto her. length of days is in her right hand; in her left hand are riches and honour. her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. she is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: and happy is every one that retaineth her. the lord by wisdom founded the earth; by understanding he established the heavens. by his knowledge the depths were broken up, and the skies drop down the dew. proverbs, iii. the orchard there's no garden like an orchard, nature shows no fairer thing than the apple trees in blossom in these late days o' the spring. here the robin redbreast's nesting, here, from golden dawn till night, honey bees are gaily swimming in a sea of pink and white. just a sea of fragrant blossoms, steeped in sunshine, drenched in dew, just a fragrant breath which tells you earth is fair again and new. just a breath of subtle sweetness, breath which holds the spice o' youth, holds the promise o' the summer-- holds the best o' things, forsooth. there's no garden like an orchard, nature shows no fairer thing than the apple trees in blossom in these late days o' the spring. jean blewett inspired by the snow the black squirrel delights in the new-fallen snow like a boy--a real boy, with red hands as well as red cheeks, and an automatic mechanism of bones and muscles capable of all things except rest. the first snow sends a thrill of joy through every fibre of such a boy, and a thousand delights crowd into his mind. the gliding, falling coasters on the hills, the passing sleighs with niches on the runners for his feet, the flying snowballs, the sliding-places, the broad, tempting ice, all whirl through his mind in a delightful panorama, and he hurries out to catch the elusive flakes in his outstretched hands and to shout aloud in the gladness of his heart. and the black squirrel becomes a boy with the first snow. what a pity he cannot shout! there is a superabundant joy and life in his long, graceful bounds, when his beautiful form, in its striking contrast with the white snow, seems magnified to twice its real size. perhaps there is vanity as well as joy in his lithe, bounding motions among the naked trees, for nature seems to have done her utmost to provide a setting that would best display his graces of form and motion. when the falling snow clings in light, airy masses on the spruces and pines, and festoons the naked tracery and clustering winter buds of the maples--when the still air seems to fix every twig and branch and clinging mass of snow in a solid medium of crystal, the spell of stillness is broken by the silent but joyful leaps of the hurrying squirrel. how alive he seems, in contrast with the silence of the snow, as his outlines contrast with its perfect white! his body curves and elongates with regular undulations, as he measures off the snow with twin footprints. away in the distance he is still visible among the naked trunks, a moving patch of animated blackness. his free, regular footprints are all about, showing where he has run hither and thither, with no apparent purpose except to manifest his joy in life. his red-haired cousin comes to a lofty opening in a hollow tree and looks out with an expression of disappointment on his face. he does not like the snow-covered landscape spread out so artistically before him. it makes him tired, and he has not enough energy to scold an intruder, as he would in the comfortable days of summer. no amount of coaxing or tapping will tempt him from his lofty watch-tower, or win more recognition than a silent look of weary discontent. another cousin, the chipmunk, no longer displays his daintily-striped coat. oblivious in his burrow, he is sleeping away the days, and waiting for a more congenial season. but the black squirrel, now among the branches of an elm, is twitching from one rigid attitude to another, electrified by the crisp atmosphere and the inspiration of the snow. again he is leaping over the white surface to clamber up the repellent bark of a tall hickory. among the larger limbs he disappears. as he never attempts to hide, he must have retired into his own dwelling to partake of the store laid by in the season of plenty. hickory nuts are his favourite food, and the hard shells seem but an appetizing relish. he knows the value of frugality, and gathers them before they are ripe, throwing down the shrivelled and unfilled, that the boys may not annoy him with stones and sticks. in winter he is the happiest of all the woodland family. he does not yield to the drowsy, numbing influence of the cold, nor to the depression of a season of scanty fare, but bounds along from tree to tree, inspired by the subtle spirit of winter and revelling in the joy of being alive. s. t. wood the squirrel drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm that age or injury has hollow'd deep, where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, he has outslept the winter, ventures forth to frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun, the squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play. he sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush, and perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, with all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, and anger insignificantly fierce. cowper soldier, rest "soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; dream of battled fields no more, days of danger, nights of waking. in our isle's enchanted hall, hands unseen thy couch are strewing, fairy strains of music fall, every sense in slumber dewing. soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, dream of fighting fields no more: sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor night of waking. "no rude sound shall reach thine ear, armour's clang, or war-steed champing, trump nor pibroch summon here mustering clan, or squadron tramping. yet the lark's shrill fife may come at the daybreak from the fallow, and the bittern sound his drum, booming from the sedgy shallow. ruder sounds shall none be near, guards nor warders challenge here, here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, shouting clans or squadrons stamping." scott: "the lady of the lake" fishing one fine thursday afternoon, tom, having borrowed east's new rod, started by himself to the river. he fished for some time with small success, not a fish would rise to him; but as he prowled along the bank, he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the opposite side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. the stream was deep here, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made off hot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of the doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across, and in three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump of willows. it isn't often that great chub, or any other coarse fish, are in earnest about anything; but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half an hour master tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the foot of the giant willow. as he was baiting for a fourth pounder, and just going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up the bank not one hundred yards off. another look told him that it was the under-keeper. could he reach the shallow before him? no, not carrying his rod. nothing for it but the tree. so tom laid his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could and dragging up his rod after him. he had just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feet up, which stretched out over the river, when the keeper arrived at the clump. tom's heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two steps more and he would have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on the scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point at the foot of the tree. he picked up the fish one by one; his eye and touch told him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour. tom crouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper beating the clump. "if i could only get the rod hidden," thought he, and began gently shifting it to get it alongside of him: "willow-trees don't throw out straight hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no leaves, worse luck." alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and then of tom's hand and arm. "oh, be up ther', be 'ee?" says he, running under the tree. "now you come down this minute." "tree'd at last," thinks tom, making no answer, and keeping as close as possible, but working away at the rod, which he takes to pieces. "i'm in for it, unless i can starve him out." and then he begins to meditate getting along the branch for a plunge, and scramble to the other side; but the small branches are so thick, and the opposite bank so difficult, that the keeper will have lots of time to get round by the ford before he can get out, so he gives that up. and now he hears the keeper beginning to scramble up the trunk. that will never do; so he scrambles himself back to where his branch joins the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. "hullo, velveteens, mind your fingers if you come any higher." the keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin says: "oh! be you, be it, young measter? well, here's luck. now i tells 'ee to come down at once, and 't'll be best for 'ee." "thank 'ee, velveteens, i'm very comfortable," said tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for battle. "werry well, please yourself," says the keeper, descending, however, to the ground again, and taking his seat on the bank. "i bean't in no hurry, so you med take your time. i'll larn 'ee to gee honest folk names afore i've done with 'ee." "my luck as usual," thinks tom; "what a fool i was to give him a black! if i'd called him 'keeper,' now, i might get off. the return match is all his way." the keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, and light it, keeping an eye on tom, who now sat disconsolately across the branch, looking at the keeper--a pitiful sight for men and fishes. the more he thought of it the less he liked it. "it must be getting near second calling-over," thinks he. keeper smokes on stolidly. "if he takes me up, i shall be flogged safe enough. i can't sit here all night. wonder if he'll rise at silver." "i say, keeper," said he, meekly, "let me go for two bob?" "not for twenty neither," grunts his persecutor. and so they sat on till long past second calling-over; and the sun came slanting in through the willow-branches, and telling of locking-up near at hand. "i'm coming down, keeper," said tom at last, with a sigh, fairly tired out. "now what are you going to do?" "walk 'ee up to school, and give 'ee over to the doctor; them's my orders," says velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and standing up and shaking himself. "very good," said tom; "but hands off, you know. i'll go with you quietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing." keeper looked at him a minute: "werry good," said he at last. and so tom descended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper up to the school-house, where they arrived just at locking-up. as they passed the school-gates, the tadpole and several others who were standing there caught the state of things, and rushed out, crying, "rescue!" but tom shook his head, so they only followed to the doctor's gate, and went back sorely puzzled. how changed and stern the doctor seemed from the last time that tom was up there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how tom had called him blackguard names. "indeed, sir," broke in the culprit, "it was only velveteens." the doctor only asked one question. "you know the rule about the banks, brown?" "yes, sir." "then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson." "i thought so," muttered tom. "and about the rod, sir?" went on the keeper. "master's told we as we might have all the rods----" "oh, please, sir," broke in tom, "the rod isn't mine." the doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, who was a good-hearted fellow, and melted at tom's evident distress, gave up his claim. tom was flogged next morning, and a few days afterwards met velveteens, and presented him with half a crown for giving up the rod claim, and they became sworn friends; and i regret to say that tom had many more fish from under the willow that may-fly season, and was never caught again by velveteens. hughes: "tom brown's school days." the fountain into the sunshine, full of the light, leaping and flashing from morn till night! into the moonlight, whiter than snow, waving so flower-like when the winds blow! into the starlight, rushing in spray, happy at midnight, happy by day; ever in motion, blithesome and cheery, still climbing heavenward never aweary;-- glad of all weathers; still seeming best, upward or downward, motion thy rest;-- full of a nature nothing can tame, changed every moment, ever the same;-- ceaseless aspiring, ceaseless content, darkness or sunshine thy element;-- glorious fountain! let my heart be fresh, changeful, constant, upward, like thee! lowell break, break, break break, break, break, on thy cold gray stones, o sea! and i would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me. o well for the fisherman's boy, that he shouts with his sister at play! o well for the sailor lad, that he sings in his boat on the bay! and the stately ships go on to their haven under the hill; but o for the touch of a vanish'd hand, and the sound of a voice that is still! break, break, break, at the foot of thy crags, o sea! but the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me. tennyson try to frequent the company of your betters. in books and life, that is the most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly; the great pleasure of life is that. note what great men admired: they admired great things; narrow spirits admire basely and worship meanly. thackeray the bed of procrustes a very tall and strong man, dressed in rich garments, came down to meet theseus. on his arms were golden bracelets, and round his neck a collar of jewels; and he came forward, bowing courteously, and held out both his hands, and spoke: "welcome, fair youth, to these mountains; happy am i to have met you! for what greater pleasure to a good man than to entertain strangers? but i see that you are weary. come up to my castle, and rest yourself awhile." "i give you thanks," said theseus; "but i am in haste to go up the valley." "alas! you have wandered far from the right way, and you cannot reach your journey's end to-night, for there are many miles of mountain between you and it, and steep passes, and cliffs dangerous after nightfall. it is well for you that i met you, for my whole joy is to find strangers, and to feast them at my castle, and hear tales from them of foreign lands. come up with me, and eat the best of venison, and drink the rich red wine, and sleep upon my famous bed, of which all travellers say that they never saw the like. for whatsoever the stature of my guest, however tall or short, that bed fits him to a hair, and he sleeps on it as he never slept before." and he laid hold on theseus' hands, and would not let him go. [illustration: niagara falls] theseus wished to go forwards: but he was ashamed to seem churlish to so hospitable a man; and he was curious to see that wondrous bed; and beside, he was hungry and weary: yet he shrank from the man, he knew not why; for, though his voice was gentle, it was dry and husky like a toad's; and though his eyes were gentle, they were dull and cold like stones. but he consented, and went with the man up a glen which led from the road, under the dark shadow of the cliffs. and as they went up, the glen grew narrower, and the cliffs higher and darker, and beneath them a torrent roared, half seen between bare limestone crags. and around them was neither tree nor bush, while the snow-blasts swept down the glen, cutting and chilling, till a horror fell on theseus as he looked round at that doleful place. and he said at last: "your castle stands, it seems, in a dreary region." "yes; but once within it, hospitality makes all things cheerful. but who are these?" and he looked back, and theseus also; and far below, along the road which they had left, came a string of laden asses, and merchants walking by them, watching their ware. "ah, poor souls!" said the stranger. "well for them that i looked back and saw them! and well for me, too, for i shall have the more guests at my feast. wait awhile till i go down and call them, and we will eat and drink together the livelong night. happy am i, to whom heaven sends so many guests at once!" and he ran back down the hill, waving his hand and shouting to the merchants, while theseus went slowly up the steep pass. but as he went up he met an aged man, who had been gathering driftwood in the torrent-bed. he had laid down his faggot in the road, and was trying to lift it again to his shoulder. and when he saw theseus, he called to him and said: "o fair youth, help me up with my burden, for my limbs are stiff and weak with years." then theseus lifted the burden on his back. and the old man blessed him, and then looked earnestly upon him, and said: "who are you, fair youth, and wherefore travel you this doleful road?" "who i am my parents know; but i travel this doleful road because i have been invited by a hospitable man, who promises to feast me and to make me sleep upon i know not what wondrous bed." then the old man clapped his hands together and cried: "know, fair youth, that you are going to torment and to death, for he who met you (i will requite your kindness by another) is a robber and a murderer of men. whatsoever stranger he meets he entices him hither to death; and as for this bed of which he speaks, truly it fits all comers, yet none ever rose alive off it save me." "why?" asked theseus, astonished. "because, if a man be too tall for it, he lops his limbs till they be short enough, and if he be too short, he stretches his limbs till they be long enough; but me only he spared, seven weary years agone; for i alone of all fitted his bed exactly, so he spared me, and made me his slave. and once i was a wealthy merchant, and dwelt in a great city; but now i hew wood and draw water for him, the torment of all mortal men." then theseus said nothing; but he ground his teeth together. "escape, then," said the old man, "for he will have no pity on thy youth. but yesterday he brought up hither a young man and a maiden, and fitted them upon his bed; and the young man's hands and feet he cut off, but the maiden's limbs he stretched until she died, and so both perished miserably--but i am tired of weeping over the slain. and therefore he is called procrustes, the stretcher. flee from him: yet whither will you flee? the cliffs are steep, and who can climb them? and there is no other road." but theseus laid his hand upon the old man's mouth, and said: "there is no need to flee;" and he turned to go down the pass. "do not tell him that i have warned you, or he will kill me by some evil death;" and the old man screamed after him down the glen; but theseus strode on in his wrath. and he said to himself: "this is an ill-ruled land; when shall i have done ridding it of monsters?" and, as he spoke, procrustes came up the hill, and all the merchants with him, smiling and talking gaily. and when he saw theseus, he cried: "ah, fair young guest, have i kept you too long waiting?" but theseus answered: "the man who stretches his guests upon a bed and hews off their hands and feet, what shall be done to him, when right is done throughout the land?" then procrustes' countenance changed, and his cheeks grew as green as a lizard, and he felt for his sword in haste; but theseus leaped on him, and cried: "is this true, my host, or is it false?" and he clasped procrustes round waist and elbow, so that he could not draw his sword. "is this true, my host, or is it false!" but procrustes answered never a word. then theseus flung him from him, and lifted up his dreadful club; and before procrustes could strike him, he had struck and felled him to the ground. and once again he struck him; and his evil soul fled forth, squeaking like a bat into the darkness of a cave. then theseus stripped him of his gold ornaments, and went up to his house, and found there great wealth and treasure, which he had stolen from the passers-by. and he called the people of the country, whom procrustes had spoiled a long time, and divided the spoil among them, and went down the mountains, and away. kingsley: "the heroes." (adapted) "bob white" i see you, on the zigzag rails, you cheery little fellow! while purple leaves are whirling down, and scarlet, brown, and yellow. i hear you when the air is full of snow-down of the thistle; all in your speckled jacket trim, "bob white! bob white!" you whistle. tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, are nodding there to greet you; i know that you are out for play-- how i should like to meet you! though blithe of voice, so shy you are, in this delightful weather; what splendid playmates, you and i, "bob white," would make together! there, you are gone! but far away i hear your whistle falling. ah! maybe it is hide-and-seek, and that's why you are calling. along those hazy uplands wide we'd be such merry rangers; what! silent now, and hidden too! "bob white," don't let's be strangers. perhaps you teach your brood the game, in yonder rainbowed thicket, while winds are playing with the leaves, and softly creeks the cricket. "bob white! bob white!"--again i hear that blithely whistled chorus; why should we not companions be? one father watches o'er us! george cooper radisson and the indians the tribe being assembled and having spread out their customary gifts, consisting of beaver tails, smoked moose tongues and pemmican, one of the leading braves arose and said: "men who pretend to give us life, do you wish us to die! you know what beaver is worth and the trouble we have to take it. you call yourselves our brothers, and yet will not give us what those give who make no such profession. accept our gifts, and let us barter, or we will visit you no more. we have but to travel a hundred leagues and we will encounter the english, whose offers we have heard." on the conclusion of this harangue, silence reigned for some moments. all eyes were turned on the two white traders. feeling that now or never was the time to exhibit firmness, radisson, without rising to his feet, addressed the whole assemblage in haughty accents. "whom dost thou wish i should answer? i have heard a dog bark; when a man shall speak, he will see i know how to defend my conduct and my terms. we love our brothers and we deserve their love in return. for have we not saved them all from the treachery of the english?" uttering these words fearlessly, he leaped to his feet and drew a long hunting-knife from his belt. seizing by the scalp-lock the chief of the tribe, who had already adopted him as his son, he asked: "who art thou?" to which the chief responded, as was customary: "thy father." "then," cried radisson, "if that is so, and thou art my father, speak for me. thou art the master of my goods; but as for that dog who has spoken, what is he doing in this company? let him go to his brothers, the english, at the head of the bay. or he need not travel so far. he may, if he chooses, see them starving and helpless on yonder island; answering to my words of command. "i know how to speak to my indian father," continued radisson, "of the perils of the woods, of the abandonment of his squaws and children, of the risks of hunger and the peril of death by foes. all these you avoid by trading with us here. but although i am mightily angry, i will take pity on this wretch and let him still live. go," addressing the brave with his weapon outstretched, "take this as my gift to you, and depart. when you meet your brothers, the english, tell them my name, and add that we are soon coming to treat them and their factory yonder as we have treated this one." the speaker knew enough of the indian character, especially in affairs of trade, to be aware that a point once yielded them is never recovered. and it is but just to say that the terms he then made of three axes for a beaver were thereafter adopted, and that his firmness saved the company many a cargo of these implements. his harangue produced an immediate impression upon all save the humiliated brave, who declared that, if the assiniboines came hither to barter, he would lie in ambush and kill them. the french trader's reply to this was, to the indian mind, a terrible one. "i will myself travel into thy country," said he, "and eat sagamite in thy grandmother's skull." while the brave and his small circle of friends were livid with fear and anger, radisson ordered three fathoms of tobacco to be distributed; observing, contemptuously, to the hostile minority that, as for them, they might go and smoke women's tobacco in the country of the lynxes. the barter began and, when at nightfall the indians departed, not a skin was left amongst them. beckles willson: "the great company." the brook i come from haunts of coot and hern, i make a sudden sally, and sparkle out among the fern, to bicker down a valley. by thirty hills i hurry down, or slip between the ridges, by twenty thorps, a little town, and half a hundred bridges. till last by philip's farm i flow to join the brimming river, for men may come and men may go, but i go on for ever. i chatter over stony ways, in little sharps and trebles, i bubble into eddying bays, i babble on the pebbles. with many a curve my banks i fret by many a field and fallow, and many a fairy foreland set with willow-weed and mallow. i chatter, chatter, as i flow to join the brimming river, for men may come and men may go, but i go on for ever. i wind about, and in and out, with here a blossom sailing, and here and there a lusty trout, and here and there a grayling, and here and there a foamy flake upon me, as i travel with many a silvery waterbreak above the golden gravel, and draw them all along, and flow to join the brimming river, for men may come and men may go, but i go on for ever. i steal by lawns and grassy plots, i slide by hazel covers; i move the sweet forget-me-nots that grow for happy lovers. i slip, i slide, i gloom, i glance, among my skimming swallows; i make the netted sunbeam dance against my sandy shallows. i murmur under moon and stars in brambly wildernesses; i linger by my shingly bars; i loiter round my cresses; and out again i curve and flow to join the brimming river, for men may come and men may go, but i go on for ever. tennyson as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. many a man lives a burden to the earth, but a good book is the precious life blood of a master-spirit. milton "do seek their meat from god" there was a solitary cabin in the thick of the woods a mile or more from the nearest neighbour, a substantial frame house in the midst of a large and well-tilled clearing. the owner of the cabin, a shiftless fellow who spent his days for the most part at the corner tavern three miles distant, had suddenly grown disgusted with a land wherein one must work to live, and had betaken himself with his seven-year-old boy to seek some more indolent clime. the five-year-old son of the prosperous owner of the frame house and the older boy had been playmates. the little boy, unaware of his comrade's departure, had stolen away, late in the afternoon, along the lonely stretch of wood road, and had reached the cabin only to find it empty. as the dusk gathered, he grew afraid to start for home and crept trembling into the cabin, whose door would not stay shut. desperate with fear and loneliness, he lifted up his voice piteously. in the terrifying silence, he listened hard to hear if anyone or anything were coming. then again his shrill childish wailings arose, startling the unexpectant night, and piercing the forest depths, even to the ears of two great panthers which had set forth to seek their meat from god. the lonely cabin stood some distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile, back from the highway connecting the settlements. along this main road a man was plodding wearily. all day he had been walking, and now as he neared home his steps began to quicken with anticipation of rest. over his shoulder projected a double-barrelled fowling-piece, from which was slung a bundle of such necessities as he had purchased in town that morning. it was the prosperous settler, the master of the frame house, who had chosen to make the tedious journey on foot. he passed the mouth of the wood road leading to the cabin and had gone perhaps a furlong beyond, when his ears were startled by the sound of a child crying in the woods. he stopped, lowered his burden to the road, and stood straining ears and eyes in the direction of the sound. it was just at this time that the two panthers also stopped, and lifted their heads to listen. their ears were keener than those of the man, and the sound had reached them at a greater distance. presently the settler realized whence the cries were coming. he called to mind the cabin; but he did not know the cabin's owner had departed. he cherished a hearty contempt for the drunken squatter; and on the drunken squatter's child he looked with small favour, especially as a playmate for his own boy. nevertheless he hesitated before resuming his journey. "poor little fellow!" he muttered, half in wrath. "i reckon his precious father's drunk down at 'the corners,' and him crying for loneliness!" then he re-shouldered his burden and strode on doggedly. but louder, shriller, more hopeless and more appealing, arose the childish voice, and the settler paused again, irresolute, and with deepening indignation. in his fancy he saw the steaming supper his wife would have awaiting him. he loathed the thought of retracing his steps, and then stumbling a quarter of a mile through the stumps and bog of the wood road. he was foot-sore as well as hungry, and he cursed the vagabond squatter with serious emphasis; but in that wailing was a terror which would not let him go on. he thought of his own little one left in such a position, and straightway his heart melted. he turned, dropped his bundle behind some bushes, grasped his gun, and made speed back for the cabin. "who knows," he said to himself, "but that drunken idiot has left his youngster without a bite to eat in the whole miserable shanty? or maybe he's locked out, and the poor little beggar's half scared to death. _sounds_ as if he was scared;" and at this thought the settler quickened his pace. as the hungry panthers drew near the cabin, and the cries of the lonely child grew clearer, they hastened their steps, and their eyes opened to a wider circle, flaming with a greener fire. it would be thoughtless superstition to say the beasts were cruel. they were simply keen with hunger, and alive with the eager passion of the chase. they were not ferocious with any anticipation of battle, for they knew the voice was the voice of a child, and something in the voice told them the child was solitary. theirs was no hideous or unnatural rage, as it is the custom to describe it. they were but seeking with the strength, the cunning, the deadly swiftness given them to that end, the food convenient for them. on their success in accomplishing that for which nature had so exquisitely designed them, depended not only their own, but the lives of their blind and helpless young, now whimpering in the cave on the slope of the moon-lit ravine. they crept through a wet alder thicket, bounded lightly over the ragged brush fence, and paused to reconnoitre on the edge of the clearing, in the full glare of the moon. at the same moment, the settler emerged from the darkness of the wood road on the opposite side of the clearing. he saw the two great beasts, heads down and snouts thrust forward, gliding toward the open cabin door. for a few moments the child had been silent. now his voice rose again in pitiful appeal, a very ecstasy of loneliness and terror. there was a note in the cry that shook the settler's soul. he had a vision of his own boy, at home with his mother, safe-guarded from even the thought of peril. and here was this little one left to the wild beasts! "thank god! thank god i came!" murmured the settler, as he dropped on one knee to take a surer aim. there was a loud report (not like the sharp crack of a rifle), and the female panther, shot through the loins, fell in a heap, snarling furiously and striking with her fore-paws. the male walked around her in fierce and anxious amazement. presently, as the smoke lifted, he discerned the settler kneeling for a second shot. with a high screech of fury, the lithe brute sprang upon his enemy, taking a bullet full in his chest without seeming to know he was hit. ere the man could slip in another cartridge the beast was upon him, bearing him to the ground and fixing keen fangs in his shoulder. without a word, the man set his strong fingers desperately into the brute's throat, wrenched himself partly free, and was struggling to rise, when the panther's body collapsed upon him all at once, a dead weight which he easily flung aside. the bullet had done its work just in time. quivering from the swift and dreadful contest, bleeding profusely from his mangled shoulder, the settler stepped up to the cabin door and peered in. he heard sobs in the darkness. "don't be scared, sonny," he said, in a reassuring voice. "i'm going to take you home along with me. poor little lad, _i'll_ look after you, if folks that ought to don't." out of the dark corner came a shout of delight, in a voice which made the settler's heart stand still. "_daddy_, daddy," it said, "i _knew_ you'd come. i was so frightened when it got dark!" and a little figure launched itself into the settler's arms, and clung to him trembling. the man sat down on the threshold and strained the child to his breast. he remembered how near he had been to disregarding the far-off cries, and great beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead. not many weeks afterwards the settler was following the fresh trail of a bear which had killed his sheep. the trail led him at last along the slope of a deep ravine, from whose bottom came the brawl of a swollen and obstructed stream. in the ravine he found a shallow cave, behind a great white rock. the cave was plainly a wild beast's lair, and he entered circumspectly. there were bones scattered about, and on some dry herbage in the deepest corner of the den, he found the dead bodies of two small panther cubs. charles g. d. roberts: "earth's enigmas." (adapted) so nigh is grandeur to our dust, so near is god to man, when duty whispers low, "_thou must_," the youth replies, "_i can_." emerson a song of the sea the sea! the sea! the open sea! the blue, the fresh, the ever free! without a mark, without a bound, it runneth the earth's wide regions 'round; it plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; or like a cradled creature lies. i'm on the sea! i'm on the sea! i am where i would ever be; with the blue above, and the blue below, and silence wheresoe'er i go; if a storm should come and awake the deep, what matter? _i_ shall ride and sleep. i love (oh! _how_ i love) to ride on the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, when every mad wave drowns the moon, or whistles aloft his tempest tune, and tells how goeth the world below, and why the south-west blasts do blow. i never was on the dull, tame shore, but i loved the great sea more and more, and backwards flew to her billowy breast, like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest; and a mother she _was_ and _is_ to me; for i was born on the open sea. the waves were white, and red the morn, in the noisy hour when i was born; and the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled and the dolphins bared their backs of gold; and never was heard such an outcry wild as welcomed to life the ocean-child! i've lived since then, in calm and strife, full fifty summers a sailor's life, with wealth to spend, and a power to range, but never have sought nor sighed for change; and death whenever he comes to me, shall come on the wide unbounded sea! b. w. procter: ("barry cornwall") little daffydowndilly "i slept, and dreamed that life was beauty; i woke, and found that life was duty." daffydowndilly was so called because in his nature he resembled a flower, and loved to do only what was beautiful and agreeable, and took no delight in labour of any kind. but while daffydowndilly was yet a little boy, his mother sent him away from his pleasant home, and put him under the care of a very strict schoolmaster, who went by the name of mr. toil. those who knew him best affirmed that this mr. toil was a very worthy character; and that he had done more good, both to children and grown people, than anybody else in the world. certainly he had lived long enough to do a great deal of good; for, if all stories be true, he had dwelt upon earth ever since adam was driven from the garden of eden. nevertheless, mr. toil had a severe and ugly countenance, especially for such little boys or big men as were inclined to be idle; his voice, too, was harsh; and all his ways and customs seemed very disagreeable to our friend daffydowndilly. the whole day long this terrible schoolmaster sat at his desk overlooking the scholars, or stalked about the school-room with a certain awful birch rod in his hand. now came a rap over the shoulders of a boy whom mr. toil had caught at play; now he punished a whole class who were behindhand with their lessons; and, in short, unless a lad chose to attend quietly and constantly to his book, he had no chance of enjoying a quiet moment in the school-room of mr. toil. "this will never do for me," thought daffydowndilly. now the whole of daffydowndilly's life had hitherto been passed with his dear mother, who had a much sweeter face than old mr. toil, and who had always been very indulgent to her little boy. no wonder, therefore, that poor daffydowndilly found it a woeful change to be sent away from the good lady's side and put under the care of this ugly-visaged schoolmaster, who never gave him any apples or cakes, and seemed to think that little boys were created only to get lessons. "i can't bear it any longer," said daffydowndilly to himself, when he had been at school about a week. "i'll run away and try to find my dear mother; and, at any rate, i shall never find anybody half so disagreeable as this old mr. toil!" so the very next morning, off started poor daffydowndilly, and began his rambles about the world, with only some bread and cheese for his breakfast, and very little pocket-money to pay his expenses. but he had gone only a short distance when he overtook a man of grave and sedate appearance, who was trudging at a moderate pace along the road. "good-morning, my lad," said the stranger; and his voice seemed hard and severe, but yet had a sort of kindness in it. "whence do you come so early, and whither are you going?" little daffydowndilly was a boy of a very ingenuous disposition, and had never been known to tell a lie in all his life. nor did he tell one now. he hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessed that he had run away from school, on account of his great dislike for mr. toil; and that he was resolved to find some place in the world where he should never see or hear of the old schoolmaster again. "oh, very well, my little friend!" answered the stranger. "then we will go together; for i, likewise, have had a good deal to do with mr. toil, and should be glad to find some place where he was never heard of." our friend daffydowndilly would have been better pleased with a companion of his own age, with whom he might have gathered flowers along the road-side, or have chased butterflies, or have done many other things to make the journey pleasant. but he had wisdom enough to understand that he should get along through the world much easier by having a man of experience to show him the way. so he accepted the stranger's proposal, and they walked on very sociably together. they had not gone far, when the road passed by a field where some haymakers were at work, mowing down the tall grass and spreading it out in the sun to dry. daffydowndilly was delighted with the sweet smell of the new-mown grass, and thought how much pleasanter it must be to make hay in the sunshine under the blue sky, and with the birds singing sweetly in the neighbouring trees and bushes, than to be shut up in a dismal school-room, learning lessons all day long, and continually scolded by old mr. toil. but, in the midst of these thoughts, while he was stopping to peep over the stone wall, he started back and caught hold of his companion's hand. "quick, quick!" cried he. "let us run away, or he will catch us!" "who will catch us?" asked the stranger. "mr. toil, the old schoolmaster!" answered daffydowndilly. "don't you see him amongst the haymakers?" and daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man, who seemed to be the owner of the field, and the employer of the men at work there. he had stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and was busily at work in his shirt sleeves. the drops of sweat stood upon his brow; but he gave himself not a moment's rest, and kept crying out to the haymakers to make hay while the sun shone. now, strange to say, the figure and features of this old farmer were precisely the same as those of old mr. toil, who, at that very moment, must have been just entering his school-room. "don't be afraid," said the stranger. "this is not mr. toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer; and the people say he is the more disagreeable man of the two. however, he won't trouble you unless you become a labourer on the farm." little daffydowndilly believed what his companion said, but he was very glad, nevertheless, when they were out of sight of the old farmer, who bore such a singular resemblance to mr. toil. the two travellers had gone but little farther, when they came to a spot where some carpenters were erecting a house. daffydowndilly begged his companion to stop a moment; for it was a very pretty sight to see how neatly the carpenters did their work, with their broad-axes and saws, and planes, and hammers, shaping out the doors, and putting in the window-sashes, and nailing on the clap-boards; and he could not help thinking that he should like to take a broad-axe, a saw, a plane, and a hammer, and build a little house for himself. and then, when he should have a house of his own, old mr. toil would never dare to molest him. but, just while he was delighting himself with this idea, little daffydowndilly beheld something that made him catch hold of his companion's hand, all in a fright. "make haste. quick, quick!" cried he. "there he is again!" "who?" asked the stranger, very quietly. "old mr. toil," said daffydowndilly, trembling. "there! he that is overseeing the carpenters. 'tis my old schoolmaster, as sure as i'm alive!" the stranger cast his eyes where daffydowndilly pointed his finger; and he saw an elderly man, with a carpenter's rule and compass in his hand. this person went to and fro about the unfinished house, measuring pieces of timber and marking out the work that was to be done, and continually exhorting the other carpenters to be diligent. and wherever he turned his hard and wrinkled visage, the men seemed to feel that they had a task-master over them, and sawed, and hammered, and planed, as if for dear life. "oh, no! this is not mr. toil, the schoolmaster," said the stranger. "it is another brother of his, who follows the trade of carpenter." "i am very glad to hear it," quoth daffydowndilly; "but if you please, sir, i should like to get out of his way as soon as possible." then they went on a little farther, and soon heard the sound of a drum and fife. daffydowndilly pricked up his ears at this, and besought his companion to hurry forward, that they might not miss seeing the soldiers. accordingly they made what haste they could, and soon met a company of soldiers gaily dressed, with beautiful feathers in their caps, and bright muskets on their shoulders. in front marched two drummers and two fifers, beating on their drums and making such lively music that little daffydowndilly would gladly have followed them to the end of the world. and if he was only a soldier, then, he said to himself, old mr. toil would never venture to look him in the face. "quick step! forward march!" shouted a gruff voice. little daffydowndilly started, in great dismay; for this voice which had spoken to the soldiers sounded precisely the same as that which he had heard every day in mr. toil's school-room, out of mr. toil's own mouth. and, turning his eyes to the captain of the company, what should he see but the very image of old mr. toil himself, with a smart cap and feather on his head, a pair of gold epaulets on his shoulders, a laced coat on his back, a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword, instead of a birch rod, in his hand. and though he held his head so high, and strutted like a turkey-cock, still he looked quite as ugly and disagreeable as when he was hearing lessons in the school-room. "this is certainly old mr. toil," said daffydowndilly, in a trembling voice. "let us run away for fear he should make us enlist in his company!" "you are mistaken again, my little friend," replied the stranger, very composedly. "this is not mr. toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who has served in the army all his life. people say he's a terribly severe fellow; but you and i need not be afraid of him." "well, well," said little daffydowndilly, "but if you please, sir, i don't want to see the soldiers any more." so the child and the stranger resumed their journey; and, by and by, they came to a house by the road-side, where a number of people were making merry. young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with smiles on their faces, were dancing to the sound of a fiddle. it was the pleasantest sight that daffydowndilly had yet met with, and it comforted him for all his disappointments. "oh, let us stop here," cried he to his companion; "for mr. toil will never dare to show his face where there is a fiddler, and where people are dancing and making merry. we shall be quite safe here!" but these last words died away upon daffydowndilly's tongue; for, happening to cast his eyes on the fiddler, whom should he behold again but the likeness of mr. toil, holding a fiddle-bow instead of a birch rod, and flourishing it with as much ease and dexterity as if he had been a fiddler all his life! he had somewhat the air of a frenchman, but still looked exactly like the old schoolmaster; and daffydowndilly even fancied that he nodded and winked at him, and made signs for him to join in the dance. "oh, dear me!" whispered he, turning pale, "it seems as if there was nobody but mr. toil in the world. who could have thought of his playing on a fiddle!" "this is not your old schoolmaster," observed the stranger, "but another brother of his, who was bred in france, where he learned the profession of a fiddler. he is ashamed of his family, and generally calls himself monsieur le plaisir; but his real name is toil, and those who have known him best think him still more disagreeable than his brothers." "oh, take me back!--take me back!" cried poor little daffydowndilly, bursting into tears. "if there is nothing but toil all the world over, i may just as well go back to the school-house!" "yonder it is,--there is the school-house!" said the stranger, for though he and daffydowndilly had taken a great many steps, they had travelled in a circle instead of a straight line. "come; we will go back to school together." there was something in his companion's voice that little daffydowndilly now remembered, and it is strange that he had not remembered it sooner. looking up into his face, behold! there again was the likeness of old mr. toil; so that the poor child had been in company with toil all day, even while he was doing his best to run away from him. some people, to whom i have told little daffydowndilly's story, are of the opinion that old mr. toil was a magician, and possessed the power of multiplying himself into as many shapes as he saw fit. be this as it may, little daffydowndilly had learned a good lesson, and from that time forward was diligent at his task, because he knew that diligence is not a whit more toilsome than sport or idleness. and when he became better acquainted with mr. toil, he began to think that his ways were not so very disagreeable, and that the old schoolmaster's smile of approbation made his face almost as pleasant as even that of daffydowndilly's mother. nathaniel hawthorne the sandpiper across the narrow beach we flit, one little sandpiper and i; and fast i gather, bit by bit, the scattered driftwood bleached and dry. the wild waves reach their hands for it, the wild wind raves, the tide runs high, as up and down the beach we flit,-- one little sandpiper and i. above our heads the sullen clouds scud black and swift across the sky: like silent ghosts in misty shrouds stand out the white lighthouses high. almost as far as eye can reach i see the close-reefed vessels fly, as fast we flit along the beach,-- one little sandpiper and i. i watch him as he skims along, uttering his sweet and mournful cry; he starts not at my fitful song, or flash of fluttering drapery; he has no thought of any wrong, he scans me with a fearless eye. stanch friends are we, well-tried and strong, the little sandpiper and i. comrade, where wilt thou be to-night when the loosed storm breaks furiously? my driftwood-fire will burn so bright! to what warm shelter canst thou fly? i do not fear for thee, though wroth the tempest rushes through the sky: for are we not god's children both, thou, little sandpiper, and i? celia thaxter from "the sermon on the mount" blessed are the poor in spirit: for their's is the kingdom of heaven. blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see god. blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of god. again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time, thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the lord thine oaths. but i say unto you, swear not at all; neither by heaven; for it is god's throne: nor by the earth; for it is his footstool: neither by jerusalem; for it is the city of the great king. neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. ye have heard that it hath been said, thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. but i say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. for if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same? and if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so? be ye therefore perfect, even as your father which is in heaven is perfect. st. matthew, v. the legend of saint christopher for many a year saint christopher served god in many a land; and master painters drew his face, with loving heart and hand, on altar fronts and churches' walls; and peasants used to say,-- to look on good saint christopher brought luck for all the day. for many a year, in lowly hut, the giant dwelt content upon the bank, and back and forth across the stream he went; and on his giant shoulders bore all travellers who came, by night, by day, or rich or poor, all in king jesus' name. but much he doubted if the king his work would note or know, and often with a weary heart he waded to and fro. one night, as wrapped in sleep he lay, he sudden heard a call,-- "o christopher, come, carry me!" he sprang, looked out, but all was dark and silent on the shore, "it must be that i dreamed," he said, and laid him down again; but instantly there seemed again the feeble, distant cry,-- "oh, come and carry me!" again he sprang and looked: again no living thing could see. the third time came the plaintive voice, like infant's, soft and weak; with lantern strode the giant forth, more carefully to seek. down on the bank a little child he found,--a piteous sight,-- who weeping, earnestly implored to cross that very night. with gruff good will he picked him up, and on his neck to ride he tossed him, as men play with babes, and plunged into the tide. but as the water closed around his knees, the infant's weight grew heavier, and heavier, until it was so great the giant scarce could stand upright, his staff shook in his hand, his mighty knees bent under him, he barely reached the land. and, staggering, set the infant down, and turned to scan his face; when, lo! he saw a halo bright which lit up all the place. then christopher fell down, afraid at marvel of the thing, and dreamed not that it was the face of jesus christ, his king. until the infant spoke, and said: "o christopher, behold! i am the lord whom thou hast served, rise up, be glad and bold! "for i have seen and noted well, thy works of charity; and that thou art my servant good a token thou shalt see. plant firmly here upon this bank thy stalwart staff of pine, and it shall blossom and bear fruit, this very hour, in sign." then, vanishing, the infant smiled. the giant, left alone, saw on the bank, with luscious dates, his stout pine staff bent down. i think the lesson is as good to-day as it was then-- as good to us called christians as to the heathen men-- the lesson of saint christopher, who spent his strength for others, and saved his soul by working hard to help and save his brothers! helen hunt jackson william tell and his son the sun already shone brightly as william tell entered the town of altorf, and he advanced at once to the public place, where the first object that caught his eyes was a handsome cap, embroidered with gold, stuck upon the end of a long pole. soldiers were walking around it in silence, and the people of altorf, as they passed, bowed their head to the symbol of authority. the cap had been set up by gessler, the austrian commander, for the purpose of discovering those who were not submissive to the austrian power, which had ruled the people of the swiss cantons for a long time with great severity. he suspected that the people were about to break into rebellion, and with a view to learn who were the most discontented, he had placed the ducal cap of austria on this pole, publicly proclaiming that every one passing near, or within sight of it, should bow before it, in proof of his homage to the duke. tell was much surprised at this new and strange attempt to humble the people, and, leaning on his cross-bow, gazed scornfully on them and the soldiers. berenger, captain of the guard, at length observed this man, who alone amidst the cringing crowd carried his head erect. he ordered him to be seized and disarmed by the soldiers, and then conducted him to gessler, who put some questions to him, which he answered so haughtily that gessler was both surprised and angry. suddenly, he was struck by the likeness between him and the boy walter tell, whom he had seized and put in prison the previous day for uttering some seditious words; he immediately asked his name, which he no sooner heard than he knew him to be the archer so famous, as the best marksman in the canton. gessler at once resolved to punish both father and son at the same time, by a method which was perhaps the most refined act of torture which man ever imagined. as soon, then, as the youth was brought out, the governor turned to tell, and said: "i have often heard of thy great skill as an archer, and i now intend to put it to the proof. thy son shall be placed at a distance of a hundred yards, with an apple on his head. if thou strikest the apple with thy arrow, i will pardon you both; but if thou refusest this trial, thy son shall die before thine eyes." tell implored gessler to spare him so cruel a trial, in which he might perhaps kill his beloved boy with his own hand. the governor would not alter his purpose; so tell at last agreed to shoot at the apple, as the only chance of saving his son's life. walter stood with his back to a linden tree. gessler, some distance behind, watched every motion. his cross-bow and one arrow were handed to tell; he tried the point, broke the weapon, and demanded his quiver. it was brought to him and emptied at his feet. he stooped down, and taking a long time to choose an arrow, he managed to hide a second in his girdle. after being in doubt a long time, his whole soul beaming in his face, his love for his son rendering him almost powerless, he at length roused himself--drew the bow--aimed--shot--and the apple, struck to the core, was carried away by the arrow. the market-place of altorf was filled by loud cheers. walter flew to embrace his father, who, overcome by his emotion, fell fainting to the ground, thus exposing the second arrow to view. gessler stood over him, awaiting his recovery, which speedily taking place, tell rose, and turned away from the governor with horror. the latter, however, scarcely yet believing his senses, thus addressed him: "incomparable archer, i will keep my promise; but what needed you with that second arrow which i see in your girdle?" tell replied: "it is the custom of the bowmen of uri to have always one arrow in reserve." "nay, nay," said gessler, "tell me thy real motive; and, whatever it may have been, speak frankly, and thy life is spared." "the second shaft," replied tell, "was to pierce thy heart, tyrant, if i had chanced to harm my son." chamber's "tracts." a midsummer song o, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, and jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, and whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, while mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will: "polly!--polly!--the cows are in the corn! o, where's polly?" from all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound-- a murmur as of waters from skies and trees and ground. the birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo, and over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: "polly!--polly!--the cows are in the corn! o, where's polly?" above the trees the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom, and in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom. within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, and down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose. but polly!--polly!--the cows are in the corn! o, where's polly? how strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter! the farmer's wife is listening now and wonders what's the matter. o, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, while whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill. but polly!--polly!--the cows are in the corn! o, where's polly? richard watson gilder the relief of lucknow on every side death stared us in the face; no human skill could avert it any longer. we saw the moment approach when we must bid farewell to earth, yet without feeling that unutterable horror which must have been experienced by the unhappy victims at cawnpore. we were resolved rather to die than yield, and were fully persuaded that in twenty-four hours all would be over. the engineer had said so, and all knew the worst. we women strove to encourage each other, and to perform the light duties which had been assigned to us, such as conveying orders to the batteries, and supplying the men with provisions, especially cups of coffee, which we prepared day and night. i had gone out to try to make myself useful, in company with jessie brown, the wife of a corporal in my husband's regiment. poor jessie had been in a state of restless excitement all through the siege, and had fallen away visibly within the last few days. a constant fever consumed her, and her mind wandered occasionally, especially that day when the recollections of home seemed powerfully present to her. at last, overcome with fatigue, she lay down on the ground, wrapped up in her plaid. i sat beside her, promising to awaken her when, as she said, her "father should return from the ploughing." she fell at length into a profound slumber, motionless and apparently breathless, her head resting in my lap. i myself could no longer resist the inclination to sleep, in spite of the continual roar of the cannon. suddenly i was aroused by a wild, unearthly scream close to my ear; my companion stood upright beside me, her arms raised, and her head bent forward in the attitude of listening. a look of intense delight broke over her countenance. she grasped my hand, drew me toward her, and exclaimed: "dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it? aye. i'm no dreaming: it's the slogan o' the highlanders! we're saved! we're saved!" then, flinging herself on her knees, she thanked god with passionate fervour. i felt utterly bewildered; my english ears heard only the roar of artillery, and i thought my poor jessie was still raving, but she darted to the batteries, and i heard her cry incessantly to the men: "courage! courage! hark to the slogan--to the macgregor, the grandest of them a'! here's help at last!" to describe the effect of these words upon the soldiers would be impossible. for a moment they ceased firing, and every soul listened with intense anxiety. gradually, however, there arose a murmur of bitter disappointment, and the wailing of the women, who had flocked to the spot, burst out anew as the colonel shook his head. our dull lowland ears heard only the rattle of the musketry. a few moments more of this deathlike suspense, of this agonizing hope, and jessie, who had again sunk on the ground, sprang to her feet, and cried in a voice so clear and piercing that it was heard along the whole line: "will ye no believe it noo? the slogan has ceased, indeed, but the campbells are comin'! d'ye hear? d'ye hear?" at that moment all seemed, indeed, to hear the voice of god in the distance, when the pibroch of the highlanders brought us tidings of deliverance; for now there was no longer any doubt of the fact. that shrill, penetrating, ceaseless sound, which rose above all other sounds, could come neither from the advance of the enemy nor from the work of the sappers. no, it was, indeed, the blast of the scottish bagpipes, now shrill and harsh, as threatening vengeance on the foe, then in softer tones, seeming to promise succour to their friends in need. never, surely, was there such a scene as that which followed. not a heart in the residency of lucknow but bowed itself before god. all, by one simultaneous impulse, fell upon their knees, and nothing was heard but bursting sobs and the murmured voice of prayer. then all arose, and there rang out from a thousand lips a great shout of joy, which resounded far and wide, and lent new vigour to that blessed pibroch. to our cheer of "god save the queen," they replied by the well-known strain that moves every scot to tears, "should auld acquaintance be forgot." after that, nothing else made any impression on me. i scarcely remember what followed. jessie was presented to the general on his entrance into the fort, and at the officers' banquet her health was drunk by all present, while the pipers marched around the table, playing once more the familiar air of "auld lang syne." "letter from an officer's wife." the song in camp "give us a song!" the soldiers cried, the outer trenches guarding, when the heated guns of the camps allied grew weary of bombarding. the dark redan, in silent scoff, lay, grim and threatening, under; and the tawny mound of the malakoff no longer belched its thunder. there was a pause. a guardsman said: "we storm the forts to-morrow; sing while we may, another day will bring enough of sorrow." they lay along the battery's side, below the smoking cannon: brave hearts, from severn and from clyde, and from the banks of shannon. they sang of love, and not of fame; forgot was britain's glory: each heart recalled a different name, but all sang "annie laurie." voice after voice caught up the song, until its tender passion rose like an anthem, rich and strong,-- their battle-eve confession. dear girl, her name he dared not speak, but, as the song grew louder, something upon the soldier's cheek washed off the stains of powder. beyond the darkening ocean burned the bloody sunset's embers, while the crimean valleys learned how english love remembers. and once again a fire of hell rained on the russian quarters, with scream of shot, and burst of shell, and bellowing of the mortars! and irish nora's eyes are dim for a singer, dumb and gory; and english mary mourns for him who sang of "annie laurie." sleep, soldiers! still in honoured rest your truth and valour wearing: the bravest are the tenderest,-- the loving are the daring. bayard taylor afterglow after the clangour of battle there comes a moment of rest, and the simple hopes and the simple joys and the simple thoughts are best. after the victor's pæan, after the thunder of gun, there comes a lull that must come to all before the set of the sun. then what is the happiest memory? is it the foe's defeat? is it the splendid praise of a world that thunders by at your feet? nay, nay, to the life-worn spirit the happiest thoughts are those that carry us back to the simple joys and the sweetness of life's repose. a simple love and a simple trust and a simple duty done, are truer torches to light to death than a whole world's victories won. wilfred campbell king richard and saladin saladin led the way to a splendid pavilion where was everything that royal luxury could devise. de vaux, who was in attendance, then removed the long riding-cloak which richard wore, and he stood before saladin in the close dress which showed to advantage the strength and symmetry of his person, while it bore a strong contrast to the flowing robes which disguised the thin frame of the eastern monarch. it was richard's two-handed sword that chiefly attracted the attention of the saracen--a broad straight blade, the seemingly unwieldy length of which extended wellnigh from the shoulder to the heel of the wearer. "had i not," said saladin, "seen this brand flaming in the front of battle, like that of azrael, i had scarce believed that human arm could wield it. might i request to see the melech ric strike one blow with it in peace and in pure trial of strength?" "willingly, noble saladin," answered richard; and looking around for something whereon to exercise his strength, he saw a steel mace, held by one of the attendants, the handle being of the same metal, and about an inch and a half in diameter. this he placed on a block of wood. the glittering broadsword, wielded by both his hands, rose aloft to the king's left shoulder, circled round his head, descended with the sway of some terrific engine, and the bar of iron rolled on the ground in two pieces, as a woodman would sever a sapling with a hedging-bill. "by the head of the prophet, a most wonderful blow!" said the soldan, critically and accurately examining the iron bar which had been cut asunder; and the blade of the sword was so well tempered as to exhibit not the least token of having suffered by the feat it had performed. he then took the king's hand, and looking on the size and muscular strength which it exhibited, laughed as he placed it beside his own, so lank and thin, so inferior in brawn and sinew. "ay, look well," said de vaux in english, "it will be long ere your long jackanape's fingers do such a feat with your fine gilded reaping-hook there." "silence, de vaux," said richard; "by our lady, he understands or guesses thy meaning--be not so broad, i pray thee." the soldan, indeed, presently said: "something i would fain attempt, though wherefore should the weak show their inferiority in presence of the strong? yet, each land hath its own exercises, and this may be new to the melech ric." so saying, he took from the floor a cushion of silk and down, and placed it upright on one end. "can thy weapon, my brother, sever that cushion?" he said to king richard. "no, surely," replied the king; "no sword on earth, were it the excalibur of king arthur, can cut that which opposes no steady resistance to the blow." "mark, then," said saladin; and tucking up the sleeve of his gown, showed his arm, thin indeed and spare, but which constant exercise had hardened into a mass consisting of nought but bone, brawn, and sinew. he unsheathed his scimitar, a curved and narrow blade, which glittered not like the swords of the franks, but was, on the contrary, of a dull blue colour, marked with ten millions of meandering lines, which showed how anxiously the metal had been welded by the armourer. wielding this weapon, apparently so inefficient when compared to that of richard, the soldan stood resting his weight upon his left foot, which was slightly advanced; he balanced himself a little as if to steady his aim, then, stepping at once forward, drew the scimitar across the cushion, applying the edge so dexterously and with so little apparent effort, that the cushion seemed rather to fall asunder than to be divided by violence. "it is a juggler's trick," said de vaux, darting forward and snatching up the portion of the cushion which had been cut off, as if to assure himself of the reality of the feat; "there is gramarye in this." the soldan seemed to comprehend him, for he undid the sort of veil which he had hitherto worn, laid it double along the edge of his sabre, extended the weapon edgeways in the air, and drawing it suddenly through the veil, although it hung on the blade entirely loose, severed that also into two parts, which floated to different sides of the tent, equally displaying the extreme temper and sharpness of the weapon and the exquisite dexterity of him who used it. "now, in good faith, my brother," said richard, "thou art even matchless at the trick of the sword, and right perilous were it to meet thee. still, however, i put some faith in a downright english blow, and what we cannot do by sleight we eke out by strength. nevertheless, in truth thou art as expert in inflicting wounds as my sage hakim in curing them. i trust i shall see the learned leech; i have much to thank him for, and had brought some small present." as he spoke, saladin exchanged his turban for a tartar cap. he had no sooner done so, than de vaux opened at once his extended mouth and his large round eyes, and richard gazed with scarce less astonishment, while the soldan spoke in a grave and altered voice: "the sick man, sayeth the poet, while he is yet infirm, knoweth the physician by his step; but when he is recovered, he knoweth not even his face when he looks upon him." "a miracle!--a miracle!" exclaimed richard. "of mahound's working, doubtless," said thomas de vaux. "that i should lose my learned hakim," said richard, "merely by absence of his cap and robe, and that i should find him again in my royal brother saladin!" "such is oft the fashion of the world," answered the soldan: "the tattered robe makes not always the dervish." scott: "the talisman." england's dead son of the ocean isle! where sleep your mighty dead? show me what high and stately pile is reared o'er glory's bed. go, stranger! track the deep-- free, free, the white sail spread! wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, where rest not england's dead. on egypt's burning plains, by the pyramid o'erswayed, with fearful power the noonday reigns, and the palm trees yield no shade;-- but let the angry sun from heaven look fiercely red, unfelt by those whose task is done!-- there slumber england's dead. the hurricane hath might along the indian shore, and far by ganges' banks at night, is heard the tiger's roar;-- but let the sound roll on! it hath no tone of dread for those that from their toils are gone,-- there slumber england's dead. loud rush the torrent-floods the western wilds among, and free, in green columbia's woods, the hunter's bow is strung;-- but let the floods rush on! let the arrow's flight be sped! why should they reck whose task is done?-- there slumber england's dead. the mountain-storms rise high in the snowy pyrenees, and toss the pine-boughs through the sky like rose-leaves on the breeze;-- but let the storm rage on! let the fresh wreaths be shed! for the roncesvalles' field is won,-- there slumber england's dead. on the frozen deep's repose 'tis a dark and dreadful hour, when round the ship the ice-fields close, and the northern night-clouds lower;-- but let the ice drift on! let the cold-blue desert spread! their course with mast and flag is done, even there sleep england's dead. the warlike of the isles, the men of field and wave! are not the rocks their funeral piles, the seas and shores their grave? go, stranger! track the deep-- free, free the white sail spread! wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, where rest not england's dead. felicia hemans hohenlinden on linden, when the sun was low, all bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, and dark as winter was the flow of iser, rolling rapidly. but linden saw another sight, when the drum beat, at dead of night, commanding fires of death to light the darkness of her scenery. by torch and trumpet fast arrayed each horseman drew his battle-blade, and furious every charger neighed, to join the dreadful revelry. then shook the hills with thunder riven, then rushed the steed to battle driven, and louder than the bolts of heaven, far flashed the red artillery. but redder yet that light shall glow on linden's hills of stainèd snow, and bloodier yet the torrent flow of iser, rolling rapidly. 'tis morn, but scarce yon level sun can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, where furious frank, and fiery hun, shout in their sulph'rous canopy. the combat deepens. on, ye brave, who rush to glory, or the grave! wave, munich! all thy banners wave, and charge with all thy chivalry! few, few, shall part where many meet! the snow shall be their winding-sheet, and every turf beneath their feet shall be a soldier's sepulchre. thomas campbell the dream of the oak tree there stood in a wood, high on the bank near the open sea-shore, such a grand old oak tree! it was three hundred and sixty-five years old; but all this length of years had seemed to the tree scarcely more than so many days appear to us men and women, boys and girls. a tree's life is not quite the same as a man's: we wake during the day, and sleep and dream during the night; but a tree wakes throughout three seasons of the year, and has no sleep till winter comes. the winter is its sleeping time--its night after the long day which we call spring, summer, and autumn. it was just at the holy christmas-tide that the oak tree dreamed his most beautiful dream. he seemed to hear the church-bells ringing all around, and to feel as if it were a mild, warm summer day. fresh and green he reared his mighty crown on high, and the sunbeams played among his leaves. as in a festive procession, all that the tree had beheld in his life now passed by. knights and ladies, with feathers in their caps and hawks perching on their wrists, rode gaily through the wood; dogs barked, and the huntsman sounded his bugle. then came foreign soldiers in bright armour and gay vestments, bearing spurs and halberds, setting up their tents, and presently taking them down again. then watch-fires blazed up and bands of wild outlaws sang, revelled, and slept under the tree's outstretched boughs; or happy lovers met in quiet moonlight and carved their initials on the grayish bark. at one time a guitar and an Æolian harp had been hung among the old oak's boughs by merry travelling apprentices; now they hung there again, and the wind played sweetly with their strings. and now the dream changed. a new and stronger current of life flowed through him, down to his lowest roots, up to his highest twigs, even to the very leaves. the tree felt in his roots that a warm life stirred in the earth, and that he was growing taller and taller; his trunk shot up more and more, his crown grew fuller; and still he soared and spread. he felt that his power grew, too, and he longed to advance higher and higher to the warm, bright sun. already he towered above the clouds, which drifted below him, now like a troop of dark-plumaged birds of passage, now like flocks of large, white swans. the stars became visible by daylight, so large and bright, each one sparkling like a mild, clear eye. it was a blessed moment! and yet, in the height of his joy, the oak tree felt a desire and longing that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers of the wood might be lifted up with him to share in his glory and gladness. he could not be fully blessed unless he might have all, small and great, blessed with him. the tree's crown bowed itself as though it had missed something, and looked backward. then he felt the fragrance of honeysuckle and violets, and fancied he could hear the birds. and so it was! for now peeped forth through the clouds the green summits of the wood; the other trees below had grown and lifted themselves up likewise; bushes and herbs shot high into the air, some tearing themselves loose from their roots to mount the faster. like a flash of white lightning the birch, moving fastest of all, shot upward its slender stem. even the feathery brown reeds had pierced their way through the clouds, and the birds sang and sang, and on the grass that fluttered to and fro like a streaming ribbon perched the grasshopper, while cockchafers hummed and bees buzzed. all was music and gladness. "but the little blue flower near the water--i want that, too," said the oak; "and the bellflower, and the dear little daisy." "we are here! we are here!" chanted sweet low voices on all sides. "but the pretty anemones, and the bed of lilies of the valley, and all the flowers that bloomed so long ago,--would that they were here!" "we are here! we are here!" was the answer, and it seemed to come from the air above, as if they had fled upward first. "oh, this is too great happiness!" exclaimed the oak tree; and now he felt that his own roots were loosening themselves from the earth. "this is best of all," he said. "now no bounds shall detain me. i can soar to the heights of light and glory, and i have all my dear ones with me." such was the oak tree's christmas dream. and all the while a mighty storm swept the sea and land; the ocean rolled his heavy billows on the shore, the tree cracked, and was rent and torn up by the roots at the very moment when he dreamed that he was soaring to the skies. next day the sea was calm again, and a large vessel that had weathered the storm hoisted all its flags for merry christmas. "the tree is gone--the old oak tree, our beacon! how can its place ever be supplied?" said the crew. this was the tree's funeral eulogium, while the christmas hymn re-echoed from the wood. hans christian andersen (adapted) a prayer the day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns and duties. help us to play the man, help us to perform them with laughter and kind faces; let cheerfulness abound with industry. give us to go blithely on our business all this day, bring us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonoured; and grant us in the end the gift of sleep. r. l. stevenson [illustration: in the pasture] the death of the flowers the melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; they rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. the robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs, the jay, and from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood in brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. the rain is falling where they lie, but the cold november rain calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. the wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, and the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; but on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, and the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, and the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. and now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, to call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home, when the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, and twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, the south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, and sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. bryant 'tis the last rose of summer 'tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone; all her lovely companions are faded and gone; no flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh, to reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh. i'll not leave thee, thou lone one! to pine on the stem; since the lovely are sleeping, go, sleep thou with them. thus kindly i scatter thy leaves o'er the bed, where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead. so soon may i follow, when friendships decay, and from love's shining circle the gems drop away. when true hearts lie withered, and fond ones are flown, oh! who would inhabit this bleak world alone! moore a roman's honour the romans had suffered a terrible defeat in b.c. , and regulus, a famous soldier and senator, had been captured and dragged into carthage where the victors feasted and rejoiced through half the night, and testified their thanks to their god by offering in his fires the bravest of their captives. regulus himself was not, however, one of these victims. he was kept a close prisoner for two years, pining and sickening in his loneliness; while, in the meantime, the war continued, and at last a victory so decisive was gained by the romans, that the people of carthage were discouraged, and resolved to ask terms of peace. they thought that no one would be so readily listened to at rome as regulus, and they therefore sent him there with their envoys, having first made him swear that he would come back to his prison, if there should neither be peace nor an exchange of prisoners. they little knew how much more a true-hearted roman cared for his city than for himself--for his word than for his life. worn and dejected, the captive warrior came to the outside of the gates of his own city and there paused, refusing to enter. "i am no longer a roman citizen," he said; "i am but the barbarian's slave, and the senate may not give audience to strangers within the walls." his wife, marcia, ran out to greet him, with his two sons, but he did not look up, and received their caresses as one beneath their notice, as a mere slave, and he continued, in spite of all entreaty, to remain outside the city, and would not even go to the little farm he had loved so well. the roman senate, as he would not come in to them, came out to hold their meeting in the campagna. the ambassadors spoke first; then regulus, standing up, said, as one repeating a task: "conscript fathers, being a slave to the carthaginians, i come on the part of my masters to treat with you concerning peace and an exchange of prisoners." he then turned to go away with the ambassadors, as a stranger might not be present at the deliberations of the senate. his old friends pressed him to stay and give his opinion as a senator, who had twice been consul; but he refused to degrade that dignity by claiming it, slave as he was. but, at the command of his carthaginian masters, he remained, though not taking his seat. then he spoke. he told the senators to persevere in the war. he said he had seen the distress of carthage, and that a peace would be only to her advantage, not to that of rome, and therefore he strongly advised that the war should continue. then, as to the exchange of prisoners, the carthaginian generals, who were in the hands of the romans, were in full health and strength, whilst he himself was too much broken down to be fit for service again; and, indeed, he believed that his enemies had given him a slow poison, and that he could not live long. thus he insisted that no exchange of prisoners should be made. it was wonderful, even to romans, to hear a man thus pleading against himself; and their chief priest came forward and declared that, as his oath had been wrested from him by force, he was not bound by it to return to his captivity. but regulus was too noble to listen to this for a moment. "have you resolved to dishonour me?" he said. "i am not ignorant that death and the extremest tortures are preparing for me; but what are these to the shame of an infamous action, or the wounds of a guilty mind? slave as i am to carthage, i have still the spirit of a roman. i have sworn to return. it is my duty to go; let the gods take care of the rest." the senate decided to follow the advice of regulus, though they bitterly regretted his sacrifice. his wife wept and entreated in vain that they would detain him--they could merely repeat their permission to him to remain; but nothing could prevail with him to break his word, and he turned back to the chains and death he expected, as calmly as if he had been returning to his home. this was in the year b.c. . charlotte m. yonge: "book of golden deeds." the fighting tÉmÉraire it was eight bells ringing, for the morning watch was done, and the gunner's lads were singing, as they polished every gun. it was eight bells ringing, and the gunner's lads were singing for the ship she rode a-swinging, as they polished every gun. _oh! to see the linstock lighting, téméraire! téméraire! oh! to hear the round shot biting, téméraire! téméraire! oh! to see the linstock lighting, and to hear the round shot biting, for we're all in love with fighting on the fighting téméraire._ it was noontide ringing, and the battle just begun, when the ship her way was winging, as they loaded every gun. it was noontide ringing when the ship her way was winging, and the gunner's lads were singing, as they loaded every gun. _there'll be many grim and gory, téméraire! téméraire! there'll be few to tell the story, téméraire! téméraire! there'll be many grim and gory, there'll be few to tell the story, but we'll all be one in glory with the fighting téméraire._ there's a far bell ringing at the setting of the sun, and a phantom voice is singing of the great days done. there's a far bell ringing, and a phantom voice is singing of renown for ever clinging to the great days done. _now the sunset breezes shiver, téméraire! téméraire! and she's fading down the river, téméraire! téméraire! now the sunset breezes shiver, and she's fading down the river, but in england's song for ever she's the fighting téméraire._ henry newbolt don quixote's fight with the windmills "i beseech your worship, sir knight-errant," quoth sancho to his master, "be sure you don't forget what you promised me about the island; for i dare say i shall make shift to govern it, let it be never so big." "you must know, friend sancho," replied don quixote, "that it has been the constant practice of knights-errant in former ages to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they conquered." as they were thus discoursing, they discovered some thirty or forty windmills that are in that plain; and as soon as the knight had spied them, "fortune," cried he, "directs our affairs better than we ourselves could have wished: look yonder, friend sancho, there are at least thirty outrageous giants, whom i intend to encounter; and having deprived them of life, we will begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils; for they are lawful prize; and the extirpation of that cursed brood will be an acceptable service to heaven." "what giants?" quoth sancho panza. "those whom thou seest yonder," answered don quixote, "with their long extended arms; some of that detested race have arms of so immense a size, that sometimes they reach two leagues in length." "pray look better, sir," quoth sancho; "those things yonder are no giants, but windmills, and the arms you fancy, are their sails, which being whirled about by the wind, make the mill go." "'tis a sign," cried don quixote, "thou art but little acquainted with adventures! i tell thee, they are giants; and therefore if thou art afraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for i am resolved to engage in a dreadful unequal combat against them all." this said, he clapped spurs to his horse rozinante, without giving ear to his squire sancho, who bawled out to him, and assured him that they were windmills, and no giants. but he was so fully possessed with a strong conceit of the contrary, that he did not so much as hear his squire's outcry, nor was he sensible of what they were, although he was already very near them; far from that: "stand, cowards," cried he, as loud as he could; "stand your ground, ignoble creatures, and fly not basely from a single knight, who dares encounter you all!" at the same time, the wind rising, the mill-sails began to move, which when don quixote spied, "base miscreants," cried he, "though you move more arms than the giant briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance." he most devoutly recommended himself to his lady dulcinea, imploring her assistance in this perilous adventure; and, so covering himself with his shield, and couching his lance, he rushed with rozinante's utmost speed upon the first windmill he could come at, and running his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidity of the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled away both knight and horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good way off in the field. sancho panza ran as fast as his ass could drive to help his master, whom he found lying, and not able to stir, such a blow had he and rozinante received. "mercy o' me!" cried sancho, "did not i give your worship fair warning? did not i tell you they were windmills, and that nobody could think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head!" "peace, friend sancho," replied don quixote: "there is nothing so subject to the inconstancy of fortune as war. i am verily persuaded that cursed necromancer, freston, who carried away my study and my books, has transformed these giants into windmills to deprive me of the honour of the victory; such is his inveterate malice against me; but in the end, all his pernicious wiles and stratagems shall prove ineffectual against the prevailing edge of my sword." "amen, say i," replied sancho. and so heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted poor rozinante, that was half shoulder-slipped with his fall. this adventure was the subject of their discourse, as they made the best of their way towards the pass of lapice, for don quixote took that road, believing he could not miss of adventure in one so mightily frequented. however, the loss of his lance was no small affliction to him; and as he was making his complaint about it to his squire, "i have read," said he, "friend sancho, that a certain spanish knight, having broken his sword in the heat of an engagement, pulled up by the roots a huge oak tree, or at least tore down a massy branch, and did such wonderful execution, crushing and grinding so many moors with it that day, that he won himself and his posterity the surname of the pounder, or bruiser. i tell thee this, because i intend to tear up the next oak or holm tree we meet; with the trunk whereof i hope to perform such wondrous deeds that thou wilt esteem thyself particularly happy in having had the honour to behold them, and been the ocular witness of achievements which posterity will scarce be able to believe." "heaven grant you may," cried sancho; "i believe it all, because your worship says it. but, an't please you, sit a little more upright in your saddle; you ride sideling methinks; but that, i suppose, proceeds from your being bruised by the fall." "it does so," replied don quixote; "and if i do not complain of the pain, it is because a knight-errant must never complain of his wounds." "then i have no more to say," quoth sancho; "and yet heaven knows my heart, i should be glad to hear your worship groan a little now and then when something ails you: for my part, i shall not fail to bemoan myself when i suffer the smallest pain, unless, indeed, it can be proved that the rule of not complaining extends to the squires as well as knights." don quixote could not forbear smiling at the simplicity of his squire; and told him he gave him leave to complain not only when he pleased, but as much as he pleased, whether he had any cause or no; for he had never yet read anything to the contrary in any books of chivalry. cervantes: "the adventures of don quixote." the romance of the swan's nest little ellie sits alone 'mid the beeches of a meadow, by a stream-side on the grass, and the trees are showering down doubles of their leaves in shadow, on her shining hair and face. she has thrown her bonnet by, and her feet she has been dipping in the shallow water's flow. now she holds them nakedly in her hands, all sleek and dripping, while she rocketh to and fro. little ellie sits alone, and the smile she softly uses, fills the silence like a speech, while she thinks what shall be done,-- and the sweetest pleasure chooses for her future within reach. little ellie in her smile chooses ... "i will have a lover, riding on a steed of steeds! he shall love me without guile, and to _him_ i will discover the swan's nest among the reeds. "and the steed shall be red-roan, and the lover shall be noble, with an eye that takes the breath. and the lute he plays upon, shall strike ladies into trouble, as his sword strikes men to death. "and the steed it shall be shod all in silver, housed in azure; and the mane shall swim the wind; and the hoofs along the sod shall flash onward and keep measure, till the shepherds look behind. "but my lover will not prize all the glory that he rides in, when he gazes in my face. he will say: 'o love, thine eyes build the shrine my soul abides in, and i kneel here for thy grace.' "then, ay, then--he shall kneel low, with the red-roan steed anear him which shall seem to understand-- till i answer: 'rise and go!' for the world must love and fear him whom i gift with heart and hand. "then he will arise so pale, i shall feel my own lips tremble with a _yes_ i must not say, nathless maiden-brave, 'farewell,' i will utter, and dissemble-- 'light to-morrow with to-day.' "then he'll ride among the hills to the wide world past the river, there to put away all wrong; to make straight distorted wills, and to empty the broad quiver which the wicked bear along. "three times shall a young foot-page swim the stream and climb the mountain and kneel down beside my feet-- 'lo, my master sends this gage, lady, for thy pity's counting! what wilt thou exchange for it?' "and the first time, i will send a white rosebud for a guerdon,-- and the second time, a glove; but the third time--i may bend from my pride, and answer: 'pardon, if he comes to take my love.' "then the young foot-page will run-- then my lover will ride faster, till he kneeleth at my knee: 'i am a duke's eldest son! thousand serfs do call me master,-- but, o love, i love but _thee!_' "he will kiss me on the mouth then, and lead me as a lover through the crowds that praise his deeds: and, when soul-tied by one troth, unto _him_ i will discover that swan's nest among the reeds." little ellie, with her smile not yet ended, rose up gaily, tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, and went homeward, round a mile, just to see, as she did daily, what more eggs were with the two. pushing through the elm tree copse, winding up the stream, light-hearted, where the osier pathway leads-- past the boughs she stoops--and stops. lo, the wild swan had deserted,-- and a rat had gnawed the reeds. ellie went home sad and slow. if she found the lover ever, with his red-roan steed of steeds, sooth i know not! but i know she could never show him--never, that swan's nest among the reeds. e. b. browning [illustration: deep sea fishers] moonlight sonata it happened at bonn. one moonlight winter's evening i called upon beethoven; for i wished him to take a walk, and afterwards sup with me. in passing through a dark, narrow street, he suddenly paused. "hush!" he said, "what sound is that? it is from my sonata in f. hark! how well it is played!" it was a little, mean dwelling, and we paused outside and listened. the player went on; but, in the midst of the finale, there was a sudden break; then the voice of sobbing: "i cannot play any more. it is too beautiful; it is utterly beyond my power to do it justice. oh! what would i not give to go to the concert at cologne!" "ah! my sister," said her companion; "why create regrets when there is no remedy? we can scarcely pay our rent." "you are right, and yet i wish for once in my life to hear some really good music. but it is of no use." beethoven looked at me. "let us go in," he said. "go in!" i exclaimed. "what can we go in for?" "i will play to her," he said, in an excited tone. "here is feeling--genius--understanding! i will play to her, and she will understand it." and before i could prevent him his hand was upon the door. it opened and we entered. a pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes, and near him, leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned piano, sat a young girl, with a profusion of light hair falling over her face. "pardon me," said beethoven, "but i heard music and was tempted to enter. i am a musician." the girl blushed, and the young man looked grave and somewhat annoyed. "i--i also overheard something of what you said," continued my friend. "you wish to hear--that is, you would like--that is--shall i play for you?" there was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so comical and pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken in a moment. "thank you!" said the shoemaker; "but our piano is so wretched, and we have no music." "no music!" echoed my friend; "how, then, does the young lady--" he paused and coloured; for, as he looked in the girl's face, he saw that she was blind. "i--i entreat your pardon," he stammered. "i had not perceived before. then you play by ear? but when do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts?" "we lived at bruhl for two years, and while there i used to hear a lady practising near us. during the summer evenings her windows were generally open, and i walked to and fro outside to listen to her." she seemed so shy that beethoven said no more, but seated himself quietly before the piano and began to play. he had no sooner struck the first chord than i knew what would follow. never, during all the years i knew him, did i hear him play as he then played to that blind girl and her brother. he seemed to be inspired; and, from the instant that his fingers began to wander along the keys, the very tones of the instrument seemed to grow sweeter and more equal. the brother and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. the former laid aside his work; the latter, with her head bent slightly forward, and her hands pressed tightly over her breast, crouched down near the end of the piano, as if fearful lest even the beating of her heart should break the flow of those magical sounds. suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank, flickered, and went out. beethoven paused, and i threw open the shutters, admitting a flood of brilliant moonlight. the room was almost as light as before, the moon rays falling strongest upon the piano and the player. his head dropped upon his breast; his hands rested upon his knees; he seemed absorbed in deep thought. he remained thus for some time. at length the young shoemaker arose and approached him eagerly. "wonderful man!" he said, in a low tone. "who and what are you?" "listen!" said beethoven, and he played the opening bars of the sonata in f. a cry of recognition burst from them both, and exclaiming: "then you are beethoven!" they covered his hands with tears and kisses. he rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties. "play to us once more--only once more!" he suffered himself to be led back to the instrument. the moon shone brightly in through the window, and lighted up his glorious, rugged head and massive figure. "i will improvise a sonata to the moonlight!" said he, looking up thoughtfully to the sky and stars. then his hands dropped on the keys, and he began playing a sad and infinitely lovely movement, which crept gently over the instrument, like the calm flow of moonlight over the dark earth. this was followed by a wild, elfin passage in triple time--a sort of grotesque interlude, like the dance of spirits upon the lawn. then came a swift agitato finale--a breathless, hurrying, trembling movement, descriptive of flight, and uncertainty, and vague impulsive terror, which carried us away on its rustling wings, and left us all in emotion and wonder. "farewell to you!" said beethoven, pushing back his chair, and turning towards the door--"farewell to you!" "you will come again?" asked they in one breath. he paused and looked compassionately, almost tenderly, at the face of the blind girl. "yes, yes," he said hurriedly, "i will come again, and give the young lady some lessons! farewell! i will come again!" their looks followed us in silence more eloquent than words till we were out of sight. "let us make haste back," said beethoven, "that i may write out that sonata while i can yet remember it." we did so, and he sat over it till long past day dawn. and this was the origin of the moonlight sonata with which we are all so fondly acquainted. unknown the red-winged blackbird black beneath as the night, with wings of a morning glow, from his sooty throat three syllables float, ravishing, liquid, low; and 'tis oh, for the joy of june, and the bliss that ne'er can flee from that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall-- o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! long ago as a child, from the bough of a blossoming quince, that melody came to thrill my frame, and whenever i've caught it since, the spring-soft blue of the sky and the spring-bright bloom of the tree are a part of the strain--ah, hear it again!-- o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! and the night is tenderly black, the morning eagerly bright, for that old, old spring is blossoming in the soul and in the sight. the red-winged blackbird brings my lost youth back to me, when i hear in the swale, from a gray fence rail, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! ethelwyn wetherald to the cuckoo hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! thou messenger of spring! now heaven repairs thy rural seat, and woods thy welcome sing. what time the daisy decks the green, thy certain voice we hear. hast thou a star to guide thy path, or mark the rolling year? delightful visitant! with thee i hail the time of flowers, and hear the sound of music sweet from birds among the bowers. the school-boy, wandering through the wood to pull the primrose gay, starts, the new voice of spring to hear, and imitates thy lay. what time the pea puts on the bloom, thou fliest thy vocal vale, an annual guest in other lands, another spring to hail. sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, thy sky is ever clear; thou hast no sorrow in thy song, no winter in thy year! oh, could i fly, i'd fly with thee! we'd make, with joyful wing, our annual visit o'er the globe, companions of the spring. john logan the story of a stone a great many years ago, when nearly the whole of canada was covered with water, and the northern ocean, which washed the highest crests of the alleghanies, made an island of the laurentian hills, and wrote its name on the pictured rocks of lake superior, there lived somewhere near toronto, in the province of ontario, a little animal called a polyp. he was a curious creature, very small, not unlike a flower in appearance, a plant-animal. one day, the sun shone down into the water and set this little fellow free from the egg in which he was confined. for a time he floated about near the bottom of the ocean, but at last settled down on a bit of shell, and fastened himself to it. then he made an opening in his upper side, formed for himself a mouth and stomach, thrust out a whole row of feelers, and began catching whatever morsels of food came in his way. he had a great many strange ways, but the strangest of all was his gathering little bits of limestone from the water and building them up round him, as a person does who builds a well. but this little favosite, for that was his name, became lonesome on the bottom of that old ocean; so one night, when he was fast asleep and dreaming as only a coral animal can dream, there sprouted out of his side another little favosite, who very soon began to wall himself up as his parent had done. from these, other little favosites were formed, till at last there were so many of them, and they were so crowded together, that, to economize the limestone they built with, they had to make their cells six-sided, like those of a honey-comb: on this account they are called favosites. [illustration] the colony thrived for a long time, and accumulated quite a stock of limestone. but at last a change came: there was a great rush of muddy water from the land, and all the favosites died, leaving only a stony skeleton to prove that industrious polyps had ever existed there. this skeleton remained undisturbed for ages, until the earth began to rise inch by inch out of the water. then our favosites' home rose above the deep, and with it came all that was left of its old acquaintances the trilobites, who were the ancestors of our crabs and lobsters. [illustration: trilobite] then the first fishes made their appearance, great fierce-looking fellows like the gar pike of our lakes, but larger, and armed with scales as hard as the armour of a crocodile. next came the sharks, as savage and voracious as they now are, with teeth like knives. but the time of these old fishes and of many more animals came and went, and still the home of the favosites lay in the ground. then came the long, hot, damp epoch, when thick mists hung over the earth, and great ferns and rushes, as stout as an oak and as tall as a steeple, grew in nova scotia, in pennsylvania, and in other parts of america where coal is now found. huge reptiles, with enormous jaws and teeth like cross-cut saws, and smaller ones with wings like bats, next appeared and added to the strangeness of the scene. but the reptiles died; the ferns and the rush-trees fell into their native swamps, and were covered up and packed away under great layers of clay and sand brought down by the rivers, till at last they were turned into coal, forming for us, what someone has called, beds of petrified sunshine. but all this while the skeleton of the favosites lay undisturbed. then the mists cleared away as gradually as they had come, the sun shone out, the grass grew, and strange four-footed animals came and fed upon it. among these were odd-looking little horses no bigger than foxes; great hairy monsters larger than elephants, with tremendous tusks; hogs with snouts nearly as long as their bodies; and other strange creatures that no man has ever seen alive. but still the house of the favosites remained where it was. next came the great winter, and it continued to snow till the mountains were hidden. then the snow was packed into ice, and canada became one solid glacier. this ice age continued for many thousands of years. at last the ice began to melt, and the glacier came slowly down the slopes, tearing up rocks, little and big, and crushing and grinding and carrying away everything in its course. it ploughed its way across ontario, and the skeleton of our favosites was rooted out from the quiet place where it had lain so long, and was caught up in a crevice of the ice. the glacier slid along, melting all the while, and covering the land with clay, pebbles, and boulders. at last it stopped, and as it gradually melted away, all the rocks and stones and dirt it had carried with it thus far, were deposited into one great heap, and the home of the favosites along with them. ages afterwards a farmer, near toronto, when ploughing a field, picked up a curious bit of "petrified honey-comb," and gave it to a geologist to hear what he would say about it. and now you have read what he said. d. b. the snow-storm the sun that brief december day rose cheerless over hills of gray, and, darkly circled, gave at noon a sadder light than waning moon. a chill no coat, however stout, of homespun stuff could quite shut out, a hard, dull bitterness of cold, that checked, mid-vein, the circling race of life-blood in the sharpened face, the coming of the snow-storm told. the wind blew east: we heard the roar of ocean on his wintry shore, and felt the strong pulse throbbing there beat with low rhythm our inland air. meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-- brought in the wood from out of doors, littered the stalls, and from the mows raked down the herd's-grass for the cows: heard the horse whinnying for his corn; and, sharply clashing horn on horn, impatient down the stanchion rows the cattle shake their walnut bows; while, peering from his early perch upon the scaffold's pole of birch, the cock his crested helmet bent and down his querulous challenge sent. unwarmed by any sunset light the gray day darkened into night, a night made hoary with the swarm and whirl-dance of the blinding storm, as zigzag wavering to and fro crossed and recrossed the wingèd snow: and ere the early bed-time came the white drift piled the window-frame, and through the glass the clothes-line posts looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. so all night long the storm roared on: the morning broke without a sun; and, when the second morning shone, we looked upon a world unknown, on nothing we could call our own. around the glistening wonder bent the blue walls of the firmament, no cloud above, no earth below,-- a universe of sky and snow! the old familiar sights of ours took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, or garden wall, or belt of wood; a smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, a fenceless drift what once was road; the bridle-post an old man sat with loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; the well-curb had a chinese roof; and even the long sweep, high aloof, in its slant splendour, seemed to tell of pisa's leaning miracle. a prompt, decisive man, no breath our father wasted: "boys, a path!" well pleased, (for when did farmer boy count such a summons less than joy?) our buskins on our feet we drew; with mittened hands, and caps drawn low to guard our necks and ears from snow, we cut the solid whiteness through. and, where the drift was deepest made a tunnel walled and overlaid with dazzling crystal: we had read of rare aladdin's wondrous cave, and to our own his name we gave, with many a wish the luck were ours to test his lamp's supernal powers. we reached the barn with merry din, and roused the prisoned brutes within. the old horse thrust his long head out, and grave with wonder gazed about; the cock his lusty greeting said, and forth his speckled harem led; the oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, and mild reproach of hunger looked; the hornèd patriarch of the sheep, like egypt's amun roused from sleep, shook his sage head with gesture mute, and emphasized with stamp of foot. all day the gusty north wind bore the loosening drift its breath before; low circling round its southern zone, the sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. whittier: "snow-bound." the heroine of verchÈres verchères was a fort on the south shore of the st. lawrence, about twenty miles below montreal. a strong block-house stood outside the fort, and was connected with it by a covered way. on the morning of the twenty-second of october, ( ) the inhabitants were at work in the fields, and nobody was left in the place but two soldiers, two boys, an old man of eighty, and a number of women and children. the commandant was on duty at quebec; his wife was at montreal; and their daughter, madeline, fourteen years of age, was at the landing-place not far from the gate of the fort, with a man-servant. suddenly she heard firing from the direction where the settlers were at work, and an instant after the servant called out: "run, miss!--run! here come the indians!" she turned and saw forty or fifty of them at the distance of a pistol-shot. she ran to the fort as quickly as possible, while the bullets whistled about her ears, and made the time seem very long. as soon as she was near enough to be heard, she cried out: "to arms!--to arms!" hoping that somebody would come out and help her; but it was of no use. the two soldiers in the fort were so scared that they had hidden in the block-house. when she had seen certain breaches in the palisade stopped, she went to the block-house, where the ammunition was kept; and there she found the two soldiers, one hiding in a corner, and the other with a lighted match in his hand. "what are you going to do with that match?" she asked. he answered: "light the powder and blow us all up." "you are a miserable coward!" said she. "go out of this place." she then threw off her bonnet, put on a hat, and taking a gun in her hand she said to her two brothers: "let us fight to the death. we are fighting for our country and our religion." the boys, who were ten and twelve years old, aided by the soldiers, whom her words had inspired with some little courage, began to fire from the loop-holes on the indians, who, ignorant of the weakness of the garrison, showed their usual reluctance to attack a fortified place, and occupied themselves with chasing and butchering the people in the neighbouring fields. madeline ordered a cannon to be fired, partly to deter the enemy from an assault, and partly to warn some of the soldiers who were hunting at a distance. a canoe was presently seen approaching the landing-place. in it was a settler named fontaine, trying to reach the fort with his family. the indians were still near; and madeline feared that the new-comers would be killed, if something were not done to aid them. distrusting the soldiers, she herself went alone to the landing-place. "i thought," she said, in her account of the affair, "that the savages would suppose it to be a ruse to draw them towards the fort, in order to make a sortie upon them. they did suppose so; and thus i was able to save the fontaine family. when they were all landed, i made them march before me in full sight of the enemy. we put so bold a face on it, that they thought they had more to fear than we. strengthened by this reinforcement, i ordered that the enemy should be fired on whenever they showed themselves. "after sunset a violent north-east wind began to blow, accompanied with snow and hail, which told us that we should have a terrible night. the indians were all this time lurking about us; and i judged by all their movements that, instead of being deterred by the storm, they would climb into the fort under cover of darkness." she then assembled her troops, who numbered six, all told, and spoke to them encouraging words. with two old men she took charge of the fort, and sent fontaine and the two soldiers with the women and children to the block-house. she placed her two brothers on two of the bastions, and an old man on a third, while she herself took charge of the fourth. all night, in spite of wind, snow, and hail, the cry of "all's well" was kept up from the block-house to the fort, and from the fort to the block-house. one would have supposed that the place was full of soldiers. the indians thought so, and were completely deceived, as they afterwards confessed. at last the daylight came again; and as the darkness disappeared, the anxieties of the little garrison seemed to disappear with it. fontaine said he would never abandon the place while madeline remained in it. she declared that she would never abandon it: she would rather die than give it up to the enemy. she did not eat or sleep for twice twenty-four hours. she did not go once into her father's house, but kept always on the bastion, except when she went to the block-house to see how the people there were behaving. she always kept a cheerful and smiling face, and encouraged her little company with the hope of speedy succour. "we were a week in constant alarm," she continues, "with the enemy always about us. at last a lieutenant, sent by the governor, arrived in the night with forty men. as he did not know whether the fort was taken or not, he approached as silently as possible. one of our sentinels, hearing a slight sound, cried: 'who goes there?' i was at the time dozing, with my head on a table and my gun lying across my arms. the sentinel told me that he heard voices from the river. i went at once to the bastion to see whether they were indians or frenchmen who were there. i asked: 'who are you?' one of them answered: 'we are frenchmen come to bring you help.'" "i caused the gate to be opened, placed a sentinel there, and went down to the river to meet them. as soon as i saw the lieutenant i saluted him, and said: 'i surrender my arms to you.' he answered gallantly: 'they are in good hands, miss.' he inspected the fort, and found everything in order, and a sentinel on each bastion. 'it is time to relieve them,' said i; 'we have not been off our bastions for a week.'" a band of converts from st. louis arrived soon afterwards, followed the trail of their heathen countrymen, overtook them on lake champlain, and recovered twenty or more french prisoners. parkman: "frontenac and new france." (adapted) jacques cartier in the seaport of st. malo, 'twas a smiling morn in may, when the commodore jacques cartier to the westward sailed away; in the crowded old cathedral, all the town were on their knees, for the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas; and every autumn blast that swept o'er pinnacle and pier, filled manly hearts with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear. a year passed o'er st. malo--again came round the day, when the commodore jacques cartier to the westward sailed away; but no tidings from the absent had come the way they went, and tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent; and manly hearts were filled with gloom, and gentle hearts with fear, when no tidings came from cartier at the closing of the year. but the earth is as the future, it hath its hidden side, and the captain of st. malo was rejoicing in his pride; in the forests of the north--while his townsmen mourned his loss-- he was rearing on mount royal the _fleur-de-lis_ and cross; and when two months were over, and added to the year, st. malo hailed him home again, cheer answering to cheer. he told them of a region, hard, iron-bound and cold, nor seas of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold; where the wind from thule freezes the word upon the lip, and the ice in spring comes sailing athwart the early ship; he told them of the frozen scene, until they thrilled with fear, and piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make them better cheer. but when he changed the strain,--he told how soon is cast in early spring, the fetters that hold the waters fast; how the winter causeway, broken, is drifted out to sea, and the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free; how the magic wand of summer clad the landscape to his eyes, like the dry bones of the just when they wake in paradise. he told them of the algonquin braves--the hunters of the wild; of how the indian mother in the forest rocks her child; of how, poor souls, they fancy in every living thing a spirit good or evil, that claims their worshipping; of how they brought their sick and maimed for him to breathe upon; and of the wonders wrought for them, thro' the gospel of st. john. he told them of the river, whose mighty current gave its freshness for a hundred leagues to ocean's briny wave; he told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight, what time he reared the cross and crown on hochelaga's height; and of the fortress cliff, that keeps of canada the key;-- and they welcomed back jacques cartier from perils over sea. thomas d'arcy m'gee ants and their slaves peter huber, the son of the noted observer of the ways and habits of bees, was walking one day in a field near geneva, switzerland, when he saw on the ground an army of reddish-coloured ants on the march. he decided to follow them and to find out, if possible, the object of their journey. on the sides of the column, as if to keep it in order, a few of the insects sped to and fro. after marching for about a quarter of an hour, the army halted before an ant-hill, the home of a colony of small, black ants. these swarmed out to meet the red ones, and, to huber's surprise, a combat, short but fierce, took place at the foot of the hill. a small number of the blacks fought bravely to the last, but the rest soon fled, panic-stricken, through the gates farthest from the battle-field, carrying away some of their young. they seemed to know it was the young ants that the invaders were seeking. the red warriors quickly forced their way into the tiny city and returned, loaded with children of the blacks. carrying their living booty, the kidnappers left the pillaged town and started toward their home, whither huber followed them. great was his astonishment when, at the threshold of the red ants' dwelling, he saw numbers of black ants come forward to receive the young captives and to welcome them--children of their own race, doomed to be bond-servants in a strange land. here, then, was a miniature city, in which strong red ants lived in peace with small black ones. but what was the province of the latter? huber soon discovered that, in fact, these did all the work. they alone were able to build the houses in which both races lived; they alone brought up the young red ants and the captives of their own species; they alone gathered the supplies of food, and waited upon and fed their big masters, who were glad to have their little waiters feed them so attentively. the masters themselves had no occupation except that of war. when not raiding some village of the blacks, the red soldiers did nothing but wander lazily about. huber wanted to learn what would be the result if the red ants found themselves without servants. would the big creatures know how to supply their own needs? he put a few of the red insects in a glass case, having some honey in a corner. they did not go near it. they did not know enough to feed themselves. some of them died of starvation, with food before them. then he put into the case one black ant. it went straight to the honey, and with it fed its big, starving, silly masters. here was a wonder, truly! the little blacks exert in many things a moral force whose signs are plainly visible. for example, those tiny wise creatures will not give permission to any of the great red ones to go out alone. nor are these at liberty to go out even in a body, if their small helpers fear a storm, or if the day is far advanced. when a raid proves fruitless, the soldiers coming back without any living booty are forbidden by the blacks to enter the city, and are ordered to attack some other village. not wishing to rely entirely on his own conclusions, huber asked one of the great naturalists of switzerland, jurine, to decide whether or not mistakes had been made regarding these customs of the ants. this witness, and indeed others, found that huber's reports were true. "yet, after all," says huber, "i still doubted. but on a later day i again saw in the park of fontainebleau, near paris, the same workings of ant life and wisdom. a well-known naturalist was with me then, and his conclusions were the same as mine. "it was half-past four in the afternoon of a very warm day. from a pile of stones there came forth a column of about five hundred reddish ants. they marched rapidly toward a field of turf, order in their ranks being kept by their sergeants. these watched the flanks, and would not permit any to straggle. "suddenly the army disappeared. there was no sign of an ant-hill in the turf, but, after awhile, we detected a little hole. through this the ants had vanished. we supposed it was an entrance to their home. in a minute they showed us that our supposition was incorrect. they issued in a throng, nearly every one of them carrying a small black captive. "from the short time they had taken, it was plain that they knew the place and the weakness of its citizens. perhaps it was not the reds' first attack on this city of the little blacks. these swarmed out in great numbers; and, truly, i pitied them. they did not attempt to fight. they seemed terror-stricken, and made no attempt to oppose the warrior ants, except by clinging to them. one of the marauders was stopped thus, but a comrade that was free relieved him of his burden, and thereupon the black ant let go his grasp. "it was in fact a painful sight. the soldiers succeeded in carrying off nearly five hundred children. about three feet from the entrance to the ant-hill the plundered black parents ceased to follow the red robbers, and resigned themselves to the loss of their young. the whole raid did not occupy more than ten minutes. "the parties were, as we have seen, very unequal in strength, and the attack was clearly an outrage--an outrage no doubt often repeated. the big red ants, knowing their power, played the part of tyrants; and, whenever they wanted more slaves, despoiled the small weak blacks of their greatest treasures--their children." michelet lead, kindly light lead, kindly light, amid th' encircling gloom, lead thou me on; the night is dark, and i am far from home, lead thou me on. keep thou my feet; i do not ask to see the distant scene; one step enough for me. i was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou shouldst lead me on; i loved to choose and see my path; but now lead thou me on. i loved the garish day; and, spite of fears, pride ruled my will: remember not past years. so long thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on o'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till the night is gone, and with the morn those angel faces smile, which i have loved long since, and lost a while. newman the jolly sandboys the jolly sandboys was a small road-side inn with a sign, representing three sandboys, creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite side of the road. as the travellers had observed many indications of their drawing nearer to the race town, such as gypsy camps, showmen of various kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree, mr. codlin was fearful of finding the accommodation forestalled; but had the gratification of finding that his fears were without foundation, for the landlord was leaning against the door-post, looking lazily at the rain which had begun to descend heavily. "make haste in out of the wet, tom," said the landlord; "when it came on to rain i told 'em to make the fire up, and there's a glorious blaze in the kitchen, i can tell you." mr. codlin followed with a willing mind. a mighty fire was blazing on the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound, which a large iron cauldron, bubbling and simmering in the heat, lent its pleasant aid to swell. there was a deep red ruddy blush upon the room, and when the landlord stirred the fire, sending the flame skipping and leaping up--when he took off the lid of the iron pot and there rushed out a savoury smell, while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich, and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in a delicious mist above their heads--when he did this, mr. codlin's heart was touched. he sat down in the chimney-corner and smiled. mr. codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord as with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and feigning that his doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered the delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. the glow of the fire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his twinkling eye, and upon his watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round fat figure. mr. codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, and said in a murmuring voice: "what is it?" "it's a stew of tripe," said the landlord, smacking his lips, "and cow-heel," smacking them again, "and bacon," smacking them once more, "and steak," smacking them for the fourth time, "and peas, cauliflowers, new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together in one delicious gravy." having come to the climax, he smacked his lips a great many times, and taking a long, hearty sniff of the fragrance that was hovering about, put on the cover again with the air of one whose toils on earth were over. "at what time will it be ready?" asked mr. codlin, faintly. "it'll be done to a turn," said the landlord looking up to the clock--and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face, and looked a clock for jolly sandboys to consult--"it'll be done to a turn at twenty-two minutes before eleven." mr. codlin now bethought him of his companions, and acquainted mine host of the sandboys that his partner short, nell and her grandfather might shortly be looked for. at length they arrived drenched with rain and presenting a most miserable appearance. but their steps were no sooner heard upon the road than the landlord, who had been at the outer door anxiously watching for their coming, rushed into the kitchen and took the cover off. the effect was electrical. they all came in with smiling faces though the wet was dripping from their clothes upon the floor, and short's first remark was: "what a delicious smell!" it is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of a cheerful fire, and in a bright room. they were furnished with slippers and such dry garments as the house or their own bundles afforded, and seating themselves, as mr. codlin had already done, in the warm chimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles or only remembered them as enhancing the delights of the present time. strange footsteps were now heard without, and fresh company entered. these were no other than four very dismal dogs, who came pattering in one after the other, headed by an old bandy dog of particularly mournful aspect, who, stopping when the last of his followers had got as far as the door, erected himself upon his hind legs and looked round at his companions, who immediately stood upon their hind legs, in a grave and melancholy row. nor was this the only remarkable circumstance about these dogs, for each of them wore a kind of little coat of some gaudy colour trimmed with tarnished spangles, and one of them had a cap upon his head, tied very carefully under his chin, which had fallen down upon his nose and completely obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudy coats were all wet through and discoloured with rain, and that the wearers were splashed and dirty, and some idea may be formed of the unusual appearance of these new visitors to the jolly sandboys. neither short nor the landlord nor thomas codlin, however, was in the least surprised, merely remarking that these were jerry's dogs, and that jerry could not be far behind. so there the dogs stood, patiently winking and gaping and looking extremely hard at the boiling pot, until jerry himself appeared, when they all dropped down at once, and walked about the room in their natural manner. this posture, it must be confessed, did not much improve their appearance, as their own personal tails and their coat tails--both capital things in their way--did not agree together. jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall black-whiskered man in a velveteen coat, who seemed well known to the landlord and his guests and accosted them with great cordiality. disencumbering himself of a barrel organ which he placed upon a chair, and retaining in his hand a small whip wherewith to awe his company of comedians, he came up to the fire to dry himself, and entered into conversation. "your people don't usually travel in character, do they?" said short, pointing to the dresses of the dogs. "it must come expensive, if they do." "no," replied jerry, "no, it's not the custom with us. but we've been playing a little on the road to-day, and we come out with a new wardrobe at the races, so i didn't think it worth while to stop to undress. down, pedro!" this was addressed to the dog with the cap on, who, being a new member of the company, and not quite certain of his duty, kept his unobscured eye anxiously on his master, and was perpetually starting up on his hind legs when there was no occasion, and falling down again. the landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth, in which process mr. codlin obligingly assisted by setting forth his own knife and fork in the most convenient place and establishing himself behind them. when everything was ready, the landlord took off the cover for the last time, and then, indeed, there burst forth such a goodly promise of supper, that if he had offered to put it on again or had hinted at postponement, he would certainly have been sacrificed on his own hearth. however, he did nothing of the kind, but instead assisted a stout servant girl in turning the contents of the cauldron into a large tureen; a proceeding which the dogs, proof against various hot splashes which fell upon their noses, watched with terrible eagerness. at length the dish was lifted on the table, and mugs of ale having been previously set round, little nell ventured to say grace, and supper began. at this juncture the poor dogs were standing on their hind legs quite surprisingly; the child, having pity on them, was about to cast some morsels of food to them before she tasted it herself, hungry though she was, when their master interposed. "no, my dear, no, not an atom from anybody's hand but mine if you please. that dog," said jerry, pointing out the old leader of the troop, and speaking in a terrible voice, "lost a halfpenny to-day. _he_ goes without his supper." the unfortunate creature dropped upon his forelegs directly, wagged his tail, and looked imploringly at his master. "you must be more careful, sir," said jerry, walking coolly to the chair where he had placed the organ, and setting the stop. "come here. now, sir, you play away at that, while we have supper, and leave off if you dare." the dog immediately began to grind most mournful music. his master, having shown him the whip, resumed his seat and called up the others, who, at his directions, formed in a row, standing upright as a file of soldiers. "now, gentlemen," said jerry, looking at them attentively: "the dog whose name's called, eats. the dogs whose names an't called, keep quiet. carlo." the lucky individual whose name was called, snapped up the morsel thrown towards him, but none of the others moved a muscle. in this manner they were fed at the discretion of their master. meanwhile the dog in disgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes in quick time, sometimes in slow, but never leaving off for an instant. when the knives and forks rattled very much, or any of his fellows got an unusually large piece of fat, he accompanied the music with a short howl, but he immediately checked it on his master looking round, and applied himself with increased diligence to the old hundredth. dickens: "old curiosity shop." so, when a great man dies, for years beyond our ken, the light he leaves behind him lies upon the paths of men. longfellow the gladness of nature is this a time to be cloudy and sad, when our mother nature laughs around; when even the deep blue heavens look glad, and gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? there are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, and the gossip of swallows through all the sky; the ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, and the wilding bee hums merrily by. the clouds are at play in the azure space, and their shadows at play on the bright green vale, and here they stretch to the frolic chase, and there they roll on the easy gale. there's a dance of leaves on that aspen bower, there's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, there's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, and a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. and look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles on the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, on the leaping waters and gay young isles; ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. bryant old english life when the sun rose on england of olden time, its faint red light stirred every sleeper from the sack of straw, which formed the only bed of the age. springing from this rustling couch, where he had lain naked, and throwing off the coarse coverlets, usually of sheepskin, the subject of king alfred donned the day's dress. gentlemen wore linen or woollen tunics, which reached to the knee; and, over these, long fur-lined cloaks, fastened with a brooch of ivory or gold. strips of cloth or leather, bandaged crosswise from the ankle to the knee over red and blue stockings; and black, pointed shoes, slit along the instep almost to the toes and fastened with two thongs, completed the costume of an anglo-saxon gentleman. the ladies, wrapping a veil of linen or silk upon their delicate curls, laced a loose-flowing gown over a tight-sleeved bodice, and pinned the graceful folds of their mantles with golden butterflies and other tasteful trinkets. breakfast consisted probably of bread, meat, and ale, but was a lighter repast than that taken when the hurry of the day lay behind. often it was eaten in the bower or private apartment. the central picture in old english life--the great event of the day--was _noon-meat_, or dinner in the great hall. a little before three, the chief and all his household, with any stray guests who might have dropped in, met in the hall, which stood in the centre of its encircling bowers--the principal apartment of every old english house. clouds of wood smoke, rolling up from a fire which blazed in the middle of the floor, blackened the carved rafters of the arched roof before they found their way out of the hole above which did duty as a chimney. tapestries, dyed purple, or glowing with variegated pictures of saints and heroes, hung, and if the day was stormy, flapped upon the chinky walls. in palaces and in earls' mansions coloured tiles, wrought into a mosaic, formed a clean and pretty pavement; but the common flooring of the time was clay, baked dry with the heat of winter evenings and summer noons. the only articles of furniture always in the hall were wooden benches; some of which, especially the _high settle_ or seat of the chieftain, boasted cushions, or at least a rug. while the hungry crowd, fresh from woodland and furrow, were lounging near the fire or hanging up their weapons on the pegs and hooks that jutted from the wall, a number of slaves, dragging in a long, flat, heavy board, placed it on movable legs, and spread on its upper half a handsome cloth. then were arranged with other utensils for the meal some flattish dishes, baskets of ash-wood for holding bread, a scanty sprinkling of steel knives shaped like our modern razors, platters of wood, and bowls for the universal broth. the ceremony of "laying the board," as the old english phrased it, being completed, the work of demolition began. great round cakes of bread--huge junks of boiled bacon--vast rolls of broiled eel--cups of milk--horns of ale--wedges of cheese--lumps of salt butter--and smoking piles of cabbages and beans, melted like magic from the board under the united attack of greasy fingers and grinding jaws. kneeling slaves offered to the lord and his honoured guests long skewers or spits, on which steaks of beef or venison smoked and sputtered, ready for the hacking blade. poultry, too, and game of every variety, filled the spaces of the upper board; but the crowd of _loaf-eaters_, as old english domestics were suggestively called, saw little of these daintier kinds of food, except the naked bones. nor did they much care, if, to their innumerable hunches of bread, they could add enough pig to appease their hunger. hounds, sitting eager-eyed by their masters, snapped with sudden jaws at scraps of fat flung to them, or retired into private life below the board with some sweet bone that fortune sent them. the solid part of the banquet ended with the washing of hands, performed for the honoured occupants of the high settle by officious slaves. the board was then dragged out of the hall; the loaf-eaters slunk away to have a nap in the byre, or sat drowsily in corners of the hall; and the drinking began. during the progress of the meal, welsh ale had flowed freely in horns or vessels of twisted glass. mead and, in very grand houses, wine now began to circle in goblets of gold and silver, or of wood inlaid with those precious metals. in humbler houses, story-telling and songs, sung to the music of the harp by each guest in turn, formed the principal amusement of the drinking-bout. meantime the music and the mead did their work in maddening brains; the revelry grew louder; riddles, which had flown thick around the board at first, gave place to banter, taunts, and fierce boasts of prowess; angry eyes gleamed defiance; and it was well if, in the morning, the household slaves had not to wash blood-stains from the pavement of the hall, or in the still night, when the drunken brawlers lay stupid on the floor, to drag a dead man from the red plash in which he lay. from the reek and riot of the hall the ladies of the household soon withdrew to the bower, where they reigned supreme. there, in the earlier part of the day, they had arrayed themselves in their bright-coloured robes, plying tweezers and crisping-irons on their yellow hair, and often heightening the blush that nature gave them with a shade of rouge. there, too, they used to scold their female slaves, and beat them, with a violence which said more for their strength of lung and muscle than for the gentleness of their womanhood. when their needles were fairly set a-going upon those pieces of delicate embroidery, known and prized over all europe as "english work," some gentlemen dropped in, perhaps harp in hand, to chat and play for their amusement, or to engage in games of hazard and skill, which seem to have resembled modern dice and chess. when in later days supper came into fashion, the round table of the bower was usually spread for _evening-food_, as this meal was called. and not long afterwards, those bags of straw, from which they sprang at sunrise, received for another night their human burden, worn out with the labours and the revels of the day. w. f. collier (adapted) puck's song see you the dimpled track that runs, all hollow through the wheat? o that was where they hauled the guns that smote king philip's fleet. see you our little mill that clacks, so busy by the brook? she has ground her corn and paid her tax ever since domesday book. see you our stilly woods of oak, and the dread ditch beside? o that was where the saxons broke, on the day that harold died. see you the windy levels spread about the gates of rye? o that was where the northmen fled, when alfred's ships came by. see you our pastures wide and lone, where the red oxen browse? o there was a city thronged and known, ere london boasted a house. and see you, after rain, the trace of mound and ditch and wall? o that was a legion's camping-place, when caesar sailed from gaul. and see you marks that show and fade, like shadows on the downs? o they are the lines the flint men made to guard their wondrous towns. trackway and camp and city lost, salt marsh where now is corn; old wars, old peace, old arts that cease, and so was england born! she is not any common earth, water or wood or air, but merlin's isle of gramarye, where you and i will fare. kipling: "puck of pook's hill." the battle of queenston heights the thirteenth of october, , is a day ever to be remembered in canada. all along the niagara river the greatest excitement had prevailed: many of the inhabitants had removed with their portable property into the back country; small bodies of soldiers, regulars and volunteers, were posted in the towns and villages; indians were roving in the adjacent woods; and sentinels, posted along the banks of the river, were looking eagerly for the enemy that was to come from the american shore and attempt the subjugation of a free, a happy, and a loyal people. in the village of queenston, that nestles at the foot of an eminence overlooking the mighty waters of niagara, two companies of the forty-ninth regiment, or "green tigers," as the americans afterwards termed them, with one hundred canadian militia, were posted under the command of captain dennis. when tattoo sounded on the night of the twelfth, the little garrison retired to rest. all was silent but the elements, which raged furiously throughout the night. nothing was to be heard but the howling of the wind and the sound of falling rain mingled with the distant roar of the great cataract. dripping with rain and shivering with cold, the sentries paced their weary rounds, from time to time casting a glance over the swollen tide of the river towards the american shore. at length, when the gray dawn of morning appeared, a wary sentinel descried a number of boats, filled with armed men, pushing off from the opposite bank below the village of lewiston. immediately the alarm was given. the soldiers were roused from their peaceful slumbers, and marched down to the landing-place. meanwhile, a battery of one gun, posted on the heights, and another about a mile below, began to play on the enemy's boats, sinking some and disabling others. finding it impossible to effect a landing in the face of such opposition, the americans, leaving a few of their number to occupy the attention of the troops on the bank, disembarked some distance up the river, and succeeded in gaining the summit of the height by a difficult and unprotected pathway. with loud cheers they captured the one-gun battery, and rushed down upon captain dennis and his command; who, finding themselves far outnumbered by the enemy, retired slowly towards the north end of the village. here they were met by general brock, who had set out in advance of reinforcements from the town of niagara, accompanied only by two officers. placing himself at the head of the little band, the gallant general cried: "follow me!" and, amid the cheers of regulars and militia, he led his men back to the height from which they had been forced to retire. at the foot of the hill the general dismounted, under the sharp fire of the enemy's riflemen, who were posted among the trees on its summit, climbed over a high stone wall, and waving his sword, charged up the hill at the head of his soldiers. this intrepid conduct at once attracted the notice of the enemy. one of their sharp-shooters advanced a few paces, took deliberate aim, and shot the general in the breast. it was a mortal wound. thus fell sir isaac brock, the hero of upper canada, whose name will outlive the noble monument which a grateful country has erected to his memory. the fall of their beloved commander infuriated his followers. with loud cheers of "revenge the general!" they pressed forward up the hill, and drove the enemy from their position. but reinforcements were continually pouring in from the american shore; and after a deadly struggle, in which colonel macdonell, captain dennis, and most of the other officers fell, these brave men were again compelled to retire. they took refuge under the guns of the lower battery, there awaiting the arrival of reinforcements from niagara. about mid-day the first of these arrived, consisting of a band of fifty mohawks, under their chiefs, norton and brant. these indian allies boldly engaged the enemy, and maintained for a short time a sharp skirmish, but finally retired on the main reinforcement. this arrived in the course of the afternoon, under the command of major-general sheaffe. instead of meeting the enemy on the old ground, the officer now in command moved his whole force of one thousand men to the right of the enemy's position, and sent forward his left flank to attack the american right. this left flank was of a very varied character, consisting of one company of the forty-first regiment of the line, a company of coloured men, and a body of volunteer militia and indians, united, in spite of their difference of colour and race, by loyalty to the british crown and heart-hatred of foreign aggression. this division advanced in gallant style. after delivering a volley, the whole line of white, red, and black charged the enemy, and drove in his right wing at the point of the bayonet. general sheaffe now led on the main body, and forced the lately victorious americans to retreat rapidly over the ridge. the struggle on their part was of short duration. in front was a foe thirsting for revenge; behind, the steep banks and swiftly-flowing waters of niagara. the "green tigers," the indians, their most despised slaves, and last, but certainly not least, the gallant canadian militia, were objects of terror to them. some few in despair threw themselves over the precipices into the river; but the majority of the survivors surrendered themselves prisoners of war, to the number of nine hundred and fifty, among whom was their commander, general wadsworth. the leader of the expedition, general van rensselaer, had retired to lewiston--as he said, for reinforcements--in the early part of the day. the loss of the americans in this memorable action was about five hundred killed and wounded; while that of the canadian forces amounted to one hundred and fifty. throughout canada the news of the victory of queenston heights awakened universal joy and enthusiasm, second only to that with which the taking of detroit was hailed. but the joy and enthusiasm were damped by the sad tidings, that he who had first taught canada's sons the way to victory had given his life for her defence, and slept in a soldier's grave with many of her best and bravest. unknown the bugle song the splendour falls on castle walls and snowy summits old in story: the long light shakes across the lakes, and the wild cataract leaps in glory. blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. o hark, o hear! how thin and clear, and thinner, clearer, farther going! o sweet and far from cliff and scar the horns of elfland faintly blowing! blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. o love, they die in yon rich sky, they faint on hill or field or river: our echoes roll from soul to soul, and grow for ever and for ever. blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, and answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. tennyson charity though i speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, i am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. and though i have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though i have all faith, so that i could remove mountains, and have not charity, i am nothing. and though i bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though i give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. for we know in part, and we prophesy in part. but when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. when i was a child, i spake as a child, i understood as a child, i thought as a child: but when i became a man, i put away childish things. for now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now i know in part; but then shall i know even as also i am known. and now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. i. corinthians, xiii. a christmas carol "what means this glory round our feet," the magi mused, "more bright than morn?" and voices chanted clear and sweet, "to-day the prince of peace is born." "what means that star," the shepherds said, "that brightens through the rocky glen?" and angels, answering overhead, sang, "peace on earth, good-will to men!" 'tis eighteen hundred years and more since those sweet oracles were dumb; we wait for him, like them of yore; alas, he seems so slow to come! but it was said, in words of gold no time or sorrow e'er shall dim, that little children might be bold in perfect trust to come to him. all round about our feet shall shine a light like that the wise men saw, if we our living wills incline to that sweet life which is the law. so shall we learn to understand the simple faith of shepherds then, and, clasping kindly, hand in hand, sing, "peace on earth, good-will to men." and they who do their souls no wrong, but keep at eve the faith of morn, shall daily hear the angel song, "to-day the prince of peace is born!" lowell the barren lands long before the treeless wastes are reached, the forests cease to be forests except by courtesy. the trees--black and white spruce, the canadian larch, and the gray pine, willow, alder, etc.--have an appearance of youth; so that the traveller would hardly suppose them to be more than a few years old, at first sight. really this juvenile appearance is a species of second childhood; for, on the shores of the great bear lake, four centuries are necessary for the growth of a trunk not as thick as a man's wrist. the further north the more lamentably decrepit becomes the appearance of these woodlands, until, presently, their sordidness is veiled by thick growths of gray lichens--the "caribou moss," as it is called--which clothe the trunks and hang down from the shrivelled boughs. and still further north the trees become mere stunted stems, set with blighted buds that have never been able to develop themselves into branches; until, finally, the last vestiges of arboreal growth take refuge under a thick carpet of lichens and mosses, the characteristic vegetation of the barren grounds. nothing more dismal than the winter aspect of these wastes can be imagined. the northern forests are silent enough in winter time, but the silence of the barren grounds is far more profound. even in the depths of midwinter the north-western bush has voices and is full of animal life. the barking cry of the crows (these birds are the greatest imaginable nuisance to the trapper, whose baits they steal even before his back is turned) is still heard; the snow-birds and other small winged creatures are never quiet between sunset and sunrise; the jack-rabbit, whose black bead-like eye betrays his presence among the snow-drifts in spite of his snow-white fur, is common enough; and the childlike wailing of the coyotes is heard every night. but with the exception of the shriek of the snow-owl or the yelping of a fox emerged from his lair, there is no sound of life during seven or eight or nine months of winter on the barren grounds; unless the traveller is able to hear the rushing sound--some can hear it, others cannot--of the shifting northern lights. in may, however, when the snows melt and the swamps begin to thaw, the barren grounds become full of life. to begin with, the sky is literally darkened with enormous flights of wild-fowl, whom instinct brings from the southern reaches of the mississippi and its tributaries to these sub-arctic wildernesses, where they find an abundance of food, and at the same time build their nests and rear their young in safety. the snow-geese are the first to arrive; next come the common and eider-duck; after them the great northern black-and-red-throated divers; and last of all the pin-tail and the long-tail ducks. some of these go no further than just beyond the outskirts of the forest region; others, flying further northward, lay their eggs in the open on the moss. eagles and hawks prey on these migratory hosts; troops of ptarmigan (they are said to go to no place where the mercury does not freeze) seek food among the stunted willows on the shores of the lakes and sloughs; and in sunny weather the snow-bunting's song is heard. soon after the arrival of the migratory birds the wilderness becomes newly clothed in green and gray. the snow, which never once thaws during the long winter, forms a safe protection for vegetable life. as soon as the lengthening summer's day has thawed this coverlet of snows, vegetation comes on at a surprising rate--a week's sunshine on the wet soil completely transforming the aspect of the country. it is then that the caribou leave their winter quarters in the forest region and journey to the barren grounds. just as the prairies might have been called "buffalo-land" thirty years ago, and the intervening enforested country may still be styled "moose-land"--not that the moose is nearly so common in saskatchewan and athabaska as it was before the rebellion of opened up that country--so from the hunter's point of view "caribou-land" would be an exceedingly apt name for the _tundra_ of greater canada. only the indians and the eskimos (the former living on the confines of the forests, and the latter along the far arctic coasts) visit these territories, and but for the presence of the vast herds of caribou, it is pretty certain that such mosquito-haunted wastes would never be trodden by man. it is true that the musk-ox is an important inhabitant of the wastes, but the numbers of that strange beast, which seems to be half sheep, half ox, are not nearly so great, and there are reasons to believe that it is being slowly but surely driven from its ancient pastures by the caribou, just as, in so many parts of the world, the nations of the antelope have receded before the deer-tribes. e. b. osborn: "greater canada." a spring morning there was a roaring in the wind all night; the rain came heavily and fell in floods: but now the sun is rising calm and bright, the birds are singing in the distant woods, over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods, the jay makes answer as the magpie chatters, and all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. all things that love the sun are out of doors, the sky rejoices in the morning's birth, the grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors the hare is running races in her mirth; and with her feet, she from the plashy earth raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. wordsworth for, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. solomon's song. ii, , crossing the bar sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! and may there be no moaning of the bar, when i put out to sea, but such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, when that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home. twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! and may there be no sadness of farewell, when i embark; for tho' from out our bourne of time and place the flood may bear me far, i hope to see my pilot face to face when i have crost the bar. tennyson [illustration: the aurora borealis in the arctic regions.] a catechism of familiar things; their history, and the events which led to their discovery. _with a short explanation of some of the principal_ natural phenomena. for the use of schools and families. enlarged and revised edition. new york, cincinnati, and st. louis: benziger brothers printers to the holy apostolic see. copyright, , by benziger brothers. preface. this book, a reprint of a successful english publication, has been so enlarged as to be to all intents and purposes new. it has been carefully revised by a reverend gentleman, who for some time filled the chair of physics and chemistry in one of our colleges. recent inventions and improvements are described in a simple, popular style, so as to be easily understood by all, and short notices are given of prominent inventors and scientists. the paragraphs relating to doctrinal matters conform in every respect to the teachings of the church. a feature which will commend the book to every teacher is the definitions of difficult words and terms, following the paragraphs in which such words occur. technical language is avoided as much as possible, so as to enable young pupils to become familiarly acquainted with the various phenomena of nature, the leading characteristics and general history of the objects of the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, and the fundamental truths of the arts and sciences. the illustrations are of a superior order, and a very complete index, which will be appreciated by every teacher, supplements the book. in a word, no pains have been spared to enhance the value of the work, and render it an important auxiliary in the dissemination of useful and entertaining knowledge. the publishers beg to acknowledge their obligations to the sisters of mercy, loretto, pa., to whose kindness they are indebted for many valuable suggestions. in the hope that the book may be found suited to the accomplishment of its aim, it is respectfully submitted to schools and instructors of youth, who are the best judges of its merits. contents. chapter i. dew, water, rain, snow, hail, atmosphere, wind, lightning, thunder, electricity, twilight, and the aurora borealis ii. corn, barley, pearl barley, oats, rye, potatoes, tea, coffee, and chocolate iii. calico, cotton, cloth, wool, baize, linen, flax, hemp, diaper, holland, canvas, and flannel iv. cocoa, toddy, cherries, bark, cork, cochineal, cloves, cinnamon, and cassia v. bombazine, crape, camlet, cambric, lace, silk, velvet, and mohair vi. currants, raisins, figs, rice, sugar, sugar candy, &c., sago, millet, ginger, nutmeg, mace, pimento or allspice, pepper, and cayenne pepper vii. glass, mirrors, earthenware, porcelain, needles, pins, paper, printing, parchment, and vellum viii. capers, almonds, oranges, lemons, citrons, limes, olives, oils, melons, tamarinds, and dates ix. hats, stockings, shoes, gloves, leather, furs, and ink x. asbestus, salt, coal, iron, copper, brass, zinc, and lapis calaminaris xi. yams, mangoes, bread-fruit, shea or butter tree, cow tree, water tree, licorice, manna, opium, tobacco, and gum xii. spectacles, mariner's compass, barometer, thermometer, watches, clocks, telescope, microscope, gunpowder, steam engine, and electro-magnetic telegraph xiii. soap, candles, tallow tree, spermaceti, wax, mahogany, india rubber or caoutchouc, sponge, coral, lime, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, gas, hydrogen, chalk, and marble xiv. gold, silver, lead, tin, platina, sulphur, gems or precious stones--as diamonds, rubies, emeralds, turquois, pearls, mother-of-pearl, and ivory xv. starch, arrow-root, tapioca, isinglass, caviare, the vine, wine, gin, rum, brandy, vinegar, indigo, gamboge, logwood, tar, pitch, camphor, musk, myrrh, frankincense, and turpentine xvi. bricks, mortar, granite, slate, limestone, or calcareous rocks, steel, earths, volcanoes, and earthquakes xvii. architecture, sculpture, use of money, and navigation xviii. music, painting, poetry, astronomy, arts and sciences, art of writing, and chemistry xix. attraction, tides, gravity, artesian wells, air, aneroid barometer, ear-trumpet, stethoscope, audiphone, telephone, phonograph, microphone, megaphone, tasimeter, bathometer, anemometer, chronometer xx. light, lime light, magnesium light, electric light, rainbow, prism, spectrum, colors, photography, camera obscura, stereoscope, kaleidoscope xxi. electricity, electric currents, electric battery, electrotyping, stereotyping, telegraph, ocean cable, lightning rod, the gulf stream, the mt. cenis tunnel, the suez canal, suspension bridges, eminent americans a catechism of familiar things. chapter i. dew, water, rain, snow, hail, atmosphere, wind, lightning, thunder, electricity, twilight, and the aurora borealis. what is dew? moisture collected from the atmosphere by the action of cold. during the day, the powerful heat of the sun causes to arise from the earth and water a moist vapor, which, after the sun sinks below the horizon, is condensed by the cold, and falls in the form of dew. dews are more copious in the spring and autumn than at any other season; in warm countries than in cold ones: because of the sudden changes of temperature. egypt abounds in dews all the summer; for the air being too hot to condense the vapors in the day-time, they never gather into clouds and form rain. _horizon_, the line which bounds the view on all sides, so that the earth and sky appear to meet. a greek word, from the verb signifying to mark boundaries. _temperature_, degree of heat or cold. _condense_, to cause the particles of a body to approach or unite more closely. what are its uses? it cools and refreshes the vegetable creation, and prevents it from being destroyed by the heat of the sun. all hot countries where there is little or no rain are therefore blessed with this provision by the all-bountiful creator, to render them luxuriant and inhabitable; and the dews which fall are so copious, that the earth is as deeply soaked with them during the night as if a heavy rain had fallen. for this reason also it is, that we so often read in the bible of the "dew of heaven" being promised to the israelites as a signal favor. _luxuriant_, fertile, flourishing. _signal_, remarkable, eminent. from what does the vapor originate? vapor is water, combined with a still greater quantity of caloric,--that is, an imponderable and subtile form of matter, which causes the sensation of heat; and which, driving asunder the particles of the water, renders it aëriform. _imponderable_, without sensible weight. _subtile_, thin, not dense, or compact. _particle_, a small portion of matter. _aëriform_, having the form of air. what is water? the fluid which covers more than three-fifths of the surface of our globe, and which is necessary for the life and health of the animal and vegetable creation; for without water there would be neither rain nor dew, and everything would perish. it is likewise a necessary beverage for man and the inferior animals. _beverage_, drink, liquor for drinking. in how many states do we find water? in four: st, solid, as in ice, snow, hail, &c.; d, fluid, as in its common form; d, aëriform, as in steam; and th, in a state of union with other matter. its most simple state is that of ice, which is water deprived of a certain portion of its caloric: crystallization then takes place, and the water becomes solid and is called ice. _crystallization_, the process by which the parts of a solid body, separated by solution or fusion, are again brought into the solid form. if the process is slow, the figure assumed is regular and bounded by plane and smooth surfaces. _solution_, the diffusion of a solid through some liquid. _fusion_, melting, or rendering fluid by heat. from what cause is the water deprived of its caloric? from the coldness of the atmosphere: underneath the poles of our globe it is mostly solid; there it is similar to the hardest rocks, and may be cut with a chisel, like stone or marble. this great solidity is occasioned by the low temperature of the surrounding air; and in very cold countries ice may be ground so fine as to be blown away by the wind, and will still be ice. _poles_, the extremities or ends of the axis, an imaginary line, supposed to be drawn through the centre of the earth; or when applied to the heavens, the two points directly over them. is ice the only instance of water existing in a state of solidity? no; it is found in a solid state in many minerals, as in marble, &c., and is then called _water of crystallization_. it is essential, in many cases, to their solidity and transparency. _essential_, necessary. _transparency_, clearness, the power of transmitting light. does nature decompose water in any of her operations? yes: every living vegetable has the power of decomposing water, by a secret process peculiar to itself. fish, too, and all cold-blooded amphibious animals are gifted with the same power. _decomposing_, separating a mixed body into its several parts. _amphibious_, able to live both in water and out of it. of what use is this power to vegetables? the water which they decompose affords them nourishment for the support of their vital juices, and enables them, by combining the fluid gases which compose it with those of the air and the soil, to form their different products; while the superfluous gas is abundantly given out by their leaves, to refresh the spent air, and render it wholesome for the animals that breathe it. _vital_, belonging to life, necessary to existence. _superfluous_, unnecessary, not wanted. what is rain? the condensed aqueous vapors raised in the atmosphere by the sun and wind, converted into clouds, which fall in rain, snow, hail, or mist: their falling is occasioned by their own weight in a collision produced by contrary currents of wind, from the clouds passing into a colder part of the air, or by electricity. if the vapors are more copious, and rise a little higher, they form a mist or fog, which is visible to the eye; higher still they produce rain. hence we may account for the changes of the weather: why a cold summer is always a wet one--a warm, a dry one. _aqueous_, watery; consisting of water. _collision_, a striking together, a clash, a meeting. _electricity_, a natural agent existing in all bodies (see page ). what seasons are more liable to rain than others? the spring and autumn are generally the most rainy seasons, the vapors _rise_ more plentifully in spring; and in the autumn, as the sun recedes from us and the cold increases, the vapors, which lingered above us during the summer heats, _fall_ more easily. _recede_, to fall back, to retreat. what is snow? rain congealed by cold in the atmosphere, which causes it to fall to the earth in white flakes. snow fertilizes the ground by defending the roots of plants from the intenser cold of the air and the piercing winds. _congealed_, turned by the force of cold from a fluid to a solid state; hardened. _fertilize_, to render fruitful. _intenser_, raised to a higher degree, more powerful. what is hail? drops of rain frozen in their passage through cold air. hail assumes various figures according to the degrees of heat or cold through which it passes, being sometimes round, flat, &c. what is the atmosphere? the mass of aëriform fluid which encompasses the earth on all sides: it extends about fifty miles above its surface. air is the elastic fluid of which it is composed. _elastic_, having the power of springing back, or recovering its former figure after the removal of any external pressure which has altered that figure. when the force which compresses the air is removed, it expands and resumes its former state. what are the uses of air? it is necessary to the well-being of man, since without it neither he nor any animal or vegetable could exist. if it were not for atmospheric air, we should be unable to converse with each other; we should know nothing of sound or smell; or of the pleasures which arise from the variegated prospects which surround us: it is to the presence of air and carbonic acid that water owes its agreeable taste. boiling deprives it of the greater part of these, and renders it insipid. _variegated_, diversified, changed; adorned with different colors. _insipid_, tasteless. what is wind? air in motion with any degree of velocity. what is lightning? the effect of electricity in the clouds. a flash of lightning is simply a stream of the electric fluid passing from the clouds to the earth, from the earth to the clouds, or from one cloud to another. lightning usually strikes the highest and most pointed objects, as high hills, trees, spires, masts of ships, &c. what is thunder? the report which accompanies the electrical union of the clouds: or the echoes of the report between them and the earth. thunder is caused by a sudden discharge of electrical matter collected in the air, by which vibrations are produced, which give rise to the sound. what is electricity? one of those agents passing through the earth and all substances, without giving any outward signs of its presence, when at rest; yet when active, often producing violent and destructive effects. it is _supposed_ to be a highly elastic fluid, capable of moving through matter. clouds owe their form and existence, probably, to it; and it passes through all substances, but more easily through metals, water, the human body, &c., which are called conductors, than through air, glass, and silk, which are called _non_-conductors. when bodies are not surrounded with non-conductors, the electricity escapes quickly into the earth. to what part of bodies is electricity confined? to their surfaces, as the outside may be electric, and the inside in a state of neutrality. the heat produced by an electric shock is very powerful, but is only accompanied by light when the fluid is obstructed in its passage. the production and condensation of vapor is a great source of the atmospheric electricity. _condensation_, the act of making any body dense or compact; that is, of bringing its parts into closer union. in what other sense is the term electricity employed? this term is also employed to designate that important branch of knowledge which relates to the properties shown by certain bodies when rubbed against, or otherwise brought in contact with, each other, to attract substances, and emit sparks of fire. _designate_, to point out by some particular token. _emit_, to send forth, to throw out. [illustration: cutting and gathering ice, on the hudson river, new york.] whence is the word derived? from _electron_, the greek word for amber, a yellow transparent substance, remarkable for its electrical power when rubbed: amber is of a resinous nature, and is collected from the sea-shore, or dug from the earth, in many parts of the world. it is employed in the manufacture of beads and other toys, on account of its transparency; is of some use in medicine, and in the making of varnishes. _transparent_, clear, capable of being seen through. _resinous_, containing resin, a gummy vegetable juice. name a few substances possessing this remarkable property. silks of all kinds; the hair and fur of animals, paper, sulphur, and some other minerals; most of the precious stones; the paste of which false gems are made; and many other substances used by us in the common affairs of life, are susceptible of electrical excitement; among domestic animals the cat furnishes a remarkable instance. when dry and warm, the back of almost any full-grown cat (the darker its color the better) can be excited by rubbing it with the hand in the direction of the hair, a process which is accompanied with a slight snapping noise, and in the dark by flashes of pale blue light. when a piece of glass is rubbed with silk, or a stick of red sealing-wax with woollen cloth, each substance acquires the property of attracting and repelling feathers, straws, threads of cotton, and other light substances; the substances just mentioned as highly electric are, however, merely specimens. all objects, without exception, most probably are capable of being electrically excited; but some require more complicated contrivances to produce it than others. _electric_, having the properties of electricity. _susceptible_, disposed to admit easily. _repelling_, the act of driving back. _complicated_, formed by the union of several parts in one. is there not a machine by which we are enabled to obtain large supplies of electric power at pleasure? yes; the electrical machine. it is made of different forms and sizes: for common purposes those of the simplest form are the best. a common form of the machine consists of a circular plate of glass, which can be turned about a horizontal axis by means of a suitable handle. this plate turns between two supports, and near its upper and lower edges are two pairs of cushions, usually made of leather, stuffed with horse-hair and coated with a mixture of zinc, tin, and mercury, called an _amalgam_. these cushions are the rubbers for producing friction, and are connected with the earth by means of a metal chain or rod. two large hollow cylinders of brass with globular ends, each supported by two glass pillars, constitute the reservoir for receiving the electricity. they are called the _prime conductors_, and are supplied with u-shaped rods of metal, furnished with points along their sides, called _combs_, for the purpose of receiving the electricity from the glass plate, the arms of the u being held upon either side. the other ends of the conductors are connected by a rod from the middle of which projects another rod terminating in a knob, for delivering the spark. on turning the plate, a faint snapping sound is heard, and when the room is darkened, a spark is seen to be thrown out from the knob projecting from the _prime conductors_. many curious and interesting experiments may be performed by means of the machine, illustrating the general properties of electricity. for instance: a person standing on an insulated bench, that is, a bench with glass legs, or having the legs resting on glass, and having one hand on the conductor, can send sparks, with the other hand, to everything and everybody about. this illustrates communication of electricity by contact. a wooden head, covered with long hairs, when placed on the conductor, illustrates electrical repulsion, by the hairs standing on end. if the hand is held to the knob, sparks will pass from it in rapid succession, causing in the hand a sensation of pain. this is called an _electric shock_, and is caused by the electric fluid occasioning a sudden motion by the contraction of the muscles through which it passes. the force of the shock is in proportion to the power of the machine. what are the muscles? bundles of thin fleshy fibres, or threads, fastened to the bones of animals, the contraction and expansion of which move the bones or perform the organic functions of life. _organic_, relating to organs or natural instruments by which some process is carried on. _functions_, employments or offices of any part of the body. _contraction_, drawing in or shortening. _expansion_, extending or spreading out. what is twilight? the light from the first dawning of day to the rising of the sun; and again between its setting and the last remains of day. without twilight, the sun's light would appear at its rising, and disappear at its setting, instantaneously; and we should experience a sudden transition from the brightest sunshine to the profoundest obscurity. the duration of twilight is different in different climates; and in the same places it varies at different periods of the year. _instantaneously_, done in an instant, in a moment's time. _obscurity_, darkness, want of light. how is it produced? by the sun's refraction--that is, the variation of the rays of light from their direct course, occasioned by the difference of density in the atmosphere. _variation_, change. _density_, closeness of parts, compactness. what is the poetical name for the morning twilight? aurora, the goddess of the morning, and harbinger of the rising sun: whom poets and artists represent as drawn by white horses in a rose-colored chariot, unfolding with her rosy fingers the portals of the east, pouring reviving dew upon the earth, and re-animating plants and flowers. _harbinger_, a forerunner. _portals_, gates, doors of entrance. _reanimating_, invigorating with new life. what remarkable phenomenon is afforded to the inhabitants of the polar regions? the aurora borealis, or northern lights, a luminous appearance in the northern parts of the heavens, seen mostly during winter, or in frosty weather, and clear evenings; it assumes a variety of forms and hues, especially in the polar regions, where it appears in its perfection, and proves a great solace to the inhabitants amidst the gloom of their long winter's night, which lasts from one to six months, while the summer's day which succeeds it lasts in like manner for the same period of time. of what nature is the aurora borealis? it is decidedly an electrical phenomenon which takes place in the higher regions of the atmosphere. it is somehow connected with the magnetic poles of the earth; and generally appears in form of a luminous arch, from east to west, but never from north to south. _phenomenon_, an extraordinary appearance. the word is from a greek one, signifying, to show or appear. _magnetic_, belonging to the magnet, or loadstone. _luminous_, bright, shining. in what country is it seen constantly from october to christmas? in siberia, where it is remarkably bright. on the western coast of hudson's bay, the sun no sooner disappears, than the aurora borealis diffuses a thousand different lights and colors with such dazzling beauty, that even the full moon cannot eclipse it. chapter ii. corn, barley, pearl barley, oats, rye, potatoes, tea, coffee, and chocolate. what is corn? corn signifies a race of plants which produce grain in an ear or head, fit for bread, the food of man; or the grain or seed of the plant, separated from the ear. what is generally meant by corn? in this country, maize, or indian corn, is generally meant; but, in a more comprehensive sense, the term is applied to several other kinds of grain, such as wheat, rye, barley, oats, &c. where was corn first used? it is uncertain. the athenians pretend that it was amongst them it was first used; the cretans, sicilians, and egyptians also lay claim to the same. from the accounts in the bible, we find that its culture engaged a large share of the attention of the ancient hebrews. _culture_, growth, cultivation. _hebrews_, the children of israel, the jews who were the athenians? inhabitants of athens, the capital city of greece. who were the cretans? the inhabitants of crete, an island of the archipelago. who were the sicilians? inhabitants of sicily, the largest island of the mediterranean sea, now a part of italy, and separated from the mainland by the strait of messina. where do the egyptians dwell? in egypt, a country of africa. it is extremely fertile, producing great quantities of corn. in ancient times it was called the dry nurse of rome and italy, from its furnishing with corn a considerable part of the roman empire; and we are informed, both from sacred and profane history, that it was anciently the most fertile in corn of all countries of the world. the corn of syria has always been very superior, and by many classed above that of egypt. for what is barley generally used? it is very extensively used for making malt, from which are prepared beer, ale, porter, &c.; in scotland it is a common ingredient in broths, for which reason its consumption is very considerable, barley broth being a dish very frequent there. _ingredient_, a separate part of a body consisting of different materials. what is pearl barley? barley freed from the husk by a mill. what are oats? a valuable grain, serving as food for horses. oats are also eaten by the inhabitants of many countries, after being ground into meal and made into oat cakes. oatmeal also forms a wholesome drink for invalids, by steeping it in boiling water. what are the uses of rye? in this and some other countries it is much used for bread, either alone or mixed with wheat; in england principally as food for cattle, especially for sheep and lambs, when other food is scarce in winter. rye yields a strong spirit when distilled. _distilled_, subjected to distillation--the operation of extracting spirit from a substance by evaporation and condensation. of what country is the potato a native? potatoes grew wild in peru, a country of south america; whence they were transplanted to other parts of the american continent, and afterwards to europe. the honor of introducing this useful vegetable into england is divided between sir francis drake, in , and sir walter raleigh, in , some ascribing it to the former, and others to the latter. it is certain they were obtained from virginia in the time of raleigh; they were cultivated only in the gardens of the nobility, and were reckoned a great delicacy. they now constitute a principal article of food in most of the countries of europe and america; in ireland, they have long furnished nearly four-fifths of the entire food of the people. what part of the plant is eaten? the root, which, when roasted or boiled, affords a wholesome and agreeable meal. what is tea? the leaves of an evergreen shrub, a native of china and japan, in which countries alone it is extensively cultivated for use. the tea-plant was at one time introduced into south carolina, where its culture appears to have been attended with but little success. it may yet become a staple production of some portions of the united states. _evergreen_, retaining its leaves fresh and green through all seasons. how is it prepared for use? by carefully gathering the leaves, one by one, while they are yet small, young, and juicy. they are then spread on large flat iron pans, and placed over small furnaces, when they are constantly shifted by the hand till they become too hot to be borne. what is next done? they are then removed with a kind of shovel resembling a fan, and poured on mats, whence they are taken in small quantities, and rolled in the palm of the hand always in one direction, until they cool and retain the curl. how often is this operation repeated? two or three times, the furnace each time being made less hot. the tea is then placed in the store-houses, or packed in chests, and sent to most of the countries in europe and america. describe the appearance of the tea-tree. the tea-tree when arrived at its full growth, which it does in about seven years, is about a man's height; the green leaves are narrow, and jagged all round; the flower resembles that of the wild rose, but is smaller. the shrub loves to grow in valleys, at the foot of mountains, and on the banks of rivers where it enjoys a southern exposure to the sun; though it endures considerable variation of heat and cold, as it flourishes in the northern clime of pekin, where the winter is often severe; and also about canton, where the heat is sometimes very great. the best tea, however, grows in a temperate climate, the country about nankin producing better tea than either pekin or canton, between which two places it is situated. what produces the difference between green and bohea, or black? there are varieties of the plant, and the difference of the tea arises from the mode of preparation. what nation first introduced it into europe? the dutch in ; it was introduced into england in what is coffee? the berry of the coffee-tree, a native of arabia. the coffee-tree is an evergreen, and makes a beautiful appearance at all times of the year, but especially when in flower, and when the berries are red, which is usually during the winter. it is also cultivated in persia, the east indies, liberia on the coast of africa, the west indies, brazil and other parts of south america, as well as in most tropical climates. _tropical_, being within the tropics, that is, in the torrid zone. who was the original discoverer of coffee, for the drink of man? it is not exactly known: the earliest written accounts of the use of coffee are by arabian writers in the th century; it appears that in the city of aden it became, in the latter half of that century, a very popular drink, first with lawyers, studious persons, and those whose occupation required wakefulness at night, and soon after, with all classes. its use gradually extended to other cities, and to those on the eastern shores of the mediterranean. towards the end of the seventeenth century, it was carried to batavia where it was soon extensively planted, and at last young trees were sent to the botanical garden at amsterdam. who introduced it into france and england? thevenot, the traveller, brought it into france, and a greek servant named pasqua (taken to england by mr. daniel edwards, a turkey merchant, in , to make his coffee,) first set up the profession of coffee-man, and introduced the drink among the english. how is it prepared? the berries are roasted in a revolving metallic cylinder, till they are of a deep brown color, and then ground to powder, and boiled. _metallic_, consisting of metal. what is chocolate? a kind of cake or paste, made of the kernel of the cacao-nut. describe the cacao-nut tree. it resembles the cherry tree, and grows to the height of fifteen or sixteen feet. the cacao-nut tree bears leaves, flowers, and fruit, all the year through. where does it grow? in tropical regions, where it is largely cultivated. of what form is the fruit? it is somewhat like a cucumber, about three inches round, and of a yellowish red color. it contains from ten to forty seeds, each covered with a little rind, of a violet color; when this is stripped off, the kernel, of which they make the chocolate, is visible. how do they make it into a drink? by boiling it with water or milk. there are various newly-invented ways of preparing chocolate, so that it may be made in a few minutes, by only pouring boiling water upon it. chapter iii. calico, cotton, cloth, wool, baize, linen, flax, hemp, diaper, holland, canvas, and flannel. what is calico? a kind of printed cotton cloth, of different colors. from what place did it take its name? from calicut, a city on the coast of malabar, where it was first made; much is now manufactured in the united states, england, and many other countries. what is cotton? a downy or woolly substance, enclosed in the pod, or seed-vessel, of the cotton-plant. the commercial classification of cotton is determined-- , by cleanliness or freedom from sand, dry leaf, and other impurities; , by absence of color; both subject also to character of staple, length, and strength and fineness of fibre. these together determine relative value. there are two general classifications, long-stapled and short-stapled. of the former the best is the sea island cotton of the united states. the _short staple cotton_, grows in the middle and upper country; the long staple is cultivated in the lower country near the sea, and on the islands near the coasts. how is it cultivated? the seeds are sown in ridges made with the plough or hoe; when the plants are mature, the pods open, and the cotton is picked from them. where did cotton anciently grow, and for what was it used? in egypt, where it was used by the priests and sacrificers, for a very singular kind of garment worn by them alone. in what manufacture is it now used? it is woven into muslins, dimities, cloths, calicoes, &c.; and is also joined with silks and flax, in the composition of other stuffs, and in working with the needle. how is the cotton separated from the seed? by machines called _cotton gins_, of which there are two kinds; the _roller-gin_, and the _saw-gin_. in the former, the cotton, just as gathered from the plant, is drawn between two rollers, placed so closely together as to permit the passage of the cotton, but not of the seeds, which are consequently left behind. in the _saw-gin_, the cotton is placed in a receiver, one side of which consists of a grating of parallel wires, about an eighth of an inch apart; circular saws, revolving on a common axis between these wires, entangle in their teeth the cotton, and draw it from the seeds, which are too large to pass between the wires. how is it made into calico, &c.? the cotton having been separated from the seed, is spun by a machine for the purpose. it is next woven, then dressed, and printed. what is cloth? the word, in its general sense, includes all kinds of stuffs woven in the loom, whether the threads be of wool, cotton, hemp, or flax. to what is it more particularly applied? to a web or tissue of woollen threads. _web_, any thing woven. what is wool? the covering or hair of sheep. to prepare it for the weaver, it is first shorn, washed, and dried, then carded or combed by machinery into fibres or threads: formerly this was always performed by the hand, by means of an instrument, called a comb, with several rows of pointed teeth; this, though not much used now, is still occasionally employed, except in large factories. this combing is repeated two or three times, till it is sufficiently smooth and even for spinning. spinning or converting wool, or cotton, silk, &c. into thread, was anciently performed by the distaff and spindle: these we find mentioned in sacred history, and they have been used in all ages, and in all countries yet discovered. the natives of india, and of some other parts of the world, still employ this simple invention. what was the next improvement? the invention of the hand-wheel. in , a machine called the spinning-jenny was invented by a weaver named hargreaves; but the greatest improvement in the art of spinning was effected by mr. arkwright, in : these two inventions were combined, and again improved upon in ; so that by the new plan, the material can be converted into thread in a considerably shorter space of time than in the ancient mode; leaving to man merely to feed the machine, and join the threads when they break. the sheep, whose wool forms the material for nearly all woollen clothing, came originally from africa. does weaving differ according to the material used? the principle of weaving is the same in every kind of fabric, and consists in forming any kind of thread into a flat web, or cloth, by interlacing one thread with another; the various appearances of the manufacture arise as much from the modes in which the threads are interwoven, as from the difference of material. is not the employment of wool in the manufacture of clothing of great antiquity? in the earliest records we possess of the arts of mankind, wool is mentioned as forming a chief article in the manufacture of clothing; it is spoken of in the bible, as a common material for cloth, as early as the time of moses. the ancient greeks and romans are well known to have possessed this art. at the beginning of the thirteenth century, the manufacture was established in many parts of europe, particularly in spain, from which country it extended itself to france and italy. there is no doubt that it was introduced into england by its conquerors the romans, a manufactory being established at winchester, sufficiently large to supply the roman army. _manufactory_, a place where things are made or manufactured; derived from the latin _manus_, a hand, and the verb _facio_, to do or make. what circumstance contributed to the progress of this manufacture among the english? in , the english, being desirous of improving their woollen manufacture, invited over the flemings, by the offer of various privileges, to establish manufactories there. the skill of these people soon effected a great improvement in the english fabrics, so that there no longer remained any occasion for the exportation of english wool into flanders, to be manufactured into fine cloth; and a law was passed by the government to forbid it. both the cotton and woollen manufactures have, of late years, arisen to great importance in the united states. what country affords the best wool? the wool of germany is most esteemed at the present day: that of spain was formerly the most valuable, but the spanish breed of sheep, having been introduced into germany, succeeded better there than in spain, and increased so rapidly, that the spanish wool trade has greatly diminished. australia is one of the principal wool-growing countries in the world, for the breed of sheep sent out to that country and tasmania has succeeded remarkably well. what part of the world is meant by australia? a british island in the south pacific ocean, comprising the colonies of queensland, new south wales, victoria, south australia, and western australia. it is the principal of the group of large islands, in the oriental archipelago. tasmania is another of the same group, separated from new south wales by a channel called bass's strait, and also belongs to great britain. what is meant by an archipelago? a part of a sea studded with numerous islands; but the term is more particularly applied to that lying between europe and asia, which contains the greek islands. the word is a corruption from the greek, signifying the Ægean sea. is the wool of the sheep all of one quality? no; it varies according to the species of sheep, the soil on which they are fed, and the part of the animal from which it is taken: the chief distinction is between the long and the short wool; the long wool is employed in the manufacture of carpets, crapes, blankets, &c.; and the finer and shorter sorts for hosiery, broadcloths &c. where were carpets originally made? carpets are of oriental origin, and are made of different sorts of stuffs; they are woven in a variety of ways. persian and turkey carpets are most esteemed; they are woven in a piece, in looms of a very simple construction. formerly the manufacture of these carpets was confined to persia and turkey; but they are now successfully made, both in europe and the united states, &c. great britain is the principal seat of the carpet manufacture of the world. brussels, wilton, and kidderminster carpets derive their names from the places where they were invented. is not the art of weaving very ancient? it appears to have been known from a period as early as the time of abraham and jacob; its inventor is not known, but it is possible that men took a lesson from the ingenious spider, which weaves its web after the same manner. the ancient egyptians appear to have brought it to great perfection, and were even acquainted with the art of interweaving colors after the manner of the scottish plaid. what is baize? a coarse, open, woollen stuff, with a long nap. it is chiefly made in the united states, england, france, &c. what is linen? there are various kinds of linen, made from cotton, flax, and hemp; but the term is chiefly applied to that woven with the two last mentioned. linen means cloth of flax; hence its derivation from the latin word _linum_, flax. what is flax? an annual plant, the fibres of which are beaten into threads, spun, and afterwards woven into linen; it is extensively cultivated in the united states, russia, and some other countries of europe. hemp is a plant of a similar nature, equally used with flax, in the manufacture of linens. russian hemp is cultivated to a larger extent than that of any other country, and is considered the best that is grown. how long has the use of hemp and flax been known? those plants are said to be natives of persia, and introduced from some parts of the east into europe, over which it is now widely distributed: it existed both in a wild and cultivated state, in some parts of russia, as early as five centuries before christ these products form a considerable article of exportation, besides the quantity used in russia itself; a considerable part is wrought into linens, diapers, canvas, and other manufactures; and even the seeds are exported, both in their natural state and as oil. in various parts of russia, hemp-seed oil and flax-seed (or linseed) oil are prepared in very large quantities. what is diaper? a sort of linen cloth, woven in flowers, and other figures; it is said to have received its name from d'iper, now ypres, a town of belgium, situated on a river of the same name, where it was first made. what is holland? a fine, close, even, linen cloth, used for sheets, &c. it obtained its name from being principally made in holland. what is canvas? a hempen cloth, so loosely woven as to leave interstices between the threads, in little squares. it is used for working in patterns upon it with wools, &c.; by painters for a ground work on which they draw their pictures; for tents, sails, and many other purposes. there are several sorts, varying in the fineness of their texture. what is damask? a sort of silken stuff, having some parts raised on its surface to represent flowers or figures. it took its name from damascus, in syria, whence it was first brought. is there not another sort of damask? yes, made from linen; and so called because its large flowers resemble those of damask roses. it was first made in flanders, and is used for table linen, &c. what is flannel? a slight, loose, woollen stuff, used for warm clothing; it was originally made in wales, where it still continues to be manufactured in great perfection. chapter iv. cocoa, toddy, cherries, bark, cork, cochineal, cloves, cinnamon, and cassia. of what form is the tree which bears those large nuts, called cocoa nuts? it is tall and straight, without branches, and generally about thirty or forty feet high; at the top are twelve leaves, ten feet long, and half a foot broad; above the leaves, grows a large excrescence in the form of a cabbage, excellent to eat, but taking it off kills the tree. the cocoa is a species of palm. is not the indian liquor called toddy, produced from the cocoa tree? yes, between the leaves and the top arise several shoots about the thickness of a man's arm, which, when cut, distil a white, sweet, and agreeable liquor; while this liquor exudes, the tree yields no fruit; but when the shoots are allowed to grow, it puts out a large cluster or branch, on which the cocoa nuts hang, to the number of ten or twelve. _distil_, to let fall in drops. _exude_, to force or throw out. [illustration: the cathedral of milan, italy.] how often does this tree produce nuts? three times a year, the nuts being about the size of a man's head, and of an oval form. of what countries is it a native? of asia, the indies, africa, arabia, the islands of the southern pacific, and the hottest parts of america. what are the uses of this tree? the leaves of the tree are made into baskets; they are also used for thatching houses: the fibrous bark of the nut, and the trunk of the tree, are made into cordage, sails, and cloth; the shell, into drinking bowls and cups; the kernel affords a wholesome food, and the milk contained in the shell, a cooling liquor. from what country was the cherry tree first brought? from cerasus, a city of pontus, in asia, on the southern borders of the black sea; from which place this tree was brought to rome, in the year of that city , by lucullus; it was conveyed, a hundred and twenty-eight years after, into great britain, a.d. . what is the meaning of a.d.? a short way of writing anno domini, latin words for _in the year of our lord_. who was lucullus? a renowned roman general. is the wood of the cherry tree useful? it is used in cabinet-making, for boxes, and other articles. what is bark? the exterior part of trees, which serves them as a skin or covering. _exterior_, the outside. does it not undergo some change during the year? each year the bark of a tree divides, and distributes itself two contrary ways, the outer part gives towards the skin, till it becomes skin itself, and at length falls off; the inner part is added to the wood. the bark is to the body of a tree, what the skin of our body is to the flesh. of what use is bark? bark is useful for many things: of the bark of willows and linden trees, ropes are sometimes made. the siamese make their cordage of the cocoa tree bark, as do most of the asiatic and african nations; in the east indies, they make the bark of a certain tree into a kind of cloth; some are used in medicines, as the peruvian bark for quinine; others in dyeing, as that of the alder; others in spicery, as cinnamon, &c.; the bark of oak, in tanning; that of a kind of birch is used by the indians for making canoes. what are canoes? boats used by savages; they are made chiefly of the trunks of trees dug hollow; and sometimes of pieces of bark fastened together. how do the savages guide them? with paddles, or oars; they seldom carry sails, and the loading is laid in the bottom. are not the savages very dexterous in the management of them? yes, extremely so; they strike the paddles with such regularity, that the canoes seem to fly along the surface of the water; at the same time balancing the vessels with their bodies, to prevent their overturning. _dexterous_, expert, nimble. do they leave their canoes in the water on their return from a voyage? no, they draw them ashore, hang them up by the two ends, and leave them to dry; they are generally so light as to be easily carried from place to place. were not books once made of bark? yes, the ancients wrote their books on the barks of many trees, as on those of the ash and the lime tree, &c. which part did they use? not the exterior or outer bark, but the inner and finer, which is of so durable a texture, that there are manuscripts written on it which are still extant, though more than a thousand years old. is it not also used in manure? yes, especially that of the oak; but the best oak bark is used in tanning. what is cork? the thick, spongy, external bark of the cork tree, a species of oak. there are two varieties of this tree, the broad-leaved and the narrow: it is an evergreen, and grows to the height of thirty feet. the cork tree attains to a very great age. where is the tree found? in spain, italy, france, and many other countries. the true cork is the produce of the broad-leaved tree. what are its uses? cork is employed in various ways, but especially for stopping vessels containing liquids, and, on account of its buoyancy in water, in the construction of life boats. it is also used in the manufacture of life preservers and cork jackets. the greatest quantities are brought from catalonia, in spain. the uses of cork were well known to the ancients. to what particular use did the egyptians put it? they made coffins of it, lined with a resinous composition, which preserved the bodies of the dead uncorrupted. what is cochineal? a drug used by the dyers, for dyeing crimsons and scarlets; and for making carmine, a brilliant red used in painting, and several of the arts. is it a plant? no, it is an insect. the form of the cochineal is oval; it is about the size of a small pea, and has six legs armed with claws, and a trunk by which it sucks its nourishment. what is its habitation? it breeds in a fruit resembling a pear; the plant which bears it is about five or six feet high; at the top of the fruit grows a red flower, which when full blown, falls upon it; the fruit then appears full of little red insects, having very small wings. these are the cochineals. how are they caught? by spreading a cloth under the plant, and shaking it with poles, till the insects quit it and fly about, which they cannot do many minutes, but soon tumble down dead into the cloth; where they are left till quite dry. does the insect change its color when it is dead? when the insect flies, it is red; when it is fallen, black; and when first dried, it is greyish; it afterwards changes to a purplish grey, powdered over with a kind of white dust. from what countries is the cochineal brought? from the west indies, jamaica, mexico, and other parts of america. what are cloves? the dried flower-buds of the clove tree, anciently a native of the moluccas; but afterwards transplanted by the dutch (who traded in them,) to other islands, particularly that of ternate. it is now found in most of the east indian islands. describe the clove tree. it is a large handsome tree of the myrtle kind; its leaves resemble those of the laurel. though the clove tree is cultivated to a great extent, yet, so easily does the fruit on falling take root, that it thus multiplies itself, in many instances, without the trouble of culture. the clove when it first begins to appear is white, then green, and at last hard and red; when dried, it turns yellow, and then dark brown. what are its qualities? the clove is the hottest, and most acrid of aromatic substances; one of our most wholesome spices, and of great use in medicine; it also yields an abundance of oil, which is much used by perfumers, and in medicine. _acrid_, of a hot, biting taste. _aromatic_, fragrant, having an agreeable odor. what is cinnamon? an agreeable, aromatic spice, the bark of a tree of the laurel kind; the cinnamon tree grows in the southern parts of india; but most abundantly in the island of ceylon, where it is extensively cultivated; its flowers are white, resembling those of the lilac in form, and are very fragrant; they are borne in large clusters. the tree sends up numerous shoots the third or fourth year after it has been planted; these shoots are planted out, when nearly an inch in thickness. how is the bark procured? by stripping it off from these shoots, after they have been cut down; the trees planted for the purpose of obtaining cinnamon, throw out a great number of branches, apparently from the same root, and are not allowed to rise higher than ten feet; but in its native uncultivated state, the cinnamon tree usually rises to the height of twenty or thirty feet. how is the cinnamon tree cultivated? by seed, sown during the rains; from shoots cut from large trees; and by transplanting old stumps. the cinnamon tree, in its wild state, is said to be propagated by means of a kind of pigeons, that feed on its fruit; in carrying which to their nests, the seeds fall out, and, dropping in various places, take root, spring up, and become trees. _propagated_, spread, extended, multiplied. what else is obtained from this tree? the bark, besides being used as a spice, yields an oil highly esteemed, both as a medicine and as a perfume; the fruit by boiling also produces an oil, used by the natives for burning in lamps; as soon as it hardens, it becomes a solid substance like wax, and is formed into candles. camphor is extracted from the root. cassia is cinnamon of an inferior kind. chapter v. bombazine, crape, camlet, cambric, lace, silk, velvet, and mohair. what is bombazine? a stuff composed of silk and wool woven together in a loom. it was first made at milan, and thence sent abroad; great quantities are now made in england and other countries. where is milan situated? in italy, and is noted for its cathedral. for what is bombazine used? for dresses. black bombazine is worn entirely for mourning. the original bombazine has, however, become much less used than formerly, on account of the numerous newly-invented fabrics of finer or coarser qualities, composed of the same materials mixed in various degrees, as mousselines de laine, challis, &c. what is crape? a light, transparent stuff, resembling gauze, made of raw silk very loosely woven, or of wool; by raw silk is meant, silk in the state in which it is taken from the silk worm. where was crape first made? at bologna, a city of italy. what city of france was long celebrated for its manufacture? lyons, the second city of france, where there are large silk manufactories. great quantities are also made in england, principally in the city of norwich, which has long been distinguished for the beauty of its crapes. what is camlet? a stuff made sometimes of wool, sometimes of silk and hair, especially that of goats. the oriental camlet is made of the pure hair of a sort of goat, a native of angora, a city of natolia, in turkey. the european camlets are made of a mixture of woollen thread and hair. what countries are most noted for them? england, france, holland, and flanders; the city of brussels, in belgium, exceeds them all in the beauty and quality of its camlets; those of england are the next. what is cambric? a species of linen made of flax; it is very fine and white. from whence did it take its name? from cambray, a large and celebrated city of french flanders, where it was first made; it is now made at other places in france; and also in england, scotland, ireland, the united states, &c. what is lace? a work composed of many threads of fine linen or silk, interwoven one with another according to some particular pattern. belgium, france, and england are the principal countries in which this manufacture is carried on; vast quantities of the finest laces were formerly made in flanders. from what is silk produced? from the silk-worm, an insect not more remarkable for the precious matter it furnishes, than for the many forms it assumes before and after it envelopes itself in the beautiful ball, the silken threads of which form the elegant texture which is so much worn. _texture_, a web or substance woven. what are the habits of this insect, and on what does it feed? after bursting from the egg, it becomes a large worm or caterpillar of a yellowish white color, (which is its first state;) this caterpillar feeds on the leaves of the mulberry tree, till, arriving at maturity, it winds itself up in a silken bag or case, called a cocoon, about the size and shape of a pigeon's egg, and becomes a chrysalis; in which state it lies without signs of life; in about ten days it eats its way out of its case, a perfect butterfly, which lays a number of eggs and then dies. in the warmth of the summer weather, these eggs are hatched, and become worms, as their parents did at first. _maturity_, ripeness, perfection how much silk is each ball said to contain? each ball consists of a very fine, soft, bright, delicate thread, which being wound off, extends in length six miles. what is meant by chrysalis? the second state into which the insect passes before it comes to be a butterfly. the maggot or worm having ceased to eat, fixes itself in some place till its skin separates, and discovers a horny, oblong body, which is the chrysalis. where was silk first made? the culture and manufacture of silk was originally confined to china. the greeks, under alexander the great, brought home, among other eastern luxuries, wrought silks from persia, about , b.c. it was not long unknown to the romans, although it was so rare, that it was even sold weight for weight with gold. the emperor aurelian, who died in , b.c. refused the empress, his wife, a suit of silk which she solicited with much earnestness, merely on account of its dearness. heliogabalus, the emperor, who died half a century before aurelian, was the first who wore a _holosericum_ or garment all of silk. who introduced the silk worm itself into europe? two monks, engaged as missionaries in china, obtained a quantity of silk worms' eggs, which they concealed in a hollow cane, and conveyed in safety to constantinople in ; the eggs were hatched in the proper season by the warmth of manure, and the worms fed with the leaves of the wild mulberry tree. these worms in due time spun their silk, and propagated under the care of the monks, who also instructed the romans in the whole process of manufacturing their production. from the insects thus produced, proceeded all the silk worms which have since been reared in europe, and the western parts of asia. the mulberry tree was then eagerly planted, and on this, their natural food, they were successfully reared in greece; and the manufacture was established at thebes, athens, and corinth, in particular. the venetians, soon after this time commencing a trade with the greeks, supplied all the western parts of europe with silks for many centuries. where were the cities of thebes and athens situated? thebes was an ancient city of beotia, in greece, founded by cadmus, a phenician, though of egyptian parentage. sailing from the coast of phenicia, he arrived in beotia, and built the city, calling it thebes, from the city of that name in egypt. to this prince is ascribed the invention of sixteen letters of the greek alphabet. athens was the capital of attica, founded by cecrops, an egyptian. it was the seat of learning and the arts, and has produced some of the most celebrated warriors, statesmen, orators, poets, and sculptors in the world. since the emancipation of greece from the cruel bondage of its conquerors the turks, who had oppressed it for three centuries, athens has been chosen as its capital, and is still a considerable town adorned with splendid ruins of the beautiful buildings it once possessed. thebes and corinth, another celebrated city, are now only villages. _warrior_, a soldier. _statesmen_, men versed in the arts of government. _orator_, a public speaker. _poet_, one who composes poetry. _sculptor_, one who cuts figures in stone, marble, or ivory. who were the venetians? inhabitants of venice, a city of italy. did this manufacture continue to be confined to the greeks and venetians? by no means. the rest of italy, and spain, by degrees learnt the art from some manufactories in sicily; and about the reign of francis the first, the french became masters of it. it, however, long remained a rarity; their king, henry the second, is supposed to have worn the first pair of knit silk stockings. the fourth henry encouraged the planting of mulberry trees; his successors also did the same, and the produce of silk in france is now very considerable. when was the manufacture of silk introduced into england? there was a company of silk women in england as early as the year ; but they probably were merely employed in needlework of silk and thread, for italy supplied england with the broad manufacture during the chief part of the fifteenth century. the great advantage this new manufacture afforded, made king james the first very desirous for its introduction into england, particularly in , when it was recommended, in very earnest terms, to plant mulberry trees for the rearing of silk worms; but unhappily without effect. however, towards the latter end of this reign, the broad silk manufacture was introduced, and with great success. the revocation of the edict of nantes contributed greatly to its promotion, by the number of french workmen who took refuge in england; to them the english are indebted for the art of manufacturing many elegant kinds of silks, satins, velvets, &c., which had formerly been imported from abroad up to the year . the silk manufacture has also been successfully introduced into some portions of the united states. _revocation_, act of recalling, repeal. _imported_, brought into. what was the edict of nantes? a law made in favor of the protestants, the repealing of which drove many of their most skilful workmen to take refuge in england. they were kindly received, and settled in spitalfields, and many other parts of england as well as ireland, where they carried on a flourishing and ingenious manufacture. were the attempts to rear silk worms in england successful? no; after many trials, all of which failed, attention was directed to the establishments for procuring both raw and wrought silks, in the settlements in india belonging to britain; this was attended with complete success, the climate being extremely favorable, and the price of labor cheap. raw silk is imported in quantities from india, china, italy, &c. how is the silk taken from the worm? the people who are employed in the care of these insects collect the golden balls from off the mulberry trees, (to the leaves of which the insects glue their silk) and put them into warm water, that the threads may unfasten and wind off more easily; having taken off the coarse woolly part which covers the balls, they take twelve or fourteen threads at a time, and wind them off into skeins. in order to prepare this beautiful material for the hand of the weaver to be wrought into silks, stuffs, brocades, satins, velvets, ribbons, &c., it is spun, reeled, milled, bleached, and dyed. _milled_, worked in a kind of mill. _bleached_, whitened. what is velvet? a rich kind of stuff, all silk, covered on the outside with a close, short, fine, soft shag; the wrong side being very strong and close. the principal number, and the best velvets, were made in france and italy; others in holland; they are now brought to great perfection in england. an inferior kind is made by mixing cotton with the silk. velvet has been known in europe for some centuries, but its manufacture was long confined to some of the chief cities of italy. from that country the french learned the art, and greatly improved it. whence is the word velvet derived? from the italian word _velluto_, signifying velvet, which comes from _vellus_, hair or fleece. what is mohair? the hair of a kind of goat, common about angora, in turkey. it is used in the manufacture of various kinds of stuffs, shawls, &c. is there not another animal much celebrated for the material it furnishes in the making of shawls? yes; the thibet goat. the wool is sent to cashmere, where it is spun and dyed. cashmere is situated in the north-west extremity of india, and has long been celebrated for the beautiful and valuable shawls bearing its name which are manufactured there. the goats are beautiful creatures, with long, fine, wavy hair, reaching nearly to the ground, so as almost to conceal their legs. the material of which the shawls are made is a fine silky down, which grows under the long hair, next to the skin. chapter vi. currants, raisins, figs, rice, sugar, sugar candy, &c., sago, millet, ginger, nutmeg, mace, pimento or allspice, pepper, and cayenne pepper. what are currants? a kind of small raisins or dried grapes. whence are they brought? from several islands of the archipelago, particularly zante and cephalonia; and from the isthmus of corinth, in greece. do they grow on bushes like our currants? no, on vines like other grapes, except that the leaves are somewhat thicker, and the grapes much smaller: they have no pips, and are of a deep red, or rather black color. when are they gathered, and how are they dried? they are gathered in august, and laid on the ground in heaps till dry; they are then cleaned, and put into magazines, from which they are taken and packed in barrels for exportation. what do you mean by exportation? the act of conveying goods for sale from one country to another. what are raisins? grapes prepared by drying them in the sun, or by the heat of an oven. raisins of damascus, so called from the capital city of syria, near which they are cultivated, are very large, flat, and wrinkled on the surface; soft and juicy inside, and nearly an inch long. raisins of the sun, or jar raisins, so called from being imported in jars, are all dried by the heat of the sun; they are of a reddish blue color, and are the produce of spain, whence the finest and best raisins are brought. there are several other sorts, named either from the place in which they grow, or the kind of grape of which they are made, as those of malaga, valencia, &c. in what manner are they dried? the common way of drying grapes for raisins, is to tie two or three bunches of them together while yet on the vine, and dip them into a lye made of hot wood-ashes, mixed with a little olive oil. this makes them shrink and wrinkle: after this they are cut from the branches which supported them, but left on the vine for three or four days, separated on sticks, in an upright position, to dry at leisure. different modes, however, are adopted, according to the quality of the grape. the commonest kinds are dried in hot ovens, but the best way is that in which the grapes are cut when fully ripe, and dried by the heat of the sun, on a floor of hard earth or stone. _lye_, a liquor made from wood-ashes; of great use in medicine, bleaching, sugar works, &c. what are figs? a soft, luscious fruit, the produce of the fig-tree. the best figs are brought from turkey, but they are also imported from italy, spain, and the southern part of france. the islands of the archipelago yield an inferior sort in great abundance. in this country they are sometimes planted in a warm situation in gardens, but, being difficult to ripen, they do not arrive at perfection. the figs sent from abroad are dried by the heat of the sun, or in furnaces for the purpose. _luscious_, sweet to excess, cloying. what is rice? a useful and nutritious grain, cultivated in immense quantities in india, china, and most eastern countries; in the west indies, central america, and the united states; and in southern europe. it forms the principal food of the people of eastern and southern asia, and is more extensively consumed than any other species of grain, not even excepting wheat. _nutritious_, wholesome, good for food. does it not require a great deal of moisture? yes, it is usually planted in moist soils, and near rivers, where the ground can be overflowed after it is come up. the chinese water their rice-fields by means of movable mills, placed as occasion requires, upon any part of the banks of a river; the water is raised in buckets to a proper height, and afterwards conveyed in channels to the destined places. what is sugar? a sweet, agreeable substance, manufactured chiefly from the sugar cane,[ ] a native of the east and west indies, south america and the south sea islands; it is much cultivated in all tropical countries. the earliest authentic accounts of sugar, are about the time of the crusades,[ ] when it appears to have been purchased from the saracens, and imported into europe. [footnote : most of the sugar in europe is made from beets.] [footnote : see chapter xvii., article navigation.] _authentic_, true, certain. _crusades_, holy wars. _saracens_, turks or arabs. how is it prepared? the canes are crushed between large rollers in a mill, and the juice collected into a large vessel placed to receive it; it is then boiled, and placed in pans to cool, when it becomes imperfectly crystallized, in which state we use it. this is called raw or soft sugar: loaf sugar, or the hard white sugar, is the raw brown sugar, prepared by refining it till all foreign matter is removed. is the sugar cane the only vegetable that produces sugar? all vegetables contain more or less sugar, but the plant in which it most abounds is the sugar-cane. in the united states, a large quantity of sugar is prepared from the sap of the sugar maple tree. the trees are tapped at the proper season by a cut being made in the bark, and the juice runs into a vessel placed to receive it; it is then prepared in the same manner as the juice of the sugar cane. what is sugar candy? sugar purified and crystallized. what is barley sugar? sugar boiled till it is brittle, and cast on a stone anointed with oil of sweet almonds, and then formed into twisted sticks. what is sago? a substance prepared from the pith of the sago palm, which grows naturally in various parts of africa and the indies. the pith, which is even eatable in its natural state, is taken from the trunk of the tree, and thrown into a vessel placed over a horse-hair sieve; water is then thrown over the mass, and the finer parts of the pith pass through the sieve; the liquor thus obtained is left to settle. the clear liquor is then drawn off, and what remains is formed into grains by being passed through metal dishes, with numerous small holes; it is next dried by the action of heat, and in this state it is exported. the sago palm also produces sugar. what is millet, and in what countries does it grow? millet is an esculent grain, originally brought from the eastern countries. it is cultivated in many parts of europe, but most extensively in egypt, syria, china, and hindostan, whence we are furnished with it, it being rarely cultivated among us, except as a curiosity. _esculent_, good for food. for what is millet used? it is in great request amongst the germans for puddings; for which it is sometimes used amongst us. the italians make loaves and cakes of it. what is ginger? the root of a plant cultivated in the east and west indies, and in america; it is a native of south-eastern asia and the adjoining islands. describe its nature and use. it is a warm aromatic, much used in medicine and cookery. the indians eat the root when green as a salad, chopping it small with other herbs; they also make a candy of it with sugar. the ginger sold in the shops here is dried, which is done by placing the roots in the heat of the sun or in ovens, after being dug out of the ground. quantities not only of the dried root, but also of the candied sugar, are imported. what are nutmegs? a delicate aromatic fruit or spice, brought from the east indies. the nutmeg tree greatly resembles our pear tree, and produces a kind of nut, which bears the same name as the tree. [illustration: glass blowing at the glass-works, pittsburgh, pa.] what is the appearance of the nutmeg? its form is round, and its smell agreeable. the nutmeg is inclosed in four different covers; the first, a thick fleshy coat, (like our walnut,) which opens of itself when ripe; under this lies a thin reddish network, of an agreeable smell and aromatic taste, called mace; this wraps up the shell, which opens as the fruit grows. the shell is the third cover, which is hard, thin, and blackish; under this is a greenish film of no use; and in the last you find the nutmeg, which is the kernel of the fruit. what are its uses? the nutmeg is much used in our food, and is of excellent virtue as a medicine. it also yields an oil of great fragrance. is the mace used as a spice? yes, it is separated from the shell of the nutmeg, and dried in the sun. it is brought over in flakes of a yellow color, smooth and net-like, as you see it in the shops. its taste is warm, bitterish, and rather pungent; its smell, aromatic. it is used both in food and medicine, as the nutmeg, and also yields an oil. _pungent_, of a hot, biting taste. what is pimento or allspice? the dried unripe berry or fruit of a tree growing in great abundance in jamaica, particularly on the northern side of that island, on hilly spots, near the coast; it is also a native of both indies. the pimento tree is a west indian species of myrtle; it grows to the height of twenty or thirty feet; the leaves are all of a deep, shining green, and the blossom consists of numerous branches of small, white, aromatic flowers, which render its appearance very striking; there is scarcely in the vegetable world any tree more beautiful than a young pimento about the month of july, when it is in full bloom. when is the time to gather the spice? about the month of september, not long after the blossoms are fallen, the berries are gathered by the hand; one laborer on the tree, employed in gathering the small branches, will give employment to three below (who are generally women and children) in picking the berries. they are then spread out thinly, and exposed to the sun at its rising and setting for some days; when they begin to dry, they are frequently winnowed, and laid on cloths to preserve them better from rain and dew; by this management they become wrinkled, and change from green to a deep reddish brown color. great quantities are annually imported. what are its uses? it forms a pleasant addition to flavor food; it also yields an agreeable essential oil, and is accounted the best and mildest of common spices. _essential_, pure; extracted so as to contain all the virtues of the spice in a very small compass. why is it called allspice? because it has been supposed to combine the flavor of cloves, nutmegs, and cinnamon; the french call it _round clove_, from its round shape, and the taste being somewhat like that spice. what is pepper? the product of a creeping shrub, growing in several parts of the east indies, asia, and america. in what manner does pepper grow, and what part of the shrub is used? pepper is the fruit of this shrub, and grows in bunches or clusters, at first green; as it ripens it becomes reddish, until having been exposed for some time to the heat of the sun, (or probably gathered before perfectly ripe,) it becomes black, as in the condition we have it. there are two sorts, the black and the white. what is the white pepper? the white pepper is merely the black deprived of its outside skin. for this purpose the finest red berries are selected, and put in baskets to steep, either in running water, or in pits dug for the purpose, near the banks of rivers. sometimes they are only buried in the ground. in any of these situations, they swell and burst their skins, from which, when dry, they are carefully separated by rubbing between the hands, or fanning. what is cayenne pepper? the dried fruit of a plant called bird pepper, a native of both indies. it is more pungent than the other sorts. chapter vii. glass, mirrors, earthenware, porcelain, needles, pins, paper, printing, parchment, and vellum. what is glass? a transparent, solid, brittle, factitious body, produced by fusing sand with an alkali. the essential ingredients of glass are silex and potash, or soda; a few other substances are sometimes added. silex is found nearly pure in rock crystal, flint, and other varieties of quartz; for the manufacture of the better kinds of glass in this country, it is generally obtained from sand, especially the white sand of new jersey. _factitious_, made by art, not found in a state of nature. what is potash? the saline matter obtained from the ashes of wood, by causing water to pass through them; the water imbibes the salt, which is then obtained from it by evaporation. when purified by calcination, it is termed pearlash. in countries where there are vast forests, as in america and russia, it is manufactured on a very large scale. what can you say of the origin of glass? the period of its invention is quite unknown. pliny relates that some merchants, driven by a storm to the coast of phenicia, near the river belus, made a large fire on the sand to dress some food, using as fuel some of the plant kali, which grew there in great abundance; an imperfect glass was thus formed by the melting of the sand and ashes together. this production was picked up by a syrian merchant, who, attracted by its great beauty, examined the cause of its origin, and, after many attempts, succeeded in its manufacture. who was pliny? a celebrated roman naturalist and historian. at what place was glass first made? some authors mention sidon in syria, which became famous for glass and glass-houses; but others maintain that the first glass-houses noticed in history were built at tyre; which, they add, was the only place where glass was made for many ages. it is certain that the art was known to the egyptians. what is phenicia? a sub-division of syria in asia. what is an author? a person who writes a book. what is signified by a glass-house? a building erected for the making and working of glass. what countries had glass windows first? italy, then france and england; they began to be common about the year . in what year, and where, was the making of glass bottles begun? in , in london. the first glass plates for mirrors and coach-windows were made at lambeth, in . what is a mirror? a body which exhibits the images of objects presented to it by reflection. the word mirror is more peculiarly used to signify a smooth surface of glass, tinned and quicksilvered at the back,[ ] which reflects the images of objects placed before it. [footnote : see chapter xii., article mercury.] are they a modern invention? the use of mirrors is very ancient; mention is made of brazen mirrors or looking-glasses in exodus, the th chapter and th verse. some modern commentators will not admit the mirrors themselves to have been of brass, but of glass set or framed in brass; but the most learned among the jewish rabbins say that in those times the mirrors made use of by the hebrew women in dressing their heads were of metal, and that the devout women mentioned in this passage made presents to moses of all their mirrors to make the brazen laver for the tabernacle. it might likewise be proved that the ancient greeks made use of brazen mirrors, from many passages in the ancient poets. _commentators_, explainers of passages in the bible, &c. _rabbins_, doctors among the jews, their learned men or teachers. what nation invented the large looking-glass plates now in use? the french. what city of italy excelled all europe for many years in the making of fine glass? venice. the manufacture of fine glass was first introduced into england by venetian artists in . of what is earthenware composed? of clay, and those earths which are capable of being kneaded into a paste easily receiving any form, and acquiring solidity by exposure to fire: sand, chalk, and flint are likewise mixed with clay. in what manner is it formed into such a variety of shapes? the flint or sand, and soft clay, are mixed together in various proportions for the different kinds of ware; this paste is afterwards beaten till it becomes fit for being formed at the wheel into plates, dishes, basins, &c. these are then put into a furnace and baked; after which they are glazed. what nation so greatly excelled in the manufacture of a beautiful species of earthenware? the chinese,--who, as far as can be ascertained, were its inventors. porcelain is a fine sort of earthenware, chiefly made in china, whence it was called china or china-ware; it is also brought from many parts of the east, especially from japan, siam, surat, and persia. the art of making porcelain was one of those in which europe had been excelled by oriental nations; but for many years past earthenwares have been made in different parts of europe, so like the oriental, that they have acquired the name of porcelain. the first european porcelains were made in saxony and france, and afterwards in england, germany, and italy, all of which differed from those of japan and china, but each possessing its peculiar character. they are now brought to great perfection in europe, particularly in england, france and prussia. before the invention of earthenware, what supplied its place to the early inhabitants of the world? the more civilized the inhabitants of any country became, the more they would perceive the convenience of possessing vessels of various descriptions for holding or preparing their food; some of the objects which first presented themselves would be the larger kinds of shells; and, in hot climates, the hard coverings of the cocoa-nut or gourd. in some cases the skins of beasts were used, as they still are in the east, where they are sewed together, and formed into a kind of bottle to hold milk, wine, &c.; but the people of colder climates would not be able to avail themselves of these natural productions, and would be obliged to make use of other substances. what, then, would they employ? clay, which in many countries is found in great abundance, from its adhesive property, and its retaining its form when dry, and becoming insoluble in water after having been baked in the fire, would naturally attract the attention of an improving people: from this it arises that the early remains of culinary and other vessels which have been discovered have been formed of this material. among the remains of ancient egypt, numerous vessels have been found formed of common clay baked in the fire; and, though of rude workmanship, extremely elegant in form. _adhesive_, sticky; apt or tending to adhere. _insoluble_, not capable of being dissolved. _culinary_, belonging to cooking or domestic purposes. of what are needles made? of steel; and though exceedingly cheap, they go through a great number of operations before they are brought to perfection. it was in the reign of queen elizabeth that the english learnt the art of making needles. of what are pins made? of brass wire, blanched with tin. they are manufactured in england, france, the united states, and other countries. though there is scarcely any commodity cheaper than pins, there is no other which passes through the hands of a greater number of workmen; more than twenty persons being successively employed in the manufacture of each, from the drawing of the brass wire to the sticking of the pin in the paper. pins are supposed to have been made in england about , or even earlier. before this art was invented, the ladies made use of wooden skewers. _blanched_, whitened. of what is paper made? of linen and cotton rags beaten to a pulp in water; also from straw, wood, and many plants. what materials were used for writing, before the invention of paper? various were the materials on which mankind in different ages and countries contrived to write: stones, bricks, the leaves of herbs and trees, and their rinds or barks; tablets of wood, wax, and ivory; plates of lead, silk, linen rolls, &c. at length the egyptian paper made of the papyrus, was invented; then parchment; and lastly, paper manufactured of cotton or linen rags. there are few sorts of plants which have not at some time been used for paper and books. in ceylon, for instance, the leaves of the talipot; in india, the leaves of the palm (with which they commonly covered their houses,) were used for books. in the east indies, the leaves of the plantain tree, dried in the sun, were used for the same purpose. in china, paper is made of the inner bark of the mulberry, the bamboo, the elm, the cotton, and other trees. what is papyrus? a large rush, chiefly growing in egypt, on the banks of the nile. the ancient egyptians made sails, ropes, mats, blankets, and canvas, of the stalks and fibres of the papyrus. their priests also wore shoes made of it; and even sugar was extracted from this plant. moses, the deliverer raised by god to rescue the israelites from the bondage of egypt, was exposed to the nile in a basket of papyrus. the plant is now, however, exceedingly scarce. where was the first paper mill erected in england? at dartford, by a german named spilman, in . the only sort made, however, was the coarse brown; and it was not till , when the french protestant refugees settled in england, that their own paper-makers began to make white writing and printing paper. the manufacture has been brought to great perfection, both for beauty and substance, in england and the united states. _protestant_, a name given in germany to those who adhered to the doctrines of the apostate monk, martin luther, because they protested against a decree of charles v. and applied to a general council. _refugee_, from refuge, a place of safety from danger; an asylum. here it more particularly means those french protestants who quit their homes and sought other countries, after the revocation of the edict of nantes, which deprived them of their religious liberty. [illustration: the dome of pisa, italy; with the famous leaning tower, in the distance.] is it known to whom we are indebted for the invention of linen paper? not exactly. it has long been disputed among the learned when, and by whom, it was invented; some authors say it was discovered by the germans, others by the italians; others ascribe it to some refugee greeks at basil, who took the idea from the making of cotton paper in their own country; some, that the arabs first introduced it into europe. perhaps the chinese have the best title to the invention, inasmuch as they have for many ages made paper, and in some provinces of the same materials as are now used by us in its manufacture. in what place was the art of printing first practised? who were the inventors of printing, in what city, and in what year it was begun, has long been a subject of great dispute. mentz, harlem, and strasburg, cities of germany, all lay claim to the invention, but mentz seems to have the best title to it. what was the first book that was printed from metal types? a copy of the holy scriptures, which made its appearance between the years and . who introduced printing into england? william caxton, a merchant of london, who had acquired a knowledge of it in his travels abroad. of what does printing consist? of the art of taking impressions with ink, from movable characters and figures made of metal, &c., upon paper or parchment. what is parchment? sheep or goat's skin, prepared after a peculiar manner, which renders it proper for several uses, especially for writing on, and for the covering of books. the ancients seem to have used the skins of animals as a writing material, from a remote period. from what is the word parchment taken? from pergamena, the ancient name of this manufacture, which it is said to have taken from the country of pergamus; and to eumenes, king of that country, its invention is usually ascribed, though in reality, that prince appears to have been the improver, rather than the inventor of parchment; since some accounts refer its invention to a still earlier period of time. herodotus, an ancient greek historian, who lived about years before christ, relates that the ancient ionians made use of sheep and goat-skins in writing, many ages before the time of eumenes; the persians of old, too, wrote all their records on skins, and probably such skins were prepared and dressed for that purpose, after a manner not unlike our parchments, though not so artificially. who were the ionians? the inhabitants of ionia, an ancient country in the western part of asia minor. in what manner is parchment now prepared? the sheep-skins are smeared over with lime[ ] on the fleshy side, folded, laid in heaps, and thus left for some days; they are next stretched very tight on wooden frames, after having been washed, drained, and half dried. the flesh is then carefully taken off with iron instruments constructed on purpose, and the skin cleansed from the remaining hairs that adhere to it. after having gone through several operations till it is perfectly clean and smooth, it is fit for writing upon. [footnote : see chapter xvi., article lime.] what are the uses of parchment? parchment is of great use for writings which are to be preserved, on account of its great durability; the writing on it remaining perfect for a great number of years. it is also used for the binding of books, and various other purposes. what is vellum? a finer sort of parchment than the former, but prepared in the same manner, except that it is not passed through the lime-pit. it is made of the skins of very young calves: there is also a still finer sort made of the skins of sucking lambs, or kids; this is called _virgin_ parchment, and is very thin, fine, and white, and is used for fancy-work, such as ladies' fans, &c. chapter viii. capers, almonds, oranges, lemons, citrons, limes, olives, oils, melons, tamarinds, and dates. what are capers? the full-grown flower-buds of the caper tree, a small shrub, generally found growing out of the fissures of rocks, or among rubbish, on old walls and ruins, giving them a gay appearance with its large white flowers. it is a native of italy: it is also common in the south of france, where it is much cultivated. how are they prepared, and for what are they used? they are gathered, and dried in the shade; then infused in vinegar, to which salt is added; after which they are put in barrels, to be used as a pickle, chiefly in sauces. what are frequently substituted for capers? the buds of broom pickled in the same manner, or the berries of the nasturtium, an american annual plant, with pungent fruit. what are almonds? the nut of the almond tree, a species of the peach, growing in most of the southern parts of europe; there are two kinds, the bitter and the sweet. what are their qualities and use? the sweet almonds are of a soft, grateful taste, and much used by the confectioner in numerous preparations of sweet-meats, cookery, &c. both sorts yield an oil, and are useful in medicine. of what country is the orange a native? it is a native of china, india, and most tropical countries; but has long been produced in great perfection in the warmer parts of europe and america. oranges are imported in immense quantities every year, from the azores, spain, portugal, italy, &c. they are brought over in chests and boxes, packed separately in paper to preserve them. the oranges in common use with us are the bitter or seville, the china or sweet orange, and those from florida. where are the azores situated? in the atlantic ocean, about miles west of portugal. these islands are very productive in wine and fruits. where is seville? in spain; it is an ancient and considerable city, the capital of the province of andalusia. the flowers of the seville orange are highly odoriferous, and justly esteemed one of the finest perfumes. its fruit is larger than the china orange, and rather bitter; the yellow rind or peel is warm and aromatic. the juice of oranges is a grateful and wholesome acid. _odoriferous_, sweet-scented, fragrant; having a brisk, agreeable smell which may be perceived at a distance. who first introduced the china orange into europe? the portuguese. it is said that the very tree from which all the european orange trees of this sort were produced, was still preserved some years back, at the house of the count st. laurent, in lisbon. in india, those most esteemed, and which are made presents of as rarities, are no larger than a billiard ball. the maltese oranges are said by some to be the finest in the world. who are the maltese? the inhabitants of malta, an island of the mediterranean, situated between africa and sicily. whence are lemons brought? the lemon is a native of eastern asia, whence it was brought to greece, and afterwards to italy; from italy it was transplanted to spain, portugal, and the south of france, whence lemons are imported in great plenty. what is the citron? the fruit of the citron tree, resembling the lemon, but somewhat larger, and having a finer pulp. the citron was also brought originally from the east of asia, but has since been produced in the warm parts of europe, like the orange and lemon; genoa especially is the greatest nursery for them. its rind is principally brought to this country in a candied state, and is applied by confectioners to various purposes. where is genoa? a city of northern italy, on the mediterranean, between the rivers bisagno and polcevera. what is the lime? the lime is by some thought to be a species of lemon, by others not; it is a smaller fruit, and in the west indies is greatly preferred to the lemon. it is cultivated in the south of europe, the west indies, and the warm parts of america. the agreeable scent called bergamot is prepared from the rind of a small species of lime. what are olives? the fruit of the olive tree, an evergreen, now common in the woods of france, spain, and italy; but in the wild state producing a small fruit of no value; when cultivated, however, (which it is extensively, both for the fruit and the quantity of oil which it yields,) it forms one of the richest productions of southern europe. the olive came originally from asia. its use is very ancient; it is frequently spoken of in the bible, both as in a wild and cultivated state. the promised land of the israelites was "a land of oil, olive, and honey." from the time that the dove returned to noah in the ark with an "olive leaf plucked off," in all ages and countries, wherever this tree is known, down to the present day, has an olive-branch been the favorite emblem of peace. what nation holds the olive in great repute? this tree was a great favorite with the ancient greeks, and scarcely an ancient custom existed in which the olive was not in some way associated: at their marriages and festivals, all parts of their dwellings, especially the doors, were ornamented with them, and the same custom prevails at the present day, both in public and private rejoicings. it was also scarcely less a favorite with the romans, although it was not held in the same sacred light as amongst the greeks. the olive-branch has likewise been universally considered the emblem of plenty, and as such, is found on the coins of those countries of which it is _not_ a native. two centuries after the foundation of rome, both italy and africa were strangers to this useful plant; it afterwards became naturalized in those countries, and at length arrived in spain, france, &c. olive trees sometimes attain a great age. how are the olives eaten? the olives while on the tree are intolerably bitter, without any of that peculiar taste which gains them admittance at the richest tables; to fit them for which they are pickled. ripe olives are eaten in the eastern countries, especially amongst the greeks, as an article of food, particularly in lent. the oil, which they yield in great quantities, is very highly esteemed; being that chiefly used for salads, &c., in medicine, and in various manufactures. _lent_, a time of fasting; the time from ash-wednesday to easter. how is the oil drawn from the olive? by presses or mills made for the purpose. the sweetest and best olive oil comes from the south of france, from naples, florence, and lucca; quantities are also brought from spain and the ionian islands. where is naples? in the south of italy. where are florence and lucca situated? in italy. florence is a very ancient, large, and celebrated city, the capital of italy; lucca, formerly a republic, belongs now to the kingdom of italy. _republic_, a state in which the supreme power of government is lodged in representatives chosen by the people, instead of being vested in an emperor or king. you said that the olive is an evergreen: to what plant or shrub is the term particularly applied? to any shrub or tree whose leaves continue fresh and green all the year round, winter and summer, as the laurel, pine, cedar, holly, &c., which do not shed their leaves in autumn as other trees. is oil a production confined to the olive alone? by no means. oil is a fatty, inflammable matter, drawn from many vegetable and animal bodies. the oils in common use are of three different kinds. the first are mere _oily_ or fatty bodies, extracted either by pressure, or by decoction: of the first kind are those of almonds, nuts, olives, &c.; and of the other, those of different berries, &c., which are procured by boiling the substance in water, which causes the oil to collect on the top. _decoction_, act of boiling--a chemical term. what are the second and third kinds of oils? the second are those drawn from vegetables by common distillation in the alembic, with the aid of water; these contain the _oily_ and volatile part of the plant, and are called _essential_ oils. the third sort are those produced by distillation, but of a different kind in an open vessel, and without the help of water. they are likewise divided into _vegetable_ oils, _animal_ oils, and _mineral_ oils; which last are those drawn from amber, and a few other substances partaking both of the vegetable and mineral natures, as petroleum, commonly known as kerosene or coal oil. _alembic_, a chemical vessel used in distilling. it consists of a vessel placed over a fire, containing the substance to be distilled; the upper part, which receives and condenses the steam, is called the head; the beak of this is fitted to a vessel called a receiver. _volatile_, easily escaping, quickly flying off. whence is the word oil derived? from the latin _oleum_, formed from _olea, olive-tree_, the fruit of which abounds in oil. what immense fish is it that furnishes us with a quantity of _animal_ oil? the whale, the largest and noblest inhabitant of the waters. it is protected from the cold by a case or coating of blubber, that is, a thick oily fat from which the oil is made; numbers of them are caught for the sake of that. ambergris, highly prized in perfumery, is a product of the sperm whale. in what seas are they found? chiefly in the northern seas: extensive whale fisheries are carried on by the americans, english, dutch, &c., and numbers of vessels are sent out for the purpose of taking the fish: they usually sail in the latter end of march, and begin fishing about may. the whale fishery continues generally from that time till the latter end of june or july. there are also other fishes and animals which afford us oils of different kinds, which are used for various purposes in medicine and the arts. is the oil called _castor_, which is so much used in medicine, the product of an animal or a plant? castor oil is expressed from a west indian shrub, called palma christi; and especially from the ripe seeds, which are full of this oil. it is prepared by collecting these ripe seeds, and freeing them from the husks; then bruising and beating them into a paste; they are next boiled in water, when the oil rising to the surface is skimmed off as it continues to appear. the castor-oil plant is found growing abundantly in sumatra, particularly near the sea-shore. where is sumatra situated? in the oriental archipelago, off the south eastern part of the continent of asia. in what other countries is this plant found? in some parts of africa, syria, and egypt. it was anciently cultivated in the two last-mentioned countries in large quantities, the seeds being used for the oil they yielded, which was burnt in lamps. [illustration: beavers building their huts.] is not the palma christi much affected by soil and situation? greatly so. in some places it attains the stature of a tree, and is not a biennial plant, but endures for many years, as in the warm plains of irak, arabia, and some parts of africa. _biennial_, lasting for the space of two years only. what are melons? a species of the cucumis, a genus of plants to which the cucumber belongs. there are great varieties of this fruit cultivated in different parts of the world; that sort called the cantaleup (so named from being cultivated at a place of that name in the neighborhood of rome, whither it was brought from armenia,) is a species of musk-melon; the mature fruit is juicy, and delicately flavored. where is armenia situated? armenia is a large country situated in asiatic turkey, to the west of the caspian sea. what species of melon is that which almost makes up for a scarcity of good water in hot countries? the water-melon, which affords a cool, refreshing juice, and quenches the thirst produced by the excessive heats. it requires a dry, sandy soil, and a warm climate; the pulp of the fruit is remarkably rich and delicious. what are tamarinds? the fruit of the tamarind tree, a native of both the indies, asia, africa, &c. it is of a roundish form, and composed of two pods inclosed one within the other, between which is a soft pulpy substance, of a tart but agreeable taste; the inner pod contains the seeds or stones. _tart_, sharp, acid. for what are they used? we use them only as medicine; but the africans, and many of the oriental nations, with whom they are common, make them into a kind of preserve with sugar, which they eat as a delicacy, and which cools them in the violent heats of their climate. from what nation was the knowledge of their use in medicine obtained? from the arabians. what does the word oriental signify? belonging to the east; therefore those countries of the globe situated in the east are called oriental, those in the west, occidental, from _oriens_, signifying east, and _occidens_, west. what are dates? the fruit of the palm, a beautiful and graceful tree, peculiar to the warmer regions of the globe; the growth of the palm is extremely singular, for although some species attain to the height of the largest forest trees, their structure differs materially from that of a tree, properly so called. the leaves of the young plant arise directly from the surface of the ground, and there is no appearance of any stem for several years; this stem once formed, never increases in size, the growth of the plant being always upward, so that the stem itself is formed by the prior growth of the green portions of the palm. _structure_, the manner of formation. how often does this tree cast its circle of leaves? every year; so that the number of years a palm has existed is known by the scars which are left by their falling off. the palm is an evergreen. what are the uses of this tree? the palm is of the utmost importance to the inhabitants of the tropical regions; the fruit and sap providing them with food, the fibrous parts with clothing, and the leaves forming the greater part of their slightly-constructed huts; the leaves of some species are formed into fans, hats, and parasols; others are written on, in the same manner that we write on paper; artificial flowers are made of the pith of some; the light and supple rattan walking-cane is the slender shoot of another kind; and solid and useful utensils are made of the shell of the cocoa-nut. the fibres of the date palm are formed into ropes and twine; a liquor is drawn from the trunk, called palm wine; the trunks of the old trees furnish a hard and durable wood; and even the nuts or stones of the fruit are useful for feeding cattle; a wholesome flour is also made of the fruit, when dried and reduced to powder. _constructed_, put together. whence is its name derived? from the latin word _palma_, a hand, given to these productions of the vegetable world, from the supposed resemblance of their broad leaves to the human hand. the date, the fruit of the date palm, derives its name from the greek _dactylus_, a finger, from its mode of growing in clusters spreading out like the fingers of the hand. the palm sometimes forms impenetrable forests; but more frequently is found in small groups of two or three, or even singly, beside springs and fountains of water, affording a kindly shade to the thirsty traveller. _impenetrable_, not easily penetrated or got through. from what countries are dates brought? from egypt, syria, persia, africa, and the indies. among the egyptians and africans, they make a principal article of food. dates, when ripe, are of a bright coral red, of an oblong form, and possess a sharp biting taste: they are usually gathered in autumn, before being perfectly ripe. chapter ix. hats, stockings, shoes, gloves, leather, furs, and ink. of what are hats made? of felt and wool. dress hats for men's wear, were formerly made of beaver-fur, but the increasing scarcity of this article led to the introduction of silk plush as a substitute, and the result is that beaver is entirely superseded, and plush is used altogether. they possess many advantages over the beaver hat, as they are light, glossy, and durable. hats are also made of straw, plaited and sewed together. when did hats come into general use? the first mention made of hats is about the time of the saxons, but they were not worn except by the rich. hats for men were invented at paris, by a swiss, in . about the year , they were first manufactured in london, by spaniards. before that time both men and women in england commonly wore close, knitted, woollen caps. they appear to have become more common in the reign of queen elizabeth. it is related, that when charles the second made his public entry into rouen, in , he wore a hat lined with red velvet, surmounted with a plume or tuft of feathers; from which entry, or at least during his reign, the use of hats and caps is to be dated; and from that time they took the place of chaperons and hoods, that had been worn before in france. where is rouen? in the province of lower seine, in france; it was formerly the capital of normandy. describe the castor, or beaver, and its habits. the beaver has a broad, flat tail, covered with scales, serving as a rudder to direct its motion in the water; the toes of its hind feet are furnished with membranes, after the manner of water-fowl; the fore feet supply the place of hands, like those of the squirrel. the beaver has two kinds of hair, of a light brown color, one long and coarse, the other short and silky. the teeth resemble those of a rat or squirrel, but are longer, and admirably adapted for cutting timber or stripping off the bark from trees. _membranes_, thin, flexible, expanded skins, connecting the toes of water-fowl and amphibious animals, and thus enabling them to swim with greater ease. where do beavers usually fix their habitations? their houses are always situated in the water; they are composed of clay, which they make into a kind of mortar with their paws: these huts are of an oval figure, divided into three apartments raised one above the other, and erected on piles driven into the mud. each beaver has his peculiar cell assigned him, the floor of which he strews with leaves or small branches of the pine tree. the whole building is generally capable of containing eight or ten inhabitants. on what does the beaver feed? its food consists of fruit and plants; and in winter, of the wood of the ash and other trees. the hunters and trappers in america formerly killed vast numbers for their skins, which were in great demand, as they were used in making hats, but as the only use they are now put to is for trimming, and for men's gloves and collars, the demand has fallen off. of what are stockings made? of cotton, silk, or wool, woven or knitted. anciently, the only stockings in use were made of cloth, or stuff sewed together; but since the invention of knitting and weaving stockings of silk, &c., the use of cloth has been discontinued. from what country is it supposed that the invention of silk knitted stockings originally came? from spain, in . the art of weaving stockings in a frame was invented by william lee, m.a., of st. john's college, cambridge, england. explain the signification of m.a. master of arts, a degree of honor conferred by the universities. what are shoes? a covering for the foot, now usually made of leather. in different ages and countries, shoes have been made of various materials, as raw skins, rushes, broom, paper, silk, wool, iron, silver, and gold. what nation wore shoes made of the bark of the papyrus? the egyptians. the turks always take off their shoes, and leave them at the door, when they enter mosques or dwelling-houses. the same custom also prevails in other eastern nations. what is a mosque? a mahomedan church or temple. what is meant by mahomedan? belonging to the religion of mahomed, the warrior and prophet of arabia and turkey, who was its founder. he was born at mecca, a city of arabia, in ; and died in , at medina, a city situated between arabia felix and arabia deserta. his creed maintains that there is but one god, and that mahomed is his prophet; it enjoins the observance of prayers, washings, almsgiving, fasting, sobriety, pilgrimage to mecca, &c. what do the appellations of felix and deserta signify? arabia, a country of asia, lying on the borders of the red sea, is divided into petræa, deserta, and felix; petræa, signifying the stony; deserta, the desert; and felix, the fortunate or fruitful. what is leather? the skins of various animals, as oxen, cows, calves, &c., dressed and prepared for use. how is the leather prepared? by tanning; that is, steeping the skins in an infusion of tan, by which they are rendered firm, durable, and, in a great degree, impervious to water. _infusion_, a liquor made by steeping anything in water, or other liquids, without boiling. what is tan? the bark of the oak-tree, &c., ground by a mill into a coarse powder. what is lime?[ ] a white, soft, friable, earthy substance, prepared from marble, chalk, and other lime-stones, or from shells, by burning in a kiln. [footnote : for a further account of it, see chapters xiii. & xvi.] _friable_, easily powdered. for what is it used? its greatest use is in the composition of mortar for building; it is also much used by tanners, skinners, &c., in the preparation of leather; by soap-boilers in the manufacture of soap; and by sugar-bakers for refining sugar. what is a kiln? a fabric of brick or stone, formed for admitting heat in order to dry or burn materials placed in it. of what are gloves made? of leather, silk, thread, cotton, worsted, &c. what skins are generally used for gloves? those of the chamois, kid, lamb, dog, doe, and many other animals. what are furs, and how are they prepared? furs are the skins of wild animals, dressed with the hair on, and used as apparel, either for warmth, ornament, or distinction of rank or dignity. name a few of the principal furs in use. the fur of the ermine, an animal inhabiting the cold regions of europe and america, is highly valued, and much used for ornamental purposes. in summer, the upper part of the body is of a yellowish-brown color; the under parts white, slightly tinged with yellow. it is then called a _stoat_. in winter, the fur is closer and finer, and is of a snowy white color; the tip of the tail is black throughout the year. in europe the fur is much used for ornamenting the state robes of sovereigns and nobles. the sable is another animal much prized for its rich fur; it is a native of northern europe and america. the skins of the marten, found in north america, as well as in northern asia and the mountains of kamtschatka; and also of the bear, fox, raccoon, badger, lynx, musk-rat, rabbit, hare, and squirrel, which are all procured in north america, are valuable. one of the most valuable descriptions of fur is that of the seal. how is it procured? by hunting the animals, which is the employment both of natives and settlers from other countries; the hunters sell the skins for money, to a company established for the purpose of trading in furs, or more frequently exchange them for clothes, arms, and other articles. the alaska commercial company of san francisco is granted by the united states government the exclusive privilege of catching the fur seal. what is alum? a kind of mineral, of a strong, sharp taste. it dissolves both in cold and boiling water, but best in the latter. it is of some use in medicine; a principal ingredient in dyeing and coloring, neither of which can be well performed without it, as it sets and brightens the colors, and prevents them from washing out. it is also extremely useful in many arts and manufactures. are there not different sorts of this material? the principal kinds are native alums: _viz._ those prepared and perfected underground by the spontaneous operations of nature; as the roch, commonly called rock alum, from rocha, in syria, whence it is brought. _spontaneous_, unassisted by art. _orientals_, inhabitants of the eastern parts of the world. what is ink? a liquor used in writing on paper or parchment, made of copperas, galls; and gum arabic[ ] mixed together. there are likewise several plants that may serve for the making of ink, as oak-bark, red roses, log-wood, &c. it is also made from an infusion of oak galls and iron filings: there are also many other ways, as well as materials, employed in the making of this useful article. ink is the name applied to all liquids used in writing, of whatever color they may be, as red, blue, &c., though black is the most used for common purposes. the ink of the ancients seems to have been of a thick, oily nature, unlike the modern ink; it consisted of nothing more than a species of soot, or ivory black, mixed with one fourth of gum. [footnote : see chapter xi.] what is copperas? a kind of vitriol. copperas is the name given to green vitriol, which is a preparation from iron. the blue vitriol is a sulphate of copper, and the white vitriol a sulphate of zinc. for what is vitriol used? in the making of glass, to color it; in many arts and manufactures; and in medicine. what are galls? excrescences formed on a kind of oak tree in certain warm climates; perforations are made by an insect into the bark of the tree, whence issues a liquid which hardens by exposure. they are used in dyeing, making ink, and other compositions. there are two sorts of oak galls in our shops, brought from the levant, and the southern parts of europe. what does the word levant signify? a country to the eastward. it is applied to the countries of turkey, greece, asia minor, syria, egypt, &c., which are washed by the eastern part of the mediterranean. is the ink used in printing the same as writing ink? no; it is more of the nature of paint, being thicker and more glutinous: it chiefly consists of a mixture of oil and lamp-black, or some other ingredient, according to the color required; and is remarkable for the ease with which it adheres to paper that is moistened. _glutinous_, gummy, resembling glue. what is indian, or chinese ink? an admirable composition, not liquid like our ink, but solid, and made into cakes somewhat like the mineral colors we use in painting. it is made into all sorts of figures, usually long, and about an inch thick; sometimes gilt with the figures of birds, flowers, &c. to use this ink, it must be rubbed with water, on stone or earthenware, till it produces a beautiful, liquid, shining black. it is used in drawing, &c., and is brought from china. it is composed of lamp-black and size, or animal glue, or gum, to which perfumes and other substances are sometimes added. chapter x. asbestus, salt, coal, iron, copper, brass, zinc, and lapis calaminaris. what is the name of the remarkable stone of which a cloth has been made, that resists the action of fire? the asbestus, a mineral substance of a whitish or silver color. there are several species of this mineral, which are distinguished by different names, according to the appearance of each, as fibrous asbestus, hard asbestus, and woody asbestus; it is the fibrous sort which is most noted for its uses in the arts. it is usually found inclosed within very hard stones; sometimes growing on their outside, and sometimes detached from them. _fibrous_, full of fibres or threads. what are its qualities? it is insipid; will not dissolve in water; and exposed to the fire, it neither consumes nor calcines. the industry of mankind has found a method of working upon this untoward mineral and employing it in making cloth and paper; the process is, however, difficult. _insipid_, without taste. was not this curious mineral better known to the ancients than it is at present? the linen made from it was highly esteemed by them; it was not only better known, but more common, than among us, being equally valuable with the richest pearls; but the superiority of all other cloths to this in every respect, except the resistance to fire, has caused incombustible cloth to be regarded in modern times merely as a curiosity, but it is still employed in chemical preparations. _incombustible_, remaining undestroyed in fire. to what use did they put it? in royal funerals, it formed the shroud to wrap the body in that its ashes might be prevented from mingling with the wood, &c., that composed the pile. some of the ancients made themselves clothes of it, particularly the brahmins among the hindoos; it formed wicks for their perpetual lamps; thread, ropes, nets, and paper were also made of it. pliny, the roman naturalist, says he has seen napkins of asbestus taken soiled from the table after a feast, which were thrown into the fire, and by that means better scoured than if they had been washed with water. _naturalist_, a person who studies nature, especially in what relates to minerals, vegetables, and animals. _brahmins_, hindoo priests. where is the asbestus found? this mineral is found in the greatest quantity in the silver mines of saxony; at bleyburg, in carinthia; in sweden, corsica, and sometimes in france, england, and the united states; also in tartary and siberia. what method is used in preparing the asbestus? the stone is laid in warm water to soak, then opened and divided by the hands, that the earthy matter may be washed out. this washing is several times repeated, and the flax-like filaments collected and dried; these are easily spun with the addition of flax. the cloth when woven is best preserved by oil from breaking or wasting; on exposure to the fire, the flax and the oil burn out, and the cloth remains of a pure white. the shorter threads, which separate on washing the stone, may be made into paper in the usual manner. what is salt? a saline crystallization of a sharp, pungent taste, and cleansing quality, used to season flesh, fish, butter, &c., and other things that are to be kept. it is distinguished, with reference to the general sources from which it is most plentifully derived, into three different sorts, namely, fossil, or rock salt; sea, or marine salt; and spring salt, or that drawn from briny springs and wells. _marine_, belonging to the sea. _saline_, consisting of salt. _briny_, consisting of brine; which means water tasting of salt; it is used to signify the waters of the sea, or any salt water. what is fossil or rock salt? that which is found in large beds in the bowels of the earth, and which has not undergone any artificial preparation; it is sometimes colorless, but more frequently red, yellow, or blue, and mixed with earthy impurities; this salt was entirely unknown to the ancients, who by rock salt meant that which adheres to the rocks above high-water mark, being lodged there by the spray of the sea, which is evaporated by the heat of the sun; this is the purest salt, and is to be found on the rocks of sicily, and several islands of the west indies. _artificial_, produced by art, and the labor of man. _evaporated_, converted into vapor and dissipated. what is marine salt? that which is made from sea-water, concentrated by repeated evaporations, and at length crystallized. what is spring salt? that salt which is not made from sea-water, but from the water of salt wells or springs; large quantities of this salt are made in the united states, in some parts of which saline springs are numerous. in what manner is it obtained? the means employed for extracting the salt from the water vary according to circumstances. in hot countries, the water is merely exposed to the action of the sun, until the water is evaporated; the salt procured in this manner is considered the best. what method is usually employed in countries where the sun's heat is not sufficiently powerful? in climates where the rays of the sun do not afford sufficient heat, the water, which has been partly evaporated in large shallow reservoirs formed in the earth, called salt-pans, is poured into enormous coppers and boiled for four or five hours: when the contents of the copper are wasted to half the quantity, the liquid begins to be crystallized; the vessel is again filled up, and the brine again boiled and purified: this is repeated three or four times. after the last purifying the fire is kept very low for twelve or fourteen hours, and when the moisture is nearly evaporated the salt is removed, and, after the remaining brine has drained off, is placed in the store-houses. in what countries is salt generally found? this substance, so necessary to the comfort of mankind, is widely distributed over the face of the earth, and nothing, except, perhaps, the air we breathe, is more easily placed within our reach. the ocean is an exhaustless store-house of this valuable article. those nations of the earth which are placed at a distance from the sea, find themselves provided with magazines of salt, either in solid masses, or dissolved in the waters of inland lakes, or issuing from the solid rocks in springs of brine. at salina, syracuse, and other places in onondaga co., new york, salt springs are remarkably abundant, and yield annually several millions of bushels; immense quantities are also obtained from the salt-wells on the great and little kanawha, and other places in western virginia; it is also extensively manufactured in the western part of pennsylvania, and throughout the western states. name the countries most noted for mines of salt. poland, upper hungary, and the mountains of catalonia, have extensive salt mines; those in the village of wieliczca, in poland, about five leagues from cracow, are of a surprising depth and size. in the interior of hindostan, there is a remarkable salt lake; and in several parts of the globe there are spots of ground impregnated entirely with this substance: an island of the east indies contains a singular kind of fossil, or native dry salt; the soil there is in general very fruitful, but in certain parts of the island, there are spots of ground entirely barren, without the appearance of anything vegetable upon them; these spots taste very much of salt, and abound with it in such quantities, as to supply not only the whole island, but the greater part of the adjacent continent. in utah territory, especially in the neighborhood of the mormon city, at the great salt lake, are found extensive plains thus impregnated with salt, which is procured in great abundance. _fossil_, the remains of minerals or shells dug from the earth. _impregnated_, filled, saturated. _catalonia_, a considerable province of spain, situated to the north-east. _adjacent_, adjoining, lying near, or contiguous. to what use did the ancient inhabitants of africa and arabia put this substance? the large slabs of rock salt, with which their country abounds, were employed by them instead of stones, in building their dwellings, the pieces being easily cemented together by sprinkling the joints with water, which, melting the parts of the two surfaces that opposed each other, formed the whole, when dry, into one solid block. does rock salt undergo any preparation before it is used? yes; when taken from the earth it is dissolved in cold water, and afterwards drawn off into salt-pans, and refined in the same manner as the sea salt. what is coal? a hard, black, sulphurous and inflammable substance, dug out of the earth, serving in many countries as fuel. it is common in most of the countries of europe and america. in some parts of the united states, it is found in beds having an area of several thousand square miles. from what is coal supposed to have originated? its origin is supposed to be derived from gigantic trees which flourished in the swamps and forests of the primeval earth. these having been torn away from their native bed, by storms and inundations, were transported into some adjacent lake, river, or sea. here they floated on the waters until, saturated with them, they sank to the bottom, and being buried in the lower soil of adjacent lands, became transformed into a new state among the members of the mineral kingdom. a long interment followed, during which a course of chemical changes, and new combinations of their vegetable elements, converted them to the mineral condition of coal. _primeval_, original, existing before the flood. _gigantic_, extremely large, greater than the usual size. _interment_, burial under the ground. _elements_, the several parts or principles of which bodies are composed. what is a coal mine? a subterraneous excavation, from which coal is obtained. do the terms coal and charcoal signify the same substance? no; charcoal is an artificial fuel, made in imitation of coal, by burning wood covered with earth so as partially to exclude the air. it is used for various purposes, as the making of gunpowder,[ ] polishing brass and copper, &c., and when a clear and bright fire is required, as it burns with little or no smoke; it is dangerous, however, for one to remain many hours in a close room with a charcoal fire, as the fumes it throws out are hurtful, and would destroy life. charcoal, in fact, is the coaly residuum of any vegetables burnt in close vessels; but the common charcoal is that prepared from wood, and is generally black, very brittle, light, and destitute of taste or smell. it is a powerful antiseptic, unalterable and indestructible. [footnote : see chapter xii.] _residuum_, the remaining part, that which is left. _antiseptic_, that which prevents putrefaction. what is iron? one of the most useful and abundant metals; being found in all mineral earths, and stones; in plants, and animal fluids; and is the chief cause of the varieties of color in all. iron is found in great masses, in various states, in the bowels of the earth; it is usually, however, compounded with stone, from which it is separated by the action of fire. in some parts of the world, whole mountains are formed of iron; among these may be mentioned the pilot knob and the iron mountain, in missouri, being unsurpassed by anything of the kind found elsewhere. what are its characteristics? it is hard, fusible, not very malleable, but extremely ductile, and very tenacious; it is of a greyish color, and nearly eight times heavier than water. without iron, society could make no progress in the cultivation of the ground, in mechanical arts or trades, in architecture or navigation; it is therefore of the greatest use to man. iron tools have been used in all european countries as long as their histories have existed; this metal appears likewise to have been known and used by the inhabitants of the world in the earliest ages, being frequently mentioned in the holy scriptures. in the fourth chapter of genesis, tubalcain is spoken of as "a hammerer and artificer in every work of brass and iron," and thus their existence was evidently known at that early period of the world. _artificer_, one who works or makes. _fusible_, capable of being melted by fire. [illustration: the salt mines of wieliczca.] what do you mean by metals? useful substances dug from the bowels of the earth, being sometimes found pure, but mostly combined with other matter. they are distinguished by their weight, tenacity, hardness, opacity, color, and peculiar lustre, known as the metallic lustre; they are fusible by heat, and good conductors of heat and electricity; many of them are malleable, and some extremely ductile. those which were first known are gold, silver, iron, copper, mercury, lead, and tin. _tenacity_, the firmness with which one part adheres to another. _opacity_, want of transparency or clearness. what are metals called in their natural state? ores; so named because the metal contained in them is either mixed with other metals, or with mineral earths, from which they are separated and purified by various means: such as washing, roasting, &c., but the method is always regulated by the nature of the ore. what is copper? a hard, heavy, ductile metal, found native, and in many ores; of these the most important is _copper pyrites_, which is a sulphuret of copper. next to gold, silver, and platinum, copper is the most malleable and ductile of metals; it may be drawn into wires as fine as hair, or beaten into leaves as thin as those of silver. the rust of copper is very poisonous. copper, mixed with a certain quantity of tin, forms bell-metal. with a smaller proportion, it forms bronze, a substance used in sculpture for casting figures and statues. it is an abundant metal, and is found in various parts of the world. native oxides of copper are found in cornwall, siberia, and in north and south america. _oxide_, a substance combined with oxygen,[ ] in a proportion not sufficient to produce acidity. _sulphuret_, a combination of sulphur with a base. [footnote : see chapter xiii., article oxygen.] what are the uses of copper? they are too various to be enumerated. in sheets it is much used to sheathe the bottoms of ships, for boilers, and other utensils. copper coin was the only money used by the romans till the th year of their city, when silver began to be coined. in sweden, houses are covered with this metal. what is a mine? a cavity under ground, formed for the purpose of obtaining metals, &c.; mines are often very deep and extensive. the descent into them is by a pit, called a shaft; the clues by which mines are discovered, are, mineral springs, the discoloration of vegetables, the appearance of pieces of ore, &c. _clues_, signs or means by which things hidden are brought to light. what is brass? a factitious metal, consisting of copper and zinc. brass is lighter and harder than pure copper, and less subject to rust; owing to these properties, together with its beautiful color, it is extremely useful in the manufacture of many utensils. _factitious_, made by art, not found in a natural state. what is zinc? a metal of a brilliant bluish white color. its name was unknown to the ancient greeks and arabians. it is mixed with other substances in the ore, from which it is obtained by smelting in the furnace. it has never yet been found native or pure. for what is zinc used? from its readiness to dissolve in all acids, and unite with other metals, it is used in alloy with them in the composition of brass, &c. thin sheets of zinc are also used to cover roofs of houses, and in the manufacture of various household utensils. what is lapis calaminaris? lapis calaminaris, or calamine stone, is a native carbonate of zinc, of some use in medicine, but chiefly in founding. it is, sometimes brownish, as that found in germany and england, or red, as that of france. it is dug out of mines, usually in small pieces; generally out of those of lead. calamine is mostly found in barren, rocky soils. _founding_, the art of casting metals. chapter xi. yams, mangoes, bread-fruit, shea or butter tree, cow tree, water tree, licorice, manna, opium, tobacco, and gum. what are yams? the roots of a climbing plant growing in tropical climates. the root of the yam is wholesome and well-flavored; nearly as large as a man's leg, and of an irregular form. yams are much used for food in those countries where they grow; the natives either roast or boil them, and the white people grind them into flour, of which they make bread and puddings. the yam is of a dirty brown color outside, but white and mealy within. what are mangoes? the fruit of the mango tree, a native of india and the south-western parts of asia; it also grows abundantly in the west indies and brazil. it was introduced into jamaica in ; where it attains the height of thirty or forty feet, with thick and wide-extended branches. the varieties of the mango are very numerous,--upwards of eighty are cultivated; and the quality of these varies according to the countries and situations in which they grow. the mangoes of asia are said to be much better than those of america. describe the appearance of the mango tree. the flowers of this tree are small and whitish, formed in pyramidal clusters. the fruit has some resemblance to a short thick cucumber, about the size of a goose's egg; its taste is delicious and cooling; it has a stone in the centre, like that of a peach. at first this fruit is of a fine green color, and some varieties continue so, while others change to a fine golden or orange color. the mango tree is an evergreen, bearing fruit once or twice a year, from six or seven years old to a hundred. _pyramidal_, resembling a pyramid. how is this fruit eaten? when ripe, it is eaten by the natives either in its natural state, or bruised in wine. it is brought to us either candied or pickled, as the ripe fruit is very perishable; in the latter case, they are opened with a knife, and the middle filled up with fresh ginger, garlic, mustard, salt, and oil or vinegar. the fruit of the largest variety weighs two pounds or upwards. the several parts of this tree are all applied to some use by the hindoos: the wood is consecrated to the service of the dead; from the flour of the dried kernels different kinds of food are prepared; the leaves, flowers, and bark, are medicinal. _medicinal_, fit for medicine, possessing medical properties. _consecrated_, separated from a common to a sacred use. is there not a tree which bears a fruit that may be used for bread? yes; the bread-fruit tree, originally found in the southeastern parts of asia and the islands of the pacific ocean, though introduced into the tropical parts of america. it is one of the most interesting, as well as singular productions of the vegetable kingdom, being no less beautiful than it is useful. this tree is large and shady; its leaves are broad and indented, like those of the fig tree--from twelve to eighteen inches long, rather fleshy, and of a dark green. the fruit, when full-grown, is from six to nine inches round, and of an oval form--when ripe, of a rich, yellow tinge; it generally hangs in clusters of two or three, on a small thick stalk; the pulp is white, partly farinaceous, and partly fibrous, but when ripe, becomes yellow and juicy. _indented_, toothed like the edge of a saw. _farinaceous_, mealy, consisting of meal or flour; from _farina_, flour. how is the bread-fruit eaten? it is roasted until the outside is of a brown color and crisp; the pulp has then the consistency of bread, which the taste greatly resembles; and thus it forms a nourishing food: it is also prepared in many different ways, besides that just mentioned. the tree produces three, sometimes four crops in a year, and continues bearing for fifty years, so that two or three trees are enough for a man's yearly supply. its timber, which at first is of a rich yellow, but afterwards assumes the color of mahogany, is used in the building of houses and canoes; the flowers, when dried, serve as tinder; the sap or juice serves for glue; the inner bark is made, by the natives of some of the islands of the pacific ocean, into a kind of cloth; and the leaves are useful for many purposes. one species of the bread-fruit, called the jaca tree, grows chiefly on the mainland of asia. _mainland_, the continent. describe the jaca tree. this kind grows to the same, if not a larger size than the bread-fruit of the islands, but is neither so palatable nor so nutritious; the fruit often weighs thirty pounds, and contains two or three hundred seeds, each four times as large as an almond. december is the time when the fruit ripens; it is then eaten, but not much relished; the seeds are also eaten when roasted. there are also other trees in different parts of the world, mostly of the palm species, which yield bread of a similar kind. is there not a tree which produces a substance resembling the butter which we make from the milk of the cow? the shea, or butter tree, a native of africa: it is similar in appearance to the american oak, and the fruit, (from the kernel of which the butter is prepared,) is somewhat like an olive in form. the kernel is inclosed in a sweet pulp, under a thin, green rind. how is the butter extracted? the kernel, being taken out and dried in the sun, is boiled in water; by which process a white, firm, and rich-flavored butter is produced, which will keep for a whole year without salt. the growth and preparation of this commodity is one of the first objects of african industry, and forms a principal article of their trade with one another. you have given me an account of a useful butter prepared from a plant; is there not also a tree which can supply the want of a cow? in south america there is a tree, the juice of which is a nourishing milk; it is called the cow tree. this tree is very fine; the leaves are broad, and some of them ten inches long; the fruit is rather fleshy, and contains one or two nuts or kernels. the milk is very abundant, and is procured by incisions made in the trunk of the tree; it is tolerably thick, and of a glutinous quality, a pleasant taste, and agreeable smell. the negroes and people at work on the farms drink it, dipping into it their bread made of maize. _glutinous_, having the quality of glue,--an adhesive, gummy substance, prepared from the skins of animals: it is used in joining wood, &c., and for many other purposes. what time of the day is the best for drawing the juice? sunrise; the blacks and natives then hasten from all quarters with large bowls to receive the milk; some drink it on the spot, others carry it home to their families. what island possesses a remarkable substitute for the want of springs of water? ferro, one of the canary isles, situated in the atlantic ocean. in this island there is no water, except on a part of the beach which is nearly inaccessible; to supply the place of a fountain, nature has bestowed on the island a particular kind of tree, unknown in other parts of the world. it is of a moderate size, with straight, long, evergreen leaves; on its top a small cloud continually rests, which so drenches the leaves with moisture, that it perpetually distils upon the ground a stream of clear water. to these trees, as to perennial springs, the inhabitants of ferro repair, and are supplied with abundance of water for themselves and cattle. _perennial_, lasting through the year, perpetual. what is licorice? a plant, the juice of which is squeezed from the roots, and then boiled with sugar, and used as a remedy for coughs, &c. great quantities are exported from spain, italy, &c. the dried root is of great use in medicine, and makes an excellent drink for colds and other affections of the lungs by boiling it with linseed. what are the lungs? the organs of respiration in man and many other animals. there are two of these organs, one on each side of the chest. _respiration_, breathing; the act of inhaling air into the lungs, and again expelling it, by which animal life is supported. what is manna? a sweet, white juice, oozing from the branches and leaves of a kind of ash tree, growing chiefly in the southern parts of italy, during the heats of summer. when dry, it is very light, easily crumbled, and of a whitish, or pale yellow color, not unlike hardened honey. is manna peculiar to the ash tree of southern italy? no. manna is nothing more than the nutritious juices of the tree, which exude during the summer heats; and what confirms this is, that the very hot summers are always those which are most productive of manna. several different species of trees produce a kind of manna; the best and most used is, however, that of calabria, in italy. what are its uses? it was much esteemed formerly in medicine, but it has now gone nearly into disuse. the peasants of mount libanus eat it as others do honey. the bedouin arabs consume great quantities, considering it the greatest dainty their country affords. in mexico, they are said to have a manna which they eat as we do cheese. at briançon, in france, they collect it from all sorts of trees that grow there, and the inhabitants observe, that such summers as produce the greatest quantities of manna are very fatal to the trees, many of them perishing in the winter. is there not another tree which produces manna? yes: the tamarisk, a tree peculiar to palestine and parts of arabia. this remarkable substance is produced by several trees, and in various countries of the east. on mount sinai there is a different species of tamarisk that yields it. it is found on the branches of the tree, and falls on the ground during the heat of the day. where is mount libanus? mount libanus, or lebanon, is situated in asiatic turkey; it was anciently famous for its large and beautiful cedar trees. the "cedars of lebanon" are frequently mentioned in holy writ. there are now scarcely any remaining of superior size and antiquity, but they vary from the largest size down to mere saplings; and their numbers seem to increase rather than diminish, there being many young trees springing up. how is manna gathered? from august to september, the italians collect it in the following manner, _viz._: by making an incision at the foot of the tree, each day over that of the preceding, about four inches from one another: these cuts, or incisions, are nearly two inches long, and half an inch deep. when the cut is made, the manna directly begins to flow, at first like clear water, but congealing as it flows, it soon becomes firm: this they collect in baskets. manna has been found to consist of two distinct substances one nearly resembling sugar, the other similar to a gum or mucilage. what nation was fed with a kind of manna? the children of israel, when wandering in the desert wilderness, where no food was to be procured, were fed by a miraculous supply of manna, showered down from heaven every morning on the ground in such quantities as to afford sufficient food for the whole host. what is opium? a narcotic, gummy, resinous juice, drawn from the head of the white poppy, and afterwards thickened; it is brought over in dark, reddish brown lumps, which, when powdered, become yellow. _narcotic_, producing sleep and drowsiness. in what countries is it cultivated? in many parts of asia, india, and even the southern parts of europe, whence it is exported into other countries. the turks, and other eastern nations, chew it. with us it is chiefly used in medicine. the juice is obtained from incisions made in the seed-vessels of the plant; it is collected in earthen pots, and allowed to become sufficiently hard to be formed into roundish masses of about four pounds weight. in europe the poppy is cultivated mostly for the seeds. morphia and laudanum are medicinal preparations of opium. what is tobacco? an herbaceous plant which flourishes in many temperate climates, particularly in north america; it is supposed to have received its name from tabaco, a province of mexico; it is cultivated in the west indies, the levant, on the coast of greece, in the archipelago, malta, italy, france, ceylon, &c. it was not known in europe till the discovery of america by the spaniards; and was carried to england about the time of queen elizabeth, either by sir francis drake or sir walter raleigh. tobacco is either taken as snuff, smoked in pipes or in the form of cigars, or chewed in the mouth like opium. there are many different species of this plant, most of them natives of america, some of the cape of good hope and china. tobacco contains a powerful poison called nicotine. _herbaceous_, like an herb or plant, not a shrub or tree. what part of the plant is used? the leaves, which are stripped from the plant, and after being moistened with water, are twisted up into rolls; these are cut up by the tobacconist, and variously prepared for sale, or reduced into a scented powder called snuff. who was sir francis drake? sir francis drake was a distinguished naval officer, who flourished in the reign of elizabeth. he made his name immortal by a voyage into the south seas, through the straits of magellan; which, at that time, no englishman had ever attempted. he died on board his own ship in the west indies, . who was sir walter raleigh? sir walter raleigh was also an illustrious english navigator and historian, born in . he performed great services for queen elizabeth, particularly in the discovery of virginia, and in the defeat of the spanish armada; he lived in honor and prosperity during her reign, but on the accession of james the first, was stripped of his favor at court, unaccountably accused of high treason, tried, and condemned to die; being reprieved, however, he was imprisoned in the tower of london many years, during which time he devoted himself to writing and study. receiving, at last, a commission to go and explore the gold mines at guiana, he embarked; but his design having been betrayed to the spaniards, he was defeated: and on his return to england, in july, , was arrested and beheaded, (by order of the king, on his former attainder,) october ; suffering his fate with great magnanimity. _high treason_, in england, means an offence committed against the sovereign. in the united states it consists in levying war against the government, adhering to its enemies, and giving them aid and comfort. _reprieved_, respited from sentence of death. _magnanimity_, greatness of mind, bravery. what is gum? a mucilaginous juice, exuding from the bark of certain trees or plants, drawn thence by the warmth of the sun in the form of a glutinous matter; and afterwards by the same cause rendered firm and tenacious. there are many different gums, named after the particular tree or plant from which they are produced. _mucilaginous_, consisting of mucilage. _tenacious_, adhering closely. what is the character of gum? gum is capable of being dissolved in water, and forming with it a viscid transparent fluid; but not in vinous spirits or oil; it burns in the fire to a black coal, without melting or catching fire; and does not dissolve in water at boiling heat. the name of _gum_ has been inaccurately given to several species of gum-resins, which consist of resin and various other substances, flowing from many kinds of trees, and becoming hard by exposure to the air. these are soluble in dilute alcohol. gum is originally a milky liquor, having a greater quantity of water mixed with its oily parts, and for that reason it dissolves in either water or oil. another sort is not oily, and therefore dissolves in water only, as gum arabic, the gum of the cherry-tree, &c. _viscid_, thick, ropy. _vinous_, having the qualities of wine. are the last-mentioned sorts properly called gums? no, though commonly called gums, they are only dried mucilages, which were nothing else than the mucilaginous lymph issuing from the vessels of the tree, in the same manner as it does from mallows, comfrey, and even from the cucumber; the vessels of which being cut across, yield a lymph which is plainly mucilaginous, and if well dried, at length becomes a kind of gum, or rather, a hardened mucilage. _lymph_, transparent fluid. what is gum arabic? the juice of a small tree of the acacia tribe, growing in egypt, arabia petræa, palestine, and in different parts of america. are there other plants or trees which produce gum, besides those already mentioned? a great number, though not all commonly in use. the leaves of rhubarb, the common plum, and even the sloe and the laurel, produce a clear, tasteless gum; there are also a number of different gums, brought from foreign countries, of great use in medicine and the arts. most of the acacias produce gums, though the quality of all is not equally good. what is rhubarb? a valuable root growing in china, turkey, and russian tartary. quantities of it are imported from other parts of the world: that from turkey is esteemed the best. rhubarb is also cultivated in our gardens, and the stalks of the leaves are often used in tarts; but the root, from the difference of climate, does not possess any medicinal virtue. chapter xii. spectacles, mariner's compass, barometer, thermometer, watches, clocks, telescope, microscope, gunpowder, steam engine, and electro-magnetic telegraph. when were spectacles invented, and who was their inventor? it is supposed that they were first known about the thirteenth century, and invented by a monk of pisa, in italy, named alexander de spina. spectacles are composed of two circular pieces of glass set in a frame. what are these glasses called? lenses. they are either convex or concave, according to the kind of sight requiring them. old people, and those who can only see things at a distance, from the flatness of the eye, which prevents the rays of light converging so as to meet in the centre, require convex lenses. people who can only distinguish objects when viewed closely, from the eye being too convex, require concave lenses to counteract it by spreading the rays, and thus rendering vision distinct. _convex_, rising outwardly in a circular form; opposite to concave. _concave_, hollow; round, but hollow, as the inner curve of an arch, &c. _converging_, tending to one point from different parts. _vision_, the faculty of seeing. what is the mariner's compass? a most useful and important instrument, by the aid of which the navigator guides his ship on the sea, and steers his way to the place of his destination. the inventor of the mariner's compass is not known, nor the exact time of its introduction; it was employed in europe in navigation about the middle of the thirteenth century, and has been in use more than five hundred years. the chinese are said to have been acquainted with it much earlier, but no reliance can be placed on their dates. the power of the loadstone to attract iron was known to the ancient egyptians, but it was not applied to any practical purpose. _navigator_, one who guides a ship. _steer_, to direct or guide a vessel in its course. _destination_, the place to which a person is bound. _practical_, capable of practice, not merely speculative. what is the loadstone? an ore of iron which possesses the peculiar property of attracting iron, namely, of drawing it in contact with its own mass, and holding it firmly attached by its own power of attraction. a piece of loadstone drawn several times along a needle, or a small piece of iron, converts it into an artificial magnet; if this magnetized needle is carefully balanced, it will turn round of itself, till its end points towards the north. the magnetized needle also possesses the power of attracting iron, and of communicating this power to another piece of iron or steel, similar to that of the loadstone itself. _contact_, touch. _magnetized_, rendered magnetic. describe the mariner's compass. the mariner's compass consists of a circular box, enclosing a magnetized bar of steel, called the _needle_, carefully balanced on an upright steel pivot, and having that end which points to the north shaped like the head of an arrow; attached to this needle, and turning with it, is a card on which are printed the divisions of north, south. east, and west; called the points of the compass. by simply looking at the position of the needle, the mariner can see the direction in which his vessel is sailing, and regulate his helm accordingly. _helm_, the instrument by which a ship is steered, consisting of a rudder and tiller. what is a barometer? an instrument for measuring the weight of the atmosphere, which enables us to determine the changes of the weather, the height of mountains, &c. it consists of a glass tube hermetically sealed at one end, filled with mercury, and inverted in a basin of mercury; according to the weight of the atmosphere, this mercury rises or falls. how is the hermetic seal formed? by heating the edges of a vessel, till they are just ready to melt, and then twisting them closely together with hot pincers, so that the air may be totally excluded. the word is taken from hermes, the greek name for mercury, the heathen god of arts and learning, and the supposed inventor of chemistry,[ ] which is sometimes called the hermetical art; or perhaps from hermes, an ancient king of egypt, who was either its inventor, or excelled in it. [footnote : see chapter xviii., article chemistry.] what is mercury? quicksilver, or mercury, is a white fluid metal, the heaviest except platina and gold; it readily combines with nearly all other metals, and is used in the manufacture of looking-glasses, barometers, thermometers, &c.; in some of the arts, and in the preparation of several powerful medicines. it is found in california, hungary, sweden, spain, china, and peru. the quicksilver mine of guança velica, in peru, is one hundred and seventy fathoms in circumference, and four hundred and eighty deep. in this profound abyss are seen streets, squares, and a chapel, where religious worship is performed. the quicksilver mines of idria, a town of lower austria, have continually been wrought for more than years. the vapor which is continually arising from the mercury is very hurtful to the miners, who seldom survive many years. _abyss_, a gulf, a depth without bottom. in what state is mercury usually found? either native, or in the form of ore; it is often found mixed with silver, but more frequently with sulphur in the form of sulphuret, which is decomposed by distillation. running mercury is found in globules, in america, and is collected from the clefts of the rocks. mercury has the appearance of melted silver; it is neither ductile nor malleable in this state; it is a substance so volatile, when heated, that it may be evaporated like water; it is always seen in a fluid state, even in temperate climates, as a very small portion of heat is sufficient to preserve its fluidity. it is used to separate gold and silver from the foreign matter found with those metals. calomel, a valuable medicine, and vermilion, a color, are both preparations of mercury. _globules_, small particles of matter having the form of a ball or sphere. what is a thermometer? an instrument for measuring temperature. it consists of a fine glass tube, terminated at one end in a bulb, usually filled with mercury, which expands or contracts according to the degree of heat or cold. on the scale of the fahrenheit thermometer, the freezing point of water is marked ° and the boiling point at °. in both the centigrade and the reaumur scales the freezing point is at , and the boiling point at ° in the centigrade and at ° in reaumur's. the invention of this instrument dates from about the close of the sixteenth century; but it is not known by whom it was first brought into use. _terminated_, finished, ended. when and by whom were watches and clocks invented? watches were invented about the year , but who was the inventor is disputed. they were, however, of little value as time-keepers, before the application of the spiral spring as a regulator to the balance; the glory of this excellent invention lies between dr. hooke and m. huygens; the english ascribing it to the former, the dutch, french, &c., to the latter. some assert that pocket-watches were first made about , at nuremberg, in germany. the most ancient clock of which we possess any certain account, was made in by henry de wycke, a german artist; it was erected in a tower of the palace of charles v., king of france. the pendulum was applied by huygens, in . what is a pendulum? a weight so suspended from a fixed point that it may easily swing backward and forward; its oscillations are always performed in equal times, provided the length of the pendulum and the gravity remain the same. it is said that the idea of employing the pendulum for the measurement of time, was first conceived by galileo, while a young man, upon his observing attentively the regular oscillations of a lamp suspended from the roof of a church in pisa. it was not, however, till the time of huygens that a method was devised of continuing its motions, and registering the number of its oscillations. _oscillation_, a swinging backward and forward. _gravity_, the tendency of a body toward the centre of the earth. _registering_, recording. [illustration: charcoal burning.] [illustration: gold miners washing ore.] to whom is the invention of gunpowder ascribed? most authors suppose it was invented by bartholdus schwartz, a monk of goslar, a town of brunswick, in germany, about the year ; it appears, however, that it was known much earlier in many parts of the world, and that the famous roger bacon, who died in , knew its properties; but it is not certain that he was acquainted with its application to fire-arms. who was roger bacon? a learned franciscan, born at ilchester, england, in . he studied at oxford, and afterwards became professor at that great university. he was familiar with every branch of human knowledge, but was especially distinguished for his extraordinary proficiency in the natural sciences. to him we owe the invention of the telescope; that of gunpowder is ascribed to him, as stated above, although we have no evidence to show whether he discovered its ingredients himself, or whether he derived the knowledge from some ancient manuscripts. bacon suffered some from the ignorance of the age in which he lived, many of his experiments being looked upon as magic. he died at oxford in the year . what is understood by magic? magic is a term used to signify an unlawful and wicked kind of science, depending, as was pretended, on the assistance of superhuman beings and of departed souls. the term was anciently applied to all kinds of learning, and in particular to the science of the magi or wise men of persia, from whom it was called magic. _natural_ magic is no more than the application of natural active causes to passive things or subjects, to produce effects apparently supernatural. _supernatural_, beyond the powers of nature; miraculous. of what is gunpowder composed? of saltpetre,[ ] sulphur, and charcoal, mixed together and powdered; its explosive force when fired, is owing to the instantaneous and abundant liberation of gaseous matter by the intense heat resulting from the action of the combustibles upon the saltpetre. it is not known by whom it was first applied to the purposes of war, but it is certain that it was used early in the fourteenth century. cannons were used at the battle of cressy, in ; small guns, or muskets, were introduced into the spanish army in . [footnote : see chapter xiii.] _explosive_, bursting out with violence and noise. _liberation_, a setting at liberty. is not gunpowder highly combustible? so combustible is gunpowder, that a single spark of fire, lighting upon any of it, will cause it to explode with immense force; and instances have occurred, when any store or magazine of it has taken fire, that have been attended with the most fatal effects. it is useful to the miner and engineer as a ready means of overcoming the obstacles which are presented in their search for mineral treasures, and in procuring materials for building. from many passages in the ancient authors, there is reason to suppose that gunpowder, or a composition extremely like it, was known to them; but it does not appear to have been in general use, and the invention of fire-arms is comparatively modern. dynamite, a recent invention, has a still greater explosive force than gunpowder. _engineer_, one who works or directs an engine. _obstacles_, hinderances, obstructions. what is saltpetre? a bitter kind of salt, called by the ancients nitre, but more commonly among us saltpetre. it is composed of nitric acid and potassa.[ ] it is found in earthy substances; sometimes native or pure, in the form of a shapeless salt. vast quantities are found in several of the marly earths of the east indies, china, persia, and also in south america. in india it is found naturally crystallized, and forming thin crusts upon the surface of the earth. it is especially abundant in the united states, being found in immense quantities in the limestone caves in the south-western states. [footnote : see potash, chapter vii., article glass.] what do you mean by _marly_? consisting of marl, a kind of earth composed of different proportions of clay and carbonate of lime; it is much used for manure. there are several different-colored marls, each possessing different qualities. the most common are the red and the white, though there are grey, brown, blue, and yellow colored marls. what is a telescope? an optical instrument, which serves for discovering and viewing distant objects, either directly by glasses, or by reflection. the invention of the telescope is one of the noblest and most useful of which modern ages can boast, since by means of this instrument the wonderful motions of the planets and fixed stars, and all the heavenly bodies, are revealed to us. the honor of the invention is much disputed; it is certain, however, that the celebrated galileo was the first who improved the telescope so as to answer astronomical purposes. the name is formed from two greek words, one signifying _far_, the other _to observe_. _optical_, relating to optics, the science of vision. _astronomical_, relating to astronomy. who was galileo? a most eminent astronomer and mathematician, born at florence, in italy. his inventions and discoveries in astronomy, geometry, and mechanics, contributed much to the advancement of those sciences. he died in . _astronomer_, one versed in astronomy. _mathematician_, one versed in mathematics; a science which treats of magnitude and number. what is astronomy?[ ] that science which teaches the knowledge of the heavenly bodies, with the nature and causes of their various phenomena. [footnote : see chapter xviii.] what is geometry? an ancient, perfect, and beautiful science, which treats of the relations and properties of lines, surfaces, and solids. what is meant by mechanics? the science which investigates the laws of forces and powers, and their action on bodies, either directly or by machinery. when the term _mechanic_ is applied to a _person_, it means one skilled in mechanics, accustomed to manual labor. _investigate_, to search, to inquire into. _manual_, performed by the hand. what is a microscope? an optical instrument, by means of which very minute objects are represented exceedingly large, and viewed very distinctly according to the laws of refraction or reflection. nothing certain is known respecting the inventor of microscopes, or the exact time of their invention, but that they were first used in germany, about . _minute_, small, diminutive. _refraction_, a change in the direction of a ray of light, when it passes through transparent substances of different densities. _reflection_, a turning back of a ray of light after striking upon any surface. what is the steam engine? a machine that derives its moving power from the force of the steam produced from boiling water, which is very great, especially when, as in the steam engine, it is confined within a limited compass: this useful machine is one of the most valuable presents that the arts of life have received from the philosopher, and is of the greatest importance in working mines; supplying cities with water; in working metals; in many mechanical arts; and in navigation. by the aid of steam, vessels are propelled with greater swiftness than those which are wholly dependent on the winds and tides; and thus trade is facilitated, and we are enabled to communicate with distant lands in a much shorter space of time than was formerly consumed. on land, railroads are constructed, on which steam carriages run with astonishing rapidity, so that a journey which by coach and horses formerly required two or more days, may now be performed in four or five hours. _mechanical_, belonging to mechanics. to whom are we indebted for its invention? its invention is by most writers ascribed to the marquis of worcester, an englishman, about ; but it does not appear that the inventor could ever interest the public in favor of this, or his other discoveries. the steam engine of captain savery, also an englishman, is the first of which any definite description has been preserved. it was invented in . since that period it has been successively improved by various persons, but it is to mr. watt and mr. boulton, of england, that it is indebted for much of its present state of perfection. by whom was the steam engine first applied to the purposes of navigation? by john fitch, of pennsylvania. from papers in the historical collections of pennsylvania, it appears that the first successful experiments were made at philadelphia, in , three years before the attempts at falkirk, and on the clyde, in scotland. the boat made several trips on the delaware and schuylkill rivers, but owing to repeated accidents to her machinery, and the want of funds and competent mechanics for the necessary repairs, she was abandoned. in , robert fulton, also of pennsylvania, made his first experimental trip on the hudson river, with complete success. to this distinguished and ingenious american justly belongs the honor of having brought navigation by steam to a state of perfection. in , the first steamship crossed the atlantic from savannah to liverpool; and in , a regular communication by steamship was established between great britain and the united states. since that period, ocean navigation by steam-vessels has made rapid progress, and, at the present time, numbers of steamers connect our various seaports with those of other nations, and with each other. what is the electro-magnetic telegraph? an instrument, or apparatus, by means of which intelligence is conveyed to any distance with the velocity of lightning. the electric fluid, when an excess has accumulated in one place, always seeks to transfer itself to another, until an equilibrium of its distribution is fully restored. consequently, when two places are connected by means of a good conductor of electricity, as, for instance, the telegraphic wire; the fluid generated by a galvanic battery, if the communication be rendered complete, instantaneously traverses the whole extent of the wire, and charges, at the distant station, an electro-magnet; this attracts one end of a lever, and draws it downward, while the other extremity is thrown up, and, by means of a style, marks a slip of paper, which is steadily wound off from a roller by the aid of clock-work. if the communication is immediately broken, only one wave of electricity passes over, and a _dot_ is made upon the paper; if kept up, a _line_ is marked. these dots and lines are made to represent the letters of the alphabet, so that an operator employed for the purpose can easily read the message which is transmitted.--the electro-magnetic telegraph was first introduced upon a line between baltimore and washington, by professor morse, in ; at the present time, it is in successful operation between nearly all the important cities and towns of the united states and of europe. an _electro-magnet_ is a piece of soft iron, rendered temporarily magnetic by being placed within a coil of wire through which a current of electricity is passing. chapter xiii. soap, candles, tallow tree, spermaceti, wax, mahogany, indian rubber or caoutchouc, sponge, coral, lime, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, gas, hydrogen, chalk, and marble. of what is soap composed? of soda or potash, and various oily substances; it is so useful for domestic and other purposes, that it may be regarded as one of the necessaries of life; immense quantities of it are consumed in all civilized countries. soft soap is generally made of a lye of wood-ashes and quicklime, boiled up with tallow or oil; common household soap of soda and tallow, or of potash and tallow; when potash is used, a large portion of common salt, which contains soda, is added to harden it. the finest white soaps are made of olive oil and a lye consisting of soda and quicklime; perfumes are sometimes added, or various coloring matters stirred in to give the soap a variegated appearance. the ancient greeks and hebrews appear to have been acquainted with the art of making soap, or a composition very similar to it; and also the ancient gauls and germans. a soap-boiler's shop, with soap in it, was found in the city of pompeii, in italy, which was overwhelmed by an eruption of mount vesuvius, a.d. . what is soda? soda, or barilla, is obtained from the ashes of marine plants, and by the decomposition of common salt; its great depository is the ocean, soda being the basis of salt. the marine plants from which the soda is obtained, are endowed with the property of decomposing the sea-salt which they imbibe, and of absorbing the soda which it contains. it is found native in egypt, and is there called _natron_; a name similar to that which it bore among the jews and greeks. _depository_, store-house, place where anything is lodged. _imbibe_, to drink in, to absorb. of what are candles made? of tallow, which means animal fat melted and clarified, that is, cleansed or purified from filth. tallow is procured from many animals, but the most esteemed, and the most used, is that made from oxen, sheep, swine, goats, deer, bears, &c.; some of which tallows or fats are used in medicine, some in making soap, and dressing leather; others in the manufacture of candles, &c. for the last-mentioned article, that of sheep and oxen is most used; candles of a better sort are likewise made of wax and spermaceti. candles are kept burning by means of a wick of cotton or rush, placed in the centre of the tallow, which is moulded into a cylindrical form. _cylindrical_, having the form of a cylinder. is there not a tree which yields a vegetable tallow? yes; china possesses a tree producing a substance like our tallow, of which the chinese make their candles; this tallow is extracted from the stone of the fruit, the tallow being a white pulp which surrounds it. in america, likewise, there is a shrub, a native of the temperate parts, especially towards the sea-side, the seeds of which contain a waxy substance used for the same purpose, and which is extracted by boiling; this shrub is a species of myrtle, and does not attain to any great size. _extracted_, drawn from. what is spermaceti? a whitish, flaky, unctuous substance, prepared from an oil of the same name, drawn from a particular kind of whale, distinguished from the common whale by having teeth, and a hunch on its back. _flaky_, having the nature of flakes. what is wax? a soft, yellow, concrete matter, collected from vegetables by the bee, of which this industrious and useful insect constructs its cell. wax forms a considerable article of trade; it is of two kinds, the yellow and the white; the yellow is the native wax as it is taken from the hive, and the white is the same washed, purified, and exposed to the air. _concrete_, grown together, solid. what tree produces the beautiful and well-known wood so much used in making the various articles of household furniture? the mahogany tree, growing in america, and the east and west indies; it frequently grows in the crevices of rocks, and other places of the same description. this wood was not used for making furniture till near the end of the seventeenth century. a london physician had a brother, the captain of a west india ship, who, on his return to england, having on board several logs of mahogany for the purpose of ballast, made him a present of the wood, he being engaged in a building project; his carpenter, however, threw it aside, observing that it was too hard to be wrought. some time after, the lady of the physician being in want of a box to hold candles, the cabinet-maker was directed to make it of this wood; he also made the same objection, and declared that it spoiled his tools. being urged, however, to make another trial, he at length succeeded; when the box was polished, the beautiful color of the wood was so novel, that it became an object of great curiosity. before this time, mahogany had been used partially in the west indies for ship-building, but this new discovery of its beauty soon brought it into general use for making furniture. _crevice_, a rent, a crack. _ballast_, the heavy matter placed in the hold of a vessel to keep it steady. what is india rubber or caoutchouc? an elastic, resinous substance, produced from a tree, growing abundantly at cayenne, quito, and other parts of south america; and also in some parts of the indies. the tree which produces it is large, straight, and about sixty feet high. there is, however, a small species found in sumatra and java, and some of the neighboring islands. how is the caoutchouc obtained from the tree? by making incisions in the trunk of the tree, from which the fluid resin issues in great abundance, appearing of a milky whiteness at first, but gradually becoming of a dark reddish color, soft and elastic to the touch. to what use is this substance put? the indians make of it boots, shoes, bottles, flambeaux, and a species of cloth. amongst us it is combined with sulphur, forming the vulcanized rubber of commerce, which is used for many purposes. a greater proportion of sulphur, produces vulcanite, a hard black substance, resembling jet. _flambeaux_, torches burnt to give light. what is sponge? a marine substance, found adhering to rocks and shells under the sea-water, or on the sides of rocks near the shore. sponge was formerly imagined by some naturalists to be a vegetable production; by others, a mineral, or a collection of sea-mud, but it has since been discovered to be the fabric and habitation of a species of worm, or polypus. what do you mean by polypus? a species of animals called zoophytes, by which are meant beings having such an admixture of the characteristics of both plants and animals, as to render it difficult to decide to which division they properly belong. they are animal in substance, possessed indeed of a stomach, but without the other animal characteristics of blood-vessels, bones, or organs of sense; these creatures live chiefly in water, and are mostly incapable of motion: they increase by buds or excrescences from the parent zoophyte, and if cut off will grow again and multiply; each part becoming a perfect animal. myriads of the different species of zoophytes reside in small cells of coral, sponge, &c., or in forms like plants, and multiply in such numbers as to create rocks and whole islands in many seas, by their untiring industry. polypus signifies having many feet, or roots; it is derived from the greek. _myriads_, countless numbers. whence are the best and greatest number of sponges brought? from the mediterranean, especially from nicaria, an island near the coast of asia: the collection of sponges forms, in some of these islands, the principal support of their inhabitants. they are procured by diving under water, an exercise in which both men, women, and children are skilled from their earliest years. the fine, small sponges are esteemed the best, and usually come from constantinople; the larger and coarser sorts are brought from tunis and algiers, on the coast of africa. sponge is very useful in the arts, as well as for domestic purposes. what is coral? a substance which, like sponge, was considered as a vegetable production, until about the year , when a french gentleman of marseilles commenced (and continued for thirty years,) a series of observations, and ascertained that the coral was a living animal of the polypus tribe. the general name of zoophytes, or plant animals, has since been applied to them. these animals are furnished with minute glands, secreting a milky juice; this juice, when exuded from the animal, becomes fixed and hard. _series_, a course or continued succession. _glands_, vessels. _exuded_, from exude, to flow out. is this substance considered by naturalists as the habitation of the insect? not merely as the habitation, but as a part of the animal itself, in the same manner that the shell of a snail or an oyster is of those animals, and without which they cannot long exist. by means of this juice or secretion, the coral insects, at a vast but unknown depth below the surface of the sea, attach themselves to the points and ridges of rocks, which form the bottom of the ocean; upon which foundation the little architects labor, building up, by the aid of the above-mentioned secretion, pile upon pile of their rocky habitations, until at length the work rises above the sea, and is continued to such a height as to leave it almost dry, when the insects leave building on that part, and begin afresh in another direction under the water. huge masses of rocky substances are thus raised by this wonderful little insect, capable of resisting the tremendous power of the ocean when agitated to the highest pitch by winds or tempests. _architect_, one who builds. how do these coral rocks become islands? after the formation of this solid, rocky base, sea-shells, fragments of coral, and sea-sand, thrown up by each returning tide, are broken and mixed together by the action of the waves; these, in time, become a sort of stone, and thus raise the surface higher and higher; meanwhile, the ever-active surf continues to throw up the shells of marine animals and other substances, which fill up the crevices between the stones; the undisturbed sand on its surface offers to the seeds of trees and plants cast upon it by the waves, a soil upon which they rapidly grow and overshadow the dazzling whiteness of the new-formed land. trunks of trees, washed into the sea by the rivers from other countries and islands, here find a resting-place, and with these come some small animals, chiefly of the lizard and insect tribe. even before the trees form a wood, the sea-birds nestle among their branches, and the stray land-bird soon takes refuge in the bushes. at last, man arrives and builds his hut upon the fruitful soil formed by the corruption of the vegetation, and calls himself lord and master of this new creation. _surf_, the white spray or froth of the sea waves. where is the coral insect found? in nearly all great seas; but particularly in the mediterranean, where it produces corallines of the most beautiful forms and colors: it is in the pacific ocean, however, where these tiny workmen are effecting those mighty changes, which exceed the most wonderful works of man. what is that part of the pacific called, where the coral rocks are most abundant? the coral sea, from the number of coral reefs and sunken islands, with which it abounds; it includes a region of many miles in extent, the whole of which is studded with numberless reefs, rocks, islands, and columns of coral, continually joining and advancing towards each other. all navigators who have visited these seas, state that no charts or maps are of any service after a few years, owing to the number of fresh rocks and reefs which are continually rising to the surface. the wonderful instinct of these animals leads them to continue working without ceasing, until their labors are finished, or their lives extinct. _reef_, a chain or line of rocks lying near the surface of the water. _extinct_, at an end, dead. what are the names of the principal islands of coral formation? the new hebrides, the friendly isles, the navigator's isles, the society islands, the marquesas, the gambier group, and others. these groups are separated from each other by channels or seas, wider than those which divide the individual islands which form the respective groups; but all these waters abound with shoals and minor islets, which point out the existence of a common base, and show that the work by which they will afterwards be united above the level of the sea is continually going forward. _shoals_, shallows; places where the water is of little depth. _minor_, less, smaller than others. _existence_, being. what is a singular characteristic of the coral islands? on all of them a plentiful supply of sweet and fresh water may be obtained by digging three or four feet into the coral; and even within one yard of high-water mark such a supply is to be found. they are mostly covered with a deep rich soil, and well wooded with trees and evergreens of different kinds. these islands vary in extent, as well as in the degree of finish to which they have arrived; some of the largest being about miles in diameter, and the smallest something less than a mile;--all of various shapes, and all formed of living coral. _diameter_, a straight line through the middle of a circle. is coral put to any use by man? white coral, which is nowhere so abundant as about the shores of ceylon, and others of the neighboring indian coasts, is employed as lime by the inhabitants of that part of the world, for building houses, &c., by burning it after the manner of our lime. this coral lies in vast banks, which are uncovered at low water. coral, particularly the beautiful red sort, is likewise made into various ornaments, as necklaces, &c. of what is our lime composed? of a useful earth, which absorbs moisture and carbonic acid, and exists as limestone, or in marble and chalk, which, when burnt, become lime: in its native state it is called carbonate of lime, and is burnt to disengage the carbonic acid; when made into a paste, with one part water and three parts lime,[ ] and mixed with some other mineral or metallic substances, it forms plastic cements and mortars; and afterwards, imbibing carbonic acid from the atmosphere, it becomes again carbonate of lime, as hard as at first; and hence its use in building. [footnote : see chapter xvi., article lime.] _plastic_, yielding, capable of being spread out or moulded. what do you mean by carbon? a simple substance, whose most common form is purified charcoal: it is, in fact, the base of charcoal, divested of all impurities; combined with oxygen, it forms _carbonic acid_ gas, formerly called fixed air. it is diffused through all animal and vegetable bodies; and may be obtained by exposing them to a red heat. in its pure, crystallized state, it constitutes the diamond, and as graphite, is used in making the so-called lead-pencils.[ ] [footnote : see chapter xiv., article diamond.] what is oxygen? air, mentioned in the first chapter of this work as the gaseous substance which composes the atmosphere, is formed by a mixture of two distinct elements, one called nitrogen, or azote, the other oxygen. oxygen is, therefore, an element or simple substance diffused generally through nature, and its different combinations are essential to animal life and combustion. it is, in fact, the most active agent in nature, and the principle of acidity and combustion. so wholesome and necessary is oxygen to life, that it is often called vital air. _agent_, an actor; a person or thing possessing the faculty of action. _essential_, necessary. what are the properties of nitrogen or azote? nitrogen is a substance also generally diffused through nature, and particularly in animal bodies, and causes great changes in those absorbing or exposed to it. this gas, combined with oxygen and hydrogen, produces neither light, heat, nor combustion, but serves to dilute the others: of itself, it is hurtful to animal life. nitrogen makes the principal part of the salt we call _nitre_. what is meant by combustion? the decomposition of bodies by the action of fire; the union of combustible bodies with the oxygen of the atmosphere. the greater access the air has to a burning body, the more rapid and complete is the process. _combustible_, capable of taking fire. _access_, the means or liberty of approach to anything. are all bodies equally combustible? no; some are more so than others, and burn with a bright flame; as wood, dry vegetables, resins, oils, fats, &c.; others with difficulty, and without any sensible flame, as soot, coal, the ashes of plants, &c. there are bodies, also, which are incombustible--that is, incapable of taking fire, as some alkalies, earths, &c. what is caloric? caloric is that invisible agent which produces the sensation of heat. it exists in all bodies; it is a force we are ever in want of, and thus it is hid in everything around us, and penetrates all matter, however different may be its nature or properties. what is meant by gas? all highly elastic fluids are called gases. some are salutary, but many extremely noxious, especially such as those arising from the putrefaction of animal bodies; the burning of charcoal; corrupted air at the bottom of mines, cellars, &c. the inflammable gas, which lights our streets, churches, shops, &c., is procured chiefly from coal, burnt in furnaces for the purpose the gas being passed through metal pipes, conveyed underground to the places where the light is required: escaping at the orifice prepared for it, it is lighted when wanted, and burns with, a brilliant flame. this gas consists of hydrogen and carbon; and the oxygen of the air, combined with the hydrogen, causes light as long as hydrogen and oxygen exist and combine. _salutary_, wholesome, healthful. _noxious_, hurtful, unwholesome. _putrefaction_, decay. _orifice_, opening, hole. [illustration: diamond cutting and polishing.] what is hydrogen? one of the most abundant principles in nature; one part of it, and eight of oxygen, form water. it is only met with in a gaseous form; it is also very inflammable, and is the gas called the fire-damp, so often fatal to miners; it is the chief constituent of oils, fats, spirits, &c.; and is produced by the decomposition of water. _constituent_, that which forms an essential part of anything. what is chalk? a white fossil substance, by some reckoned a stone, but of a friable kind, which cannot, therefore, be polished as marble; by others, more properly ranked among the earths. it is of two sorts, one a hard dry chalk, used for making lime; the other a soft, unctuous kind, used in manuring land, &c. chalk always contains quantities of flint-stone, and the fossil remains of shells, coral, animal bones, marine plants, &c.; from which circumstance there can be no doubt that _chalk is the deposited mud of a former ocean_. the chemical name of chalk is carbonate of lime. it effervesces strongly with an acid. _effervesce_, to froth or foam up. _deposited_, placed on anything. where is chalk found? in large beds or strata in the earth. chalk, on account of its abundance in england, forms an important feature in the scenery and geology of that country; it causes the whiteness of its sea-cliffs. scotland and wales are entirely without chalk. the white chalk is found, with interruptions, over a space above eleven hundred miles long, extending from the north of ireland, through england, france, belgium, germany, poland, and southern russia, to the crimea, with a breadth of more than eight hundred miles. the island of crete, now called candia, situated in the mediterranean, was formerly noted for its chalk. this substance is very useful in many of the arts and manufactures. where is the crimea? the peninsula of the crimea is a part of russia, lying on the black sea, by which it is bounded on the west and south. are there any other kinds of this earth besides the common white chalk? yes; there are various kinds of chalk, distinguished by their different colors, as white, black, red, &c., found in various parts of the world, of great use to the painter, both in oil and water colors, and for drawing on paper, &c. what is marble? a kind of stone remarkable for its hardness and firm grain, and for being susceptible of the finest polish. it is dug in great masses from pits or quarries; and is much used in ornamental buildings, and for statues, altars, tombs, chimney-pieces, &c. the word is derived from the french _marbre_, marble. marble is supposed to be formed, deep within the bowels of the earth, from a loose and porous carbonate of lime, subjected to enormous heat and pressure. _susceptible_, easily admitting anything additional. _porous_, full of holes, or interstices. are there different sorts of this stone? marbles are of many different kinds, usually named either from their color or country; some of one simple color, as white, or black; others streaked or variegated with different colors. they are classified as ancient and modern: the ancient are those found in quarries now lost or inaccessible to us, and of which there are only some wrought pieces remaining;--the modern, those from quarries still open, and out of which blocks of marble continue to be taken. in what countries is marble found? the united states, great britain, france, spain, italy, africa, egypt, and many other countries, produce marbles of different colors and qualities; some more beautiful, valuable, and more highly esteemed than others, as those of egypt, italy, &c. those, also, of different places in the same country frequently differ from each other in quality and appearance of the european marbles, that of italy is the most valuable. what kind appears to have been held in the greatest esteem by the ancients? a beautiful white marble, called the parian; of which the grecian statues were mostly made. by some, it is supposed to have taken its name from the isle of paros, in the mediterranean; but by others from parius, a famous statuary, who made it celebrated by cutting in it a statue of venus. parian marble is often mentioned by ancient authors. _statues_, figures of men, animals, &c., cut in stone or marble. _statuary_, one who makes statues. who was venus? the goddess of love and beauty, who was an object of adoration in the idolatrous ages, when men ignorantly knelt down and worshipped stocks and stones, which their own hands had fashioned after the likeness of things on the earth, or imaginary creations of their fancy;--or, again, the sun, moon, and stars, instead of the one and only true god. in those times, every nation had its peculiar deities, to whom were paid divine rites and honors, and to whose names costly temples were dedicated: these deities were divided into two classes, superior and inferior. venus was one of the grecian goddesses, supposed by them to have sprung from the froth of the sea. kings and celebrated warriors, and sages too, after death, frequently received divine honors; as confucius, the founder of the chinese empire, who, after death, was worshipped by that people as a god. romulus, the first king of rome, likewise, was thus adored by the romans; and many similar instances of the same species of idolatry amongst other nations might be recorded. _deities_, fabulous gods or goddesses. _idolatrous_, given to the worship of idols. _superior_, higher in rank. _inferior_, of a lower rank. _sage_, a wise man. chapter xiv. gold, silver, lead, tin, platina, sulphur, gems or precious stones, as diamonds, rubies, emeralds, turquois, pearls, mother-or-pearls, and ivory. what is gold? the purest and most precious of metals: it is sometimes found in solid masses, as in california, peru, hungary, &c.; in a shape resembling the branches of plants; in thin plates covering other bodies, as in siberia; sometimes in a crystal form. it, however, generally occurs in a metallic state, and most commonly in the form of grains. what is it called when found in a perfect metallic form? native gold: it is, however, seldom met with perfectly pure, being frequently alloyed with silver, copper, iron, or platina; sometimes concealed in other minerals; from which, if sufficiently abundant, it is extracted by art. where and in what manner is gold generally found? all parts of the earth afford gold; though with great difference in point of purity and abundance. it is chiefly obtained from mines. many rivers contain gold in their sands, especially those of california and guinea. gold mines are of rare occurrence in europe, but the metal is found in some of its rivers; among its mines, those of upper hungary are the most considerable. china and japan are rich in this metal; many parts of asia also possess it. australia produces quantities of the metal. it is also found in the eastern parts and interior of africa, where gold dust is collected in great quantities from earth deposited by the rivers. but it is in america that gold is found in the greatest abundance, particularly in the state of california, and in some parts of south america, as brazil, peru, chili, &c. _guinea_, a country of western africa. what are the uses of gold? it is used for money, jewelry, plate, &c. it is also employed in various ways in the arts. what is the character of gold? gold is so ductile and malleable, that an ounce of it may be drawn into a thread of leagues in length; or beaten into leaves of inches square, and thin enough to be carried away by the slightest wind. it readily assumes any form that human art can bestow upon it: its color is unalterable, and the beautiful polish of which it is susceptible, renders it the best of all metals for ornamental purposes. it is indestructible by air, water, or fire. gold is the heaviest of all metals, except platina; it is neither very elastic, nor very hard. _league_, a measure of length containing three miles. _indestructible_, incapable of being destroyed. is not the use of gold quite ancient? yes; it appears to have been very early known to the inhabitants of the world. in the th chapter of genesis, abram is spoken of as very rich in silver and gold; and in the d chapter of the same book, the "land of hevilath" (now in the eastern part of arabia felix,) is pointed out as having gold. arabia was famed for the fineness and quality of its gold. in the time of solomon, the gold of ophir seems to have been much esteemed, as it is recorded that the gold used in the building of the temple was brought from that place by the merchant-vessels of hiram, king of tyre. ophir is supposed to have been situated somewhere in the east indies. what is silver? a beautiful white shining metal, next to gold in value, and, like that precious substance, of great antiquity. it is found in sweden, norway, and the polar latitudes: when it occurs in hot climates, it is generally amidst mountains, covered with perpetual snow. _latitude_, breadth, width; in geography, the distance of a place in degrees, north or south, from the equator. where are the richest silver mines found? in south america, especially among the andes; the mines of mexico, and those of nevada, also, are rich in this metal. the richest and most important silver mines in europe are those of königsberg, in norway, and of andalusia, in spain. with the exception of gold, silver is the most ductile of all metals: a single grain may be extended into a plate inches long, and half an inch broad. it is capable of still further extension, but its tenacity is inferior even to that of iron or copper. a silver wire one-tenth of an inch thick will scarcely bear a weight of pounds, whilst a gold wire of the same thickness will support nearly double that weight. like some other metals, it is unalterable by air or moisture, but by an intense heat may be volatilized, being sometimes found in the soot of chimneys where large quantities are melted. _volatilized_, made to fly off by evaporation. in what state is silver usually found? it is rarely found in a state of purity, being generally mixed with other metals, as gold, lead, &c. masses of native silver are of no determinate form; being found sometimes in small branches, sometimes in threads, or very frequently in leaves, as in the siberian mines. native, or pure silver is chiefly found in the mines of potosi. silver was used as money in commerce years before the foundation of rome. _commerce_, trade of one nation with another, or different persons, &c. with each other. what is tin? a white metal, softer than any other excepting lead, more elastic, and more sonorous. though tin is the lightest of all metals, its ore is, when rich, the heaviest of all metallic ores. it has both smell and taste; is less ductile than some harder metals, though it may be beaten into very thin leaves; and it fuses so quickly, that it requires a heat much less than is sufficient to make it red-hot. was not the use of tin very early known? tin was found in britain from the earliest ages; the phenicians traded to cornwall for this metal years before christ. where are the principal tin mines? in saxony, cornwall, and bohemia. tin is also found in spain, sumatra, siam, mexico, and chili. a few specimens have been found at goshen, in massachusetts. _specimens_, samples. in what state is tin generally found? tin is sometimes found native or pure, but most frequently alloyed with other metals: the working of tin mines is attended with much difficulty, on account of their great depth, and the hard rocks which obstruct the progress of the miners, who are often obliged to cut through them. this metal is very useful in the making of domestic utensils, for coating the inside of copper and iron vessels, and for various other purposes. _obstruct_, to stand in the way. what is lead? a coarse, heavy metal, of a bluish grey color: it is so soft and flexible, that it is easily cut with a knife, and rolled out into sheets, &c.; it is very fusible and inelastic, but less ductile and sonorous, than any other metal. next to gold, platina, and mercury, it is the heaviest of the metals, being eleven times heavier than an equal bulk of water. this metal loses its malleability in proportion as it is heated: as soon as it melts it calcines, and greyish-colored ashes are formed on its surface; when returning from a fluid to a solid state, it is easily divided into small grains or powder, or formed into shot, &c. lead was in common use among the ancients. _flexible_, yielding, easily bent. _sonorous_, giving sound when struck. where is lead found? in various countries; but it abounds principally in great britain and spain; the lead mines of illinois, wisconsin, and iowa, are among the richest in the world. lead is a metal of great utility; it easily melts and mixes with gold, silver, and copper; hence it is employed in refining gold and silver, as it separates all the dirt and impurities from them; it is much used in building, particularly for covering gutters, pipes, &c.; lead is also used in varnishes and oil-painting, and makes the basis of the glazing of all the earthen and pottery wares. _refining_, cleansing, purifying. _varnishes_, preparations for beautifying and preserving various articles. what is peculiar to the ore of lead? the ore of this metal is so poisonous, that the steam arising from the furnaces in which it is smelted infects the grass of all the neighboring places, and kills the animals which feed on it: culinary vessels lined with a mixture of tin and lead, are apt to convey pernicious qualities to the food prepared in them. there are various preparations of lead, serving for different purposes. _infects_, corrupts. _culinary_, adapted to the purposes of cooking. _pernicious_, hurtful, dangerous. _ore_, the mineral soil, earth, or stone dug out of the mines, which contains the metal. what is black lead? it is a kind of mineral, of a deep shining black or bluish color, soft and unctuous to the touch; it is insoluble in acids, and infusible by fire. black lead has been found in many parts of the world, in a state of greater or less purity, but it is the english black lead which is the most esteemed. _insoluble_, incapable of dissolving. _infusible_, not capable of being melted. is black lead a proper term for this mineral? no; because, in reality, there is not a particle of lead in it. on the spot where it is procured, it is called by two or three different names, but the most usual is plumbago. where is the best black lead found? the best and greatest quantity is found in england, in a mine near keswick, in cumberland. it is much used for pencils or crayons, for writing, drawing, &c.; for this purpose it is sawn into slips, and fitted into a groove in a strip of soft wood, as cedar, &c., over which another is placed and fastened with glue. what is platina? a metallic substance, more recently discovered than the metals already described; and analogous to the perfect metals, especially gold,--many of whose properties it possesses. _analogous_, bearing a resemblance. whence is its name derived? it is the diminutive of _plata_, silver, to which it appears very similar; platina being a silver-colored metal, in small grains. _diminutive_, a word lessening the meaning of the original. whence is it obtained? mostly from russia, and, also from south america. its color does not tarnish by exposure to the air, and appears to be equally permanent with that of pure gold; the metal is indestructible by fire. platina is capable of being alloyed with all metals; is fused with difficulty, but by great labor may be rendered malleable: it is also the heaviest metal, being times heavier than water. _permanent_, lasting. are there any other metals besides those already mentioned? in addition to the metals known and used by the ancients, the chemical science of later ages has, by decomposing other earths, added more than thirty to the number of metals, some of them more curious than useful; several of these are lighter than water. all the metals possess different and distinct properties from each other. they are divided into two classes, the malleable and the brittle metals. these last may be again divided into two others,--namely, those which are easily, and those which are with difficulty fused. what do you mean by metallurgy? the art of obtaining metals from their ores, comprising the processes of assaying, refining, smelting, &c. by assaying is meant, the particular manner of examining an ore or mixed metal, according to its nature, so as to discover not only what metals and what proportions of metal may be obtained from it, but also what other mineral substances or earths may be contained in it. what do the terms refining and smelting signify? refining is the art of rendering the metal free from all impurities. smelting means the melting of a metal from its ore in a smelting furnace, in order to separate the metallic parts from the sulphur, arsenic, and the earthy and stony substances with which they may be combined. what is sulphur? an inflammable, fossil substance, of a dry, solid, friable nature, melting with a small proportion of heat;--when fired in the open air, burning almost entirely away with a blue flame and noxious vapor. it is abundantly diffused in many places, especially where metallic minerals are found; but more particularly in those districts where subterranean fires and volcanoes exist. it is also found combined with many different substances. describe the nature of sulphur, and the places where it is mostly found. sulphur almost pure, called native or virgin sulphur, is found in volcanoes and grottoes, in the form of transparent crystals; but the greatest quantity which exists naturally is combined with metals in ores. sulphur is both fusible and volatile,--which qualities enable us to procure it from those minerals by the process of sublimation: it unites easily, in different degrees, with all metallic matters, excepting gold, platina, and zinc. _sublimation_, the act of bringing a solid substance into the state of vapor by heat, and condensing it again by cold. are not its uses very extensive? yes, both in the arts and in chemistry: it is well known to be a principal ingredient in the preparation of gunpowder and fire-works; it is also used for whitening wool, straw, silk, &c.; many other matters exposed to the vapors of sulphur when burning, quickly lose their color, which no other substance had been able to destroy. sulphur is also frequently found in mineral waters. whence are the greatest quantities of sulphur brought? the largest quantities are brought from saxony, in irregular masses, which are afterwards melted and cast into small rolls. there are about four species of sulphur; namely, the yellow native sulphur, which in its purest state is clear, and of a pale straw color, found in the gold mines of peru; in hungary, and some other places: the green native sulphur, which is harder than the other, is found in small crust-like masses; this sort is chiefly confined to mount vesuvius: and the grey native sulphur, common in iceland and many other places. native sulphur is also found at the coal mines, near richmond, virginia; in connecticut, pennsylvania, and other parts of the united states. which is the most rare and beautiful of all the kinds? the red native sulphur; it is mostly of a fine glowing red, very bright and transparent; it is found, like the first-mentioned sort, in the gold mines of peru. common sulphur, such as is used in trade and the arts, is of a pale yellow color; and possesses a peculiar and disagreeable smell, particularly when heated or rubbed. this is mostly extracted from the metallic sulphurets, and is commonly called brimstone. it is the sort employed in making matches. is there not another substance also employed in the manufacture of matches? yes: phosphorus, a peculiar substance, chiefly of animal origin. it is mostly procured by the decomposition of the phosphoric acid which is found in bones. it was accidentally discovered at hamburgh, in , by an alchemist named brandt. _alchemist_, one skilled in alchemy.[ ] [footnote : see chapter xviii., article chemistry.] what is the nature of phosphorus? it is a solid, inflammable substance, which burns when in contact with atmospheric air. it is used in various chemical experiments, and for making matches; for various kinds of fire-works, &c. it will combine with all metals except gold and zinc; and also with some earths. some animals, as the glow-worm, possess very peculiar phosphorescent qualities. _phosphorescent_, having a phosphoric property, emitting peculiar light like phosphorus. what is arsenic? a heavy metallic substance, very volatile, and highly inflammable; so caustic or corrosive to animals, as to become a violent poison in all its states. in its metallic state it is used in several of the arts: it is employed in the manufacture of factitious metals: it is of use to the dyer in forming some of his colors; and for that purpose is generally combined with potassa. it is used in the making of small shot, and also in the manufacture of glass, to which it gives transparency; in whitening copper; in calico printing; in the preparation of colors for the painter; and in the working of platina, and some other metals, to render them more easily fusible. _caustic_, dry, burning. _corrosive_, apt to corrode, to eat away, to penetrate. how is the white powdered arsenic prepared? by submitting the ore to a strong heat in a peculiar kind of furnace; this produces a dark grey powder, which is again heated in close iron vessels; this separates it from its impurities, and the arsenic is obtained in thick, solid masses; these, by exposure to the air, fall into a fine, white powder. from what is the word arsenic derived? from a greek word, signifying _masculine_--powerful (as a poison). arsenic is dug out of mines in saxony, near goslar; in bohemia; in england, in the mendip hills, in great quantities. it has so strong a corrosive quality as sometimes to burn the hands and feet of the miners; it is a deadly poison for all known animals. this poisonous mineral is not found native in its perfect form, being generally united with metallic ores. what do you mean by gems? the word gem is used as a common name for all precious stones or jewels; they consist of the siliceous earths; and are much valued for their lustre, transparency, color, hardness, and rarity. there are many different kinds of precious stones, each distinguished by its peculiar character. how are they divided? into the pellucid gems, which are of great lustre, and extremely hard, as the diamond; the semi-pellucid, those which are not so transparent, but yet of great beauty; those of one color, as the emerald or turquois; and those variegated or veined with different colors. gems are sometimes found of regular shapes, with a natural polish, near the beds of rivers after great rains; these are of the pebble kind. sometimes they are found of irregular shapes, with a rough coat, in mines and the clefts of rocks. pearls, though not stones, are also ranked among the number of gems. _pellucid_, clear as a drop of water. _semi-pellucid_, half pellucid. describe the diamond. the diamond is a precious stone, the first in rank of all the gems, and valued for its beautiful lustre; it is the hardest of all stones, as well as the most valuable. the most esteemed are colorless. a diamond in its natural state as it comes out of the mine, and before it is cut, is called rough, because it has no brilliancy, but is covered with an earthy crust. the diamond is the adamant of the ancients; hence the expression "hard as adamant," from its being the hardest substance in nature. the cutting of diamonds is a work of labor, and requires great skill; the polishing is performed by a mill of simple construction. where are they mostly found? in yellow ochreous earths; in mines; and likewise in torrents, which have torn them from their beds. in former times, all the diamonds that were known were brought from the famous mines of golconda, in hindostan; the islands of molucca and borneo have also produced many valuable stones. the diamond mines of golconda are now so exhausted, that they are not thought worth the expense of working; these gems are now brought chiefly from brazil, in south america. what is meant by ochreous? consisting of ochre, a kind of earth with a rough and dusty surface, composed of fine, soft, clayey particles, which readily separate in water. there are various colored ochres, as red, yellow, blue, green, &c.; they are very useful in many of the arts. what term is used to denote the quality of the diamond? in speaking of the value of diamonds, we distinguish them as "diamonds of the first water," meaning those which possess the greatest perfection and purity, which ought to be that of the clearest drop of water: when they fall short of this perfection, they are said to be "of the second or third water," and so on till the stone may be properly called a colored one. what is the ruby? a beautiful gem of a red color; in its perfect state it is of great value. the ruby is often found perfectly pure and free from all spots or blemishes; but its value is much more frequently lessened by them, especially in the larger stones. it is very hard, being second only to the diamond in this respect; and is often naturally so bright and pure on the surface as to need no polishing; it is often worn in rings, &c., in its rough or native state. the color of rubies varies from the deepest to the palest red, all having more or less of a purplish tinge, which is more plainly perceived in the deeper colored specimens than in the paler ones. where are rubies found? they are mostly found in gold mines. we have the true rubies only from the east. the isle of ceylon has long been celebrated for these gems; they are found in a river which descends from the mountains; they are brighter and more beautiful than those obtained in other parts, but are very rare. some crystals are frequently found tinged with the true color of the ruby, but these want its lustre and hardness. describe the emerald. it is a precious stone of a beautiful transparent green color, and, when in a state of perfection, nearly equal to the ruby in hardness. the finest and best are found in america, especially among the mountains of peru; they are also obtained from a few places in the east. these gems are often counterfeited, as are most of the precious stones, there being even false diamonds; the genuine may be known by their extreme hardness and brilliancy. _counterfeited_, imitated with a view to defraud. _genuine_, true, real. what is the turquois? a beautiful blue stone; it is one of the softest of the gems, and some varieties are often used for seals, as they admit of being engraved upon. the turquois is easily imitated, and that often so perfectly as to render it very difficult to distinguish the counterfeit from the true gem. in what countries are they found? the oriental turquois comes from persia, the indies, and some parts of turkey; the turquois is also found in various parts of europe, as germany, spain, and france. what is engraving? the art of cutting metals or precious stones, and representing thereon figures, letters, and devices; the term is, however, more particularly applied to the art of producing figures or designs on metal, &c., for the purpose of being subsequently printed on paper. the ancients are well known to have excelled in engraving on precious stones; many specimens have been preserved, which surpass anything of the kind produced by the moderns. this art is frequently alluded to in the bible. engraving on wood, according to some authors, was introduced into europe from china by venetian merchants; it is certain the art was practised in eastern and northern italy as early as the thirteenth century. the invention of copper-plate engraving has been ascribed to a goldsmith of florence, about the year . _device_, that which is formed by design. _design_, a representation of a thing by an outline; a sketch. describe wood engraving. the subject is drawn on a block of box or pear-tree wood with a black-lead pencil, or with a pen and indian ink; the wood is then cut away, so as to leave the lines which have been drawn, as raised parts. the ink is next applied, and by pressing damp paper upon the block, the impressions are obtained. albert durer, a celebrated painter of germany, brought the art of engraving on wood and metal, and taking off impressions on paper, &c., to great perfection. how is engraving on copper, steel, &c., performed? this sort of engraving is performed with a sharp-pointed instrument called a _graver_, by means of which figures, landscapes, &c., are traced upon a flat surface of the metal: the lines are then filled with ink or a similar composition, and the paper pressed on the plate. when taken off, an exact copy of the plate is impressed upon its surface. [illustration: cochineal insects and plants.] what is lithography? a species of engraving on stone, from which impressions can be taken much more expeditiously and economically than from metal. the process depends upon the following principles:--first, the facility with which calcareous stones imbibe water; second, the power of oily substances to repel water. when drawings are executed upon the stone with crayons composed of oily materials, and the surface of the stone is washed over with water, the moisture is imbibed by the stone, but repelled from the engraving; and when the ink, which also contains oily substances, is applied, it adheres only to the drawing, and not to the other portions of the stone. the block is then passed through a press, and the impressions are taken off; as many as , perfect copies have been obtained from a single stone. _expeditiously_, with celerity or dispatch. _economically_, with economy; with frugality. you describe pearls as being ranked among the number of gems, although they are not stones; what kind of substance are they? pearls are excrescences found in the shells of a large species of oyster, which are supposed to be produced by a disease of the fish. the best pearls are generally taken from the most fleshy part of the oyster, near the hinge of the shell, but inferior kinds are found in all parts of the fish, and adhering to the shells. pearls, from many allusions made to them in the old testament, were not only known to the ancients, but were regarded by them as costly and precious gems. how do they get the oysters which contain them? by diving under water and picking the oysters from the large beds at the bottom of the sea; or the rocks to which they adhere. the divers cast all the oysters they take into their boats, and carry them ashore, where they deposit them in heaps; they are then left till they become putrid, this being necessary in order to remove the pearls easily from the rough matter by which they are surrounded. what sea produces the best and greatest number of pearls? the finest and greatest quantities are obtained off the coast of ceylon; the pearl oyster is also found in the seas of the east indies; in those of america, and in some parts of the european seas; but these last are much inferior. the oriental pearls are the finest on account of their size, color, and beauty, being of a silvery white; while the occidental pearls are smaller, and frequently tinged with a yellow or blackish hue. _tinged_, slightly colored. does not the pearl oyster produce a substance called mother-of-pearl? no; the beautiful substance so much used for inlaying boxes, and for ornamental knife-handles, &c., is produced from the shell, not of the pearl oyster, but of another sea-fish of the oyster kind. what is inlaying? the art of ornamenting a plain surface of wood, or other material, with thin slices or leaves of a finer wood, of a different kind; as mahogany inlaid with ebony, &c., or with ivory, and other substances. there are two kinds of inlaying; one, of the more ordinary sort, which consists only of compartments of different kinds of wood, inlaid with one another; the other, requiring greater skill, represents flowers, birds, and other figures. the thin plates of wood or other substance, being sawed into slips, and cut into the required forms, are carefully joined, and afterwards strongly glued down on the block of wood, &c., intended to be thus ornamented. _compartment_, a division, a separate part. what is ebony? a hard, black-colored wood, growing in the countries of the levant, &c.; there are, however, several black woods of different kinds which are also called ebony. what is ivory? the tooth or tusk of the elephant, which grows on each side of his trunk; it is somewhat like a horn in shape. ivory is much esteemed for its beautiful white color, polish, and fine grain when wrought. it has been used from the remotest ages of antiquity; in the scriptures we read of solomon's ivory throne, and also of "vessels of ivory," and "beds of ivory:" by which it appears to have been a chief article of luxury, as well as of trade. _remotest_, most distant. of what countries is the elephant an inhabitant? of many parts of asia and africa. the elephant is the largest quadruped now in existence; it is extremely sagacious, docile and friendly: in the countries where they live they are trained to useful labor, and by their great strength are enabled to perform tasks which a man or horse could not accomplish: among the native princes they were, and even still are, used in war: with them the inhabitants are able to hunt and destroy the lion, tiger, and other beasts of prey. with their long trunk, or proboscis, they can perform almost everything which man can with his hands. _quadruped_, an animal with four feet. chapter xv. starch, arrow-root, tapioca, isinglass, caviare, the vine, wine, gin, rum, brandy, vinegar, indigo, gamboge, logwood, tar, pitch, camphor, musk, myrrh, frankincense, and turpentine. what is starch? a white, powdery sediment procured from the bottom of vessels in which flour or meal has been steeped in water. pure starch is of a fine white color, without taste or smell; it will not dissolve in cold water, but with warm forms a jelly, in which form it is generally used; it is made by crushing, soaking, and fermenting the grains of the cereals, and then washing in pure water; the water is then evaporated, leaving behind the starch. _sediment_, matter subsided to the bottom of liquors. for what is starch used? to stiffen linen after washing; to make hair powder; and for other purposes in the arts. from what vegetables is starch obtained? all farinaceous vegetable substances afford it, as the potato, horse-chestnut, &c. starch being the nutritive part of the vegetable, forms an excellent food for invalids, and constitutes the principal part of arrow-root, tapioca, &c.; the different flavor of these substances being derived from the mixture of a small portion of foreign matter peculiar to the plants which yield them. starch is procured from potatoes by crushing them to powder, and then proceeding as in the manufacture of wheat starch. what is arrow-root? the starch obtained from the root of an american plant by pulverization. it is often adulterated with potato starch, and the latter is even sold instead of it, for the two kinds resemble each other so closely that they can hardly be distinguished. _pulverization_, the act of reducing to powder. _adulterated_, corrupted by foreign mixture. what is tapioca? tapioca is another kind of starch, obtained from the root of the manioc plant, which is cultivated in most hot climates, in asia, africa, and america. a flour is also prepared from it, which is used for making bread. it is particularly cultivated in the tropical parts of america, and in the west india islands, where it forms a very important article of food for the negro population. _negro_, a name given to the black inhabitants of africa and their descendants. _population_, inhabitants of a place or country. what is isinglass? one of the purest and finest of _animal_ glues. it is the produce of several kinds of fish, but especially of the sturgeon, which inhabits the seas of northern europe and america. from what part of the fish is it prepared? from the air-bladder, and certain parts of the entrails; these are taken out while fresh, cut open, washed, and exposed to the air a short time to stiffen; the outside skin is then taken off, and the remaining part formed into rolls, fastened together with pegs, and hung up to dry. the isinglass is then separated into threads of different sizes, or formed into flakes. immense quantities are annually prepared in this manner in russia. what are its uses? dissolving readily in water or milk, it yields a mild nutriment for the sick, and enters into the composition of many delicacies for the table, such as jellies, &c. it is mixed with gum to give lustre to silk and satin; it is also used in making court plaster, and for clarifying various liquors. gelatine, now much used on account of its being less expensive, is a similar preparation, but of an inferior quality. what else does the sturgeon supply? its roe furnishes the delicacy called caviare, which is in fact merely that part of the fish separated from the membranes and washed in vinegar and white wine, and dried in the air. it is then well salted, and packed up in barrels ready for sale. this is the method of preparing it in russia, where large quantities of it are consumed. it is largely exported to italy, where it is highly esteemed. it is unwholesome, and at present the demand for it, except in russia and italy, is very limited. the best is dry and of a brown color, and is eaten with lemon juice on bread. to what other uses is the fruit of the vine applied besides drying it for raisins, as described in the sixth chapter? the well-known plant, called the vine, has been an object of culture from the earliest ages of the world, for the sake of the fermented liquor obtained from its fruit; soon after the flood, noe, who appears to have been the first "husbandman," is mentioned as having "planted a vineyard," and drank of the juice of the grape; in all those countries where it flourishes, it is inseparably connected with their religious rites, and wine, like corn, formed one of the principal articles which they offered on their altars to the gods whom they worshipped. _husbandman_, one who cultivates the fruits of the earth. _altar_, the place where sacrifices were anciently offered to some deity. what countries produce the best wines? the wines of france are generally admitted to be the finest; the principal ones are champagne, burgundy, and claret. of each of these, there are several varieties, celebrated for their peculiar flavor; they are generally named after the places where they are made. spain, portugal, italy, germany, hungary, sicily, greece, and california, also produce their various sorts of wine, each esteemed in its kind. may wine be extracted from other vegetable bodies? the word is appropriated in a more particular manner to the fermented juice of the grape; but nearly all vegetable productions may be made to afford wine. that produced from apples is called cider; that from pears, perry. a kind of wine, called mead, is prepared from honey and water. _appropriated_, applied to. what is honey? a sweet vegetable juice, collected from the flowers of various plants by the bees. what honey was reckoned by the ancients the best in the world? the honey of hybla, on the east coast of sicily, and of hymettus, a mountain of greece, near athens. what other fluid is drawn from wine? spirits; by this term is understood, a volatile fluid called spirits of wine, or alcohol, obtained by distillation from wine, beer, and all fermented liquors. it is colorless, and of a strong penetrating taste and smell. it is of great use in chemistry; in dyeing to prepare the stuff for receiving colors; and in many of the arts. what is the vessel called which is used in distilling? a still. it is a vessel so formed as to collect the vapor, which is the spirit, or alcohol, separated from the liquid from which it is drawn. this liquid product is itself returned to the still; and the same process is several times repeated, till the alcohol or spirit is sufficiently strong and pure. there are three principal spirits used in this country, as gin, rum, and brandy. _product_, thing produced. what is gin? a spirit procured from raw barley, oats, and malt, mixed together in certain proportions: there are several varieties of this spirit, all obtained from grain. the peculiar flavor of gin is given by infusing a few hops and some of the berries of the juniper fir. what is malt? malt is barley prepared by being steeped in water and fermented, and then dried in a kiln. it is used for making beer, &c. of what are hops the produce? of a graceful climbing plant, the blossoms of which are used in making beer, to preserve it and improve its flavor. what is rum? a spirit obtained from molasses, the fluid which drains from sugar while it is crystallizing. what is brandy? a spirit distilled from any wine; but the best is procured from weak french wines, which are unfit for exportation. brandy, from whatever wine it has been obtained, is at first colorless; different methods are employed to give it the color by which it is distinguished. _exportation_, the act of sending articles from one country to another. what is vinegar? an agreeable, acid, penetrating liquor, prepared from wine, beer, &c. to make vinegar, the wine or beer is made to undergo a second fermentation, called the _acid_ or _acetous_ fermentation; the first which the vegetable juice had to undergo, in order to convert it into wine or beer, being called the _vinous_ fermentation. vinegar is of great use in cookery and medicine; the word is derived from the french for wine, _vin_, and _aigre_, sour. the ancients had several kinds of vinegar, which they used as drinks; but it is most likely that these vinegars were different from that so called among us, and were more probably a kind of wine. _acetous_, sour. _vinous_, wine-like. what materials are used for the dyeing and coloring of our manufactures? there are many mineral and vegetable earths which furnish mankind with different colors for beautifying their various manufactures, and assisting them in the arts, &c. some species of insects also come to their aid, as for instance, the cochineals; these insects are killed by the application of heat, and thus form the drug used for giving red colors, especially crimson and scarlet, and for making carmine. the beautiful and permanent blue called indigo, is the produce of a small shrub, two or three feet in height. from what part is the dye obtained? from the leaves; the color is produced by soaking them some hours in water, in large vessels constructed for the purpose; the sediment of the blue liquor drawn from them is afterwards dried and sold in the form of small grains for the painter, they are mixed with oil, or diluted and made up into small cakes with gum water. in what countries is indigo cultivated? it is native in both indies, and in south america, where its cultivation affords employment to many of the inhabitants. it also grows wild in parts of palestine, and is much cultivated both in syria and egypt. it once formed one of the staples of the southern states, but has in a great measure given way to the cultivation of cotton. has indigo been long known? the culture and preparation of indigo were known to the oriental nations long before it was introduced into europe. the inhabitants of ancient britain painted their bodies with the blue dye which they obtained from woad, a plant which grows wild in france and along the shores of the baltic, and which greatly resembles indigo in all its properties, except its brilliancy of color. _brilliancy_, brightness. what is gamboge? the concrete resinous juice of a species of gum-tree, growing in cambodia, and other parts of the indies. it is brought over in large cakes or rolls of a yellowish brown color outside, and inside of a deep yellow or orange, which changes to a pale bright yellow on being moistened. what are the uses of gamboge? dissolved in water, it forms a beautiful and useful color for the painter. it is also used in medicine. gamboge is soluble in either water or spirits of wine. mixed with a blue color, it forms green, in various shades according to the different proportions of the ingredients. what is logwood? the wood of a tree which grows in parts of america and the west indies. it is imported in great quantities, and employed in dyeing purple and the finest blacks. what is tar? a coarse, resinous liquor issuing from the wood and bark of pine or fir-trees; it is in fact the oily juices of the sap thickened and colored by the heat of the sun or by age; it is extracted for use by burning the wood of the trees under a heavy covering of turf or earth; the tar exudes during the slow combustion, and is collected into a cavity dug in the ground for the purpose. tar is exported in great quantities from norway, sweden, and our southern states. what are its uses? it is applied to the sides of ships and boats and their rigging, to preserve them from the effects of the weather; it is used instead of paint for palings, &c.; and sometimes also in medicine. a kind, called _mineral_ tar, is also drawn from coal by the process of distillation. mineral tar is also found native in some parts of the earth. what is pitch? a kind of juice or gum, likewise drawn from unctuous woods, chiefly those of the pine and fir; it is used for nearly the same purposes as tar in shipping, medicine, and various other arts. pitch is properly a juice of the wild pine, or pitch tree; it is of a glossy black color, dry brittle, and less bitter and pungent than the liquid tar. what is camphor? a vegetable substance, chiefly procured from a kind of laurel, (laurus camphora,) growing in borneo, japan, and many east indian islands; it is also produced from other plants and shrubs, though in very small quantities. how, and from what part of the tree is it taken? all parts of the tree are impregnated with camphor; but it is principally extracted from the roots and trunk, by distillation; it is white, and of a crystal form: its odor is extremely fragrant. in this state it is called _rough_ camphor, and is thus exported. the greeks and romans do not appear to have been acquainted with this valuable drug; and we are indebted to the arabians for a knowledge of it. what are the properties and uses of camphor? it is a firm, dry, crystal matter, with a hot, sharp, aromatic taste. it is highly odorous, and so inflammable as to burn and preserve its flame in water; it totally vanishes or evaporates in the open air, and in spirits of wine it entirely dissolves. camphor has various uses--as in fire-works, &c.; it is an excellent preservative of animal and vegetable bodies, as it resists worms and other insects. in the courts of eastern princes it is burnt at night with wax. its principal use with us is in medicine. _preservative_, a preventive of decay. what is musk? a dry, friable substance of a dark color, taken from a little bag under the belly of a small animal called the thibet musk, which is a native of the indies, tonquin, and china. it inhabits the woods and forests, where the natives hunt it down. musk is so strong a perfume as to be agreeable only in the smallest quantities, or when mingled with some other scent; it is used in perfumery, &c. is there not another animal which produces a similar scent? yes; an animal of arabian origin produces an odoriferous substance called civet, from which it takes its name of civet cat; there are several species of this animal which produce it, but it is from the civet cat that it is most commonly taken. civets are found in all the warm parts of asia and africa, in madagascar, and the east indian islands. it was formerly in high esteem, but is at present very little used, except to increase the power of other perfumes. what is myrrh? a kind of gum-resin, issuing from the trunk of a tree growing in arabia, egypt, and abyssinia; it flows either naturally, or by incision; and is sent to us in small lumps of a reddish brown or yellow color. its smell is strong, but not disagreeable. our myrrh is the same drug that was used by the ancients under the above name. its chief use now is in medicine. the ancient egyptians employed it as an ingredient in the embalming of dead bodies. _embalming_, preserving the bodies of the dead from decaying or putrefying, by impregnating them with aromatics and other substances which resist putrefaction. where is abyssinia? abyssinia is a large kingdom situated in eastern africa. what is frankincense? an odoriferous, aromatic gum-resin, which distils, in the heat of summer, from incisions made in the bark of the tree which produces it: notwithstanding the great use of the gum, both in ancient systems of religious worship and in modern medicine, authors have been much divided in opinion with regard to the kind of tree from which it is obtained; it is a species of turpentine tree belonging to an order of resinous and fragrant trees and shrubs inhabiting the tropical parts of the world. for what was it formerly used? the ancients burnt it in their temples as a perfume, and to do honor to the divinities that were worshipped in them: it appears to have been applied to the same purposes by people of all religions. myrrh and frankincense were reckoned by the eastern nations amongst their most costly perfumes. we are informed by st. matthew's gospel in the new testament, that the wise men who came to bethlehem to worship our saviour at his birth, brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. many of the primitive christians were put to death because they would not offer incense to idols. in the catholic church we still retain its use in many ceremonies. _primitive_, early. _incense_, perfumes burnt in religious rites, or as an offering to some deity. what is the appearance of frankincense? it is generally imported in white or yellowish pieces, or drops, which possess a bitter, disagreeable taste; it is very inflammable, and burns with a strong, and pleasant odor. that brought from the indies is inferior to that from arabia, and inclines to a reddish color. the common frankincense is softer, more resinous, and possesses less value than the former. what is turpentine? the resinous juice of many trees, as the pine, larch, fir, &c.; it is, in fact, the juice that renders them evergreen, and when in an over-abundant quantity, bursts through their bark, and oozes out. common turpentine is that procured by incisions from the wild pine; there are several kinds of turpentine procured from various resinous trees; some are of use in medicine, and most of them in making different kinds of varnishes, for preserving and beautifying boxes, paintings, &c. _ooze_, to flow gently. is there not a tree more particularly designated the turpentine tree? yes, the terebinth or turpentine tree of palestine and the east. it is one of the most common forest trees of those regions, and is regarded with respect and distinction similar to that awarded to the oak in england. what part of it produces the gum? the gum, or rather the resin, distils from the trunk. it is called cyprus or chian turpentine, much of it being brought from the isles of cyprus and scio, or chios, and is procured, by incision, about the month of july. this turpentine, owing to its superior quality, as well as its scarcity, each tree seldom yielding over two or three pounds, is very costly. _incision_, a cutting. _costly_, expensive. chapter xvi. bricks, mortar, granite, slate, limestone, or calcareous rocks, steel, earths, volcanoes, and earthquakes. of what are bricks composed? of clay, dried by the heat of the sun, or burnt in kilns; their color varies with the different degrees of heat to which they are subjected in burning. in the east, bricks were baked in the sun; the romans used them crude, only laying them to dry in the air for a long space of time. _crude_, in the rough, unbaked state, just as they were formed. how long have bricks been in use for building? bricks appear to have been in use at a very remote period of antiquity, both from the account of them in the holy scriptures, and from the remains of them which have been found; the tower of babel and the walls of babylon were built of them. they were in early use among the egyptians, as appears from the history of the jews before their deliverance by moses. in the book of exodus, we are told that this captive people were compelled to make bricks for that nation. the romans, under their first kings, built with massive square stones; but towards the end of the republic they began to use brick, borrowing the practice from the greeks; and the greatest and most durable buildings of the succeeding emperors were composed of them, as the pantheon, &c. _massive_, bulky and heavy. by whom was the tower of babel erected, and why? by the descendants of noe's three sons, sem, cham, and japheth; they were extremely numerous, and dwelt in the land of sennaar; becoming ambitious of distinguishing themselves, they set about building a tower whose summit might reach to heaven. sennaar was the original name of the country about babylon. _descendants_, those descended from a particular person or family. what remarkable event followed their foolish pride? the almighty suddenly frustrated their purpose by confusing their language and causing them all to express their words by different sounds; hence arose the numbers of different languages spoken by the nations of the earth; and thus what they imagined would be a monument of glory, was made an awful memento of their pride and folly. _frustrated_, prevented. _monument_, anything by which the memory of persons or things is preserved. _memento_, a hint to awaken the memory of anything; that which reminds. what good effect did this event produce? god, who at all times can bring good out of evil, by this means caused the other parts of the earth to be peopled; for this visitation having effectually broken up their scheme, they emigrated in parties, and dispersed themselves over different parts of the world. _scheme_, plan, intention. _emigrated_, removed from one country to another. _dispersed_, separated. where was babylon? this celebrated city, so often mentioned in holy writ, (and remarkable for the minuteness with which its destruction was foretold by the prophets,) was the capital of the assyrian empire, and situated on the river euphrates. after the destruction of nineve, the ancient capital of this empire, babylon became the most famous city of the east. _minuteness_, particularity. what is meant by the assyrian empire? the country of assyria, in asia. for what was this city particularly celebrated? for its hanging gardens, palaces, temples, and walls, the latter of which are said to have been three hundred and fifty feet high, and so broad that six chariots could go abreast upon them. the city was so strongly fortified, both by nature and art, as to be thought impregnable. _fortified_, defended. _impregnable_, incapable of being taken or destroyed by an enemy. by whom was it destroyed, and when? by cyrus, years before the birth of christ, just fifty years after nabuchodonosor had destroyed the city of jerusalem and its temple. who was cyrus? the founder of the persian empire. who was nabuchodonosor? the king of babylon. what was the pantheon? a temple of a circular form which was dedicated to all the gods, or all the saints. that of all others the most celebrated, is the pantheon of ancient rome, and its remains are the most perfect amongst the wonders of that city at the present day. _circular_, having the form of a circle, round. by whom was it built? by agrippa, the consul of rome, twenty-five years before christ; it was dedicated by him to jupiter: the name pantheon was given on account of the great number of statues of the gods ranged in niches all round it; and because it was built in a circular form to represent heaven, the residence of the gods. it was afterwards converted into a church by pope boniface iv, and dedicated to the blessed virgin and all the martyrs, under the title of "our lady of the rotunda." agrippa likewise built the pantheon at athens, which was but little inferior to that of rome. the greek christians afterwards converted it into a church, dedicating it to the blessed virgin; but the turks, when they subdued greece, changed it into a mosque. _dedicated_, appropriated to a particular person, or to a sacred use. _residence_, dwelling, habitation. _martyr_, one who is put to death for the cause of religion. _mosque_, a mahommedan temple. [illustration: a slate quarry.] what is understood by a consul? the chief magistrate of the roman republic or commonwealth. after the romans had expelled their kings, they were governed by two consuls; these were established in the year of rome . the consuls were the head of the senate; they commanded the armies of the republic, and judged all the differences between the citizens: they held their office for the space of a year; at the end of which time, new ones were elected. consuls were even continued under the emperors after the republic was destroyed; but it was then little more than an honorary title, and at last was totally abolished. _expelled_, turned out. _abolished_, annulled, made void. to what is the term consul applied at the present time? to an officer established by a commission from a king or state, to reside in foreign countries of any considerable trade, to facilitate and despatch business, protect the merchants of the state, &c. _commission_, a trust imposed, command, authority. _facilitate_, to render easy. what is meant by a senate? an assembly or council of senators, that is, of the principal inhabitants of a state, who have a share in the government. what is the government of the united states? it is one of limited and definite powers, defined by a written constitution. how are the legislative powers, granted to the government, vested? in a congress, consisting of a senate of two senators from each state, chosen by the legislature thereof; and a house of representatives, consisting of one or more members from each state, elected by the people in equal electoral districts. _legislative_, giving or enacting laws how are our laws made? bills passed by the house of representatives and the senate, on receiving the sanction of the president, become laws; or, if vetoed by the president, may be passed by two-thirds of both houses. _vetoed_, withheld assent to. who was jupiter? the principal deity of the pagan world. what is used to cement bricks firmly together? mortar; a composition of lime, sand, gravel, &c., mixed up with water; the ancients had a kind of mortar so very hard and binding, that, even to this day, it is next to impossible to separate the parts of some of their buildings. what is granite? a rock which has been formed by the union of three different minerals in a state of fusion; these, on cooling, have crystallized and become distinct from each other in the mass. it is remarkable for the beauty of its colors, its hardness and durability. there are granites of many different colors, as red or rose-colored, grey, green, variegated, &c. _fusion_, a melted state. _mass_, a body, a lump. what form does it bear? granite does not, generally, form one extensive mass, but remains in separate and large fragments, rudely compacted together; besides the three minerals of which it is composed, particles of other stones, or metallic earths, are often accidentally mixed with it. it is called granite from its granulous structure. _compacted_, joined together. _granulous_, consisting of small grains. where is granite found? granite occurs in all the larger mountain ranges, and in isolated masses in every country; not being a stratified rock, and being excessively hard, it is difficult to get it out in manageable masses. in arabia petræa, the whole country abounds in masses of different granites. _isolated_, alone, separated, detached. _stratified_, consisting of strata or beds. what mode is usually employed in this country in obtaining it? blasting, or blowing up with gunpowder; the force of which detaches pieces from the rock, which are hewn roughly into forms on the spot by a small pickaxe. granite is also quarried by cutting a deep line some yards long, and placing strong iron wedges at equal distances along this line; these wedges are struck in succession with heavy hammers, till the mass splits down. another method of detaching masses of rock, is by driving wooden wedges into a deep artificial or natural crack, or fissure; the wedges are then wet, and, in consequence of swelling, burst the rock asunder. _quarried_, from _to quarry_, a term used for the getting of stone from a quarry, or place where stones are dug from the earth, or detached from a large mass of rock. _detach_, to separate. for what is this rock used? on account of its great hardness, it is used for large public structures, as bridges, churches, &c. the ancient temples and other buildings in egypt, asia, and italy, were built of different colored granites, especially the beautiful oriental red granite. what is slate? the common name for a bluish fossil stone, very soft when dug out of the quarry, and easily cut or split into thin plates,--a property which renders it invaluable for a variety of purposes. _invaluable_, extremely valuable. for what is it used? slate has superseded the use of lead for covering roofs, even of the largest buildings; being lighter and more durable, it is preferable to tile: it is also employed for slabs to form cisterns, shelves for dairies, and other purposes, on account of its strength, coolness, and the ease with which it can be cleaned; the latter quality renders it also of great value in the business of education, as a cheap substitute for paper. the ancients were unacquainted with the use of slate. what other kinds of stone are used in building? limestone, or the calcareous rocks of the geologist: of these there are many varieties. those which are easily cut and polished are termed marbles, and are used in sculpture and in ornamental architecture. the coarser marbles are used for the common purposes of building. _calcareous_, partaking of the nature of calx or lime,--a term employed to describe chalk, marble, and all other combinations of lime with carbonic acid. _geologist_, one who studies the science of geology. of what do calcareous earths or stones consist? calcareous earths, stones, or rocks consist of lime, or pure calcareous earth, carbonic acid, and water. what is quick-lime? limestone deprived of its carbonic acid and water by being subjected to an intense heat in a kiln. how are these stones wrought? to whatever purpose the stones are to be applied, the larger blocks obtained from the quarry must be cut into smaller and more manageable pieces by sawing: the saw used is a long blade of steel, without teeth, fixed in a heavy wooden frame. these huge saws are worked by one or two men who sit in boxes to shelter them from the weather; water is caused to drip constantly into the cut, to facilitate the motion of the saw, and keep it cool, so as to prevent it from losing its temper. _huge_, very large. _temper_, hardness; in speaking of metals it signifies the state to which they are reduced, especially with regard to their hardness. what is steel? iron combined with a small portion of carbon; its chemical name is _carburet of iron_. it is not so malleable as iron in its ordinary state; but is much harder, more elastic, and susceptible of a higher polish. of this material are manufactured knives, swords, and all kinds of cutting instruments and edge tools, used for domestic purposes and in the arts, from the ponderous pit-saw to the finest lancet. good steel is much more ductile than iron; and a finer wire may be drawn from it than from any other metal. the excellence of edge-tools depends upon their temper. _ponderous_, heavy. you say that a geologist is one who studies geology: what is meant by this term? a science which enables us to read, in the simple language of nature, the changes which have taken place on the surface of the earth, in its structure and mineral constitution. it describes the different materials and the strata of which the crust of the earth is composed, and investigates the causes of its physical features. _simple_, easily read. what are strata? layers of rocks and other substances of which the whole earth seems to be composed. these rocks are found lying one above another in regular order; beneath them are the _unstratified_ rocks, which seem to form the basis or foundations upon which the others have been deposited. the various layers seem to have been formed during progressive stages of vegetable and animal organization. these rocks and strata are divided into five classes or formations. _progressive_, moving forwards. _organization_, formation or structure of bodies. name them. the primitive, or lower formations, supposed to have been formed in the chaotic state of the earth, because they have no trace of organized beings or petrifactions; they are chiefly composed of silicious and argillaceous earths, as granite, slate, &c.--transition rocks, supposed to have been formed during the transition of the earth into a habitable state; they differ from the primitive, in containing the remains of marine animals:--the secondary rocks, containing the remains of animals and vegetables, and consequently formed after their creation;--the tertiary formation, composed of layers of clay, sand, gravel, and marl, and containing peculiar organic remains;--and the alluvial formation, constituted of parts of previous rocks separated by water, &c., and deposited in beds. _petrifaction_, an animal or vegetable substance turned to stone. _silicious_, consisting of flint. _transition_, change from one state to another. _argillaceous_, clayey, consisting of clay. _chaotic_, resembling chaos, confused. _chaos_, confusion, a mingled heap; a term used in speaking of the world while yet without form; a greek word, signifying a confused mass. _alluvial_, deposited from water. of what is this last compounded? the alluvial formation is composed of sand, gravel, loam, clay, turf, &c., and contains plants, roots, moss, bones, petrified wood, and skeletons of animals. it is distinguished from the tertiary formation chiefly by its superior position, and by extending over regions where existing streams or other causes now in action could have produced it. some geologists mention another formation called the volcanic, because composed of minerals thrown from the crater of a volcano, such as pumice stones, lava, &c. _crater_, the mouth or opening of a volcano. _petrified_, hardened into stone. you mentioned silicious and argillaceous earths: is not, then, the earthy covering of our globe of one common character? no; by earth is understood a combination of many distinct bodies. chemists, by separating earths from each other, and from foreign matters connected with them, have discovered nine or ten primitive earths; all of these, except silex, are compounds of oxygen with metallic bases. _chemist_, one who understands the science of chemistry. of which of these simple or primitive earths are the solid portions of the globe principally composed? of flint or silex, lime or calcareous earth, and clay or argil, in various degrees of combination, the greatest parts of the mountains and plains, and the whole of what we commonly understand by soil, mould, earth, &c. are composed. these, however, though forming nearly all of the solid portions of the world, are constantly mixed with foreign matters, as metals, (particularly iron,) and acids, (as carbonic acid.) what are the properties of silex? silex, or pure flint, will not dissolve in water, nor can it be melted by itself in any heat; but combined with alkalies, as soda or potash, it forms glass. it is the principal ingredient of most of the precious stones. what are the chief uses of silex? it is the most durable article for the formation of roads; a necessary ingredient in earthenware, porcelain, and cements; and the principal material of glass and vitreous substances. the making of pastes or artificial gems is a branch of the art of glass-making; the basis used is a very hard and pure silex. _basis_, that part of any mixture which is the ground or base; the first principle or element of a substance. describe the properties of lime. it is of a white color, and possesses a hot, caustic taste. it forms peculiar salts with acids; changes vegetable blues to green; will not fuse; gives out a quantity of caloric when united with water; and absorbs carbonic acid when exposed to air. lime is very useful in the arts and manufactures, in medicine, &c. the farmers use it as manure to fertilize land. _caustic_, burning, corroding: a term applied to substances which eat away and burn any thing with which they are brought in contact. in what state is lime found in nature? never native, but combined with other substances;--generally with an acid, and most plentifully with carbonic acid, as in chalk, marble, &c. it is also found in vegetables, and is the basis of animal bones; it likewise occurs in the water of the ocean, and in that of all springs and rivers. the method of procuring _lime_, from chalk, marble, limestone, oyster-shells, &c., has already been described in a former chapter. what are the properties of clay? argil, or pure clay, also called _alumina_, from its being the basis of alum, is soft to the touch, adhesive, and emits a peculiar odor when moistened;--forms a paste with water, and hardens in the fire. its uses are so various and important, that it would have been almost impossible for man to have attained his present degree of civilization, if it had not been given him by nature in such abundance. its uses have already been described in the arts of brick-making, pottery, &c. besides these three principal primitive earths just described, there are seven others, having several properties in common, yet each possessing its different and specific properties, and evidently designed by nature for different purposes of utility. _specific_, belonging to its particular species. _utility_, usefulness. what is a volcano? an opening in the surface of the earth, or in a mountain, from which are ejected smoke, flames, stones, lava, &c. beneath the outer crust of the earth inflammable materials appear to exist, which different causes excite into combustion. volcanoes are supposed to owe their origin to the metals and minerals which form the basis of earths and alkalies; and which, when ignited, expand,--shake the rocky foundations,--and sometimes, bursting through, produce all the destructive effects of earthquakes. they break forth under the sea, as well as the land, and throw up mountains which rise above the level of the water. during an eruption of vesuvius, a.d. , three cities, herculaneum, pompeii, and stabiæ, were overwhelmed, and lay buried beneath the matter ejected from the volcano until within a few years, when excavations were made and many relics discovered;--streets, houses, papyri, (manuscripts,) grain, fruit, bread, medicines, &c. &c., all in a remarkable state of preservation, have been found just as they were left by the terrified inhabitants at the time of the eruption! _eruption_, an issuing or breaking forth with violence. _ejected_, thrown out. are there many volcanoes? there are upwards of two hundred volcanoes upon the globe; more than one half of them are in america and oceanica the most noted volcanoes in america are cotopaxi (the highest in the world), near quito; popocatapetl, in mexico; cosiguina, and the water volcano, in guatemala. in france, spain, portugal, and many other countries, there are districts which show the former existence of volcanoes, which have long been extinct; near naples, in an area of two hundred square miles, there are sixty craters, some of them larger than vesuvius; in one of these, the town of cumea has stood for three thousand years. what can you say of new islands formed by volcanic agency? many examples of new islands rising out of the sea by volcanic action are on record. some of them are permanent, but others, after a time, disappear. teneriffe, iceland, sicily, st. helena; part of sumatra, java, japan; and the sandwich islands, seem to have been upheaved by volcanic agency; hawaii, the largest of the last-named group, contains an area of four thousand square miles, and rises eighteen thousand feet above the ocean. what are earthquakes? shakings or vibrations of the ground; sometimes accompanied by rents, and rockings or heavings of the surface, so as to overthrow buildings, and swallow up towns and large tracts of country. they are attended with a terrible subterranean noise, like thunder, and sometimes with an eruption of fire or water, or else of smoke or winds. _subterranean_, underground. what is supposed to cause them? an electrical action between the atmosphere and some deep sub-strata; or the sudden formation of gaseous matter beneath the surface of the earth by internal volcanic fires. many hot countries, where much electrical disturbance takes place, are very subject to them: earthquakes almost always precede volcanic eruptions; an open volcano, also, probably diminishes the force of earthquakes, by the vent which it affords. earthquakes, at different times, have been productive of the most terrific effects: towns and cities have been swallowed up, and thousands of people destroyed by them. the island of jamaica is remarkable for the earthquakes which frequently happen there. _precede_, to go before. _vent_, opening. _terrific_, full of terror, dreadful. where is jamaica situated? in the west indies,--a large group of fertile islands which lie between north and south america. jamaica is the principal one of those which belong to the english. chapter xvii. architecture, sculpture, use of money, navigation. what is meant by architecture? the art of building or erecting edifices fit for the habitation of man, to defend him from the weather, and for his domestic comfort and convenience; for devotion, trade, and other purposes, and for the use of civilized life in every capacity. _capacity_, state, condition. is not this an art of great antiquity? it is almost as ancient as human society; the changes of the seasons first led men to build themselves huts or cabins, into which they might retire for shelter; in process of time, their manner of building gradually improved, and habitations were constructed of more stately forms and elegant proportions, and greater skill and variety were displayed in their ornaments hence arose the five orders or manners of building. of what were the first huts composed? probably of the branches of trees driven into the ground, and covered with mud and stubble; at length, as men became more expert, they placed trunks of trees upright, and laid others across them to sustain the outer coverings; from this they took the hint of a more regular architecture, and built edifices of brick and stone; the trunks of trees which supported their dwellings gave them a notion of pillars or columns, which they afterwards erected of more durable materials. among uncivilized tribes at this day, some reside underground, having their dirty dwellings entirely closed during the winter months; in warmer regions, their habitations are built of stakes, leaves, and turf, in the shape of a soldier's tent. in africa, their kraals or huts are constructed in this manner, but of a circular form, with a hole at the top to let out the smoke. in many of the south sea islands, the natives, when first discovered, had progressed still further, having learnt to elevate the roofs on poles, and to fill in the sides of their houses with boughs or rushes, mud or sods. _probably_, most likely. _edifice_, a building. _notion_, idea. _durable_, lasting. what people are represented by the ancient writers as having brought the art of building to a greater state of perfection? the inhabitants of the city of tyre, to whom solomon had recourse for workmen to build the temple. isaias, in his twenty-third chapter, speaks of the tyrians and egyptians, as having brought it to a great degree of magnificence; as may be drawn from the various accounts handed down to us, and the remains of their obelisks, pyramids, &c. what is an obelisk? a very high and slender four-sided pyramid, raised as an ornament in some public place; and frequently covered with inscriptions and hieroglyphics.[ ] this kind of monument appears to be very ancient; they were first made use of to declare to posterity the principal precepts of philosophy; to mark the hours of the day by the shadows which they cast on the ground; and, in after-times, to immortalize the actions of heroes, and perpetuate the memory of persons beloved. [footnote : see chapter xiv.] _inscription_, something written or engraved. _hieroglyphics_, emblems by which words were implied. they were used before the invention of alphabets. _implied_, signified, denoted. _posterity_, succeeding generations, descendants. _immortalize_, to render immortal,--which means never-dying; to perpetuate the memory of anything. what is a pyramid? a solid, massive edifice, rising from a square, triangular, or other base, gradually diminishing in size till it ends in a point at the top. like the obelisk, pyramids were sometimes erected to preserve the memory of singular events, or to transmit to future ages the glory and magnificence of princes; but oftener as funeral monuments and receptacles for the dead, particularly kings. _triangular_, three-sided, having three angles. _diminishing_, growing smaller. _receptacle_, the place in which a thing is deposited. is it known who were the erectors of these buildings? no; it is a curious fact that the egyptian pyramids, so celebrated for their size and great antiquity, should have the time of their erection and the names of their founders wrapt in such complete mystery. all the different authors who have written concerning them, disagree in their accounts of those who built them, and nothing certain is known of their history. _founder_, one who establishes or erects. _mystery_, profound secresy. what other nations excelled in the art of building? the greeks and romans, from whom we derive it, also greatly excelled in this art. grecian architecture was in its highest glory under pericles. among the romans, it arrived at its greatest perfection under the emperor augustus. the five orders of ornamental architecture invented by the ancients, at different times, and on different occasions, are of grecian and italian origin. they are the tuscan, the doric, the ionic, the corinthian, and the composite; each possessing its peculiar form and beauty, and found in all the principal buildings of the christian world. _christian_, professing the religion of christ; the term is applied to those who believe our lord jesus christ to be the only true god and saviour of the world. who was pericles? a celebrated athenian statesman, orator, and general, who gained several victories over the lacedemonians and other enemies of his country. are all the species of ornamental building confined to those nations already mentioned? by no means; besides the grecian and roman orders, other civilized nations possess their separate styles; as the hindoos, chinese, moors, &c.; and nothing can be more grand, harmonious, and picturesque, than each of these in the beautiful specimens which are to be seen in their several countries. the saxons, also, had a simple style of architecture, distinguished by semi-circular arches, and massive plain columns; the normans, too, invented a beautiful kind called the gothic, distinguished by its lightness and the number of its ornaments, and by its pointed arches and pillars carved to imitate several combined together; the gothic style is found in many old cathedrals. _hindoos_, inhabitants of hindostan, in india. _moors_, inhabitants of morocco, a kingdom of barbary, in africa. _harmonious_, corresponding in all its parts with equal beauty and elegance. _picturesque_, like a picture. _saxons_, inhabitants of saxony, a portion of germany. _semi-circular_, only half circular. describe the five orders of architecture. the tuscan (from tuscany,) is the most simple and devoid of ornament, and its columns or pillars are plain and massive. the doric (from the dorians, in greece,) is durable and noble in appearance, having its columns plain like the tuscan, but the upper parts more ornamental. the ionic, (from iona, in greece,) is neither so plain as the doric, nor so richly elegant as the corinthian; but is distinguished from the first two orders by having its columns or pillars fluted instead of plain, and the upper part of them (called the capitals,) adorned by the figures of rams' horns carved on them. the corinthian is very rich and delicate, with fluted pillars, and the tops beautifully ornamented with leaves, &c. the invention of this order is ascribed to callimachus, a corinthian sculptor. the composite is compounded of the other four; it is very much like the corinthian, and is also called the roman or italian order. _devoid_, free from, destitute. what is sculpture? the art of cutting or carving wood, stone, and other materials; and forming of them various figures or representations of men, beasts and other objects. the term is mostly limited to carving images or statues in stone. this art is of great antiquity; the sacred writings inform us of it in many passages, as for instance in those in which are mentioned laban's images, carried away by rachel; the golden calf of the israelites, &c. sculpture as an art is probably more ancient than painting. what country was the most highly celebrated for its sculpture? greece, which produced many celebrated sculptors, of whom the most eminent were phidias, an athenian, the great master of this art, who lived in the time of pericles, years before christ; lysippus, a native of sicyon, near corinth; and praxiteles, a native of magna grecia. what event proved fatal to this art? the death of alexander the great was followed by a visible decline in all the fine arts; but the fatal blow to their existence was given by the success of the conquering romans, who reduced greece to a roman province. was sculpture always performed in stone? no; at first statues and other figures were formed of wood or baked clay, afterwards of stone, marble and metals; though these last were not brought to any degree of perfection, till about three hundred years before christ. the greeks were famous for their works in ivory; the great master of the art of carving statues in it was phidias. what progress did the romans make in sculpture? sculpture, during their early history, existed rather as a plant of foreign growth, partially cultivated by them, than as a native production of their own land. they collected, indeed, some of the most exquisite samples of grecian sculpture, and invited to their capital the yet remaining sculptors of greece, by whose labors not only rome itself was embellished, but also many of the cities of asia minor, spain, and gaul, then under the roman dominion; yet the taste for sculpture does not appear to have been cultivated in any measure corresponding with the advantages thus afforded them in the study of the best models of the art. the best works were produced by greek artists, and chiefly athenian, while the attempts of the romans were unskilfully executed. _gaul_, the ancient name of france. _model_, pattern. did it always continue thus? no; from the time of the emperor constantine, sculpture, and the rest of the fine arts, gradually revived. while inspired, perhaps, with a taste for sculpture by means of the scattered remains of grecian art, the roman artists drew, at the same time, from their own resources, and were by no means servile copyists of the sculptors of a former age. the first academy of the art was founded at florence, in , and at the close of the same century, sculpture was firmly established in italy, and itinerant sculptors, not unskilful in their art, wandered from thence to germany, france, and even to england. the most eminent master of the art was michael angelo, born in , who was also a painter and architect; from his time, to the latter end of the last century, sculpture again gradually declined, but under canova, a native of possagno, in the venetian alps, it revived. he was born in . besides the above mentioned, were a number of others of various degrees of talent, as well as some still living. _servile_, slavish, mean. _itinerant_, wandering. when was the knowledge of sculpture introduced into england? at the time of its conquest by the romans; but the art appears to have been very rude and imperfect. from the time of the norman invasion, and still further in the time of the crusades, an improvement, however, began to show itself in british sculpture. but it is probable that most of their best architectural and sculptural works were executed by foreigners, members of those societies of wandering sculptors before mentioned. under edward the third, the art appears to have been much cultivated by englishmen. it is well known that two italian sculptors were employed in england during the sixteenth century. john of padua, a pupil of michael angelo, was master of works to henry the eighth. in the reign of charles the first, english sculptors flourished, although their works are of a very low order. _invasion_, hostile entrance upon the rights or possessions of another. _architectural_, belong to architecture. _sculptural_, belonging to sculpture. [illustration: gathering turpentine by scraping.] [illustration: distilling turpentine.] with whom may the school of british sculptors be considered as commencing? with banks, born in , and bacon, born in ; these were in every respect english artists. but the most eminent worker in the art which that country has yet produced, was john flaxman, born in . our own country also may boast of sculptors of superior talents, and from the beautiful specimens of the art which have appeared, the attainment of a high degree of excellence in it is to be anticipated. _attainment_, the act of arriving at or reaching. _anticipated_, expected, foreseen. give me a short account of this art in germany, france, and spain. in these countries, as in england and the united states, during their early history, many of the best works were executed by italians. germany appears to have made little progress in sculpture before the seventeenth century; since that period, it has produced sculptors of some eminence, although it is more celebrated for its writers on the art, than for artists of eminence in its practice. in france, sculptors of some talent are mentioned as early as the sixteenth century. girardon and puget were the most celebrated artists of this period. spanish history gives a long list of native sculptors, from the commencement of the same century, but many of them are but little known beyond their own country. berruguete, a pupil of michael angelo, appears to have founded the first regular school of the art. paul de cespides, and in the eighteenth century, philip de castro, were the most eminent among them. when was the use of money first introduced? it is not known with certainty: there is, however, reason to believe that both gold and silver were very early used as money in egypt and asia: it was afterwards introduced into carthage and greece; whence it was brought to rome; and from that city spread gradually westward, through all the roman dominions. before the use of money was introduced, the only means of trade was by barter, or the exchange of one commodity for another, a custom long retained by uncivilized nations. in time, however, men discovered the necessity of something which would enable them to trade with greater facility; the first mention of money is in the time of abraham, who, we are told in the bible, paid "four hundred sides of silver of common current money," for a burying place. _current_, generally received, passing from hand to hand. where was carthage? carthage, now tunis, was a commercial city, situated on the northern coast of africa, which long contended for the dominion of the mediterranean with the romans; but, after three wars, it was taken and destroyed by the roman general, scipio africanus, in the year before christ. _commercial_, carrying on commerce or trade. of what substances was money usually made? of metals, especially the precious metals, because they possess great value in small bulk; may be kept for any length of time without loss; and their value, although not altogether invariable, yet, generally speaking, changes only by slow degrees, and is less susceptible of fluctuation than that of most other articles. at different times, and amongst various nations, however, other things, in the scarcity of metal, have been substituted for it, as shells, wood, leather, paper, or even pasteboard on extraordinary occasions. _fluctuation_, unsteadiness; a wavering. of what form was money generally made? the form of money has been more various than its materials; the ancient britons used as money, rings or bars of iron or tin; the lacedemonians used iron bars quenched with vinegar. the money of most nations usually bore an impression peculiar to themselves, as, for instance, the sicle of the jews was marked with the golden pot of manna on one side, and aaron's rod on the other; other coins with the figures of animals, &c.; in shape, coins were either round, irregular, or square. have the terms money and coin the same signification? not exactly; by money is understood any matters, such as metal, wood, leather, glass, horn, paper, fruits, shells, &c., which have currency as a medium in commerce. coin is a particular species always made of metal, and struck off according to a certain process called coining; it is not of equal antiquity with money. in fact, the very commodities themselves were the first moneys, that is, were current one for another by way of exchange. coin is a piece of metal converted into money, by the impression of certain marks or figures thereon. the first coining of silver took place at rome, two hundred and sixty-nine, and of gold, two hundred and six years before christ: the romans, after the commonwealth, stamped their coins with the image of the reigning emperor, which custom was followed by most civilized nations. coins were, and are, frequently, struck in commemoration of a particular event or celebrated person. when was the use of stamped coin introduced into britain? after the arrival of the romans in that island, the natives imitated them, coining both gold and silver with the images of their kings stamped upon them; but the romans, when they subdued the nation, suppressed also their coins, and obliged them to use their own; hence the number of roman coins found among the relics of antiquity in that island. _suppressed_, put aside, hindered from circulation. _relics_, remains. what does the first coined money in ancient britain appear to have been? copper money; but after the arrival of the saxons in england, scarcely any copper money was used for many centuries, nor did it become common till ; it was first used in scotland and ireland in . what is a mint? a place established by public authority for coining money. in the united states, the first mint was in philadelphia; branches have been established in other parts of the union. in most countries, the privilege of coining money is regarded as a prerogative of the sovereign power. formerly, in great britain, cities, towns, and even individuals, were allowed to coin money for the convenience of trade; but now this is forbidden, except at the mint in the tower of london. what is meant by navigation? the science or art by which the mariner is taught to conduct his ship from one place to another. some, perhaps, will consider the formation and use of the ark, as a first step towards the invention of this art; but it is an erroneous idea, because the direction and means for accomplishing this immense work were afforded by god, for the preservation of righteous noe and his family. besides, nothing is recorded of any means or of any necessity for its occupants _navigating_ it to any particular place, or from one place to another; no intention of this sort is apparent, the ark being merely a vast shelter, rendered capable of floating on the water. _erroneous_, wrong, in error. _apparent_, manifest, made to appear. what probably gave the first idea of navigation? accident most likely showed that wood always floats; and on the fallen trunk of a tree, perhaps, some one ventured beyond his depth, away from the land. the trunk of a tree, hollowed out, for a more convenient position of the body, formed the canoe, usually found among uncivilized nations to this day. from this rude beginning, at great intervals of time, and a slow pace of improvement, the art has at length arrived at its present state of advancement. what nation first applied this art to the purposes of trade? the phenicians (especially those of tyre, their capital city, and sidon,) were the first who adapted it to the purposes of commerce, and constructed vessels fit to make voyages to foreign countries; the poverty and narrowness of their land, as well as their vicinity to two or three good ports, and their natural genius for traffic, urging them to seek foreign supplies. we hear of them trading to arabia, india, persia, greece, africa, spain, and even as far as britain. _vicinity_, nearness, neighborhood. _traffic_, trade, commerce. who were the phenicians? the inhabitants of phenicia, a country of syria, in asia. which was the more ancient city, tyre or sidon? sidon,--having been built, as is supposed, soon after the flood, by sidon, the eldest son of chanaan. tyre, about miles to the south, was built about the year before christ, by a colony from sidon. the phenicians planted numerous colonies on the shores of the mediterranean and the atlantic, and diffused, to a great extent, among their uncivilized neighbors the arts and improvements of civilized life. one of their most celebrated colonies was that founded by them on the northern coast of africa; and it was this colony that built the famous city of carthage. _diffused_, spread abroad, scattered. did not carthage afterwards become as flourishing as the parent city of tyre? in time, carthage not only equalled tyre itself, but surpassed it,--pursuing the course the phenicians had begun, and sending its merchant fleets through hercules' pillars, (now the straits of gibraltar,) along the western coast of africa, and northwards, along the coast of europe, visiting particularly spain, gaul, &c. they even undertook voyages, the sole object of which was to discover new countries and explore unknown seas. the carthaginians appear to have been the first who undertook voyages solely for the sake of discoveries. were not both these celebrated cities destroyed? tyre, whose immense riches and power were the subject of many ancient histories, was destroyed by the grecian emperor alexander the great, and its navigation and commerce transferred by him to alexandria, a new city which he meditated making his capital. alexandria, in a short time, became the most important commercial city in the world. thus arose navigation among the egyptians; it was afterwards so successfully cultivated by them, that tyre and carthage (which last, as before mentioned, was subdued by the romans,) were quite forgotten. _transferred_, removed. _capital_, chief city or town in a state or kingdom. who was alexander the great? the son of philip, king of macedonia, in greece; he was celebrated for his great ambition, and the number of his conquests; he overturned the persian empire, and subdued many cities and provinces in the east. did not alexandria undergo the same fate as tyre and carthage? egypt was at last reduced to a roman province, after the battle of actium, and its trade and navigation fell into the hands of the emperor augustus, in whose time alexandria was little inferior to rome; and the magazines of the capital of the world were supplied with merchandise from the capital of egypt. alexandria, however, at last underwent the fate of tyre and carthage, being surprised by the saracens, who overran the northern parts of africa; and though it continued, for a while, to enjoy a considerable portion of the commerce of the christian merchants, it afterwards remained in a languishing condition: but still, even at this day, it is a place of considerable trade. who were the saracens? a mahommedan nation, occupying a portion of what is now called arabia. they extended their conquests over a large portion of asia, northern africa, and spain. their name is derived from the word _sara_, a desert. what effect had the fall of the roman empire on navigation? the fall of the roman empire not only drew along with it its learning and the polite arts, but also the art of navigation; the barbarians, into whose hands the empire fell, contenting themselves with enjoying the spoils of those whom they had conquered, without seeking to follow their example in the cultivation of those arts and that learning which had rendered rome and its empire so famous. what other people, about this period, distinguished themselves in the art of navigation? the saracens or arabians, whose fleets now rode triumphant in the mediterranean; they had taken possession of cyprus, rhodes, and many of the grecian islands, and extended their commerce and their discoveries in the east, far beyond the utmost knowledge of their ancestors. what other circumstance also prevented commercial intercourse from ceasing altogether? constantinople, though often threatened by the fierce invaders, who spread desolation over europe, was so fortunate as to escape their destructive rage. in this city, the knowledge of ancient arts and discoveries was preserved; and commerce continued to flourish there, when it was almost extinct in every other part of europe. _desolation_, destruction, ruin. did the citizens of constantinople confine their trade to the islands of the archipelago, and the adjacent coast of asia? no, they took a wider range; and, following the course which the ancients had marked out, imported the productions of the east indies from alexandria. when egypt was torn from the roman empire by the arabians, the industry of the greeks discovered a new channel by which the productions of india might be conveyed to constantinople. did not the barbarians, after a while, turn their attention to navigation and commerce? no sooner were the brave among these nations well settled in their new provinces--some in gaul, as the franks; others in spain, as the goths; and others in italy, as the lombards,--than they began to learn the advantages of these arts, and the proper methods of managing them, from the people they had subdued; and that with so much success, that they even improved upon them, and set on foot new institutions for their advantage. to the lombards, in particular, is usually ascribed the invention and use of banks, book-keeping, and exchanges. thus the people of italy, and particularly those of venice and genoa, have the glory of restoring to europe the advantages that had been destroyed by their own ravages. _institutions_, laws, regulations. _exchange_, a species of mercantile transactions by which the debts due to persons at a distance are paid by order, draft, or bill of exchange, without the transmission either of money or goods. who were the franks? a people who settled in gaul; from them it took the name of franconia, or france. who were the goths? an ancient people, who inhabited that part of sweden called gothland; and afterwards spread themselves over great part of europe. who were the lombards? the lombards, or longobardi, were, like the franks, a nation of germany; who, upon the decline of the roman empire, invaded italy, and, taking the city of ravenna, erected a kingdom. where is ravenna? in central italy. it is the capital of a province of the same name; it is an ancient town, and the see of an archbishop. _see_, the seat of episcopal power; the diocese of a bishop. _episcopal_, belonging to a bishop. _archbishop_, the presiding bishop of a province. [illustration: the grand canal, venice, italy.] what was the origin of the city of venice? in the adriatic sea were a great number of marshy islands, separated only by narrow channels, but well screened and almost inaccessible, inhabited by a few fishermen. to these islands the people of veneti (a part of italy, situated along the coasts of the gulf,) retired when alaric, king of the goths, ravaged italy. these new islanders, little imagining that this was to be their fixed residence, did not, at first, think of forming themselves into one community, but each of the islands continued a long while under its respective masters, and formed a distinct commonwealth. _adriatic sea_, a name given to the gulf of venice. _commonwealth_, a republic, a government in which the supreme power is lodged in the people. what circumstance caused them to unite? their commerce becoming considerable enough to awaken the jealousy of their neighbors, they united in a body for their mutual protection: this union, first begun in the th century and completed in the th, laid the foundation of the future grandeur of the state of venice. from the time of this union, fleets of their merchantmen sailed to all the ports of the mediterranean; and afterwards to those of egypt, particularly to cairo, a new city, built by the saracen princes, on the banks of the nile, where they traded for spices, &c. the venetians continued to increase their trade by sea and their conquests on land till , when a number of jealous princes conspired against them to their ruin; which was the more easily effected in consequence of their east indian commerce, of which the portuguese and french had each obtained a share. _conspired_, united together in a plot. what is the signification of mediterranean? inclosed within land, or remote from the ocean. it is more particularly used to signify the sea which flows between europe and africa. had not venice a formidable rival in a neighboring republic? genoa, which had applied itself to navigation at the same time with venice, and with equal success, was long its dangerous rival, disputed with it the empire of the sea, and shared with it the trade of egypt, and other parts, both of the east and west. jealousy soon broke out; and, the two republics coming to blows, there was almost continual war between them for three centuries: at length, towards the end of the th century, the strife was ended by the fatal battle of chioza; the genoese, who till then had usually the advantage, lost all, and the venetians, almost become desperate, at one decisive blow, beyond all expectation, secured the empire of the sea and their superiority in commerce. _decisive_, final, conclusive. where is genoa situated? in the north-western part of italy. it was formerly a flourishing republic, but belongs now to italy. what event likewise contributed to the more rapid progress and diffusion of navigation and commerce? the crusades: for the genoese, pisans, and venetians, furnished the fleets which carried those vast armies, composed of all the nations of europe, into asia, upon this wild undertaking, and also supplied them with provisions and military stores. other travellers, also, besides those whom religious zeal sent forth to visit asia, ventured into remote countries, from motives either of commercial advantage, or those of mere curiosity. _zeal_, devotion, enthusiasm. who were the pisans? inhabitants of pisa, an ancient town of tuscany; it was once a great independent republic, and is still adorned with noble edifices. pisa has long been celebrated for its remarkable leaning tower. tuscany is a beautiful and fruitful territory of italy; its capital, until the year , was florence. what were the crusades? holy wars, or expeditions, undertaken by the christians against the turks and saracens, to recover palestine, between the years and . what causes led to these wars? many circumstances contributed to give rise to them. they were undertaken, first, with a view to protecting the devout christian pilgrims, who were in the habit of frequenting the venerable places where our saviour had lived, taught, suffered, and triumphed, from the fury and avarice of the heathens; secondly, with a view to getting possession of the holy land itself, and of annexing it to christendom; and thirdly, to break down the power of mohammedanism, and to elevate the cross in triumph and victory over palestine. _avarice_, an excessive desire of gain. _annexing_, adding, joining. what badge or sign was worn by those who engaged in the crusades? they distinguished themselves by crosses of different colors, worn on their clothes; from which they took the name of croisés, or cross-bearers; each nation wore different colors: for instance, the english had white crosses, the french red, and so on. to what invention is the art of navigation much indebted? to that of the mariner's compass, in the beginning of the th century; and from this period may be dated the present perfection of this useful art. you have given me an account of the restoration of navigation in southern europe: did not the inhabitants of the north also turn their attention to it? yes: about the same time, a new society of merchants was formed in the northern parts, which not only carried commerce to the greatest perfection of which it was capable, till the discovery of the indies, but also formed new codes of useful laws for its regulation. _codes_, books or writings setting forth certain laws or rules respecting particular subjects; books of civil laws. are navigation and commerce inseparably connected with each other? it may be considered as a general maxim, that their union is so intimate, that the fall of one inevitably draws after it that of the other; and that they will always either flourish or decline together may be seen, by examining the reason of their passing successively from the venetians, genoese, &c., to the portuguese and spaniards, and from them to the english, dutch, &c. _maxim_, rule, an established principle. _intimate_, close. _inevitably_, without possibility of escape, unavoidably. chapter xviii. music, painting, poetry, astronomy, arts and sciences, art of writing, and chemistry. what are the earliest accounts of musical instruments on record? the earliest accounts of music which we possess are to be found in the bible, in which the state of the world before the flood is noticed. jubal is said to have been "the father of them that play upon the harp and organ;" but it is not to be supposed that these instruments at all resembled the harp and organ of modern times. musical instruments, in the times of david and solomon, were used in religious services; and music was certainly employed by the jews on many other occasions, as at funerals and weddings, at harvest home, and at festivals of all kinds. _modern_, opposed to ancient, pertaining to the present time, or time not long past. _festival_, a rejoicing, a feast, a season dedicated to mirth. what nation was particularly celebrated for musical talents? the ancient egyptians; who were so celebrated for their talents in music, that the distinguished philosophers of greece braved many dangers, in order to study the science in egypt; and this, at a period when the egyptians were far from being in the same high state of civilization as their forefathers had been in earlier times. the history and monuments of ancient egypt have many accounts and representations of musical instruments, and remains of these have lately been discovered, so that we have ocular demonstration both of their existence and form. _civilization_, freedom from barbarity, polish, politeness, possession of knowledge and the arts of life. _ocular_, known or seen by the eye. _demonstration_, the act of proving with certainty. in how many divisions may musical instruments be arranged? there are three kinds, namely, _wind_ instruments, as the trumpet, and the organ;--_stringed_ instruments, as the harp or lyre, violin, &c.; and instruments of _concussion_, in which the sound is produced by striking a sonorous body, as for instance the drum, bells, &c. which of these three kinds was the first invented? it is impossible, at the present day, to decide which; but it is most probable that instruments with strings were the last invented of the three kinds; and it is most likely, that of those in which sound is produced by the application of wind, the trumpet or horn was first used. this instrument, in its rudest form, was ready fashioned to the hand of man; the horn of a ram or of an ox, or some of the larger kinds of sea-shells, were soon discovered to possess the power of producing sound, by being blown into through a small hole at the pointed end. what improvement in this instrument would naturally follow? mankind having discovered the property possessed by a hollow tube of producing a certain sound, soon found that the note varied according to the length and capacity of the tube. a much greater improvement soon after took place; it was discovered that one tube answered the purpose of many by boring holes in the course of its length, and producing various musical sounds by stopping with the fingers certain of these holes. most of our modern wind instruments are but improvements on the ancient inventions. _tube_, a pipe; a long hollow body. was not vocal music used before the invention of instrumental? _vocal_ music, namely, that produced by the human voice, (so called to distinguish it from _instrumental_, that produced by instruments,) was undoubtedly the first: for man had not only the various tones of his own voice to make his observations on, before any art or instrument was found out; but the various natural strains of birds to give him a lesson in improving it, and in modulating the sounds of which it is capable. _modulating_, forming sound to a certain key. to what circumstance did an ancient poet ascribe the invention of stringed instruments? to the observation of the winds whistling in the hollow reeds. as for other kinds of instruments, there were so many occasions for cords or strings, that men were not long in observing their various sounds, which might give rise to stringed instruments. those of concussion, as drums and cymbals, might result from the observation of the naturally hollow noise made by concave bodies when struck. what are the most ancient stringed instruments? the most ancient instruments of this kind, whose form is known, are those of the ancient egyptians; among these the harp stands pre-eminent. one of the most celebrated representations of an egyptian harp was drawn from a painting discovered in one of the caverns in the mountains of egyptian thebes, by some travellers: it is called the theban harp, and has thirteen strings; its form is extremely elegant. this harp is supposed to be one of the kind in use before and at the time of sesostris. remains of egyptian harps of a more simple construction, with only four strings, have likewise been discovered. among the monuments of ancient rome, there are representations of stringed instruments resembling the harp, but not equal in beauty of form to the famous egyptian harp already mentioned. _pre-eminent_, surpassing others. who was sesostris? a king of egypt, who is said to have reigned some ages before the siege of troy. he appears to have been celebrated for his conquests, and for the number of edifices he erected to perpetuate his fame. _perpetuate_, to preserve from extinction; to continue the memory of a person or event. where was troy? troy, anciently called ilium, was the capital of troas, in asia. it became famous for the ten years' siege it sustained against the greeks; the history of this event is commemorated in the poems of homer and virgil. is not the harp an instrument of high antiquity in great britain? yes: it was a favorite instrument with the ancient saxons in great britain. the celebrated alfred entered the danish camp disguised as a harper, because the harpers passed through the midst of the enemy unmolested on account of their calling. the same deception was likewise practised by several danish chiefs, in the camp of athelstan, the saxon. the bards, or harpers of old, were the historians of the time; they handed down from generation to generation the history of remarkable events, and of the deeds and lineage of their celebrated chiefs and princes. the harpers of britain were formerly admitted to the banquets of kings and nobles: their employment was to sing or recite the achievements of their patrons, accompanying themselves on the harp. no nations have been more famous for their harps and harpers than the welsh and irish. _recite_, to repeat or chant in a particular tone or manner. _achievement_, a great or heroic deed. _patron_, benefactor, one who bestows favors. what instrument was famous among the ancient greeks? the lyre: the invention, or rather discovery, of this instrument is ascribed by them to their most celebrated deities. it is supposed to have originated from the discovery of a dead tortoise, the flesh of which had dried and wasted, so that nothing was left within the shell but sinews and cartilages: these, tightened and contracted, on account of their dryness, were rendered sonorous. some one, mercury or apollo, they affirm, in walking along, happening to strike his foot against the tortoise, was greatly pleased with the sound it produced: thus was suggested to him the first idea of a lyre, which he afterwards constructed in the form of a tortoise, and strung with the dried sinews of dead animals. the stringed instruments already described were made to give out musical sounds, by causing a vibratory motion in their strings by means of the fingers. _sinew_, a tendon; that which unites a muscle to a bone. _cartilage_, a gristly, smooth, solid substance, softer than bone. _vibratory_, shaking. who was mercury? the heathen god of eloquence, letters, &c., and the messenger of the other gods. who was apollo? the god of music, poetry, medicine, and the fine arts. [illustration: picking cotton.] [illustration: gathering tea.] what is a tortoise? a well-known animal, with a thick shelly covering, belonging to the order of reptiles; there are two species, the sea and the land tortoise; the first named is called a turtle, and affords delicious food; land tortoises live to a very great age. it is only one sort which furnishes the beautiful shell so much prized. tortoises are found in many parts of the world. the turtles on the brazilian shore are said to be so large as to be enough to dine fourscore men: and in the indian sea, the shells serve the natives for boats. of what are the strings of the lyre, &c., composed? sometimes of either brass or silver wire, &c., but most commonly of catgut. what is catgut? the intestines of sheep or lambs, dried or twisted, either singly or several together. catgut is also used by watch-makers, cutlers, and other artificers, in their different trades. great quantities are imported from france and italy. are there no other kind of instruments besides those already described? yes, music and musical instruments have progressively improved; and it would be a needless task to enumerate the numbers of instruments of each kind now in use; many, as for instance the organ, the piano, musical boxes, &c., are exceedingly complex and ingenious in their construction, as well as remarkable for the sweetness of their various sounds; some, as the two first-named, are played with the fingers, and produce any melody or combination of sound at the will of the performer; others, as the musical-box, barrel-organ, &c., produce a particular melody, or a certain number of melodies, by means of machinery. in the use of the last-named the performer is not at all indebted to his own musical skill, as he has only to turn the handle which sets the machinery in motion, and the musical box, or barrel-organ, will continue playing till it has finished the tunes to which it is set. upon what principle do these last-mentioned instruments perform? the barrel-organ and musical box both play on nearly the same principle, though the former is turned by a handle, and the latter only requires a certain spring to be touched, in order to set it off or to stop it. their machinery consists of a barrel pricked with brass pins; when the barrel revolves, these ping lift a series of steel springs of different lengths and thicknesses, and the vibration of these springs when released, produces the different notes. what is painting? the art of representing objects in nature, or scenes in human life, with fidelity and expression, either in oil or water colors, &c. _fidelity_, truth, faithfulness. _oil colors_, those colors which are mixed up with oil, as the others are with water. is not this art of great antiquity? there is not the slightest doubt of it; but to name the country where it was first practised, or the circumstances attending its origin, is beyond the power of the historian. about a century after the call of abraham, greek and egyptian tradition tells us of a colony planted at sicyon, by an egyptian, who brought with him the knowledge of painting and sculpture, and founded the earliest and purest school of greek art. the walls of babylon were adorned with paintings of different kinds of animals, hunting expeditions, combats, &c. allusions to this custom of the babylonians, of decorating their walls with paintings, are found in the bible. _tradition_, a history or account delivered from mouth to mouth without written memorials; communication from age to age. _allusion_, reference. _decorating_, ornamenting. _sicyon_, a kingdom of peloponnesus, in ancient greece. were the egyptians acquainted with this art? it is now little doubted that, although painting and sculpture existed in egypt, and were probably at their highest condition, eighteen centuries before the christian era, yet, at a still earlier period, these arts were known in the kingdom of ethiopia; and it is considered likely, that the course of civilization descended from ethiopia to egypt. there is, however, no record of any egyptian painter in the annals of the art; and it does not appear that it ever flourished in that country, or that other nations were much indebted to egypt for their knowledge of it. _era_, age, period. _ethiopia_, the ancient name of the kingdoms of nubia and abyssinia, in africa. _annal_, record, history. _exploit_, action, achievement, deed of valor. have we any notice of this art among the hebrews? there is no allusion made to the existence of painting among this people, and no proof that it was cultivated among them: it is supposed that the neglect of this art arose from their not being permitted to represent any object by painting. what progress did the generality of the eastern nations make in this art? the art of painting among the phenicians, persians, and other eastern nations, advanced but slowly. the chinese appear, until a very recent period, to have contented themselves with only so much knowledge of the art as might enable them to decorate their beautiful porcelain and other wares; their taste is very peculiar, and though the pencilling of their birds and flowers is delicate, yet their figures of men and animals are distorted, and out of proportion; and of perspective they seem to have but little idea. latterly, however, a change has taken place in chinese art, and proofs have been given of an attempt to imitate european skill. the japanese figures approach more nearly to beauty of style than chinese productions of a similar kind. _distorted_, having a bad figure. _perspective_, the science by which things are represented in a picture according to their appearance to the eye. who are the japanese? the inhabitants of japan, an empire of eastern asia, composed of several large islands. they are so similar in feature, and in many of their customs and ceremonies, to the chinese, as to be regarded by some, as the same race of men. the japanese language is so very peculiar, that it is rarely understood by the people of other nations. their religion is idolatrous; their government a monarchy, controlled by the priesthood. the people are very ingenious, and the arts and sciences are held in great esteem by them. in all respects, japan is an important and interesting empire. _monarchy_, a government in which the power is vested in a king or emperor. by what nations was the art of painting practised with great success? by the greeks and romans. greece produced many distinguished painters, among whom apelles was one of the most celebrated; he was a native of cos, an island in the archipelago, rather north of rhodes; he flourished in the time of alexander the great, and witnessed both the glory and the decay of ancient art: the leading features of his style were beauty and grace. but painting was not at any period so completely national in greece, as sculpture, its sister art; the names of one hundred and sixty-nine eminent sculptors are recorded, while only fifteen painters are mentioned. zeuxis, of heraclea, was another famous greek painter, who flourished years before christ. the romans were not without considerable masters in this art, in the latter times of the republic, and under the first emperors. what nation is supposed to have known and practised this art even before the foundation of rome? the etruscans, inhabitants of etruria, whose acquaintance with the arts has excited great astonishment among those who have most deeply searched into their history, and traced their progress by means of the beautiful specimens of their works still extant. their early works were not superior to those of other nations; but either from their intercourse with greece, or the original genius of the people, they had attained considerable eminence in the arts of painting, sculpture, &c., before rome was founded. pliny speaks of some beautiful pictures at ardea and lanuvium, which were older than rome: and another author also says that before rome was built, sculpture and painting existed among them. where was etruria situated? in italy, on the west of the tiber, which separated it from the territory of ancient rome, to which it was afterwards annexed by conquest. etruria was the ancient name of tuscany. _annexed_, united. was not the art greatly obscured for some centuries? the irruption of barbarians into italy and southern europe, proved fatal to painting, and almost reduced it to its primitive state; it was not until after a long period that it was fully restored. the first certain signs of its revival took place about the year , when greek artists were sent for to adorn several of the cities of italy. cimabue, a native of florence, in the thirteenth century, caught the inspiration of the greek artists, and soon equalled their works. he was both a painter and an architect. _irruption_, inroad, invasion. to what did this revolution in its history give rise? it caused it to be distinguished into ancient and modern. the ancient painting comprehends the greek and roman: the modern has formed several schools, each of which has its peculiar character and merit. the first masters who revived the art were greatly surpassed by their scholars, who carried it to the greatest state of perfection, and advanced it not only by their own noble works, but also by those of their pupils. who were the principal masters of the italian school? raphael and the celebrated michael angelo buonarotti; the former is regarded as the prince of modern painters, and is often styled "the divine raphael;" he was born at urbino, in . michael angelo was born at florence, in , and united the professions of painter, sculptor, architect, poet, and musician. besides these there were many other illustrious italian painters, the principal of whom were leonardo da vinci, titian, correggio, the three caracci, guido, parmegiano, salvator rosa, &c. was not raphael also reckoned as excellent an architect as he was a painter? he was not only esteemed the best painter in the world, but also the best architect; he was at least so admired for skill and taste in architecture, that leo the tenth charged him with the building of st. peter's church at rome. who was leo the tenth? a great pope, who was an ardent lover and patron of learning and the arts. he was born at florence, in , and died in . give me a list of some of the most celebrated painters besides those already mentioned. the great painters of the _german_ school were albert durer, holbein, kneller and mengs, with several others. of the _dutch_ school, were rembrandt, gerard dow, mieris, ostade, polemberg, berghem, and wouvermans. of the _flemish_, rubens, teniers, jordaens, and vandyck. the admired painters of the _french_ school, were claude, poussin, le brun, and many others. the _spaniards_ also have had their murillo, velasquez, &c. the _english_, hogarth, wright, reynolds, wilson, northcote, gainsborough, morland, barry, and others. the _americans_, washington allston, benjamin west, gilbert stuart, john singleton copley, john trumbull, g. stuart newton, thomas cole, henry inman, and a number of others; besides many now living, or but recently deceased. upon what materials did the ancients paint their works? principally upon wood; the boards or tables were prepared with a thin ground of chalk and size of some kind. linen cloth or canvas was also employed, but there is no evidence of its use before the reign of nero. parchment, ivory and plaster were the other materials. _evidence_, testimony, record. who was nero? one of the roman emperors, a monster of cruelty, extravagance, and debauchery; he raised a dreadful persecution against the christians, in which st. paul was beheaded, and st. peter crucified. at last, being deserted by his army and the senate, he destroyed himself, after a reign of fourteen years. _debauchery_, wickedness. what is poetry? the glowing language of impassioned feeling, generally found in measured lines, and often in rhyme. most ancient people had their poets. _glowing_, warm, energetic. _impassioned_, full of passion, animated. _rhyme_, the correspondence of the last sound of one verse to the last sound or syllable of another. name a few of the ancient poets. david was an inspired poet of the hebrews: homer, one of the earliest poets of the greeks: ossian, an ancient poet of the scots: taliesen, an ancient poet of the welsh: and odin, an early poet of the scandinavians. who were the scandinavians? the inhabitants of scandinavia, the ancient name of denmark, sweden, and norway. what people are regarded as the fathers of poetry? the greeks. homer was the first and the prince of poets; he celebrated the siege of troy in the iliad and odyssey, two epic poems which have never been surpassed. in the same kind of composition he was followed, nine hundred years after, by virgil, in the eneid; by tasso, after another fifteen hundred years, in the 'jerusalem delivered.' the greeks also boasted of their pindar and anacreon in lyric poetry; and of aristophanes, euripides, sophocles, and eschylus, in dramatic poetry. did the romans possess any distinguished poets? yes; among the epic poets were ovid and tibullus; among dramatists, plautus and terence; of didactic and philosophic poets, lucretius, virgil, horace, and silius italicus. all these were so many miracles of human genius; and their works afford the models of their respective species of composition. most of the works of the ancients have in sentiment, if not in spirit, been translated into english. _miracles_, wonders. _genius_, natural talent. _respective_, particular. _sentiment_, thought, meaning. did not the same revolution which undermined the greek and roman empires, and destroyed learning, the arts and sciences, and the taste for elegance and luxury, also prove fatal to poetry? it did; the hordes of barbarians who overran europe wiped out civilization in their progress, and literature, art, and science fled before the wild conquerors to find a refuge in the monastery and the convent. here knowledge was fostered with the love and ardor which religion alone can impart. finally, when the rude barbarians were converted, it was to the religious orders that the world turned for the establishment of schools, and it is to the church alone, in the person of her popes, her bishops, and her monks that we are indebted for the preservation of learning, and its revival in the fifteenth century. what celebrated poets marked this revival? in italy, dante, ariosto, petrarch and tasso. these were followed, in france, by racine, corneille, boileau, voltaire, la fontaine and delille; in england, by chaucer, spenser, shakspeare, milton, dryden, pope, thomson, young, collins, gray, byron, coleridge, &c; in scotland, by sir walter scott; in ireland, by thomas moore; in germany, klopstock, goethe and schiller. name some of the distinguished poets of our own country. henry wadsworth longfellow, william cullen bryant, james russell lowell, john g. whittier, fitz-greene halleck, and many others whose meritorious works will be impartially judged by a future age. _impartially_, justly, without prejudice. name the different kinds of poetry. epic, or historical; dramatic, or representative,--from drama, the name of all compositions adapted to recitation on the stage--in which are displayed, for instruction and amusement, all the passions, feelings, errors, and virtues of the human race in real life; lyric poetry, or that suited to music, as songs, odes, &c; didactic, or instructive; elegiac, or sentimental, and affecting; satirical, or censorious; epigrammatic, or witty and ludicrous; and pastoral, or descriptive of country life. _historical_, relating to history. _lyric_, pertaining to a lyre. _didactic_, doctrinal; relating to doctrines or opinions. _elegiac_, relating to elegy; mournful, sorrowful. _elegy_, a mournful song: a funeral composition; a short poem without points or affected elegance. _satirical_, severe in language; relating to satire. _satire_, a poem in which wickedness or folly is censured. _epigrammatic_, relating to epigram,--a short poem ending in a particular point or meaning, understood but not expressed. _pastoral_, from _pastor_, a shepherd; relating to rural employments and those belonging to shepherds. what is astronomy? the science which treats of the heavenly bodies, their arrangement, magnitudes, distances and motions. the term astronomy is derived from two greek words, signifying the _law_ of the _stars_; _astron_ being the greek for star. what can you say of its origin? its origin has been ascribed to several persons, as well as to different nations and ages. belus, king of assyria; atlas, king of mauritania; and uranus, king of the countries situated on the shores of the atlantic ocean, are all recorded as the persons to whom the world is indebted for this noble science. its origin is generally fixed in chaldea. some choose, however, to attribute it to the hebrews; others to the egyptians,--from whom, they say, it passed to the greeks. what country is meant by mauritania? mauritania is the name formerly given to a country in the northern part of africa. chaldea is the ancient name for babylonia, now called irak arabi, a district of asiatic turkey. by whom were the heavenly bodies first divided into constellations or groups? by the ancients. the phenomena of the heavens were studied in very early ages by several nations of the east. the chaldeans, the indians, the chinese and the egyptians have all left evidence of the industry and ingenuity with which their observations were conducted. _phenomena_, appearances. _ingenuity_, skilfulness. what progress did they make in astronomy? they built observatories,--invented instruments for observing and measuring with correctness,--separated the stars into different groups or constellations, for the more easily finding any particular star,--gave particular names to most of the moving stars or planets, and noted the periods which each took to move through its apparent path in the heavens; and in many other ways the ancients helped to lay the foundations of that mass of astronomical knowledge which men of later ages have brought to more maturity. _constellation_, a cluster of fixed stars; an assemblage of stars. _observatory_, a place so built as to command a view of the heavens. who first taught the true system of the universe? pythagoras, one of the most distinguished philosophers of antiquity. he is thought to have been a native of samos, an island in the archipelago; he flourished about years before christ, in the time of tarquin, the last king of rome. pythagoras was the first among the europeans who taught that the earth and planets turn round the sun, which stands immovable in the centre;--that the diurnal motion of the sun and fixed stars is not real, but apparent,--arising from the earth's motion round its own axis, &c. after the time of pythagoras, astronomy sunk into neglect. _philosopher_, one who studies philosophy. _philosophy_, all knowledge, whether natural or moral. the term is derived from the greek, _philos_, lover, and _sophia_, wisdom. by whom was it revived? by the family of the ptolemies, kings of egypt, who founded a school of astronomy at alexandria, which produced several eminent astronomers, particularly one named hipparchus. the saracens, on their conquest of egypt, became possessed of the knowledge of astronomy, which they carried with them out of africa into spain; and thus, after a long exile, it was introduced afresh into europe. did not astronomy from this time make great progress? yes; it made considerable advances, being cultivated by the greatest geniuses, and patronized by the greatest princes. the system of the ptolemies, called the ptolemaic, had hitherto been used, with some slight alterations; but copernicus, an eminent astronomer, born at thorn, in polish prussia, in , adopted the system which had been taught by pythagoras in greece, five or six hundred years before the time of ptolemy. about the same time with copernicus flourished tycho brahe, born in denmark, . _geniuses_, men gifted with superior mental faculties. _mental_, belonging to the mind. _faculties_, powers of doing anything, whether menial or bodily; abilities; powers of the mind. what next greatly forwarded this interesting science? the introduction of telescopes by galileo, who by their means discovered the small stars or satellites which attend the planet jupiter; the various appearances of saturn; the mountains in the moon; the spots on the sun; and its revolution on its axis. _satellites_, attendants. what celebrated astronomer arose in england? the immortal sir isaac newton, born in , at woolsthorpe, in lincolnshire, who has, perhaps, contributed more to the advancement of this science than any one who had before existed. dr. william herschel, a native of hanover, in germany, born in , likewise made many useful discoveries in astronomy: it was he who first discovered the seventh primary planet, which he named, in honor of king george the third, the georgium sidus. george the third took him under his especial patronage, and constituted him his astronomer, with a handsome pension. he resided at slough, near windsor, where he died, in . _patronage_, support, favor. _constituted_, appointed to any particular office or rank. _pension_, yearly allowance of money. what other circumstance contributed to the advancement of astronomy? the increasing perfection of our astronomical instruments,--by means of which, the most important and interesting discoveries with regard to the heavens have been made. it is now supposed that the myriads of the heavenly bodies are all distinct worlds; it is certain, from observations made by the aid of the telescope, that the moon has its mountains, valleys, and caverns. one of the greatest astronomers of our day was the eminent father secci. what are generally meant by the arts? systems of rules designed to facilitate the performance of certain actions; in this sense, it stands opposed to science. the terms _art_ and _science_ are often incorrectly used. science relates to principles, and art to practice. the word art is derived from a greek word signifying utility, profit. arts are divided into liberal and mechanical. what are the liberal arts? the liberal arts are those that are noble and ingenious, or which are worthy of being cultivated without any immediate regard to the pecuniary profit arising from them. they are poetry, music, painting, sculpture, architecture, grammar, logic, rhetoric, astronomy, and navigation. the arts which relate more especially to the sight and hearing are also called fine arts. _pecuniary_, relating to money. _military_, belonging to soldiers, or to arms. what do the fine arts usually include? all those which are more or less addressed to the sentiment of taste, and whose object is pleasure; these are more especially music, painting, sculpture, and poetry. what are the mechanical arts? those in which the hand and body are more concerned than the mind, and which are chiefly cultivated for the sake of the profit attending them. to this class belong those which furnish us with the necessaries of life, and which are commonly called trades, as carpentry, weaving, printing, &c. there are also many other arts, as the art of writing, &c. when was the art of writing invented? it is supposed that the art was invented before the deluge: it was certainly practised long before the time of moses. there were, doubtless, many steps taken in slow succession before the invention of alphabetic writing. perhaps the earliest method might have been that which is still employed among the untutored tribes of north american indians, who record events by picture-painting of the rudest description. picture-painting was afterwards gradually converted into the hieroglyphical system, which is still the only kind of writing among the chinese. it is not known who invented the alphabetic system of writing. _deluge_, a flood: the term used in particular to denote that mighty flood of water with which god swept away the first nations of the earth for their wickedness. _alphabetic_, from alphabet, the series of written signs of language called letters. the word is formed from _alpha_, _beta_, the names of the first two letters of the greek alphabet. _untutored_, ignorant, unlearned. were not the egyptians quite early acquainted with this art? yes, they were acquainted with two or three kinds of writing, as well as the one in which symbolical characters were employed, which was not used for common purposes. on the contrary, such symbols had something of a sacred character about them, being unknown to the common people, and only to be deciphered by the priests. obelisks and pyramids were the great national records; and on these the hieroglyphics were constantly used, because unintelligible to the people, until expounded by those who had the exclusive office of explaining them. _symbolical_, having the nature of signs or symbols--that is, representations of different things. _deciphered_, read, understood, made out. _unintelligible_, that cannot be understood. _expounded_, explained, interpreted. were hieroglyphics employed before or after alphabetic writing? they were undoubtedly employed at first from necessity, not from choice or refinement; and would never have been thought of, if alphabetical characters had been known. this style of writing must be reckoned as a rude improvement upon picture-writing, which had previously been used. hieroglyphics were employed by the egyptian priests in after times, as a kind of sacred writing, peculiar to themselves, and serving to give an air of mystery to their learning and religion, though fallen into disuse for other purposes. what materials were employed by ancient nations in writing? the eastern nations used tables of stone, brass, and wood, so that the characters were engraved instead of being written in the usual manner. the instrument used in writing on wood, was made of metal, and called a _style_. for stone, brass, &c., a chisel was employed. when the bark and leaves of trees, skins, and other materials of a more pliant nature, superseded the above-named tables, the chisel and the style, or stylus, gave way to the reed and cane, and afterwards to the quill, the _hair_ pencil (as now used by the chinese,) and the convenient lead pencil. _engraved_, inscribed with the graver, a tool used in engraving on stone, &c. _pliant_, yielding, easily bent. have not the various nations among whom this useful art has been cultivated, adopted different ways of arranging their written characters? yes. the hebrews, chaldeans, syrians, arabians, and egyptians, begin each line on the right side, and write towards the left. the greeks, latins, and all european nations, write from left to right. the natives of china, japan, cochin china, corea, &c., write from the top to the bottom of the page. where are cochin china, and corea? cochin china is a country situated in eastern asia. corea is a peninsula of asia, subject to china. what is meant by science? a clear and certain knowledge of anything founded on self-evident principles, or demonstration. the term is, however, more particularly applied to a systematic arrangement of the principles relating to any branch of knowledge, and is employed in this sense in opposition to art: thus the theoretical knowledge of chemistry is ranked as a science, but the practical part is called an art; thus it is sometimes spoken of as a science, sometimes as an art. _practical_, relating to action, not merely speculative. what is chemistry? a science which enables us to discover the peculiar properties of natural bodies, either in their simple or compound state, and the elementary or first principles of which they are composed, by the processes of analysis and combination. chemistry treats of those changes in natural bodies which are not accompanied by _sensible_ motions. _compound_, mixed. _analysis_, a separation of a compound body into the several parts of which it consists. is not the knowledge of chemistry very ancient? chemistry, as far as it regards the separating of metals from foreign matters in the ore, smelting and refining them, is of the highest antiquity; it is even supposed to have been understood and practised in the antediluvian world. _antediluvian_, before the flood. what nation appears to have excelled in chemistry in early times? the egyptians were no mean proficients in many chemical operations, especially in the arts of working metals, softening ivory, vitrifying flints, and imitating precious stones. chemistry, however, experienced the common fate of all the arts, at the decline of the eastern empire. _proficients_, those who have made great progress in any art or science. by whom was it revived? after having long lain buried, the famous roger bacon revived it; and from his time to the present day it has gradually progressed to a state of perfection. in former times, the art of chemistry consisted only in the knowledge of working metals, &c.; but in latter ages, its bounds have been greatly enlarged. the knowledge of chemistry leads to many interesting and important discoveries, and the arts and manufactures are greatly indebted to its aid; indeed, it is requisite to be a good chemist, in order to attain to perfection in many of them. _requisite_, necessary. by what other name has chemistry been known? it was sometimes called _alchemy_; by which is properly understood a refined and mysterious species of chemistry, formerly much practised. what were its objects? the discovery of the art of converting metals into gold, including the search after the "philosopher's stone," by which this change was to be effected; and the discovery of a panacea or medicine for the cure of all diseases. what was the philosopher's stone? a substance, for numbers of years eagerly sought for, which was to convert metals, such as lead, copper, &c. into gold. this unknown substance was called the philosopher's stone, probably on account of the number of learned men who engaged in the search after it. [illustration: united states signal station, pike's peak, colorado.] was this search successful? no; but the delusion lasted several centuries, notwithstanding the failures, losses, and disappointments of those engaged in it. indeed, so severe and ruinous were these, in many instances, that laws were passed to forbid the study. in germany, many of the alchemists who had the unfortunate reputation of possessing this wonderful stone were imprisoned and furnished with apparatus till they should purchase their liberty by making an ounce of gold. _delusion_, an error arising from false views. _apparatus_, a complete set of instruments or tools, by which anything is made, or any operation performed. was any gold ever produced by this method? not a particle; the story of a stone having the property of converting the baser metals into gold being merely an absurd fable: yet, although the pursuits of alchemy were the most preposterous that can be conceived, the ardor with which they were followed, and the amazing number of experiments made in consequence, led to the discovery of many facts to which chemistry is highly indebted. _preposterous_, absurd, foolish; contrary to nature or reason. you inform me that chemistry enables us to discover the properties of bodies by means of _analysis_ and _combination_: what do these terms imply? if a chemist wishes to examine the properties of a compound body, he proceeds by analysis--that is, by a separation of the substance to be examined into its constituent parts. the chemical examination of bodies is generally effected by producing a change in the _nature_ or _state_ of the body under examination. this change is frequently brought about by the addition of some _other_ substance which forms a combination with a part of the substance examined, and leaves the remainder in a detached state. by what _means_ do chemists effect a change in the qualities or states of natural bodies? it is generally effected by means of _heat_, which has a tendency to separate the particles of bodies from each other; or by the _mixture_ or _combination_ of some other matter with the matter intended to be examined. the mixture of two or more compounds often produces a decomposition by means of chemical _affinity_, a property which different species of matter have to unite with each other; and which is sometimes called _elective affinity_. thus it may be observed, chemists have not only the power of decomposing natural bodies, but of producing by combination various other substances, such as are not found in the kingdom of nature. what do you mean by _decomposition_? in chemical language, it means the separation of a compound body into its simple elements. give me an example. water may be decomposed, and reduced into oxygen and hydrogen,--both of them simple substances incapable of further decomposition. is not the work of decomposition perpetually going forward? yes; and _combustion_ is one of the great agents in this work. by it animal and vegetable substances are converted into water and carbonic acid, by the union of their hydrogen and carbon with the oxygen of the air. these, in time, are again absorbed by vegetables, and again decomposed to set the oxygen at liberty to produce fresh combustions. of what use are the two remaining substances, hydrogen and carbon? these are appropriated by the vegetative organs to their growth and nourishment, while the oxygen with which the carbon was combined is abundantly given off to purify the air and render it fit for the respiration of animals. give me an idea of the mode in which chemists ascertain the _affinity_ of bodies, by relating an experiment. dissolve a tea-spoonful of sugar of lead in water, and pour the clear solution into a decanter or large glass bottle. then take a small piece of zinc, and twist round it some brass or copper wire, so as to let the ends of the wire depend from it in any agreeable form. suspend the zinc and wire in the solution which has been prepared; in a short time, metallic lead will deposit itself on the zinc and along the wire. this is a beautiful illustration of chemical affinity; the acid, which constitutes a part of the sugar of lead, has a stronger affinity for the zinc than for the lead, and, consequently, will combine with the zinc, and form a compound which remains in solution, while the lead is precipitated on the zinc and wire in the form of a brilliant tree of metal. _affinity_, in chemistry, that attraction which takes place between the elements of bodies, and forms compounds. what does the word nature signify? in the above sense, the system of the universe; the creation, the works of god. by the kingdom of nature is meant the world and all things in it: nature is divided into three kingdoms, the animal, vegetable, and mineral. what are the different states of natural bodies? all bodies are either solid, liquid, or aeriform. by solid bodies are meant those whose parts unite so firmly as to resist the impression or penetration of other bodies; by liquid, those substances whose parts do not unite firmly, but have free motion among themselves; by aeriform, fluid substances, having the form or nature of air. liquid substances are nothing more than solids converted into liquids by heat, a certain increase of which would convert the liquids into vapor. what other name is given to liquids? they are likewise called fluids: we call the air, also, a fluid, because it flows like a fluid, and light substances will float in it. what is the cause of bodies floating on liquids? it is an established law of nature, that all substances which weigh less than an equal bulk of any liquid, will float on the surface of this liquid. thus a cork will float on water, while a stone sinks to the bottom. the cork will not float in the air, though lighter than water; and the stone is not heavier than the _whole_ of the water, but more so than a portion of water of its _own bulk_,--and thus it sinks in it. stones also differ in their weight or gravity: for instance, some of the asbestus kind are _lighter_ than water. iron, brass, indeed, nearly all substances, except gold and platina, will float upon mercury, because they are lighter than this liquid. what is the cause of bodies being either solid, liquid, or aeriform? when the principle of _attraction_ prevails, it causes them to become solid; when caloric prevails, they become aeriform. fluidity is, apparently, a medium between the two. how is the state of solidity in bodies accounted for? the particles of all bodies are subject to two opposite powers, _repulsion_ and _attraction_; between which they remain in equilibrium. while the _attractive_ force remains strongest, the body remains in a state of solidity; but if heat destroys this force, the particles lose their cohesion, and the body ceases to be solid. _cohesion_, act of sticking together, union of the constituent parts of a body. which is supposed to be the most natural state of all bodies? solidity; for by the _combination_ of caloric with them we can reduce most substances to the fluid state; while the greatest number of _liquid_ substances take a _solid_ form by the loss of caloric. thus, water congeals and forms ice; and even the gases show this disposition to become solid, when they lose their _elasticity_ by forming some _combination_. explain the terms _repulsion_ and _attraction_. repulsion is a peculiar property in the particles of matter, which gives them a constant tendency to recede from each other. attraction is an unknown force, which causes bodies or their particles to approach each other. the particles of all bodies possess this property, which causes them to adhere, and preserves the various substances around us from falling in pieces. what different kinds of attraction can you mention? attraction may be distinguished into that which takes place between bodies at sensible distances, and that which manifests itself between the _particles_ of matter at insensible distances. give an example of the first kind of attraction. one of the most familiar instances of attraction at sensible distances is seen in the descent of heavy bodies to the ground. when a stone is lifted up in the hand, the earth's attraction, which previously caused it to remain at its surface, is overcome; but, as soon as the hand is withdrawn, the stone falls to the earth. the force which causes this is called the _attraction of gravitation_, or simply _gravitation_. how is the second kind of attraction, or that between the particles of bodies, subdivided? into the _attraction of aggregation_, or _cohesion_; and _chemical attraction_, or _affinity_. the former takes place between particles which are _similar_, and the latter between those which are _dissimilar_. all the operations of chemistry are founded upon the force of affinity which nature has established between the particles of different kinds of matter, and which enables the chemist to produce _new_ compounds differing more or less from the substances by whose union they were formed. is it, then, necessary for chemists to understand the relative nature of all substances? yes; because the basis of this science consists in an _analytical_ examination of the works of nature; an investigation of the properties and uses of all substances we are acquainted with; and the study of the effects of _heat_ and _mixture_, in order that we may find out their general and subordinate laws. _analytical_, relating to analysis. _investigation_, act of searching, or tracing out. _subordinate_, inferior in nature, dignity or power. relate a few more of the advantages obtained by a knowledge of chemistry. many of the wonderful operations of nature, and the changes which take place in substances around us, are, by its means, revealed to us. in every manufacture, art, or walk of life, the chemist possesses an advantage over his unskilled neighbor. it is necessary to the farmer and gardener, as it explains the growth of plants, the use of manures, and their proper application: and indispensable to the physician, that he may understand the animal economy, and the _effects_ which certain _causes_ chemically produce; and the nature of animal, vegetable, and mineral poisons. the study is, therefore, an invaluable branch in the education of youth: it is useful, not only in the active, but the _moral_ life, by laying the foundation of an ardent and inquiring mind. even an everyday walk in the fields can be productive of instruction, by a knowledge of it;--and let us always remember, that "knowledge is power." _indispensable_, necessary, not to be done without. chapter xix. attraction, tides, gravity, artesian wells, air, aneroid barometer, ear-trumpet, stethoscope, audiphone, telephone, phonograph, microphone, megaphone, tasimeter, bathometer, anemometer, chronometer. what is attraction? by attraction is meant that property or quality in the particles of bodies which makes them tend toward each other. are there several kinds of attraction? yes. attraction has received different names, according to the circumstances under which it acts: the force which keeps the particles of matter together to form bodies or masses, is called attraction of _cohesion_; that which makes bodies stick together only on their surfaces, is called _adhesion_; that which inclines different masses toward each other, as the earth and the heavenly bodies, is called _gravitation_; that which forces the particles of substances of different kinds to unite, is known under the name of _chemical attraction_; that which causes the needle of the compass to point constantly toward the poles of the earth, is _magnetic attraction_; that which is excited by friction in certain substances, is known as _electrical attraction_. how do you know that attraction exists through the whole universe? this great universal law was first discovered by sir isaac newton. the sun and planets and other heavenly bodies are only guided in their path by gravitation. do we experience this attraction upon our earth? yes; because our earth is carried around the sun by it; and, further, the tides show it very clearly. what are the tides? the ebbing and flowing of the sea, which regularly takes place twice in twenty-four hours. the cause of the tides is the attraction of the sun, but chiefly of the moon, acting on the waters of the ocean. what is gravity? gravity is the attraction between the earth and the bodies on the earth, which makes what we call weight of bodies. what do you understand by specific weight or gravity? it means the weight of a body as compared with the weight of an equal bulk of some other body taken as a standard--commonly water. why do we say that certain metals--as, for example, platina or gold--are heavier than others, say, lead or iron? because the former have a greater specific gravity. but is not a pound of gold as heavy as a pound of lead? yes; but a lump of gold will be heavier than a lump of lead of equal bulk. can we explain by this what we call floating? a body will float in water if its gravity is less than that of water; for example, wood floats for this reason in water, and a balloon in the air. why does a portion of the floating body sink below the surface of the water? because the body in order to float must displace a portion of water equal in weight to the whole floating body. but why do iron steamers float--iron being heavier than water? because the steamer is not a solid piece of iron, but is hollow, and so increased in bulk; for that reason the weight of the vessel and its contents is less than that of an equal bulk of water. how can you ascertain that air has weight? we can do it by the barometer and by very many experiences in daily life. if one end of a straw be dipped into a vessel of water and the other end be sucked, the liquid will rise to the mouth. there we see the pressure of the outside air forces the liquid through the straw where the air was removed by sucking. can you show the same by another instrument? yes; the common water pump demonstrates the same as the straw. a tube is placed into the water, the air is sucked out from the tube by the movement of the pump, and the outside air presses the water through the tube. what are artesian wells? wells so named because they were made first at artois, in france. they work on the principle that every liquid seeks its level. of the rain which falls, a part soaks into the soil of mountains, until, coming to a layer of rocks or clay through which it cannot pass, it will collect and be stored up. if a hole be bored into this reservoir the water will rise in it. do you know some other properties of air? it is the most necessary substance for our life; it is the vehicle of all odors and smells; it is the medium of all sounds, and brings to our ear and so to our mind an immense knowledge of the outside world; it is the cause of the beauty of the blue firmament or sky, of the aurora and twilight; it is the great nurse of the whole vegetable kingdom by clouds, rain, and dew. what is an aneroid barometer? it is a barometer in the construction of which no quicksilver or other liquid is used. it consists of a metal box, exhausted of air, the top of which is of thin metal, so elastic that it readily yields to alterations in the pressure of the atmosphere. when the pressure increases, the top is pressed inwards; when, on the contrary, it decreases, the elasticity of the lid, aided by a spring, tends to move it in the opposite direction. these motions are transmitted by delicate levers to an index which moves on a scale. this barometer has the advantage of being portable. what is the ear-trumpet? a trumpet-like instrument used to aid deaf persons in hearing. its form is conical, and the larger end is of a bell shape; the small end is placed in the ear, and the person talks in the large end. it acts by concentrating the voice on the listener's ear. what is a stethoscope? an instrument used by physicians for ascertaining the action of the lungs, judging by the sound of their motion whether they are healthy or not. describe the audiphone. it is a fan-shaped instrument to help deaf people, and is made of flexible carbonized rubber. fine silk cords attached to the upper edge bend it over, and are fastened by a wedge in a handle. the top edge of this fan rests upon the upper teeth, and the sound waves strike its surface; the vibrations are thus conveyed by the teeth and the bones of the face to the acoustic nerve in the ear. describe the telephone. it is an instrument by which conversation may be carried on at a distance, and is composed of three parts--a thin disk of soft metal, a small coil or bobbin of silk-covered copper wire, and a small bar magnet about four inches long. the bobbin is placed on one pole of the magnet, so that the wire is as it were steeped in the magnetic space round the pole. the metal disk is placed face close to the pole and bobbin, so that when it vibrates in front of the pole a series of wave currents will be set up in the coil of wire on the bobbin. the whole is encased in wood, and a mouth-piece is provided for speaking against the disk. the coil of wire on the bobbin is of course connected by its two ends into the circuit of a telegraph line. who invented the telephone? it was invented, almost simultaneously, by alex. graham bell, a native of scotland, and professor of vocal physiology in the boston university, and elisha gray, of chicago. what is a phonograph? it is an instrument for recording the vibrations of sounds, and consists of a revolving cylinder covered with tin-foil. to this cylinder is attached a mouth-piece, fitted with a thin plate or disk, on the outer side of which, next to the cylinder, is a needle or point. the cylinder runs on a screw, so that the whole length of it, from end to end, may pass under the point. on speaking into the mouth-piece the voice causes the disk to vibrate, and the point to trace marks corresponding to these vibrations on the tin-foil. by turning the cylinder so that the point again passes into the marks in the tin-foil, the sounds that entered at the mouth-piece can be reproduced at any time. by whom was the phonograph invented? by thomas a. edison, who was born in ohio in . mr. edison is the inventor of many improvements in telegraphy, which have been adopted into general use, and are to him the source of a large income. to him, also, we are indebted for the megaphone, microphone, tasimeter, an improvement in the telephone, a system of electric lighting, and many other inventions. what is a microphone? this instrument is a variety of telephone by means of which faint sounds can be heard at a very great distance. it consists of a small battery for generating a weak current of electricity, a telephone for the receiving instrument, and a speaking or transmitting instrument. the last is a small rod of gas carbon with the ends set loosely in blocks of the same material. the blocks are attached to an upright support, glued into a wooden base board. this instrument is connected with the battery and the telephone. so wonderfully sensitive is it, that the ticking of a watch, the walking of a fly across a board, or the brush of a camel's-hair pencil can be heard even though it be hundreds of miles distant. will you describe the megaphone? it is a substitute for the ear and speaking trumpet. it consists of three paper funnels placed side by side. the two larger ones are about feet inches long and - / inches in diameter, and are each provided with a flexible tube, the ends of which are held to the ear. the centre funnel, which is used as a speaking-trumpet, does not differ materially from an ordinary trumpet, except that it is larger and has a larger bell mouth. two persons, each provided with a megaphone, can, without other apparatus, carry on a conversation at a distance of one and a half or two miles. what is the tasimeter? it is an instrument, sensitive to the smallest degree of heat, and is mostly used in astronomy. attached to a telescope it will show the heat coming from the stars. what is a bathometer? this ingenious instrument, the invention of prof. siemens of london, enables those on board of ships to read from an index the depths of the ocean beneath them. it consists of a highly sensitive steel spring to which a heavy piece of metal is attached. the changes in weight to which the latter is subject in consequence of the variations of attractive force (the deeper the ocean the smaller the latter, and vice versa) are registered on a scale by the indicator that is in connection with the steel spring. what is an anemometer? an instrument for measuring the velocity and force of the wind, and by which storms, at a distance, can be predicted. what is a chronometer? a time-piece of delicate and exact construction, chiefly employed by astronomers and navigators. it differs only from an ordinary watch in its delicate springs, in not being so much influenced by heat and cold, and consequently in its accuracy in giving the time. chapter xx. light, lime light, magnesium light, electric light, rainbow, prism, spectrum, colors, photography, camera obscura, stereoscope, kaleidoscope. do you know something about the nature of light? light is a mere form of vibration like sound, and like sound it requires some source to set this vibration going, and some medium to carry this vibration as air carries sound. is not the air this medium? no, it is supposed that there is an elastic fluid called "ether" which pervades all space and matter, and if the molecules of a body are in motion they have the power of setting this ether in motion. the movement thus produced will appear either as heat or light according to its velocity. what sources of light do you know? we are told that the principal source of light on earth is the sun, either directly with its own beams or indirectly by supplying us with combustibles to produce light; for oil, gas, candles, and most of the substances used for producing light and heat when burning are but sending forth in another form the rays of the sun which were stored up in nature's economy. another source of light is the result of chemical action, such as the lime, magnesium, and electric light. a third source of light is phosphorescence, as we see it in the glow-worm and fireflies. what is the drummond or lime light? it is one of the most brilliant of artificial lights. when a stream of oxygen and one of hydrogen under pressure are brought together and mixed within a few inches of the end of a blowpipe, the mixture on lighting burns with a colorless flame possessing intense heat. if this flame be made to play upon a ball of carbonate of lime, the lime on becoming white hot gives off a powerful incandescence. _incandescence_, the glowing whiteness of a body caused by intense heat. what is a blowpipe? a tube, usually bent near the end, terminated with a finely-pointed nozzle, for blowing through the flame of a lamp or gas-jet, producing thereby a small conical flame possessing intense heat. it is used in soldering silver, brass, etc. a mixture of oxygen and hydrogen when ignited constitutes the hydrogen blowpipe, invented by dr. hare of philadelphia. what is magnesium light? when the metal magnesium is rolled out into a fine ribbon and heated to red heat it burns with a dazzling light. which is the most powerful artificial light? the so-called electric light. this light, whether produced by a series of galvanic cells or by dynamic power, is the most brilliant and useful. what is a rainbow? the rainbow is that beautiful semi-circular band or arc of different colors in the clouds during the occurrence of rain in sunshine. when the clouds opposite the sun are very dark and rain is falling from them, the rays of the sun are divided by the raindrops as they would be by a prism. there are often two rainbows at the same time, because the primary bow is again reflected to another layer of clouds. what is a prism? a triangular solid piece of glass, on which if a ray of light be cast it will be distinctly divided into the seven colors we see in a rainbow. by this fact we see that white light is composed of different rays which have different reflective susceptibilities. what is a spectrum? it is this beautiful band of seven colors obtained by the refraction of a ray of light through the prism. whence come the colors in the objects we see in nature? they all come from light; every object has a power to absorb certain rays and to reflect others. a red cloth, for example, absorbs all the other colored rays except red, and this it gives off, thus appearing red. why are the leaves of plants green? because a peculiar chemical substance called chlorophyl, formed within their cells, absorbs all other rays of light, reflecting only blue and yellow--which mixture produces the different green tints. what is photography? the word means "light drawing." it is a mode of fixing on certain substances the lights and shades of any object by means of a lens inserted in a camera obscura. this process was first called daguerreotype from the name of the inventor, daguerre. a plate of copper thinly coated with silver is exposed to the vapor of iodine, then placed in a camera obscura, where an image of the object to be presented through a lens is cast upon it. ambrotype is the same application to glass. there are now different variations of method in the use of the same agents. now photography consists in taking the images on what is called a negative--that is, a glass coated with a silvered collodion (gun-cotton dissolved in alcohol and ether) film. from this plate another image is taken on silvered paper, which we call the positive image. there are also other chemicals used instead of silver. what is a camera obscura? a small box or dark room into which the light is admitted through a lens. what is a stereoscope? it is an instrument exhibiting the effects and advantages of seeing with two eyes. the instrument is so constructed that from a flat picture we may see the solid body in its reality in nature. what is a kaleidoscope? an instrument invented by sir david brewster, consisting of a tube with slips of reflecting glass so arranged in the interior that small beads, bits of colored glass, and similar things are, by revolving the tube, thrown into an endless variety of beautiful shapes. chapter xxi. electricity, electric currents, electric battery, electrotyping, stereotyping, telegraph, ocean cable, lightning rod, the gulf stream, the mt. cenis tunnel, the suez canal, suspension bridges, eminent americans. what is the nature of electricity? a form of energy into which all other forms can readily be converted. what is an electric current? electricity manifests itself in a variety of ways, but all may be arranged under two heads, _viz._, , as a charge; , as a current. by means of friction, many bodies become electrified--that is, have acquired an electrical charge. if this charge is in great quantity we call it high tension. when a body containing an electrical charge is brought in contact with other bodies through which electricity is capable of passing, there ensues a current of electricity. such bodies are called conductors. what are the sources of currents? there are currents produced by chemical action called voltaic currents; by the action of heat, or thermo-electric currents; by the motion of magnets, or magneto-electric currents. [illustration: removing the earth from the canal by means of dromedaries.] [illustration: opening the suez canal--procession of ships.] what is positive and what negative electricity? no difference in electricity in itself. when a body has more than its natural amount of electricity, it is said to be charged positively; when it has less than its natural amount it is negatively charged. what is a cell; what a battery? if a piece of zinc and copper joined by a wire be dipped in a liquid--generally weak sulphuric acid--which will act chemically on the metals, a current is produced. such an arrangement is called a couple, or cell. if many cells are connected, then it is called a battery. what is thermo-electricity? if two bars of any unlike metal--for example, antimony and bismuth--be soldered together at one end, and the other ends be connected by a wire and then the soldered end heated, a current will flow. what effects are produced by currents? they produce heat, light, decomposition and combination in liquid chemical compounds; they melt all metals, excite magnetism, and in the animal body excite movements of the muscles. can you specify these effects? a strong battery produces heat in such a degree that all metals can be melted. light is produced in flashes, or if the end of the leading wires are connected with two pencils of hard carbon, and brought very near together, then a brilliant light, or arc, called the voltaic arc, is produced. this is the dazzling bright light which we call electric light. the chemical effect of a current in decomposing compound substances is called electrolysis. in this way water can be decomposed into its compounds, hydrogen and oxygen; copper sulphate into sulphur and metallic copper, etc. in this way we can deposit strong adherent films of metal on the surface of any conductor; for if the article to be coated be attached to the negative electrode of a battery, and dipped into a solution of the metal with which we desire to coat the article, say copper or silver, and the positive electrode be attached to a plate of copper and also dipped into a liquid, when the current passes, the metal will be decomposed and deposited in a uniform layer over the article at the negative electrode. this process is called _electro-plating_. what is electrotyping? it is the process of copying medals, type, wood-cuts, engraved copper and steel plates, etc., by means of electrical deposition. it is chiefly used for making, from the ordinary movable types, plates of fixed metallic types, for printing books. describe the process. the article to be copied is first covered with black-lead, and then a mould is made of it in wax or gutta-percha. this mould is placed in a solution of sulphate of copper, and attached to the negative pole of the battery, while a plate of copper is hung from the positive pole. the electric current decomposes the copper, which is deposited in a thin film upon the mould. this film is removed and stiffened by being backed with metal. what is the difference between electrotyping and stereotyping? in stereotyping, a plaster of paris mould is taken from the types, and upon this mould melted type-metal is poured, which, when hardened, makes a solid plate. is there any other method of stereotyping? yes; that known as the paper process. a uniform sheet of soft matter is formed by pasting together sheets of thin, tough tissue paper. the types are oiled, and the soft, moist sheet is placed on them and beaten down with a stiff brush until it receives an impression of the type-form. both are then run through a press, and on being taken out the paper is found to form a perfect mould. into this mould the type-metal is poured and the plate formed. can you tell me some magnetic effects of the current? all conductors become magnetic during the passage of a current through them, and thereby acquire all the properties of a magnet. there are bodies which are natural magnets, and they are called permanent magnets. those which become magnets only during the passage of a current are called electro-magnets. do you know any application of those magnets? they are employed in a great variety of electrical apparatus, principally in telegraphy. when was the first telegraph established? it was made in , being invented by prof. steinheil, of munich, and adopted by the government of bavaria. it was miles long, and the signals were made by small bells. who was the inventor of the telegraph in this country? samuel f.b. morse, who was born at charlestown, mass., april , . he began life as a painter, but did not give his whole attention to art--chemistry and experiments in electricity and galvanism claiming much of his time. he first conceived the idea of the telegraph in , and exhibited his invention to congress in . he struggled on with scanty means, and was about to give up in despair when congress appropriated $ , for an experimental line, which was opened on may , , between washington and baltimore. prof. morse died in , but not before he had reaped honors and fortune from his invention. how rapidly does the electric current travel through the wires? from experiments made it appears to be about , miles in a second. can more than one message be sent at the same time on the same wire? yes; it is possible now to send several messages at the same time. what is a cable? it is a telegraph wire under water. prof. morse, in , laid a wire insulated by a covering of hemp coated with pitch-tar and india-rubber between governor's island and the battery, new york. several attempts were made in other countries. what was the greatest telegraphic undertaking? that of connecting europe with america by a submarine cable spanning the ocean, which was commenced in and completed august , . to whom do we owe this grand undertaking? this honor is entirely due to mr. cyrus w. field. mr. field was born at stockbridge, mass., on november th, . in he became interested in ocean telegraphy, and after many reverses succeeded in laying the first cable in august, . the message sent by queen victoria to the president of the united states, consisting of words, occupied minutes in transmitting. in september of the same year this cable ceased to work, but the energy of field restored confidence, and another cable was made and laid down in july, , but after miles were deposited it was lost. in another was made and successfully laid in july. in august the lost cable was found and spliced, and carried to the western shore. what is a dynamo-electric machine? a machine by which very powerful currents can be obtained directly from mechanical power. in these, by means of a steam-engine or other power, a number of coils of wire called the armature are set into rapid revolution between the poles of powerful electro-magnets. all currents are caused to flow from the armature in one direction by means of a contrivance called the commutator. very successful machines of this sort are the gramme machine, the siemens, and, principally, the so-called brush machine. by these the electric light is now generally produced. what is a lightning rod? it is a rod of iron placed against a building to protect it from lightning. three or four feet of one end is in the moist ground or in water, while several feet of the other end extend above the highest part of the building. the upper end of the rod is pointed with copper or some other metal which will not easily corrode. by whom was it invented? by benjamin franklin, and first announced by him in his "poor richard's almanac" for . franklin was born at boston, mass., in . by his talents, prudence, and honesty he rose from humble beginnings to be one of the foremost men of his time. he was one of the committee of five chosen by congress to prepare the "declaration of independence" which he with other patriots afterwards signed. towards the close of the year he was sent as ambassador to the french court, and remained in europe some time. he returned home in , and died at philadelphia on the th of april, . what is the gulf stream? it is a warm current in the atlantic ocean. what is its origin? it may be considered as beginning on the west coast of africa, within the region of the trade winds. these cause a westward flow, known as the equatorial current. on reaching the coast of brazil, the greater portion of this current bends northward, carrying with it the waters of the amazon and orinoco, and passes through the caribbean sea into the gulf of mexico. here it is further heated, and rushes out through the only outlet, the straits of florida. describe its course. deep and narrow, it runs by florida with a velocity varying from two to five miles an hour, and pressed by the cold current between it and the shore, flows parallel to the coast as far as cape hatteras. meeting shoals near this point, the banks of sand extending as far as newfoundland, it there turns abruptly to the east, and with diminished speed and increased width, rolls onward towards the coast of europe. before long it divides into two great branches--the northern and southern. the former extends as far as spitzbergen; the latter, sweeping along by the madeira and canary islands, returns to the equator, completing the circuit. what influence has the gulf stream on the climate of europe? various opinions have been expressed as to this. it has been estimated that the amount of heat arising from the stream on a winter's day, is sufficient to raise the atmosphere over the british isles from the freezing point to a summer temperature. how may the gulf stream be distinguished? it can be distinctly traced in the ocean by its dark indigo color, its temperature, and the swiftness of its waters. which is the largest tunnel in the world? the mt. cenis tunnel, or the tunnel of col de frejus, by both of which names it is known. it is the longest subterranean route for commerce and travel yet constructed, being - / miles in length. it is on the crest of the cottian alps, about miles south-west of the summit of mt. cenis pass. it was begun in , and finished in . _col_, a defile. what other great engineering work can you mention? the suez canal, a ship canal running across the isthmus of suez, and connecting the mediterranean with the red sea. the canal is miles in length, and through it an uninterrupted communication is established whereby large sailing vessels and steamers may pass from sea to sea, and thus avoid the long and dangerous voyage around the cape of good hope. to whom is the world indebted for this canal? this great work owes its inception and completion to the enterprise and indomitable energy of ferdinand de lesseps, who was born at versailles, france, on the th november, . in january, , he obtained a charter from the egyptian government for a company to construct the canal, and began work in . though beset by many difficulties, the persistent energy of de lesseps fought its way to success, and in he had the satisfaction of seeing the waters of the mediterranean and the red sea mingle in the bitter lakes. he has since been engaged in many engineering projects, the latest being a canal across the isthmus of panama to connect the atlantic and pacific oceans. _inception_, beginning. _indomitable_, not to be subdued. _persistent_, inclined to hold firm. what is a suspension bridge? a bridge supported by wires, ropes, or chains, which usually pass over high piers or columns at each end, and are secured in the ground below. name some of the largest bridges of this kind. that at niagara, those over the allegheny at pittsburg and the ohio at cincinnati, and the great east river bridge, which connects new york and brooklyn. who planned these bridges? john a. roebling, who was born at mulhausen, prussia, june , . in he emigrated to this country, and to his genius we are indebted for the bridges above named. the reports, plans, and specifications of the east river bridge were completed, and the work begun, when roebling was severely injured in the foot while directing his work. lockjaw succeeding amputation, he died in brooklyn, july , . to what great civil engineer has the west given birth? james b. eads. born at lawrenceburg, indiana, may , , he began life as a clerk on a mississippi river steam-boat. in he entered a firm engaged in recovering sunken property, and with such success that he retired with a fortune in . during the civil war he devised a plan for the defence of the western waters, and constructed several iron gun-boats with many novel features of his own invention. he has since acquired reputation as projecting and constructing engineer of the illinois and st. louis bridge, and by building jetties at the south pass of the mississippi, by which the depth of the river is increased, and it is made more navigable. these jetties are projecting dikes of brush, fascines, and stone. _fascines_, bundles of rods or of small sticks of wood, bound at both ends and at intermediate points, used in filling ditches, etc. give the names of some distinguished american inventors. eli whitney, the inventor of the cotton gin, born in westborough, mass., ; died . jethro wood, the inventor of the modern cast-iron plow, born at white creek, n.y., ; died . cyrus h. mccormick, inventor of the mowing machine, born at walnut grove, virginia, in . who was the inventor of the sewing machine? elias howe. he was born at spencer, mass., july , . when a boy he worked in a cotton mill at lowell, but afterwards entered a machine shop in boston. here he conceived the idea of the sewing machine, and after long days of labor, part of which time he and his family lived on the kindness of a friend, he completed his invention. after many struggles, his talent, industry, and perseverance were rewarded, and long before his death, which occurred in october, , he had acquired a large fortune. index. abyssinia, adhesion, affinity, chemical, , air, fixed, albert durer, alchemy, alcohol, alexander, alexandria, allspice or pimento, alluvial formations, almonds, alphabet, invention of, alum, alumina, amalgam, amber, ambergris, analysis and combination, anemometer, angelo, michael, anno domini, apelles, apollo, arabic, gum, arabia, felix and deserta, archipelago, architecture, orders of, , argil, armenia, arrow-root, arsenic, artesian wells, arts, liberal, fine, mechanical, art of writing, asbestus, , astronomy, science of, athenians, atmosphere, attraction, audiphone, aurora, the, aurora borealis, australia, author, azores, islands of, azote gas, babel, tower of, babylon, bacon, roger, baize, barbarians, , barilla or soda, bark, peruvian, barley, sugar, barometer, aneroid, barrel organ, bathometer, beaver, , , bell, a.g., black lead, blowpipe, bodies, natural, bombazine, books first printed, books, of what made, , bottles, box, musical, brandy, brass, bread-fruit, bricks, butter, vegetable, tree, cable, cacao-nut tree, cadmus, calaminaris, lapis, calcareous rocks, calico, caloric, , calomel, cambray, cambric, camera obscura, camlet, camphor, candles, candy, sugar, cannon, canoe, cantaleup, canvas, caoutchouc, capers, carbon, carbonic acid, carmine, carpets, carthage, cashmere shawls, cassia, castor or beaver, castor oil, cat, civet, domestic, singular property of its fur, gut, caviare, cayenne pepper, chaldea, chalk, charcoal, chemistry, - cherry-tree, chinese or india ink, china orange, chocolate, chronometer, chrysalis, cider, cinnamon, citrons, clay or argil, clocks, cloth, cloves, , coal, cochineal, , , cocoa-nut tree, coffee, cohesion, coin, combustion, compass, mariners', commerce, constellations, consul, roman, copernicus, copper, copperas, coral, - cork, corn, cotton, gins, cow-tree, crape, cretans, crimson, crusades, , crystallization, currants, cyrus, damask, dates, , decomposition, deluge, dew, , diamond, diaper, distillation, process of, drake, sir francis, dyeing, things used in, dynamite, dynamo-electric machine, eads, jas. b, earths, argillaceous, calcareous, silicious, earthenware, earthquakes, ear-trumpet, ebony, edison, thos. a., egyptian pyramids, egyptians, electrical machine, properties in bodies, electricity, , electric battery, current, electro-magnet, magnetic teleg'ph., , electron, electrotyping, elephant, emerald, engraving, ermine, etruscans, evergreen, fermentation, acetous, vinous, ferro, field, cyrus w., figs, fine arts, fitch, john, flannel, flax, flint, floating, florence, fossil or rock salt, franks, frankincense, franklin, benj., fulton, robert, fur, galileo, , galls, gamboge, gas, hydrogen, nitrogen or azote, oxygen, gelatine, gems, genoa, , geologist, geology, geometry, gin, ginger, glass, house, windows, looking, gloves, goat, angora, gold, goths, granite, , gravitation, gravity, gray, elisha, gulf stream, gum, arabic, gunpowder, , guns, hail, harp, hats, hemp, herculaneum, hermetic seal, herschel, sir william, hieroglyphics, holland, honey, hops, howe, elias, hybla, hydrogen, hymettus, ice, idria, quicksilver mines of, india rubber, or chinese ink, indigo, ink, used by the ancients, inlaying, insect, coral, - ionians, iron, isinglass, islands, volcanic, ivory, jaca tree, japanese, jetties of the mississippi, jupiter, kaleidoscope, kiln, lace, lapis calaminaris, laudanum, laws, how made, lead, black, leather, legislative powers, lemon, lenses, leo the tenth, lesseps, ferd. de, levant, libanus, mount, licorice, light, drummond, electric, , lime, magnesium, lightning, rod, lime, a fruit, lime, an earth, , quick, linen, liquids, , lithography, loadstone, logwood, lombards, lucca, lucullus, lungs, lyre, mccormick, cyrus h., mace, magic, mahogany, malt, maltese orange, mangoes, manioc plant, manna, , marble, parian, mariners' compass, marine salt, marl, mathematics, mead, mechanics, mediterranean, megaphone, melons, mercury, the god, metals, primitive, metallurgy, microphone, microscope, milan, millet, mineral oil, tar, mines, coal, mint, mirrors, , mohair, mahomed, money, morphia, mortar, morse, s.f.b., mosque, mother-of-pearl, mt. cenis tunnel, muscles, music, vocal, musical instruments, boxes, musk, myrrh, nantes, edict of, natron, nature, kingdom of, navigation, - nabuchodonosor, needles, nero, new south wales, newton, sir isaac, nicotine, nitre, nitrogen, northern lights, nutmegs, oats, obelisk, oils, oil, olive, oil, castor, mineral, olives, , olive branch, the emblem of plenty, opium, orange, ore, organ, barrel, oxide, oxygen, painters, celebrated, painting, art of, palm, , palma christi, , pantheon, paper, invention of, mill, linen, papyrus, parchment, pearls, pearl oyster, barley, pendulum, pepper, cayenne, pericles, perry, petroleum, phenicia, philosopher's stone, , phonograph, phosphorus, photography, pins, pimento, pisa, pitch, platina, pliny, , plumbago, poetry, - poets, celebrated, polypus, pompeii, porcelain, potash, potatoes, primitive earths, printing, prism, protestant, ptolemies, pyramid, pythagoras, quicksilver, rabbins, rain, rainbow, raisins, raleigh, sir walter, raphael, , refugee, republic, resin, gum, rhubarb, rice, rock or fossil salt, calcareous, transition, roebling, john a., rubies, rum, rye, sable, sago, palm, salt, , marine, rock, spring, saltpetre, saracens, scarlet, schools of painting, sciences, arts and, sculpture, seal, an animal, senate, sesostris, seville orange, shoes, sicilians, sidon, silex, silicious earths, silk, , worm, - silver, slate, snow, soap, soda, specific weight, spectacles, spectrum, spermaceti, spinning-jenny, spirits of wine, sponge, starch, steam engine, navigation, steel, stethoscope, stereoscope, stereotyping, still, stockings, strata, suez canal, sugar, candy, barley, maple, sulphur, sumatra, suspension bridges, tallow, tree, tamarinds, tan, tapioca, tar, tasimeter, tasmania, tea, telegraph, , telephone, telescope, thebes, thermometer, thermo-electricity, thibet goat, thunder, tides, tin, tobacco, toddy, tortoise, tower, leaning of pisa, troy, turpentine, turquois, tuscans, twilight, tyre, united states government, vapor, vellum, velvet, venice, venus, vine, vinegar, vitriol, volcanic formations, volcano, vulcanite, watches, water, melon, decomposition of by vegetables, tree, wax, weaving, - whale, whitney, eli, wieliczca, wind, windows, wine, woad, wood, jethro, wood engraving, wool, - writing, art of, yams, zinc, zoophytes, the end.